i think

i think i love him.

D crosses the threshold

everybody, meet D. D, everybody.

yesterday was D's birthday celebration at luca lounge, kicking off the first of a series of entering-our-late-20s birthdays. as you can tell, she was already quite happy by the time i arrived, camera in hand.

those happy dudes drinking behind her are D's friends. D was allegedly afraid that "nobody was going to show up" to her birthday party.

puhleaze.

there were 10 gazillion people there to celebrate her birthday. which was not entirely surprising. although we knew that D was the most popular person at northwestern, she confirmed our suspicions that she actually knows everybody under the age of 30 in both manhattan and long island, and perhaps some parts of jersey city.

of course, because we are asocial and afraid of anybody that might actually want to be friendly and speak to us about anything of any substance — or even just say hello — AS, G and i cocooned ourselves into a little corner of the bar. which didn't necessarily protect us, though it did keep us from making conversation with anybody other than D. from across the bar, a dude in a turtleneck and flannel shirt sent a very, very drunken woman to inform AS that he was in love with her. this was frightening. but, like D having 12 million people coming up to say happy birthday, not surprising. i mean, look at her! look at my pretty pretty dumpling!

i'm feeling the love for AS because i got to have a whole afternoon with her, which was awesome, rare, and critical to kicking a minor bout of sadness. we met in the east village in mid-afternoon on saturday, with no real plan except for cocktails. we landed at anyway cafe for crepes and carafes of shiraz, and lots of conversation about important things like theater and fear and creativity and, you know, boys. anyways. late lunch date and wine was a brilliant idea. until i got home and realized i had a hangover at 7pm. sigh. i didn't even really know why i felt so cloudy and sleepy until J, while talking me through my red-wine crankiness, made the astute point that if one should choose to drink in the afternoon, one should power through and continue drinking well into the night, so as to avoid the early-evening hangover.

smart boy, that J.

anyways. because we never actually spoke to any other guests at the party, and spent most of our time there taking pictures of ourselves, i also got this pretty pretty picture of me & G. you wouldn't even think mr. yellow sunshine was all conked out on sudafed. except, you know, that with each sip of gin & tonic he sunk a little deeper into sleepydom land. but he's a trooper.

because, after all, this was D's official launch into the late 20s. and it was fun. but this whole business of turning 27 is rather horrifying, especially for those of us inflicted with MTD. 26 is nice. 26 is happy. 26 is still solidly mid-20s. 26 means it's okay i haven't made any major decisions. 26 means it's still charming, not a little sad, that i have a smurf sink and eat most my meals picnic style on the floor.

right?

anyways. thanks to D for paving the way. next up: amy's second annual one year closer to 30 champagne ball.

why my editor is so amazing

so, i came into the office today and sitting in front of my G5 was an advance copy of Writing to Change the World by Mary Pipher. the first graf from the back cover reads:

"Words are the most powerful tools at our disposal. With them, writers have saved lives and taken them, brought justice and confounded it, raised armies, started wars and ended them. Writers can change minds, alter the way people think, and transform our definitions of right and wrong."

AZ left the book for me last night. sigh. i think maybe (maybe?) he knows that writing about shopping is crushing my spirit. maybe.

i am going to try harder. i promise.

guido redux. and dots. lots and lots of dader dots.

there are, in my estimation, an infinite number of guidos available for examination in new york city. saturday night's jaunt to crobar, aka Guidoland, offered magnificent vistas full of these interesting specimens, which i think merit some discussion. here are my favorites.

the beefcake guido
the Beefcake is approximately 5'10" and 280 pounds, most of which is concentrated in the lats, pecs and biceps. it is necessary to build such muscle mass because the Beefcake's closet staple is the wifebeater, which is most often tucked into pleated trousers and worn with shiny leather shoes.

the sunglasses guido
the Sunglasses is also often wearing a wifebeater. though he is generally not as built as the Beefcake, he accessorizes the wifey with sunglasses. the Sunglasses often choose glasses of the silvery, tinted purple and blue variety. occasionally they are yellow. the Sunglasses guido often rests the glasses around the back of his neck; hangs them from the back of his collar; or, if he's feeling especially saucy, from his big silver chain.

the flammable hair guido
the Flammable guido creates minor rifts in the ozone layer wherever he walks. Flammable's hair often recalls a bad exxon accident, but in some instances can also be used as a lethal weapon. beyond the environmental hazard, Flammable's hair is often so spiky and hard that it may actually pierce the flesh.

