**Crazy Newsflash**

Wedding Season has begun(!!)

The first of my friends my age has gotten engaged, with the wedding to be in August/September!
Warmest congratulations to Tova and Ithamar!
Babies. I expect lots and lots and lots of Jewish babies to result from this happy couple's union.
She best be changing her facebook profile soon

PS: this makes the E(weddings in near-ish future) = 2!

I was gifted a book for Christmas by a close friend. "The Piano Tuner." I suppose one could read it for all sorts of reasons and notice all sorts of things. What I noticed most sharply though, was the love story. I won't go into all the details, but suffice to say it has some poignant, touching scenes. And the story isn't even a love story, but more of a retrospective critique of British imperialism framed in fiction.

Maybe this is all just a sign that I am in love. It's not that I feel I'm still in that honeymoon phase. There are sometimes dark clouds and bad thoughts about how the whole thing makes me just a vulnerable mess but honestly, I'm here and evidently not leaving. So I love boy. Yeah, he's on my mind in spare moments, and in my happiest ones too. I guess I know it's real when I realize that I never have to talk to anyone else about anything. There's also this vague sense of everything being "right" in the world when I'm with him. He is probably the only one in the world who can calm me down, and he does. He does all he can for me, and sometimes I see the struggle of what would be easiest and what would be the greatest expression of his feelings on his face, but when it matters, i suppose he puts me first. He listens to me, too and takes to heart what I say. I do the same, as far as I know, but you never notice this within yourself so much as you do your beloved; I suppose on the whole you may more attention to them than you do yourself. Merry Christmas, baby.

You are special because:
-You don't care even though I insulate my own windows and have a man's wallet with no change purse.

So, on my list of acquisitions to replace my broken dejected electronic equipment are two things that I've researched and loved to death: the iriver U10 (when it comes out in February, it will have a significantly bigger capacity) and the Shure E3 headphones with a pair of Sensaphonics custom silicone earpieces. And I realize they might look like hearing aids, but really I could care less; 26Dbs of sound isolation plus the sound of Shures? there's absolutely no contest. Besides, I can get colors for the plugs too, so I'll probably get something super exciting (like orange and red) or something super boring so that when I'm in my ultra-conservative law firm on the Street, I won't get stares from my co-workers.

I'm also going through the inanely time consuming process of perhaps taking my MP3 collection and replacing all the low-bitrate versions of the songs. For Free. On Limewire. On another note, I would have to say: I downloaded a MASSIVE 9Mb version of Mariah Carey's "Don't Forget About Us" and it's fucking incredible in terms of musicality and depth. It's indistinguishable from the album version. It's also massive and i'm not sure I'd be too happy with the doubling of every single song size wise. I also turned my PSP into a remote control for itunes yesterday (suuuuper cool so I can sit on my futon and change songs). All the while I should actually be studying for exams and the like. What a party. I have two left today, then I can concentrate on revelling in the ecstasy the lyrics "Late nights, playing in the dark, waking up inside my arms..." bring me in all their Hi-Def glory.

Speaking of which, I will call the boy and disturb him at school today.

So a bunch of stuff happened since I last wrote, awesome stuff mostly but really I have no energy to write about them now. Suffice to say my hockey teammates are fucking hilarious. My feet hurt like hell right now. I walked all over town today, fighting the goddamn tourists who did nothing but get in the way of my shopping and my little "excursion."

I had to go to MOMA (thank god for free tickets. No free ticket = no go. I'll spend my 20 bucks elsewhere, thank you) to find paper topic fodder so I'm writing about the exhibit of Odilion Redon's work and I had to shit some random junk up about a few of the works found in the museum. I figure I'll finish both on Monday at Harvs and email them to my prof. The Core office is also paying for food after the Thursday night review session and Matt, Ying, Linden and I are looking to get Masha trashed on some vodka. She being a tall Russian will probably drunk us under the table but who cares...it's the core office paying for it!

I have realized that I have gotten old WAYYYYy too fucking fast. I should still be doing stupid stupid shit like going to clubs and getting wasted. Instead, I'm hitting obscure little restaurants and A-list restuarants with too much regularity and legitimately drinking off the damn wine lists. I could use a little more stupid crap this year. I think that will all begin during Paris '06, when Ganges, Xiao and I basically stomp around with La Grande Dame poised for a week of indiscriminate eating and debaucherous tomfoolery. It will be the rebirth of M4/S6 me. I WILL BE MY OWN REINCARNATION.

In other news: Ted's Ipod (which is now my Ipod) acts all funny when it's connected to my Dock. Not that I really care. As long as it charges, I figure I'm winning. Also, Konnin and Renee have discovered my wicked lucrative Ebay tactics. They're looking to enlist me as Ebay junkie full time. I'm pretty stoked, as it means more money for the four of us (Ted included, of course) to go burning on A-list restuarants. Not that money has ever prevented us from doing it either...

In other news, my dad has shingles (the nerve infection derivative of the chicken pox virus) and the hilarious thing is I diagnosed it (with absolutely no authority to, mind you) correctly over the phone. I crack even myself up. I have so much fucking work to do this week when I'm at Harvs...I shudder to think. Whatever. Ted and I are going to dress pretty and blow our Ebay earnings at Upstairs in the Square (soso food but it's the best in the Square) and probably a fuckload of Ben and Jerry's too. Awesome.

This post was going to be about the Liberal Hippie Douchebags I find so tiresome in life, but instead, i have decided to fill out this self-awareness quiz. These answers will be infinitely more interesting than answers of this nature usually are

e s s e n t i a l s


name: Tiffany (why don't I have a "the fourth" preceding my four names??)
single or taken: taken, and enjoying the sex.
sex: yes please
bday: April 29th
sign: Taurus, and don't you know it.
siblings: My parents had me and said "NO MORE"
hair colour: black
eye color: brown
height: A very mighty 5'2


r e l a t i o n s h i p s


who is your best friend?: Ted
do you have a boyfriend/girlfriend?: Yes, but sometimes he acts like a girlfriend
did you send this to your crush?: what?
did your crush send this to you?: what?



f a s h i o n | s t u f f


where is your favourite place to shop: Barneys Co-Op and Saks. Recently, the Rogan sample sale
any tattoos or piercing: I have a full body tattoo which I cover with foundation so you just don't see it


s p e c i f i c s


do you do drugs?: well, maybe I used to
what kind of shampoo do you use?: Pert Plus chased with a healthy dose of Frederic Fekkai glossing conditioner
what are you listening to right now?: That new Eurythmics song
where do you want to get married?: It's a tossup between St Patty's on 5th and the Coyote Ugly bar
how many buddies are online right now?: Hell if I knew. I'm not checking
what would you change about yourself?: absolutely nothing


f a v o u r i t e s


colour: Blue, probably. I don't know I own a lot of blue things and tend to gravitate towards them
food: good food. Any good food. And by good, I don't mean shit like Morton's or the Outback Steakhouse. Don't insult me like that.
boys names: Nicholas, Scott, Nathan
girls names: Madison, Tiffany
animals: Chaircat mao and Shawn the Sheep. Stitch is also alright too, but he's technically not an animal. Ted and I pine for a real cat.
sports: Don't even get me started, I won't finish. Let's just say I went for a ride today and have hockey in about an hour


h a v e | y o u | e v e r


given anyone a bath?: If you mean to ask me whether i've showered with someone...
smoked?: yes, but that was in my impressionable days before i knew it was bad for me
bungee jumped?: no
made yourself throw up?: Why the fuck would you want to do that?
skinny dipped?: no.
ever been in love?: yes, but i regularly fall out of it temporarily when he drools on my arm or pushes me off the bed
made yourself cry to get out of trouble?: no, that's just pathetic
pictured your crush naked?: So that dude who's Ted's fakey friend is cute, but I think I'd probably laugh at him if i pictured him naked
actually seen your crush naked?: evidently not
cried when someone died?: Do movies count?
lied?: Half of this shit is a lie. Figure out which half
fallen for your best friend?: Yes, see above.
been rejected?: Yes
rejected someone?: I throw that shit down like it's my JOB
used someone?: definitely. You could be next
done something you regret?: hahahahahaha i don't regret. I'm stoic like that


c u r r e n t


clothes: My new Rogan pinstripey pants
music: Nothing really, unless old school Air Supply and ABBA and
make-up: NARS
pet peeve: Liberal Hippie Douchebags, and the uselessness that is the United Nations
smell: Ted, or, in a pinch, Creed's Imperial Millesme
desktop picture: The Sovereign's Gate at Westminster Abbey
favourite artist: I don't art, either
favourite groups: Most groups aren't good enough to be called my favorite. They have a song or two.
book you are reading: the Souls of Black Folk (W.E Du Bois) and Woolf's "Three Guineas"
cd in player: The Reunion concert of Simon and Garfunkel in Central Park
dvd in player: I don't movie
colour of toenails: I don't do this either. pedicures are easier and they always do a better job


l a s t | p e r s o n


you touched: Hell if I knew
you im'ed; Audrey, yelling at what a moron she is
you yelled at: See above
you kissed: Obviously, Ted.


