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March 30th, 2001
9:59am
5 pounds, 0 ounces
21.5" long
Of all the babies in the world, how did we get so lucky to have you?
Happy Birthday, my beautiful baby girl. You make me and my world a much better place.
I love you to the moon and back.
It's hard to believe I've posted 100 photo booth images but here it is. The theme this month is faceless. Indeed.
The little stuff.
wind and sea beach, san diego.
In the spirit of Liz Elayne's lovely project, 5 good things, I thought I'd post 5 really good things in my life right now.
My darling girl, when are you going to realize that normal isn't a virtue? It rather denotes a lack of courage.
-author unknown
I have been in a play music as much as possible mode.
I've also been in a I'm going to see as much live music as I can this year and it's not going to be a big venue or big ticket price mode; instigated by the ridiculous ticket price and shitty seat location of the Foo's, when they played Madison Square Garden.
The Raveonettes were the first of the concerts that I'm seeing in the next couple months. I'm proud that so far, I've held to the small venue, low ticket price. The one exception will be Radiohead if I can get tickets, which I'm not very hopeful about, feh.
I'm really looking forward to seeing Kate Nash, whose album makes me smile as I sing at the top of my lungs.
In May, M and I will see Los Camepsinos at the Bowery Ballroom. My favorite DJ on Sirius channel, Left of Center said the band is great live and since I can't stop dancing when I hear the single, I'm quite certain the band won't disappoint.
I'm definitely on a mission to see and hear as much music as I can, especially this summer. Join me?
With a new iPod and loads of memory, I'm ready to bust a move. Always on the lookout for new tunes, let me know your go-to favorites, what music excites you or even your old standards. I'm listening.
I've lived in the NYC metropolitan area for 15 years and it's a little shocking to me, that I have never been to Maxwell's. As a Manhattanite, it's perfectly justifiable to not cross the river into Jersey when you've got terrific venues just a subway away.
Foolish girl! Maxwell's just might be my favorite East Coast venue, (although I have to wait and see The Bowery Ballroom) to be certain.
Small and intimate, there is no shitty spot at Maxwell's. The capacity is around 300 people and watching a band in that environment feels like you've been invited to an amazing house party that everyone wants to be at.
Nicole and I had the great pleasure of meeting Rachel, her lovely husband two of their friends, the wonder twins (who really are wonderous), for the show.
We decided to meet for dinner in the restaurant part of Maxwell's so we could chat before the show, (which didn't seem like enough time), and once inside we all went to our respective spots. Rachel and her sweetie pushed to the front while claustro me stood on a little bench-thing which turned out to be brilliant, I could see everything.
The first band, Black Acid, had too much distortion and a singer that looked as though he would hurl any moment. Their short set took for-eva and finally, with much anticipation, it was time for the Raveonettes.
I was so impressed. Much better than I'd expected, the Raveonettes rocked the house with distortion of the best possible kind. Even the songs I wasn't familiar with were terrific - the sound is great and their stage presence was captivating.
(too bad I didn't get a photo with Rachel too.)
Shitty quality photos of the band but still.
Andrea's been mixing it up over at photo booth Friday with a theme, (if you choose), each month. March is faceless. I had this great idea: a strip of the kiddie song, head, shoulders, knees and toes. Much harder to accomplish inside the booth than I'd imagined. This was the best of the four frames.
The little stuff.
I haven't done a random post in awhile and felt the need to catch up on what's been catching my eye.
I'm reading book number three in this series and it's not pulling me in. I think I should have read them in succession, but I purposely left the book at home while we vacationed in Cali. I needed to read Animal, Vegetable, Miracle for bookclub, and our six hour plane ride home was going to present the perfect opportunity to dig in.
I hate to admit that I didn't. I just couldn't get into this book. I don't always love Barbara Kingsolver. Even though I think she's a gifted writer and I'm drawn to her work because of the subject, I often find myself skimming and drifting to sleep, instead of captivated by what I'm reading.
One of the women in my bookclub has a brother that is living the very life Kingsolver writes about. The brother and his family own a small farm and they make a living off their land. They have a CSA and sell at local farmer markets. They're a small operation, trying to reduce their footprint and make a difference in their community. The sister-in-law was invited to bookclub as a guest of honor and it was informative and fun to listen to the stories of their daily life. And I loved listening to the discussion of the book; more of interest to me in the condensed version of conversation than actually having to read.
Instead of reading Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, I went to a bookstore in Cali and picked up the sequel to this achingly, bittersweet book. I'm a sucker for novels set in Ireland, and Irish characters even if they aren't in Ireland. Roddy Doyle's books are rich in character analysis; completely drawing the reader into his world. Paula Spencer is more uplifting than The Woman Who Walked into Doors. Perhaps there's a trilogy in the works, like this one, another favorite.