the dancing guido
oh, Dancer guido! my most favorite of guidos! you can find the Dancer either standing in place pumping his fist in the air, or, enacting an odd ritual in which he rocks side to side and raises arms in unison, but does not bend his elbows. there is a small subset of Dancer guidos, that likes to push guidettes (see more below) against poles and walls and faux-fuck them from behind (often while pumping their fists in the air). this is considered courtship in some parts of Guidoland, i think.

now, let us not forget the guidettes. they, too, may be broken into several categories. they are often found in large herds trying to look nonchalant on the dance floor, or emerging from bathroom stalls vigorously rubbing their noses. however, after seeing a few too many asscracks, intentionally visible thong straps, and acrylic nails, i had to separate myself from the fray of guidettes before properly categorizing them, lest i collapse from the clouds of knockoff perfume.

still, i had much fun in Guidoland. it was the first time out and about listening to dance tunes with G in a long, long time, which was just generally awesome. in addition to bouncing to sweet beats from deep dish, we got to jump around to a happy dose of madonna, too, usually something that i can only accomplish while in my pjs while alone in my apartment. wahoo! i knew there was a reason why leaving the house after midnight was a good idea for this halmunee.


Guidoland was also made safe by NG & co. in addition to G, i had the (lucky?) protection of lots of brown people, who diffused the state of guido alarm quite nicely. i haven't seen NG since thanksgiving, and it made me happy to know that he wanted to trip guidettes while walking down the stairs just like i did. see all the nice brownies below. they were fun. dot!


all in all, it was a fantastic weekend. JH graced us with his lovely southern presence, both out on friday night and at a 3-mimosa brunch saturday; C & Y were wise enough to make the executive decision to booze all saturday afternoon after our 3-mimosa brunch, which led us to stumble happily about the east village in search of bottles of prosecco and a bar that would accomodate us at 1pm; BS had a lovely sushi soiree saturday evening during which i made the prettiest tuna rolls, thankyouverymuch; G saved me a cupcake from magnolia, which i know required all the strength and will in his soul; and i had a great great great inspiring wonderful playwriting class on sunday afternoon, despite a measly 4 hours of sleep and some weird sort of twitchy red bull & vodka hangover.

sigh. and now it's monday. there are no guidos in the offices of WWD, unfortunately. although there is work to be done. i know. weird right? sometimes i work.

i want

everything. right now. i want everything i want it all i want it now now now now nownownowNOW!

i want it so bad it actually hurts.

but ...

seriously?

ugh.

i'm bored. and stuck. time to leave.

step off.

why moving to brooklyn was the best idea ever reason #2

purim!

there have been signs up in my neighborhood for weeks now, advertising ... something. a big community issue? something sinister? something happy? the signs were big and yellow and plastered on my front door, on the telephone poles, on the fences. hasidic women with their strollers would gather around them and discuss them in earnest. men were posting them wherever there was an empty space. clearly something was going to happen.

but i had no idea what the signs said. i am a good jew (what other korean girl can kick out a round braided challah for rosh hashanah? l'shanah tovah, kids) but my jewish education stopped short of reading and writing hebrew. i realized today i've forgotten all the prayers i learned back at good old beth el and am shalom, but eh, jews don't believe in hell anyways. isn't it punishment enough that i've been surrounded by the chosen people my whole life and always known i'm not one of them?

but back to purim.

i noticed sunday night that the signs had magically disappeared from the neighborhood. i figured the party was over.

oh, how wrong i was! purim! today is purim, and what a party! the signs, must, must, must have been advertising the bangbang hullabaloos going on all over south williamsburg today. or at least, on my side of the tracks. seriously. i live in israel; my friends across broadway live in puerto rico. so this afternoon i went out to grab a salad and run some errands and was greeted with jewish children decked out in crazy elaborate costumes, from pirates (no ninjas, unfortunately), cats, angels, ballerinas, cartoon characters, or just made up with crazy circus makeup. moms weren't dressed up, but walking with strollers and carrying huge platters of food, everything from roasts and meatballs to what looked like roasted vegetables and bread baskets. daddys were running around carrying food and trying to contain the kids, and all the men seemed to be wearing these huge, round, furry hats even though its pulling near 60 degrees outside. everybody was going somewhere. at around 2pm, celebratory jewish music started blasting in my backyard.

i want in! i want to play!

crap. i'm not jewish. sigh.

this is becoming a recurring theme in my life. but, more about that some other time.

so, i did a little research, and learned from one of my favorite websites, jewfaq.org, that purim is kinda like a jewish mardi gras, with all the fun costumes and pomp. it celebrates when jews in persia were saved from persecution and extermination. the book of esther tells the story of esther basically rocking and saving everyone's life from hamam. so after paying respects to esther by fasting for a couple days, jews get to ... party. there's even a huge purim party tonight at the puck building, which when i went there last with C, was filled with queens and trannies and beautiful, beautiful half-naked boys raising money for an HIV/AIDS charity. i love new york.