a r e | y o u


understanding: absolutely not
arrogant: yes, and it's a refreshing change that someone is honest enough to say it
insecure: sometimes
interesting:Who the fuck makes this shit up??
random:
smart: I once beat a guy up. does that count?
moody:
organized: nope
healthy: I try to be, but then it all gets washed down with fried chicken or booze
bored easily: yes.
shy: No. BRING IT.
difficult: yes
attractive: To the lesbians in the DFC who follow me around and to the 40 something year old executives who bike in central park, incredibly so!
messy: yes
responsible: responsibility is for assclowns
hyper: I dont' have energy for that anymore
happy: Not happy that I have to schlepp to 116th and Broadway in 10 minutes, but yes
trusting: Nope
talkative: Yes


w h o | d o | y o u | w a n n a


kill?: Liberal Hippie Douchebags
slap: See above
get really wasted with? I'd have to say....Prince William or in a pinch my friends
get high with: the cycling team
talk to offline: a friend or two I haven't seen in years
talk to online: whoever's online


r a n d o m


in the morning: n/a
all i need is: a hell of a lot. I don't pretend to be minimalist in this regard
love is: Having a stuffed cat in co-custody but pretending it's real and bringing it between its homes
i dream about: nothing. I can't remember them or i don't dream


w h i c h | i s | b e t t e r


Coke or Pepsi: coke
Flowers or candy: Flowers
tall or short: tall


o p p o s I t e | s e x


what do you notice first: hot or not
makes you laugh the most: hahahahah I won't answer this for fear of being too explicit
makes you smile: hot boys
him/her: him, although the lesbians in the DFC wish it were another way


d o | y o u | e v e r


sit on the Internet all night waiting for that someone special to IM you? NO
wish you were a member of the opposite sex? No, because boys are retarded and unrefined
wish you were younger: no.
cried because someone said something to you?: do movies count?


f i n a l | q u e s t i o n s


do you like fillings these out? not really they take too long
gold or silver: really is this even a question
favourite cartoon/anime: I dont' watch this stuff. Cartoon maybe calvin and hobbes?
what did you have for breakfast this morning: ?
who would you love being locked in a room with: Ted, but let's hope to god the room would stay locked...
could you live without your computer: no
would you colour your hair: yes
drink alcohol?: VEUVE CLICQUOT LA GRANDE DAME FRANCE '06, bitch!
like watching sunrises or sunsets?: Sunsets are nice. sunrises are oppressively early

I am becoming progressively more and more anally retentive, I think! I went into the bathroom and for the first time noticed that all the bottles of shampoo and conditioner and such are tilted and precisely the same 45 degree angle on the shower ledge and that all the bottles on the above sink shelf are lined up evenly. Of course I'm still same old me though because shit is everywhere in the rest of the apartment (though i suppose in straight little lines and piles). I must be getting this from my boyfriend. Ted is anally retentive and he has become more laid back and *slightly* less uptight. I think he is stealing my signature character trait and in exchange leaving me some of his anal retentiveness. I don't have time to contemplate the metaphysics of it all and actually I need to return to this paper which clearly has not been completed but is so incredibly incredibly due today. Of course it doesn't help that I went riding with the boys last night, who, instead of riding "slow" like they said they would, made a paceline and did some serious sprints. Clearly, I will need to be on the rollers a lot more and pulling cadences more around 100 because me ass got kicked on a few of those hillsprints. Boys.

On a side note, I am usually not impressed with things termed "feminist" but Virginia Woolf's Three Guineas is a fabulous book. In fact, one of my new favorite quotes comes from its pages and with that, I leave you:

"By chastity is meant that when you have made enough to live on by your profession you must refuse to sell your brain for the sake of money. That is you must cease to practice your profession, or practise it for the sake of research and experiment; or, if you are an artist, for the sake of art; or give the knowledge acquired professionally to those who need it for nothing. But directly the mulberry tree begins to make you circle, break off. Pelt the tree with laughter."

Here is a shiny new picture of Class Ring. He is camera shy and my apartment is small so I had to take the shot of him from an overhead angle to get every part of him in. His teeth are very white and they give off a little glare. Cute. Of course Class Ring is a boy. I am in love with my cat, my bike and my man. They all have to be boys. I am, as a matter of principle, in love with boy things and not girl things. I am searching for a new pair of shoes for him and a treadmill for him too.

Ohhhhhhhhh "Class Ring" came today. I decided to name my bike "Class Ring" because it cost more than one and I can say I bought a "Class Ring". It so so SO sweet. Pictures when I get around to taking a picture of it. It is suuuuper specc'ed out:

Ultegra everything. EVERYTHING Ultegra
Some Carbon, some aluminum
Time Pedals
Fizik Arione Special edition saddle (it just looked really good on the bike)
and soon to be
Fizik Microtek bar tape. in SILVER. hahaha yum.

On another note, I am in a princess phase of life again. I want to be a princess. Princess meee. Princess me NOW.

Love, Tiffany.

I am recovering nicely from the onslaught of last week, thankfully with the help of my five day weekend. Unfortunately, lord knows I had a shitload of things to do during this five day weekend, not the least of which involved reading the entire "On Liberty" by John Stewart Mill and writing an ArtHum paper. If I can email a draft to my instructor in the next six hours, I will potentially get some feedback on it, which is exciting. I just may exercise that option to prevent myself from getting blindsided by her unfounded criticisms yet again.

I bought a bike on Saturday, to replace the ride I'm selling/prettymuch already have sold - my old faithful C'dale which was just too harsh of a ride for any serious racing. Unfortunately, the bike store seems to have lost my bike...when I called them for the shipping number, their computer was down and they said they'd call in about twenty minutes to let me know the tracking information for the rather hard to lose bike box. No problem. They called back and said they'd need a little more information to find the bike so I gave them a bunch of stuff like the model and what it was tricked out with, etc. Also, no problem. It's been an hour and a half later though and I haven't gotten a call back and I'm started to get a little worried. I called them a few minutes ago looking for the dude I spoke with on both occasions and he seems to have vanished into thin air, too. I'll be really peeved if anything happens because I spent a good long time deciding which bike i wanted and what to slap on it.
I went with an Orbea with full Ultegra and Shimano 550 wheels, Time pedals and a Fizik Arione saddle (probably the most exciting part of the whole purchase. Yes, I'm a dork that way.) I will defintiely have the status of my bike before 8:00pm which is when they close. Or so I tell myself. Argh.

So I feel like this blog needs more pictures than it's been getting lately and these pictures will come at the expense of...Chinese homework for a little while. So I will feature a picture of the boy that I'm sure he doesn't want posted. Hahahaha.

1: Slutty underwear and fancy jeans:



There's a great story behind this pair of underwear. Let's just say he was massively pressured into buying it by me because I thought they looked really hot. They're black with a red band. And kinda tight. hehehehehe.

And maybe on that same theme of red things, a picture of ABE, the Automatic Benthic Explorer developed at the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute (WHOI) in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. This was about 300miles off the coast of Fiji in the Eastern Lau Spreading Basin (unLEASH the inner dork!) I also have datasets for all these dives if anyone's interested!



And this dude is Gordon Perry, father of pro surfer Tamayo Perry. And one cool bastard on that boat, the Kilo Moana:



I'm also going to add this excerpt from one of my readings about Goya's Caprichos etchings. I lie not, this is EXACTLY what it says:

"The aim of the simultaneous presence of the instrument of optical magnification (which points as much to the register as it does to the double sex displayed in the foreground) and the laughing, jeering faces placed around this focus would appear to highlight the scandalous detail. The stomach-face is an ancient figure in orgiastic rights, which, in the form of Baubo the vulva-goddess, provoked veneficial and regenerative laughter, and which survived in the carnivalesque processions until the end of the eighteen century...Not so common, but there all the same, was the double presentation of Baubo (the mythical vulva) and Baubon (the symbolic phallus). Goya includes this motif in his drawings, combining both sexes in one and the same person."

The picture is people staring at a pregnant lady, smiling. I love art criticism.

Ganges called me tonight and we the most fucking amazing one and a half hour roast session on none other than the poisonous bane of my high school existence, Ms CHOW. I learned some pretty hilarious dirty secrets about this one and I honestly can't fucking stand her pompous ass. It was great...he met her and now neither he nor my other good Columbia friend can STAND her ass. unfortunately, they're trapped for another 8 months by almost daily contact with her in France. I nearly peed my pants laughing when i heard about her ridiculousness. The next time someone tries to blow me off by saying that she "walks by the Etro store every day on her way to class," I will smoke her ass by saying i OWN pieces from both the latest collection and past collections PRIOR to Etro's enormous fame. FUCK YOU.

My fuzzy slippers arrived the other day and the boy is dying to try them on. Too bad my cat stole one of them and is now practically living in it. He will have to wrestle it away from the cat if he wants to wear it and he will then be obliged to keep the cat warm because my ChairCat Mao isn't going to freeze so that HIS foot can be comfortable. Jesus I am definitely losing it.