Guilty pleasure no. 1
I guess I have to admit that I like reality TV. L.A. Ink and Project Runway. Top Chef and Workout. Most of the shows are on Bravo, one could argue. Considering I've also watched the supermodel show, Bravo or ABC, reality TV is all the same. I spend my lunch hour in the family room, eating and watching one of my shows.
Guilty pleasure no.2
Oxygen magazine. I've exercised most of my adult life in some form. I know my way (weigh) around the gym and know enough that I need to mix it up; doing the same routine becomes, too routine. I like to read Oxygen because it gives good, basic weight routines and workouts. The focus is on clean living and there are simple recipes that are healthful and easy.
All good, but there's another reason, (there always is), that I like Oxygen over other fitness magazines: the pictures. In the back of the magazine are photos from fitness and sports competitions and this is what I like.
Pumped up women with vascular arms and legs; with teeth so white they glow. Ridiculously tan skin, their muscles bulge beneath skimpy strips of nylon, barely covering their contorted poses. It's a little like looking at this book for me; I'm simultaneously fascinated and repelled.
The ghost was one of the chuppah holders at our wedding; one half of a couple that were our closest, couple friends. M met T.M. and N at the symphony years before we'd started dating, a mutual friend introducing them.
The first time we all met was a sticky summer day; our destination Lollapalooza out on Randall's Island. 10 hours in the hot sun allows for a lot of time to get to know one another and we quickly began to spend time regularly with them, always as a couple.
T.M. was and probably still is, demonstrative; the hugger and kisser of both men and women. He was also an avid listener, always asking questions and really tuning in to what you were saying. And he was complimentary; always a kind word offered, always encouraging.
I don't even remember the first time I started feeling uncomfortable when T.M. and I would talk. We were always with his wife and the mister in the room or at the very least, within ear shot.
A comment. A remark. Here and there, words that made me uncomfortable, were slipped into seemingly innocent conversations. I'd mention it to M and he always defended T.M., believing he didn't mean to be anything but complimentary, because he was that touchy-feely kind of guy.
And, they were close friends.
Having been around the block, and back, I know when a man is making comments he shouldn't be. I've had a life time of 'comments' professionally, (a story for another time), and personally, and I think there's a huge karmic lesson in all of that that is being missed by me. Seriously.
Lest you think I might have been reading into what was being said, I'll share a couple of particularly awkward moments:
"you're going to be on the beach in italy, are you going to be topless? i never get to see anyone good topless, too bad we're not going."
So was this one, whispered across the dinner table with M sitting right by my side:
"you're an incredibly sexy pregnant woman"
um, ew.
I'm so lame in moments like this. I come up with the best comebacks after the fact. Instead I stand or sit in place, letting the crickets chirp while I try to get myself out of the hole.
Usually, I'd pretend as though I hadn't just heard what he said and I'd change the subject.
I know I should have said something, but the workings of his compliments were subtle and fucked with my head. What if I was just reading into his very metro-sexual way of talking to the ladies? Some men have the M.O. of 'sensitive, complimentary, listening guy'... It would have been a suck-ass situation to call a friend out like that and then be wrong, so I didn't.
I always felt a strain with N, like she knew her husband was saying things he shouldn't, and that I should have been standing up for myself, when I wasn't.
When we moved to Brooklyn we didn't see T.M. and N as much. Our lives didn't intersect once we moved across the river; the effort too great to be spontaneous.
Every summer, Brooklyn has a great movies series, a classic film shown outside under the stars. One such evening, N decided to come to Brooklyn on a whim.
On the walk over to the venue, she shared that she'd left T.M., divorce was imminent. She began a long story of T.M.'s alter-ego; a narcissist with a mission to seduce N's friends and any woman he crossed paths with. Apparently, T.M. had been dropping innuendos and whispered compliments all around town, finally finding a taker in a good friend of N's, finding out all the sordid details through gossip.
Vindication! Except I felt dirty afterwards. I did a lot of wondering about my own actions; what was it that gave him the idea that I might be interested? As I said before, this wasn't unfamiliar territory for me. I felt guilty and responsible.
You can imagine my reticence to engage in conversation, let alone the first conversation since the last time we'd seen one another, (the night of the sexy pregnant woman comment), when we ran into one another a few weeks ago.
A ghost from the past, reinvented. A new wife and name (he dropped the T), a new life. With enough of the narcissist intact, to reminisce about the past, while I cringed.
The politics of being a girl are less complicated and solitary when you have good friends.
A soul sister who understands and accepts you; good, bad and in between.
Shoulder to shoulder, your experience of this world is richer because of your affinity.
more self portraits here.