anyways. the best part of purim, as i see it: "Jews are commanded to eat, drink and be merry. According to the Talmud, a person is required to drink until he cannot tell the difference between "cursed be Haman" and "blessed be Mordecai," though opinions differ as to exactly how drunk that is. A person certainly should not become so drunk that he might violate other commandments or get seriously ill. In addition, recovering alcoholics or others who might suffer serious harm from alcohol are exempt from this obligation."

i like when drinking is a duty to god. i can so get on board this thing. happy holidays.

alright

okay, i get it. i get it. after many moons of not getting it, saturday night i finally i got it.

salsa is fun. and, i'm never wearing high heels again.

about salsa: i've always been a proponent of shaking my booty, to most any manner of music. i heart dancing and i heart watching other people dance. lucky for me, i spend most my time with C, AS, Y, and G, all people who can manipulate their bodies uniquely and kinda magnificently. but even chumps who can't tell their feet from their ass look a little beautiful when they get that blissed-out smile that comes from connecting your body and your head to music. still, i've resisted salsa, even as everybody and their mother seems to get more addicted. maybe because there are actual steps to learn? because there are actual names of steps? or maybe because i need a partner to do it and i know how amazing that kind of physical connection can be and it just seemed like a terrible idea to pick up an addiction that requires a man and i know B is taking classes and that's just weird?

um. okay yeah i just said that.

anyways.

saturday night's journey, which culminated in a 1 a.m. trip to copacabana, actually began early in the week, when G began the hard sell on salsa lessons & drinks at his place before the late night trip to copa. i am usually all for lessons & liquor of any sort, but G lives in that funny haunted building which makes my whole body twist and churn (see "why moving to brooklyn was the best idea ever reason #1"), and i am a weenie, so i was scared.

his pitch promised:
1) fun
2) friends
3) a B-free safe zone, which he went to great lengths to create
4) homemade soup
5) a newly rearranged apartment

a day later i got the sell from AS. her pitch promised:
1) fun
2) friends
3) discount cover price
4) a beatdown should B somehow appear despite G's promise of a B-free safe zone

then Y, always the closer, chimed in. her pitch promised:
1) fun
2) friends
3) protective services entering and exiting the haunted building
2) snarky jokes about "street" salsa

and C, i can't forget C. because being the perfect national guardsman, she provided me yet another safe zone outside the world of salsa. her pitch:
1) fun
2) friends
3) dinner and a 10pm viewing of tsotsi at the angelica, my favorite movie theater

anyways. i succumbed to the sales. saturday night, with much hesitation, i showered and met Y to make the journey into the heart of darkness, armored in skinny jeans, a piece of shiny black fabric that posed as a shirt, and a pair of heels to make men cry.

and make me cry, too. despite all my fears and worries and anxieties about going to the haunted apartment building and my first night out tearing it up as a single girl, my shoes ended up being the one painful thing about my night. my only regret after an evening of lots of sweaty glorious dancing, wine, bad prosecco, bean soup, marc anthony, hilarious lessons, being grabbed by lots of short latin men and stared down by girls with a whole lot of jelly on display, were the goddamn peep-toe burnt-copper 4-inch heels. the pros? they're hot. they make me feel crazy tall and powerful and sexy and make me the only girl that can stand up to G on the dance floor. the cons? they hurt. the poor little pinky toes! the poor arches! the poor balls of my feet that have to sustain all my weight for hours and hours!

so, i'm retiring the shoes. i am weaning my addiction to painfully impractical high heels with a methadone-like substance called salsa. wish me luck.

musical notes & nonsense

my addiction for dandy warhols has been sated. kinda. i got my fix. i got a supplier. his name is J, and other than the fact that he lives 3,000 miles away, he is a very generous dealer.

it's not his fault i'm hooked. that fault lies with C, really, when she gave me my "welcome to williamsburg" cd back in early february. it's awesome. like, a lot awesome. however, it jump-started a need for dandys like i have never before experienced. i only had three tracks to devour, i was listening to "you were the last high" from welcome to the monkey house on repeat, and nothing was going to stop me. how could it? with lyrics like this?

so maybe you loved me
but now, maybe you don't
and maybe you'll call me
maybe you won't

um. okay. so maybe they are a little simple. maybe i just broke up with somebody. what-EV-er. it speaks to me. anyways, i was mourning the absence of more dandys in my life to anybody who would listen to me, and J, always one with an ear for addiction, responds one night with, "you've been listening to THOSE three songs over and over again?"

well, sure. i mean. yeah. somebody is going to put the padding up on the walls for me, right?