I am also hurrying to finish Burke and his Reflections on the French Revolution which will hopefully make me not fail this fucking CC midterm. School sucks. Why am i still here?? Marxian analysis of this problem says that the superstructure of social understanding (as well as my parental units' control) is horrifically mismatched with whichever modes of production I emply to produce. Of course, instead of the superstructure changing, poor little Proletariat me is stuck in school. This is a terrible Commodity fetishism and objectification of my person. AGHHHHHH.

At least I might pass.

I am back on the laptop for a bit, and thus with IE formatting this posting will be prettier than its preceding ugly forefathers. I am sitting here cold in my apartment reading Marx trying to digest his incoherent psychobabble about why he believes the political economy alienates labor. I have been hunting for a good hour and a half now and haven't found anthing beyond assertions that it does so and no good proof. This is going to be a joy to stomp into class tomorrow with. Sigh. If only I didn't have to fend off the flaming Marxists in my class. Furthermore, I have read the communist manifesto and find it to be full of holes. I love how hippies at my high school used to cite it as if they actually knew what it was talking about. Ditto for Rousseau and the social contract. Just remember, friend, the proletariat can never exist (if you care to know why, consider the assumptions Marx and Engels make about the proletariat and what he must do and what he must not have in order to qualify. Gender and conserative self-interest are two of them). Hahahhahaha. Thinking about that warms my blood a degree or two and now I am going to bed.

Jesus christ I need some lube.

Bike lube, you pervert (although boy and I already have the other kind). My bike sounded like the creaking of a thousand mousewheels today as i was biking through the park. To top it all off it was cold and wind was fierce leaving my legs feeling numbish and wind whipped. It was, needless to say, a *short* ride. Maybe I will work harder tomorrow. I could seriously use a long ride but my unwillingness to go out in this pseudo coldish weather is seriously hampering that right now. I will go out on at least one more ride this weekend for sure and it will be pleasant.

and fuck ya, this apartment needs cleaning tomorrow. Tomorrow, I become Martha fucking Stewart (she has street cred now 'cause she's been in the slammer). Please refer to me tomorrow morning only as "M-Dawg." Shit will be SO clean.

Today, some thoughts on "relationship capital." I can't deny it's one of the most important "investments" someone can make, but at the same time, potentially one of the most costly (if things don't turn out the way you'd hoped they would). Maybe that's the beauty of a real relationship, though - the knowledge that what you have is remarkably real and that the distance you have to "fall" should anything happen is so much larger than it is for anything else in life. What compells people to build this "relationship capital" though? I remember there was once I was perfectly happy - and perfectly single; perhaps it was the golden year of my life, my senior year of high school. Something (or rather, someone) pulled me away from that state of happiness, having unconsciously convinced me that it would be "better" to pursue something different. I was depraved enough, I think, not to really expect nor want anything out of "love," and one person changed my mind. I'm still trying to figure out what it was that pushed the happy me into letting go and accepting that risk for the off chance that I could be even happier. Maybe it's something that's innate, or maybe it's conditioning from all those damn Disney movies. Maybe it's a mixture of both, I don't know.

I think the fact that I understand how difficult it is to slowly get yourself to the point where you're comfortable with investing so much in "relationship capital" has made me a lot more sympathetic to when I hear about what it is that "ruins" the "investment" so to speak. Things that go wrong - little things that snap and make you fall so hard towards nothingness from the perch you took so long coaxing yourself to and being comfortable with. It's easier to fall off the higher branches of a tree and it hurts a lot more too. I think knowing what that's like also allows me to be devastated when I hear of another being shot off that high perch. Sometimes you sit there and look around and realize that it's so easy to fall off. You wonder sometimes whether it's almost better to crawl back down to the safer space of being alone, out of love to where you can't be hurt and you can never run the risk of it. But then again, that would be cowardice. So here I sit. And yeah, I'm comfortable here.

So shit. On the shopping list this christmas are THREE of those new iPods. One nano and two of the big schmancy Ipods. I will be needing all the discounts I can get for these things...One is going to Renee (the nano) along with a slew of things to keep it safe, and the other two are going to me and boy, Jingle Jingle. We'll probably be really gross and match too, because I just ordered us some furry shearling slippers from this tiny workshop in Vermont. I promise they will keep our feet toasty in the apartment.

So from now until the end of December-ish, I will be on absolute starvation rations and will be spending money on Nothing. I am also excessively happy that I have the BestBuy reward program thingy because it looks like I am going to be seriously racking up some points. My Ebaying pace will also increase feverishly.

MROWWWRRRRRR AMERICAN CONSUMERISM!

So I read this totally weird article in some campus supplement magazine today about how there are people getting married in college. My friend Karen and I had a talk about this. It is perfectly fine to decide at this age that you want to get married/engaged. It's a little shocking, but if you've got your head screwed on right and you feel like this is responsibility you can handle and you want to, please, by all means go for it. BUT HAVE SOME CLASS, people and don't LIVE IN A DORM as a married couple(!). Like that Harvard couple who got married on the lawn of KIRKLAND HOUSE. Please, that just makes us all ill and verymuch weirded out. You may be verymuch in love and decide you're ready to take that step, but being married and still living in a college dorm just signals to the rest of us that you enjoy and have a propensity to be an awkward person. "Mrs Walther Smith, by way of Kirkland house" At least wait until you have your OWN place (or get one, quickly) and you aren't perfectly reliant on mom and dad to pay for your entire LIFESTYLE.

In other remotely weird news, my ipod, whom I have affectionately named "Fluffy II" is now in a permanent state of rest, I think, after having suffered an early death. I'm not an ipod-dropper, either. I am pulled in various directions when considering whether or not to acquire another iPod or just to tough out life relatively silently. This just in. While writing this blog, it was brought to my attention that there is a new, video ipod out in black and it holds 30 gigabytes of music. This just may be the little push i needed to get me to buy an ipod. Well done, Steve. I am tempted and temptation and I go hand in hand, traditionally. A video Ipod it is, then.

To work now, because accounting doesn't care if the new video ipod is really nice or not.

An incredibly busy week (yes, even though it's barely started) so I interrupt only to bring this super important newsflash. I have come to the grand realization that I need an every day car and that two seats is perhaps only practical for weekends. Hence, the grand compromise:

The Maserati Quattroporto for weekdays because it's elegant, smart and right on point (just like me) and The McClaren F1 Road for the weekends, because it's mean, fast, and will kick your ass (just like me.)

That's all.

Jesus it's been a rough three days. Thank god tomorrow is Thursday, cause I really really need it.


You can swallow, or you can spit,
You can throw it up or choke on it,
You can dream, so dreamm out loud
You know that your time is comin' round
so don't let the bastards grind you down
- "Acrobat" U2

Hear that, bastards?
Then again, life is going pretty good

Each day that passes, I think to myself: accounting is really the nadir of my life. I mean *really.*

I am so so SO tired. I am falling over myself with symptoms of old foginess (no, not fogginess). Today I was completely spent after riding 12 miles and proceeded to sleepwalk to the rest of my classes after rushing to finish the damn accounting problem set due today. As poetic justice, I stayed awake in all of my classes except accounting, where my good friends V and Karen tallyed the minutes for which I was certifiably asleep. 6:43-7:05. Not bad for an in class nap. Too bad the class decided to drag on one HIDEOUS HOUR after that. I seriously do not know what I am going to do. Accounting seems to drain the life blood out of me. It is 9:24pm and i am now yearning for bedtime. Instead, I get HumeTime.

So in my quest to dominate the part of the world that is rightfully mine (That big ugly thing in Asia-land), I am taking Chinese for white kids. Two questions often arise.

How is that part of the world rightfully yours? ah, gentle reader, you are in the (virtual) presence of ROYALTY. Apparently on both sides of my family, I am descendent of two separate dynasties (and you thought they got em all in that massacre, hrm?) I'm closest to the Song "throne" on my mother's side, I guess - my grandmother is apparently the 33rd direct descendant. Making me the 35th. We even have this crazy ancient book proving it, which is hilarious to me. My dad's side is a little farther off (more distantly related to the throne), but hell still verymuch in that tree, still descendent from the man - he's related to the Han dynasty, and my grandfather has got the dish on *those* papers. That makes MY blood bluer than 99% of the people out there, thereby meaning I am severely deoxygenated. How sweet it is.

the second question is: "Chinese for white kids? why?" Because I am white. I mean I guess it was destiny that made me not know anything to do with china-land because the legend just gets sweeter when they recount how I at the age of 20 had to learn the language of the people before moving on to overturning the commie leaders in a violent yet magnificent bloodbath remenicent of Big Man Han original. Back to my damn flashcards I go.

I would like to request armistice (actually, rather, a cease fire) from econometrics. It is being mean to me and manipulating letters (such as E,X,Y,Z,Fs, etc) in very very un-understandable ways. for example:

E(E(xIy) = E(x). Why this is true, I still don't know. There's a law that says it is though and I haven't been arrested yet and i don't want to, so I'll go along with it.

Also, if Y = a +bx +u
and (u I x) = 0

E(Y) somehow becomes a + bE(x). My head hurts.

Something tells me I should have majored in dance or something. At least there's not much to understand and just a lot to have to know how to do. I don't understand anything in economics anymore and I don't understand what to do. I feel as if the entire entabulature of the Parthenon has fallen on my poor head (I am also right now studying art hum. can you tell?). Pain. The architrave hit me twice.

Hypothesis: My pheramones are titanium.

Materials: camelbak hydration pack, Cannondale R1200 '98 model, Ugly biking clothing comprising of a yellow and purple Jersey (1), Cycling shorts with a pair of shorts on top (1 of each), and a pair of black oakley sunglasses (1)

Procedure:
Bike four loops in central park starting from the 106th entrance on a Saturday.
Count the number of times suggestive comments, aka "pick ups" are made by overweight middle aged executives, identified by their ten thousand dollar full carbon Kestrel/Colnago/Cinelli bikes and pro-cycling team clothing replicas.
Analyze the results.

Observations:
I was picked up twice using very similar, low quality attempts, herein termed "pick up lines." Both involved attempting to talk to me while riding abreast of me at a speed of approximately 30 kilometers/hour. There were various lines involved. Both attempts began with "Do you come here often at this time?" and concluded with "Do you want to ride with me?" or "Maybe we should ride together sometime." One overweight executive type (we'll call him B) slyly injected a "I hope it's less crowded on Tuesday." Both riders were politely rebuffed by a "it's my last loop for today."

Conclusion: My pheramones are easily detectable at speeds of 30km/h and do not degrade over distances of 2-3 meters. Hypothesis is considered true.

This sucks. apparently, I can no longer change the size of the words for my blog...I tried using the PC the other day to edit all these ugly bloated-letter mac posts but the button didn't show up again! I can only assume they snatched away the size buttons. So things will probably be looking ugly for a while to come.

I love my hockey team. We are fucking hilarious and now that we have a few fun-looking fun-loving freshman recruited (and that we get to haze them), I am excited for things. That we have a few weekend tournaments in Boston is also pretty pleasant - I'm definitely NOT complaining =D

What I AM complaining about, however, is the dearth of interesting information conveyed in my two hour accounting & finance lecture. It is so heinous boring in that class and it's at the worst possible time EVER: right before the weekend, from 6-8pm. It makes me want to die every time I sit and listen to Markus Maedler yabber on about crediting things and debiting things. DEATH. I promise, however, that I will learn something this semester. Class was so bad yesterday, I just had to have a beer afterwards. And I HATE beer.

I'm now sitting happily in my apartment drinking a Fortnum & Mason English Breakfast doing the New York Times Friday crossword. I think I am more or less as happy as I could ever possibly be. That I will have to interrupt this happiness by doing laundry in a little bit annoys me in the same way food in a wisdom tooth hole (which I am happy to report are now fully healed) annoys me. My jerk of a boyfriend only has ONE wisdom tooth. ONE. and it doesn't have to come out because it's aligned properly. Grrrrr. Oh well, I suppose that means he's not so wise...he's not really a jerk either, but I'm just saying.

Tea, crossword, laundry, maybe a bike ride. What could be better?

So once again I'm on the mac and things look funny.

I've been watching Law & Order: SVU recently (I have the DVDs courtesy of boy and I love Law & Order) and I'm still in shock every time. I know it's about sex crimes before I even pop the DVD in and I know that in order to keep its Emmy winning potential high year after year it has to come up with interesting twists to stay fresh. What still gnaws at me and makes me cringe every time though is the very basic premise of the whole SVU unit: that a sex crime has occurred.

I think the absolute worst episode is when a raped girl was given a card by one of the detectives when she was in the hospital and the day after she is released her body is found on some docks by the Hudson and the card is rammed in her mouth, crumpled. I actually threw up that episode, I don't think I ever could stand watching the entire thing.

I don't know why I watch the show; I think it's this bipolar masochistic yet driving need to watch that on some universe crimes like these actually are prosecuted successfully and that occasionally, there's a possibility just desserts will be served. On the other hand, it probably pushes me more often into those days I'm paralyzed by something, drugged by perpetual guilt and the self-loathing that on better days I try to wheedle out of myself.

Then I look at where this mess has taken me and it's somewhere along the lines of being unable to trust anybody or anything and this ugly, animal fear I get whenever I'm awake. I think someday, though, through the words of a good friend, "with reflection each day I get closer to where I want to be."

"I wake up scared, I wake up strange, I wake up wondering if anything in my life is ever going to change..."
-"What a Good Boy," Barenaked Ladies

Okay so I'm typing this on the mac version of blogger so it looks funny. it's missing all these post editing buttons at the top so I'm sorry if it's ugly.

Ever wonder what it's like to fall off a bike when you're still clipped to it at about 20km/hour and have the bums in central park turn a blind eye? It's magical. I had some athsma attack of some sort today while I was riding the loop in the park and i collapsed while still on the bike (yes, riding it) and that's prettymuch all i remember of the situation. I think I must have fainted (passed out/whatever) on impact. All I remember is waking up supine in my apartment with my bike inside and me on the floor struggling for air and in lots of pain. I felt like i wanted to die so I took a shower, fell over in the shower, took a nap and now I feel less like I want to die, i guess. Everythign still hurts. I think i only managed to ride one six mile loop today, too, instead of the intended four or five. Bother. Maybe next time I'll take my puffer with me and not be such an ass. But probably not. I have these gashes on my legs and knees, probably from the fall but it could have been that squirrels or homeless people were chewing at me when I passed out. Yikes.

Humans are a wonderful lot, a paradoxically wonderful one. Scanning the headlines of CNN today, there are reports of the stampeding in Baghdad, the difficulty New Orleans is having evacuating the city, and the death penalty one drunk driver in Thailand is receiving for having killed four people.

So in Baghdad, a thousand people (or so) were killed because rumors of an insurgent suicide bomber ripped through a pilgrimage site, the people ran out and on top of each other onto a bridge where the bridge siding collapsed and more people were thrown into the water, some of which I'm sure died by drowning. I'd always assumed stampeding had to do with larger things crushing smaller things, not equal things stepping on equal things and killing them. Intuitively, that makes sense. How one person can muster the gumption to actually step on another repeatedly (I'm assuming each person probably had to step on more than just ONE person to have a thousand people die) is really beyond me. Sure, you can say it's in an effort to save your own skin, and that just illustrates my point: people tend to shed the bonds of law, order and dignity as soon as is convenient, when an excuse (yes, I'll call it an excuse, not necessarily implying a bad thing, just an explanatory "reason") allows.

Moving on now, to how the mayor is having trouble evacuating New Orleans and how some 50 or 60 thousand people still have to be moved out. Interestingly enough, the evacuation process is being slowed because of looting. Looting must come off as the most primeval example of illustrating that one is above the law when certain conditions arise making it impossible for the law to be enforced. You loot because you want. You loot because you can't get caught. You loot because the infinite hunger of personal wants arises at the time most opportune for it to be fulfilled at the least personal cost. I loved reading about this. I'm not going to sit on a moral high horse about looting and all the things that aren't "good" about it, I'm just going to say that I agree with Thomas Hobbes, that law is the only mechanism keeping the beastly human nature in check. To what lengths we go to correct our own defect is interesting too...

In Thailand a 23 year old drunk driver who killed four people on a drunken spree is being sentenced to death. I am one for the death penalty. I don't believe keeping scum on the earth alive and paying for its subsistence when it has committed a heinous atrocity against its own is an effective form of "rehabilitation." To an extent, I don't consider rehabilitation for large crimes possible, large being defined as crimes like murder, rape, slavery, torture, etc. A Thai anti-drunk driving association is claiming, however, that the death penalty is appropriate as a punishment for drunk driving and that this should set a rather juicy legal precedent for other judges to draw upon when sentencing. I completely agree that in this case, the driver should get the death penalty. You did a stupid stupid thing, friend, and people were killed. I am all about avenging blood with blood and I don't think society should pay for his subsistence after killing one person and then three others while trying to evade detection. I don't think, however, this case should be setting too much legal precedent. I think it was my philosophy class which declared that humans definitely place a premium (of punishment) on a successful crime and a much lesser one on an unsuccessful crime. The sentencing difference between murder and attempted murder is significant, though the mens rea involved in the two instances could be identical. I would also argue the guilty *act* is no different either. Then why the difference in sentencing? Who knows, but in terms of legal consistency, IF Thailand differentiates between successful and non-successful acts, it must acknowledge this to be an 'exceptional' circumstance of drunk driving. If this 23 year old Thai man had just cajoled drunkenly down the street in his car harmlessly whizzing down empty streets clearly drunk, would he have received the same sentence? Should he? Likely not. What Thailand's penalty for drunk driving (without vehicular homicide) is, I don't know, but considering that it has the highest rate of vehicle death in the world, I'd guess it isn't nearly a large enough deterrent.

Buried in all this is the fact that no matter what humans attempt to do to "right the wrongs" through law, the wrongs are still there, waiting for their chances. Delicious. Loot on, New Orleans, loot on.

I bought Raymond Carver's "Where I'm Calling From" today, on the recommendation of a friend who is known in my life as the literary guru (JAK). I read a few stories, nice ones, ones about the fallcies of the so called "fairy tale" lives that people hope to live. I found it refreshingly honest, wonderful really in the way the characters in each story eke out their places in the world, their ficticious world which so closely mirrors ours.