"you need more. which albums do you want? i have them all. whatever. you're getting them all."

i didn't think too much of it. conversations with J tend to approach pillow negotiation time, which means sometimes i can't always distinguish fantasy from reality, although i guess for me that's not something that's exclusive to nighttime discussions. anyways. i didn't think about it, because people say happy lovely things like that all the time, and when do they really follow through?

i clearly underestimated this one.

this weekend, i received "Tunes for Amy! V. 1 and V. 2," discs which were packed with a grand total of 1,043 songs, or a solid 3 days of music. in addition to a full dandys collection (thankyouthankyouthankyou) i got addiction starter kits for blonde redhead, snow patrol, the brian jonestown massacre, mineral, and tosca. the mega mix compilation also included some serious old-school addictions, from tortoise to smashing pumpkins to nada surf to the verve to one of my favoritist velvet underground songs ever, "i'll be your mirror."

call me a sucker. but try these on for size:

i find it hard
to believe you don't know
the beauty you are
but if you don't
let me be your eyes
into your darkness
so you won't be afraid

i think maybe i could be happy if nico sang me to sleep every night?

in other happy music news, G, Y, and AB and i are going to see the gorillaz at the apollo in a few weeks and soon after, C and i are going to check out say hi to your mom at bowery ballroom. i finally got AB's ryan adams cd back to him, but i am holding some music of G's hostage for a little while. i would share what it is but then everybody will want to borrow it, and that just wouldn't be fair to him. and i would like to be fair, if only because G has born the heavy, heavy, heavy brunt of most of my lunacy the past month or two, and yet he still somehow manages to find some redeeming quality about me and hang around, for which i can only be thankful and not ask any questions. maybe it's because i always let him eat half my food. hunh.

last thoughts, lifted from "equus" by blonde redhead, off of misery is a butterfly:

allow me to show you
the way in which i know you

i think you have just witnessed addiction being born ...

i wish i knew why ...

every time i am happy, i start to say goodbye.

an angel with bloody teeth

i heard several charming things today.

first, from K: "Because I would just keep the crazy bitches around so I could make fun of them to their faces without them realizing it."

second, from a cokehead filmmaker telling a cokehead reporter in the brazilian film carreiras: "You are an angel with bloody teeth."

third, from the wailing drummer and guitarist at Capone's: "Sex on the table is not very stable, so let's make dinner tonight."

maybe it says something about me that i find these phrases so delicious? hunh.

it's 12:08 am and i am about to turn into a pumpkin. i was reminded tonight of how AM's piano and C's laughter are among my most favoritist favoritist sounds in the whole world. both are therapeutic. lucky girl = me.

why moving to brooklyn was the best idea ever reason #1

ghosts are afraid of water.

a step by step course of events that explains how i know:

- A meets B.
- A & B are happy.
- A makes a home with B in a little building called 66 pearl.
- A & B are happy.
- A & B become not so happy.
- A & B find themselves with a friendly neighbor, G.
- A eventually makes a home on her own, without B.
- A is looking for music to match her mood, and borrows an album from AB.
- A's computer likes the cd so much, it refuses to let it out.
- A takes the stubborn computer to the Apple store.
- A meets a nice genius who says he needs to take the computer for 1 week.
- A has no idea how she will work, and while discussing movie tickets with him, tells G about her computer predicament.
- G offers up an extra laptop.
- A is happy.
- A realizes she has to go back to that little building 66 pearl in order to retrieve the extra laptop.
- A feels a little bit like she has to throw up.
- A tells the panicky voice in the back of her head to shut up and get over it.
- A goes with G to 66 pearl.
- A starts to feel a lot more like she has to throw up.
- A retrieves computer. while leaving, ghosts of B emerge from the walls of 66 pearl.
- A tells the ghosts to go away.
- ghosts ignore A.
- A is chased by ghosts out of the building, past the landmark deli, past goldman sachs, past duane reade, past starbucks, and down into the JMZ station.
- A tells the ghosts to leave her the fuck alone.
- ghosts continue to ignore A. ghosts dance around the train, hang from the poles, crowd her space, step on her toes, block the windows.
- A stares down the ghosts from broad, to fulton, to chambers, to canal, to bowery, to essex.
- A senses the ghosts weakening.
- the JMZ emerges from essex onto the williamsburg bridge. and poof! there go the ghosts. gone!
- A looks around. she checks under her seat. she looks in her bag. she taps the glass. no ghosts.
- A exits the marcy stop. still no ghosts.
- A approaches 285 division. no ghosts!

end results? A no longer feels like she has to throw up. i mean, i no longer feel like i have to throw up. i mean ... anyways. that was a fun game.