The boy and I had a revelation too, today, that the famous "fairy tale" doesn't exist in relationships. I think the each of us probably knew it too but talking about it today made everything seem so alright and just worked to confirm what we already might have suspected about ourselves. On top of that, it's nice to come to a mutual agreement that there is no longer any need for nagging insecurities. Nothing to conclude but we love each other and that we're as perfect as perfect realistically gets. It almost sounds like we're settling into middle age; it's hilarious.

The humidity in NYC today was pretty ugly so by the time I got to P&W Sandwich with Jenny I was sweaty and disgusting. It was after lunch that we went off to Labyrinth and incidentally, I ended up buying the Carver book. What struck me, though, is that entire store is a meagre slice of the books that I want to have read by the time this lifetime is through and I haven't been making very good progress. I haven't read Zadie Smith's "White Teeth" nor Roy's "The God of Small Things" and I'm hardly scratching the surface of the authors I even do claim to like and attempt to follow. Didion is one of them, and I've made almost no progress since reading "Slouching Towards Bethlehem." She is due to come out with a new book soon, Jenny tells me, and now with her husband and daughter both dead (prematurely, really), she is alone in the world and will undoubtedly have something to say about death and dying. I have been trying to narrow down lately what it is I like about the books I like, and I've come up with a few interesting themes. I think to a degree anything that puts human relationships, emotions and dilemmas in terms I consider lucid and poignant tend to be the favorite, though anything with an astute observation I generally appreciate.

Now I leave to read. My apartment is set up and allllmooost clean. Pictures when it is clean.

I'm now officially moved into my apartment in the city and it's lovely, though still a bit of a mess. I have more or less everything I need for an apartment except...(yes, this is going to sound ridiculous) chairs. I have no chairs. I have bookcases and desks and even a futon, but I don't have a chair to sit at either my mini dining table nor my work table. In light of this, I went out today and got a couple of leather folding chairs from DWR. They weren't too badly priced (though I wouldnt' exactly peg them at a steal, either) and they're comfortable - sufficiently so to eat dinner and to lounge around with friends in. I was also wondering whether I should buy another task chair for my desk considering these folding chairs have no arms and aren't as cushy as I'd like a desk chair to be. I'll see, though, in light of this ever-present state of poverty-due-to-rent-check, I will have to consider and pare down what I buy for this place. That I will be living here for the next couple of years is somewhat reassuring, though.

I'm absolutely exhausted from both moving in and moving things around and up stairs all weekend long so now I'm just lying lazily in front of the computer. When I'm up to it I'm going to hook my speakers up so that I can get some good music playing (or maybe just Law and Order at extremely high volume).

I miss my friends and with Ganges and Flake going off to Paris this year, it's going to be a bit suckier for sure...but then again, it also means I get to spend time with other people whom I almost never get to spend time with and I suppose that's a silver lining. For now, though, I'm going to unpack the rest of these damn boxes...

Pictures to come, once everything is sorta set up.

And a late addition: FUCKER i left my Kundera collection and most of my Steinbeck at home....fuck.

And if the darkness is to keep us apart
And if the daylight feels like it's
A long way off
And if your glass heart should crack
And for a second you turn back
Oh no, be strong
Walk on, Walk on.
...
What you got they can't steal it
No they can't even dream it
Walk on, walk on...
stay safe tonight
And I know it aches
And your heart it breaks
You can only take so much...
Walk on...

-'Walk On' U2

From one of my favorite songs at one point in time. I used to run to this song, long lonely hours on the treadmill at Bally Total Fitness. A friend of mine and I were obsessed with this CD (U2's "All You Can't Leave Behind) which did more than anything else to fend off private demons the both of us had. We even wrote up a contract where the two of us would stay relatively "sober" of our vices despite the irresistable, heartwrenching, damaging pulls of them at times. Songs remind you of phases of life, and this one always reminds me of then, when I was clawing myself into a mess I'd gotten into trying to make sense of what had happened and what it was all for. Maybe one day, I'll know.

"...You've got to leave it behind...you've got to leave it behind."

In memory of those runs, I'm registering for the NYC Ford Triathlon this coming July. This time, I'll be running to something instead, I guess, of away from it

I begin this post on an awfully interesting note: I have enemies who don't know me! This is along a similar vein to the rumors surrounding me (also passed around by people who don't know me at all), though these rumors, I supoose, could be construed as "positive" ones.

I think it's a bit flattering to have enemies who don't know you. I clearly have a slight "larger than life" persona that has garnered blame for something that...truthfully speaking was never to be blamed on me. But the perception that I was the sole one in power at the time to do something so "terrible" is amazing, because it's flatly untrue. The positive rumors also entail a fairly incredible story (or two) which is nice - funny, but nice.

My grandfather wrote before his death that if you had no enemies upon your death that you weren't even important enough to be hated. Word.

Cheeeeeeeesecake

Cheesecake is actually technically a baked custard, owing to its ingredients. I will not go into the ingredients here, nor will I justify myself. You can order Alton Brown's cheesecake episode from foodtv.com and he will explain to you why it is considered a baked custard. I will assume you are familiar with the cheesecake and its variations from this point forward.

I love cheesecake. It's my favorite dessert by far. It can be dense and short with a thick crust or light and fluffy and piled high with a thin one. There are two officially recognized types of cheesecakes, a "New York Style" cheesecake and a "French Style" cheesecake. Contrary to popular opinion, "New York Style" cheesecake does not refer to a flavor, though it is commonly used to imply a plain or vanilla flavored unadorned cheesecake.

The New York Style cheesecake is dense and can sometimes be a solid, unbaked block of cream cheese mixed with sugar. (The no-bake cheesecake, however, is not recommended for consumption. They suck.) More commonly, the quality baked version of New York cheesecake is simply a dense, flavor infused block of "cheesecake" crusted on the bottom and sides by a layer of graham cracker. The French Style cheesecake is quite the opposite in consistency to the New York cheesecake. It is light and fluffy with an almost mousse like body and texture. It is generally flavored with a layer of jam sandwiched between its "cheesecake body" and is crusted only on the bottom by a graham cracker crust.

Personally, I am a fan of New York cheesecake, plain flavored. There are exceptions though, like the mango cheesecake I had in Hull, Quebec at Le Tartuffe *before* it had become overrun with tourists who had read about it in the paper. Right now the most reliable cheesecake comes from Peter Luger's in Brooklyn, which serves an enormous slice of heaven in classic New York style which always begs to be ordered whenever possible. But back to the exceptions. Most recently, these exceptions have come from Fortnum and Mason in London. They serve French style cheesecake (obviously) and in these adorable little gold-colored shells all neatly wrapped in a plastic rim which keeps their uncrusted sides from getting squashed in transit. I have had two of these mini cakes (well, one and a half...one was shared with the boy) and they are presented here in technicolor:



And what more can I say about them? They were delicious. They were so good, it seemed as if F&M whipped cream into their cream cheese (more than usual, anyway, and note the extra thick graham crusts. They must have been a liberal sprinkling of crack to get both of them that good. The euphoria post-consumption was absolutely real. I could go on about them. But I won't.

What started as innocent curiosity has now spiralled out of control. For some reason, I caught myself taking pictures of enormous legs of pata negra ham at Gallerie Lafayette and drooling over the prospect of potentially having more at some unknown date in the future. I now know the prices of pata negra in 3 different countries: England, France, and Hong Kong - and I think that qualifies this state of being, officially, as a semi-obsession with Iberian ham. The average "leg" of Iberian ham, after sneaking a look at the official grocer's information tag (which is not supposed to be shared with the public) is 8 kilos, making the retail value of each leg well over 1500USD in every country surveyed:

England: lowest price seen = 125 pounds sterling/kilo
France: lowest price seen = 210 euros/kilo
Hong Kong: lowest price seen (only one known) = 1500HKD/kilo

I post some pictures of the "room of legs" at the Lafayette food hall:















And I continue, with one final, glorious picture of an entire leg, up close (because, American friends, this is the closest you're going to get to some for a while if you choose to stay in America. There is one plant, however, that has been recently build which IS up to FDA snuff but it will be a few years before it will have exportable stock. So drool on for now).











I will post again shortly. On Cheesecake. And other musings

Dear diary,

I am now running around in a foreign city dominated by the a language that I don't speak but where croissants are actually made with real give-you-a-heart-attack butter. PS the pata negra ham I was raving about earlier positively engulfs the meat section of the gourmet food area of La Gallerie Lafayette. wouldn't you just love some? Pictures of the bounty to come, I promise. Also, they demoted the Mona Lisa to now sharing a room and they put her behind dark tinted glass. F&M tea is triple the price here and sold in a fancy shoppe called Olde England. Go figure. I am poor. Please send money.

Love,
Your Secret Admiree.

So the boy has left London now and i am a little bit alone for the time being. I could fill this entry with talk of our travels to Cambridge and Oxford and other things but it would seem like useless drivel and I don't particularly need to say anything of it now. We had a great time at Oxford with Scott, a tutor of Classics and it was nice seeing the city and the various colleges. We have also been to Harrod's for the past four days (yes, in a row) and it's still pretty exciting. Everything here is hideously expensive, without a doubt. It is akin to taking everything in New York price wise and replacing the dollar sign with a pound sign. I'm fairly ready to leave London now and I'm headed to Paris tomorrow, even if only for a few days, just to see what there is to see, stuff myself with fatty croissants (one of my primary reasons for living) and to soak up the typical tourist sights. I will find a way to munch on confit canard and if possible I will have pictures of me taken in various places, though I won't count too much on it (I'm travelling alone). I feel like a 70 year old woman though...today I bought a Longchamp tote bag to help cart away the few things that i bought while here and in Dubai. I also have to mail off my uncle's present before I leave, but i can't get motivated enough to move. I also feel an inclination to skip dinner today on account of my body being hideously full from Lunch, still. I may go to Wagamama's and get another noodle dish. It would do me well to walk outside again today.

And crap, I need to be spending less money. I have been thinking about the things that I need for my apartment and they include quite a few things that are reasonably expensive like a bed, a futon, some furniture, etc. I also need to buy books for this semester and pay for incidentals like...food. I'm so much happier that I get to cook for myself this year, which is better for my mental health and physical wellbeing at the end of the day. I don't need to rely on HamDel's eggplant mozzarella sandwich to get me by anymore, and with the stash of interesting foodstuffs that I will bring back from europe from this trip, I'm super super excited to be cooking myself.

I think I've been pretty reasonable this summer with buying things, having really only acquired my new cellphone and the carpet in Persia, as well as small random things here and there which don't cost a lot of money but take up a considerable amount of space. I have a pound and an ounce of my favorite English Breakfast, for example, which just takes up a ton of space but wasn't a considerable financial burden. On the whole as long as I don't buy my the Apple ibook I've been lusting after, this summer won't have been too hideously expensive...This coming schoolyear, however, is another matter entirely.

So I interrupt my voyages in London to bring you, reader, this posting of great importance. Today, Ted and I tried the famous "pata negra" Spanish Ham. For those of you in North America and who read the Times' Dining & Wine section, this is THE famous ham that cannot be imported to anywhere in North America due to the lack of processing plants in Spain which are up to FDA snuff.

So boy and I traipsed off to Fortnum and Mason today for tea and after eating buckets of clotted cream, scones, smoked salmon and "mousse" sandwiches, we continued our food shopping extravaganza of the previous day. We picked up the F&M strawberry Preserve, a can of the blackcurrant tea(!), a box of assam and some cheesecake, to complement the spoils of the previous day, which included a hoarding of English Breakfast, various fruit teas and other goodies. It was all I could do not to buy cans and cans of duck confit (a decidedly expensive habit that I would not be able to shake once I got to New York). It was passing the deli counter that I saw the ham. We bought a hundred grams of it for the hideous price of 13 pounds (about three times as expensive as Prosciutto San Daniel and Prosciutto Di Parma) and *only* twenty times less expensive than Beluga Caviar. We then ran off to McDonalds to open our spoils and eat. And oh lord, eat we did. We bought the "grand reserve" ham, figuring that "grand reserve" meant it was probably worth the extra cost.

The first bite was not fabulous. It is a rather fatty type of ham, with a thick crust of just plain lard coating the outside. The meat is decidedly much more intense and much darker than Prosciutto. It was not an earth shattering experience until we neared the end of the 100 grams. It was there we realized it was a bit like eating Prosciutto with a slice of truffle. It had the rich, truffly undertones which was overscored by the intense ham flavor (I can't describe it any other way. If you could somehow intensify the taste of top grade prosciutto by two to three times I suppose that's close enough). It was good. The aftertaste lingered a long time without being rancid and it was much stronger than the coke we'd bought from McD's to wash it all down. And it was expensive. But worth it because now I can die happier. It was wonderful, and I will be sure to get my greedy meathooks on it whenever possible.

I'm tired. Really really tired. I guess owing to the fact that I got about three hours of sleep last night and was up and running at 5:20am for another photoshoot more or less has worn me out. The Starbucks I slurped down two hours ago is wearing off now and I'm here, heavy lidded trying to write a media kit for my business.

I leave Dubai tomorrow morning (or rather, in exactly 12 hours I have to be at DXB airport), and admittedly I'm sad to go. It will be a while before I see my uncle again, a hilarious guy who shares shocking similarities with me. We've been spending the last few nights talking, really just talking about life directions and our own five year plans. He empathizes with my distaste for school lasting another six years, though he's "wise" enough perhaps to insist that I just get it over with and also insist I finish it. I am offering him as much insight as I can toward the attainment of his life's goal, which is retirement, and which he'd hoped happened a year earlier. I suppose, though, he's capable of retiring now, but he's chosen to stay in the grind for another three years, and he still harbors a fundamental disappointment for not having retired earlier. We both came to the consensus, though, that we should be living life on our own terms, both in his work and my own life. He's sixteen years older than I am but it really doesn't seem like it and I suppose it never has. We've had good conversations in the past few days about how to make both of our lives more bearable for the time being, the both of us waiting for the big day we get to throw off all shrouds of responsibility (well, within reason) and just do stupid things like sit on the beach and program videogames (him) or hurtle down mountains at forty kilometers an hour on a Tuesday morning (me). He'll be coming to New York, though, which will be nice. We will hopefully have culinary adventures worth talking about. I think it's been him who has shown me all of the neat "hole-in-the-wall to blow-your-broke-student-mind" restaurants I know of that I would likely have never found myself. In exchange I offer the pittons of singing the praises of Peter Luger, dropping hints on Japanese restaurants I've known to be good and reasonable, and solidly warning him of Chica-licious' Times writeup (thereby making the damn place impossible to enter.) One day, on all fronts, I will have more to offer.

In other news, I see my other whole tomorrow at 3pm-ish local time. I can't wait; I think it's been months since we've spent any substantial measure of time with one another and I'm sick of being alone and I think he is too. I think the first thing I will do is fall asleep on his stomach, to the sound of his heart racing a little, then slowing to tango with the gurgles of his stomach.

Success! After pecking around a "learn to read Arabic" book and website, I have figured out the name of my carpet! The script says "Qum Afal-Asif", Qum being the city in Iran in which it was made (I got this from the dealer) and "Afal-Asif" is the surname of the guy who made the carpet, or as the dealer put it, the "family name" of the crafter. I will be verifying this with somebody who actually speaks Arabic, but I am pretty sure that I can name this carpet "Ibn Afal-Asif" which means "son of Afal-Asif."

My days in Dubai are winding down now - two more to go and just one more photoshoot day to work, so I'm scrounging around for things to do last minute. I'll be visiting a gawdy mall tomorrow called "Wafi City" which is one of the more luxurious (read: over the top) malls in Dubai and I will also have to buy postcards and write them and send them out tomorrow. Maybe if i sucked less, I would have the addresses of my friends to send them TO. hrm.

I have acquired a magic carpet. It is indeed wonderfully magical and I think it's going to be my one "Arabian" souvenir from this cavort in the Middle East. It is a wonderful carpet. It was acquired at the Al Sharjah "blue souk" which is basically a pseudo tourist trap in a non-touristy area (way to go guys) - in the Emirate neighboring Dubai, Al Sharjah. (I know that sounded heinously repentitive, but Al Sharjah is the name of the city, the souk, and the Emirate.) Anyhow, I haven't found a suitable name for this carpet yet, but as soon as I figure out the surname of the guy who made it, I will name it "Ibn *his surname*." It's 100% silk (down to the guide strands) and I have estimated its knots per inch at around 1500. Some poor dude worked really hard on this little carpet. It's a pretty intricate design and it has fun things on it like lions and a coupla elephants and also this generally large unassuming (but very Arabic) pattern in the middle. Also, the name of the guy who made it is woven into the pattern. The fascinating thing about this carpet is that the silk threads actually change in "color" and "intensity" when viewed from different angles and in different light. This little rug (it's tiny - slightly larger than 2' x 3') will likely be mounted on the wall in my new apartment so that nobody steps on it and so that it doesn't suffer undue wear. I can't seem to take a picture which captures its color sufficiently well so I will just say that it's black, gold and maroon. Come visit me to see it and witness for yourself.

I post these pictures.

(click to enlarge, oh wave of brain)

Let's talk about institutionalized racism today, kids!

Apparently Dubai is supposed to be the most tolerant (and by tolerant I mean racially tolerant) society in the Middle East - and I have no doubt in my mind that is certainly the case. What is still a little striking to me after having lived here for three weeks is the sharp contrast, still, between the UAE (well, more like just Dubai, actually)'s position on racism and that of back home, in New York (and other parts of America too), where racism is something to be largely kept under wraps from the public eye and discrimination based upon race and racial divisons are officially denied when allegations arise. Dubai's society seems to be largely based upon divisions of race and uses these divisions to 'better' itself and survive. Yes, Dubai is a very very racist society. I use "racist" in this context as 'a distinct division based upon race' not necessarily implying discrimination - you can glean and conclude whatever you want from what I write about Dubai's society and I encourage you to see it for yourself if you have the chance. It grows and thrives leveraging its racism and evidently Sheik Saeed's plan is at least, from an economic standpoint, wildly successful.

What brought this on was a chat I had with a couple of models from the photo shoot I'm working on right now. Irfan, a Pakistani national (yes, holding the green passport) was cast as an Arab in today's shoot, which he can pull off quite readily. He looks like a "local" (Arabs of all kinds are referred to as "local" regardless of which Emirate or which country they reside in). He seems well educated, intelligent and he is fluent in Arabic and English - more than comfortably fluent, dare I say perfectly in both. He, however, confessed he was a model because he had to supplement his income. He was a Pakistani national and was thus paid less than 10 thousand Dirhams (about three thousand USD) per week less than a British national and six thousand less than a locally born Arab - he makes the equivalent of 330USD/week currently. His situation is not unusual, in fact, he informed me, there is thought of racial "salary caps" being implemented for specific types of jobs. Still, in spite of this tiered salary system, he has stayed in Dubai for over 7 years now and has no plans to leave any time soon. And still, Pakistani workers flood into Dubai to fill jobs in both free-zone (foreign owned) and local companies.

Ghassan is a Dubai native. He is considered "local." He is thinking of moving to the US to work and earn his PhD. He is a microbiologist working in a government office - the ministry of transportation, perhaps? Something entirely unrelated to his field of microbiology. It's not possible for him to do PhD work in Dubai or in the UAE because the universities are not research institutions and therefore can only grant Bachelor's degrees. Furthermore, he cannot find work in his desired field because there simply isn't much of a demand for microbiology in the UAE (for whatever reason). Still, he is considered by some to be lucky. As a UAE national, he is entitled to work in government offices and government ministries. The work is not difficult, and though it doesn't pay particularly outrageously well, he is at least guaranteed a job in an air conditioned office. When he marries, he will be given a government allowance to do so and should he choose to have children, he will also be given a government allowance for each of them. Still, he admits that he is getting by but unable to save money due to the ever-skyrocketing cost of living in Dubai.

I am adding a short little bit on the "less fortunate" (unskilled) laborers in Dubai, the ones who man construction sites and are signed by companies owned by their own countrymen, and are brought to Dubai, to live in slavery (yes, literally slavery), creating the newest parts of the landscape. They are largely Indian and Pakistani. These laborers work twelve hours a day in either the sun or the darkness of night (construction occurs 24 hours a day here) in the blistering sun for no pay and are trucked back to labor camps far into the desert so escape is both impractical and virtually impossible. What is striking is that they are all of one race, and they are deliberately picked to be so. There are no Indonesian or Bangladeshi workers in Dubai (none in the labor camps at least), leading me to think there must be a relatively convenient official avenue for Indian and Pakistani organized crime to win contracts for building...

Also interesting is that when people want workers of a certain "nationality," they freely advertise in the newspaper for exactly who they want: 'Arab engineer wanted,' 'Philipino office administrator desired.' Everywhere else in the world, this practice would be met with protest but here it is the norm. There is a definite intention to slot people of certain race into a given, predetermined income bracket.

Makes you think about where you live yourself.

"Don't go around saying the world owes you a living. It owes you nothing. It was here first"
-Mark Twain

I have more to say.

This post is going to go all over the place and take up quite a lot of space, I think. There have been a couple of things that I've wanted to reflect on and I reflect better out loud. One of friend, one of better than one. I don't know how things relate, but I swear this was a logical string of thought. Meetings and becomings is what this is about.

I begin: I suppose we are friends. We are good friends, even, possibly even better than merely "good" but I don't think either of us have thought too much about that, nor do we care to. We met some years ago during the summer, when I hauled my crap up some six flights of stone steps of a ridiculous sounding building unadorned with air conditioning. I'd spent the morning indoctrinated by MemChurch and afterwards ate lunch with an old friend. I was in no mood to be tossed to the wolves of roommates I was convinced I would be forced to share the rest of the summer with. Of course, that wasn't to be the case- we all became fairly fast friends when it became clear that neither I nor they were tall, blonde, bitchy or Norwegian(s) (nothing against Norwegians, really). I think what pulled this friend in particular and I together at that point was a common distaste for: people of asian descent, Annenberg dining hall, and the bitches across the wall in J, reinforced by a sense of genteel "poverty" and a shared penchant for terrible puns and unwitty witticisms. We kept in better than just touch, and here we are, some years later like old ladies in rocking chairs having moved from heroin chic and dumb jocks to stable asian boys who study economics (yes, the pair of us). The one who wrote me my first email to my college mail account entitled "I like making [anti] asian jokes..." now proudly displays "Harvard Fob Pride Association" as one of their affiliations. From laughing about the stupid guys downstairs to crying morosely about the single one who told me no. I trust, though, that come whatever may, we'll be there in our goddam rocking chairs listening to vintage Britney Spears still yacking about her horrific landslide and how much we love eggplant and fried clams and Sangria.

"Big wheel keep on turnin' proud Mary keep on burnin'..."
-"Proud Mary"

I'm moving on, now, to the more than just friend. We were introduced years ago. Years and years; 7th grade, though we never really fell into best friend status until 8th. A friend and I took him to the mall in 8th grade and he traded ill shaped clothing for baggy cargo pants and a cute T shirt and a pair of Vans, with the extra padding just below the ankles. I got a christmas card which asked me quizzically what I got when I crossed an elf with a plate of cookies (A: elf barf) and happily proclaimed that I was his best friend forever. There was a brief, fleeting romance, a sort of testing of waters and what it was, and then I dumped him for a pretty, but dull boy who was a nice accessory at the time. We had our falling out, then a reunion over the summer when he watched me fall in love - with someone else. Eventually that gave way because of life, because of trials, because of circumstances beyond human control.

One day, the bottom fell out and I asked for him. He refused. It was then, I remember, the crushing ache which would consume me for some days began and I understood then what needed to be understood. We were meant to be, at that point, for some time, together, more than just friends. It was a revelation that the hours and hours spent talking day in and day out and day back in wasn't a dress rehearsal for another person to come along. It began there, then, and we haven't (and won't) move backwards. Always pressing ahead, I guess. I'm not sure i want to say much more about us; it's a delicious inside joke the two of us share. Even if I wanted to, I don't think I could say more.

"There are a lot of apparent choices in the world and not many are real ones. You bring a guy home and he's a goat or a camel and he speaks no human language [all guys]. You will probably meet other boys, but I doubt you will meet his equal or nicer."
-Linda Ronstadt

"You give me fever...What a lovely way to burn..."
-"Fever"

So I think the significant thing in all this is that these two people - whom I met at different times under different circumstances have grown and changed with the same "me." Two people who have woven their way into my life (lives?) who know the real me and whom I (hopefully) know of the real them. Saying "Orgo Tennis boy" or "Adams House T shirt" to one of them would illicit laughs while to the other it would probably yield a gentle, slightly estranged smile. Likewise with saying "Pokey" or "Horse testicles." And that is where these thoughts have led. Different, but real.

Gloria Arroyo, you really piss me off.

What's this Reuters report claiming that you're working to elimate the possibility of the populace toppling the government? Seeing as you said it during a public radio broadcast, I can believe it. Something too, about asking your husband, son, and brother in law to leave the country amid accusations of being involved in the corruption that YOU have not only condoned but benefitted from? Fuck you. Your relations should also stand trial for their alleged roles in this corruption. Get them back into the country and stand your impeachment trial as you should - without changing the form of government. If you are ever declared to be innocent, you can work to change the government then - but certainly not when you are caught with your lips wrapped around Ferdinand Marcos' cock with Imelda watching closely by. Get your filthy, weasely, poor imitation of "character" out of the goddam sewer and take what you deserve

Elsewise, the Dubai mall system is giving out raffle tickets for some pretty great things for every 200 hams (About 55 dollars) you spend. After a few big shopping trips, my uncle, aunt and I have accumulated some.....hundred or so raffle tickets. Now we have to fill the little tickets out and strategically drop them in different places. I think we have another 5 of them or so coming (because I didn't redeem my cell phone receipt from a week or so ago. Hoorah. Maybe we'll win the grand prize and end up with a ton of money and blow it on something like a prizewinning camel, after whose racing days we will ship across the Emirates and other camel racing countries while collecting princely stud fees. Hey, one can dream. The city of gold also has its own raffle/competition - they're raffling off a pretty large diamond solitaire every week. I will definitely be visiting there again some time soon, likely with the photographer, who has also been "eager" to go.

I saw White Man's Burden bodywash today so I bought some. Honest to god, it is some great great soap. It's kinda hard to find though, especially in the States - it doesn't come in its signature light caramel there and therefore doesn't entice me to buy it. Mmmm. White Man's Burden.

I saw the world's cleanest food market today. It was shockingly clean. There was not a fly to be seen in the place and there was absolutely not a drop of standing water near the fish market. There were no fruit or veggie carcases to be seen and the only smell emanating from the ENTIRE market was that of the Philipino mangoes. This magical market was to be found in a small-ish city (Al-Ain) in the Emirate of Abu Dhabi (incidentally also the name of the capital city of the UAE), though I have no doubt that other semi-outdoor souks in other Emirates (such as Dubai) are just as clean. As a result, my uncle and I hoarded mangoes, packed them into the Jeep and drove home.

We ended up at the Royal Mirage for dinner, in a traditional Moroccan restaurant (of course with all the comforts of a hotel =D ). It was....delicious. The mint tea was the best I'd ever had, a sumptuous, refreshing blend of mint, tea, and sugar. I'm sure I will be butchering my own mint plant (I have grand plans of growing a few herbs in my apartment this year) on a regular basis in an attempt to recreate the minty goodness of tonight.

I have also become infatuated with this yellow, smiling mascot for the Summer Surprise Festival in Dubai. He has an ugly name: "Modhesh" but that fact is quickly blotted out by the fact that his smiling face is a veritable ray of sunshine. I think it was my aunt who figured out that Modhesh is a jack-in-the-box "jack" without the box. That would explain the accordion body and generally "springy" demeanour. I have posted a picture of myself with Modhesh, whom I have dubbed "SummerFest Dude" above. Do not judge for yourself, I have already judged for you; SummerFest Dude is absolutely extraordinarily pimp.

A Starbucks Bear, a wristwatch, a few pairs of fuzzy slippers, a manicure and pedicure, 4 local pomelos and some random local tomatoes and a few bags of chips.

Those were today's spoils. I'm kinda happy about that even though it basically means that I burned through some serious money today. I have generally been very good in Dubai, not spending much money and none of that stuff I listed was for myself anyway. The starbucks bear I managed to get my hands on was actually pretty rare, which is cool. It may get Ebayed off or it may go to somebody. I think it's time for more shopping - online now.

It is, I would say, oozing from my pores. So it's 4:00am here in Dubai and it's the tail end of champagne and dancing. So it's always a little exciting to be hit on; it doesn't happen every day and it's damn flattering when it does. What's interesting is that the guy who is hitting on me is 15 years my senior (literally fifteen years) and has not only chatted me up on multiple occasions, but he is actually staying with my uncle, aunt and I, making for interesting "alone" time. And god can he dance. He can move his hips like no man I've ever seen (or felt) for that matter. He insisted on teaching me the tango, hip to hip. He's only a little taller than I am so his leg was jammed firmly in between mine on every lead.

I should take this opportunity to voice the fact that I do not know ballroom dancing. I kinda have an idea of how the cha-cha goes now and a sense of how the tango and the salsa work now and god it's so much fun. I don't know if it's the champagne making things fun or the man making them fun or the dancing making things fun, but I am definitely going to be insisting that *my man* seriously learn how to pull out the stops and really dance. Liquid hips and cat steps dance...

As to what I'm going to do to spurn the advances, I don't know yet...I won't lie...He is one sexy beast and I wannnnnnnnt one. Growrrrrrr

I have whipped myself back into shape. about 4 or 5 workouts and my legs have recut themselves. I never marveled to think what my body is capable of doing until I was floating on the boat a mile and a half off the ocean floor scooping up rocks - it was then that I talked to Peter Michael about odd things: staying in shape, twisting things, breaking things. I've always had a fascination with individual parts of the body and maybe even its systems too, but I'd never thought to think of myself as a unit until talking to him. I don't know...maybe I had this image of just a bunch of things moving independently to create "me."

He told me how he'd wasted the best years of his life (physically) being a veritable couch potato and rather unfit and how he regretted it now, primarily because he's achingly curious to know what his body would have been capable of during its prime. There was also something in there about enjoying youth and the effects that it has on your body, knowing full well that one day every system will begin its accelerated march towards death.

Interesting too, to think about what happens to human relationships as we age. After a good friend of mine and I were unable to meet up (we're constantly in different cities, often countries) for the third or fourth time and were relegated to speaking on the phone, we talked about the frustration of having lives in divergent paths - the knowledge that effort alone wasn't enough to force us together for an afternoon was sobering. I spend far more time with "friends" who mean far less to me. It doesn't trouble me, though - she and I have a bond thicker than blood, forged in a mutual understanding of suffering and the inevitable acceptance and to know even if we spend an hour or two every year with each other, that alone is enough. Some years, the occasional email to document life's twists and turns is all that happens between us, and that means the other is fine and well and that life is moving smoothly. To know too that the other will be there for the biggest most important events in life is comforting, even if for the time being, mundane life gets in the way.

"If I am not for myself, who will I be? If I am only for myself, who am I? If not now, when?"
-The Talmud

Fuck You, TWC.

Time Warner Road Runner cable is...immensely expensive....grrrr. I'm slowly setting up my beautiful apartment in the City (well I don't arrive there until August 25th or so). It's the high speed internet package fees that are making me reel right now. Something to the ridiculous tune of 60 bucks/month because i don't plan on getting their premium cable service (If I did, it would be more expensive overall but each service would be cheaper). I am not pleased with that. On top of that, i've decided not to get a land line, but to plunk down the money for a beater computer that I can leave on 24 hours a day that will act as my phone line (via broadband phone) and I can call home for cheap. Vonage has a service that costs $15/month and I find that to be...at least reasonable. My expenses have increased a billion fold since moving out of good old Wien, but I think it'll be worth it because if I'm stuck eating the crap I was eating last year due to lack of kitchen again, I just might be forced to hurt somebody. I have no idea, though, how I'm going to weather schlepping 10 blocks to school every day, especially come winter. Whatever. marble countertops and a Jacuzzi tub can't be all that bad.

I am now officially an '80s drug dealer. I bought a new cell phone today, A pretty pimp one and it cost me not too much. 1 kiloham, to be exact (kiloham = 1000 UAE dirhams. Clever, yes?), which is about $275 USD. It's a slidy Samsung (not the ultra pimp one...that one was way too much phone for me, period) and unfortunately it has a camera and a video camera, meaning I may need to surrender it at certain places in the city. Ridiculous. I have some serious problems with the built in ringtones and of course the dumb thing doesn't come with an uplink cable so that I can download a normal, human ringtone for my stinking phone. It looks pretty good, though, and it definitely seems like it will last as long as I need it to. That means I will also be switching to Cingular when I get back to Amerikah so all you kids with Cingular can talk to me way more than you want to for no money. Seeing as Snow and Flake have the ugly duckling of carriers (T-mobile), they're just shit outta luck.

The heat will threaten to kick my ass starting Friday, when I begin to spend entire days outside (well, from 5am to 9am, then 5pm to 7pm) outside for the photoshoot. Brian and I will melt. The models' makeup I'm sure will disintegrate to soup. Ah, the working life.

Lance, Exit. Bravo!

A fabulous time trial today, a beautiful one. Tomorrow's parade through the Arc at Champs-Elysees will be the last time Lance will race. It's been amazing watching him race, actually, especially through this last tour. The man is a legend and a damn good rider.

The tour itself, I think, is amazing to me. The living, breathing peloton which gracefully floats through winding roads, growing and changing as tiny specks of color shift themselves within the body and pieces pull off to accept their fate or gain their advantage hypnotizes me for three weeks in July. It's not really for the leaders that I watch the tour, even though I admire Lance and the disco boys, I watch for the liveliness of the peloton, the struggle of the individual riders who are dropped and for the spectacular moments of sprinting which punctuate the long ribbon that is the tour.

And yes, winning seven in a row gives you plenty of panache.

I didn't sleep too well last night again, probably owing to the thoughts that have consumed me for the last couple of days (and the general air of insomnia that I have here in Dubai). I can't help but be sad for the events that I've recently learned of, and it makes me think and relive all the times we break the cold silence after the dust settles and one of us asks: "are we still...here?" I'm realizing that it's a pretty big deal that we're still here and still plugging through life, stabbing blindly in the dark, but together, at least.

I realized too how much he'd grown up yesterday, too. I came home from a day of running around (well, not strenuous running around...brunch, shopping and a two hour Thai massage) with these thoughts on my brain, viciously tearing at my sense of happiness and well-being. At some point, the house of cards fell and I caught myself playing The Pretender's "I'll Stand By You" on loop, with the feelings of plummetting from a contented perch into an unknown darkness. Tony Hendra's "Father Joe" does a great job of describing the fall so I don't have to:

"...there was a chill in the bedroom and in my heart, a surge of cold animal fear that some vast, irresistible force was circling me, stalking me, about to pounce...I was falling, in an elevator with its cables severed, accelerating down into the blackness of the shaft. I opened my eyes but I was still falling - faster now - plunging into a chasm with no bottom...I'd been flung from the battlements of my certainty."

Anyway, it was he who stepped in, on cue, to comfort me. It wasn't like this when things started. It dawned on me when the whole episode had retreated (perhaps only to surface again later on) that for this moment, we'd switched roles. He'd slowly transformed into somebody so able, so capable of something I'd never imagined to get from him. It amazes me still, I think.

I realize too, now, how long the two of us have come, and what hellfire we've gone through to get to this point, and I suppose that knowledge alone is comfort enough that whatever went on back home will never destroy us if it comes down to the wire.

"but please, you know you're just like me. Next time, i promise we'll be...perfect - strangers when we meet, strangers on the street, lovers while we sleep...Perfect, you know this has to be. We always were so free, we promise that we'll be perfect"