Mark Nilsen

I went to my friend Esmee's party last Saturday night...took the long trek into Astoria from the Upper Upper East and armed myself with a cool-ish Stella Artois before heading into the pack of interesting strangers. Esmee has the kind of life that I admire: she straddles the creative and corporate worlds in such a way that she not only has a job she seems to love, but makes enough money to travel to exotic places, and she is always surrounded by intelligent, funky, interesting people. Oh, and she's not only warm and generous, but also tall and gorgeous, and she takes good care of her body and is a vegan. But not one of those annoying vegans that I know you folks from meat-land (myself included) judge to be kooky. She just makes you want to eat healthy things and be all willowy and lithe. Sigh.

So within minutes of my quiet meandering 'mongst the crowded party-ers I met Mark Nilsen, overseeing the hanging of a commissioned painting he'd done for Esmee. He is a an instantly striking figure with rhinestone eyeglasses, bright red hair, and a Dali-esque moustache. His streetscape paintings are of sewer and water works covers, Con Ed manholes, etcetera...like rubbings, but with paint -- made by laying the canvas over the cover, or grate, or cobbles, and rubbing the canvas with a roller and acrylic paints. He also happens to be a fascinating and rather brilliant renaissance man with a myriad of interests and talents. I didn't talk to anyone else but Mark for the entire party. Turns out I recognized him because he lives in my old Hell's Kitchen nabe and I remember seeing his memorable self walking the streets. You should meet him. You'd like him. Buy his art. Go to his site: http://www.nycsewer.com/

I love New York.

a PSA for ya from my friend in Alaska

This is from my college roommate Caroline...she lives in Alaska, I don't talk to her as often as I should, and so I thought I'd forward her scary experience here:

We have learned the hard way the importance of knowing that your smoke detectors work. Also the importance of NEVER leaving anything on and unattended on the stove-top. A few days ago I put something on the stove-top and was immediately distracted by my son. I walked away to see what he wanted to show me and completely forgot I had just turned the burner on with something on it. We then ended up outside and then over at the neighbor's house for a visit. We came home to a house engulfed in smoke and soot - and not a single smoke detector going off. Amazingly the fire remained contained and was out by the time I came in to discover what I'd done. More and more black smoke from burnt plastic was being churned out though. No structural damage. The microwave door (with is just above the stove-top) melted and several personal property items must be replaced due to smoke and soot damage. What matters, of course, is that we are all fine and so are our pets. We thought we could clean it up ourselves so did not file a claim for two days. If this ever happens to you I do not recommend doing this! We thought it would just take a few days of big clean up efforts. We had NO idea how bad it was. They even have you throw away all pet foodin bgs or plastic, any food in cardboard or plastic whether is was open or not because those materials are porous. Its unbelievable what it can damage and how far it can go. Just call insurance and let them call in the pros. We are now in a hotel for perhaps up to two weeks of more while they completely clean out our house - maybe even paint. The forced air blows the particles everywhere! It is really invasive stuff. Our insurance company has been beyond remarkable and I am so grateful. One agent even told me "Think of it this way - You're going to have the BEST Spring cleaning you've ever had!" So, the point of this is:1) Please make sure that your smoke and CO2 detectors work!2) Get a timer like the PSA ads tell you to and set it when you think you may be distracted enough to leave the kitchen. Wear the timer if you need to!3) If you do have a situation like this - don't try to do it yourself. Get in some help and get out. Of course, most of you already know that, but there might be one or two out there who try to do it yourselves like we did. 4) Just follow 1 & 2 and #3 won't be necessary! 5) I hope this find you happy, well and enjoying the fact that summertime is coming soon! I was prompted to send this out to all of my friends and family because of one friend who said she had not checked her smoke detectors in quite sometime. I figured she must not be the only one and it could not hurt to put the reminder out there.

Hugs from the North, Caroline

urgh. Grumpy.

Yeah, I'm grumpy. It'll be short-lived, as I cannot maintain the pressure of being crabby for too long. I''l feel better after I see Sunday in the Park with George tonight. Jessica Molaskey is starring in it and I'll probably end up crying while watching it because that's just the kind of sap that I am. Hell, I watched the movie of Godspell last Sunday and blubbered because it reminded me of hearing those songs for the first time (Prepare Ye, Day by Day, Turn Back O Man) and wanting to be a musical theatre actress. My mom's funky bohemian friend (well, she was a friend of my dad as well, but that's a whole OTHER story related to the failed open marriage experiment I referred to in an earlier post) Susan used to play the record of Godspell at her funky, bohemian apartment in Milwaukee, and I always associated the musical with her. More on those subjects later. I have to run out the door to my therapist now.

Whoa, WHAT?

Okay, this infuriates me: NY1 is (seemingly exclusively) reporting on it's website that the New York Public Library may be reducing services (such as cutting hours back or closing an extra day) because of "budget woes". http://www.ny1.com/ny1/content/index.jsp?stid=1&aid=79753

Budget woes??? Didn't Stephen A. Schwarzman recently donate a hundred million dollars to the NYPL?? http://www.nytimes.com/2008/03/11/arts/design/11expa.html Is that money ONLY for prettifying the Main Branch on Fifth Avenue, at the cost of closed branch libraries on weekends? I don't understand. How is it possible that people, especially children, cannot go to their neighborhood library on a Sunday, or for that matter, have only seven hours at most during any week day to visit? Who has weekday daytime hours free to run to the library? AUGH. And, according to a 2006 story in the New York Times, the President of the NYPL makes twice the salary of the President of the United States. http://www.nytimes.com/2006/11/19/nyregion/19library.html?_r=1&scp=3&sq=new+york+public+library&st=nyt&oref=slogin

He makes something like $813,000 a year!! An increase from the previous year's salary of over $221,000. And the other officers of the organization all seem to make well over $300,000 for their compensation. And the kicker? No one on the NYPL board will go on the record to talk about why the officers got exorbitant raises or why new hires were paid substantially more than their predecessors. Disgusting. The greedy pigs of this city get more and more, and the rest of us can't go to the library after work or on a weekend, because hell, the piggies just buy their books at Barnes & Noble anyway, why can't we? Just the like the freakin' MTA and it's mismanagement and bloated compensation packages wasting of our hard-earned bucks, we just have to sit back and take it right? Wrong. I'm mad as hell and I'm not gonna take it anymore. Time to write some letters. That'll show'em. Gahhhhhhhhh. Gah.

Apeman

This is my favorite song. It was written by my favorite band, the Kinks, in 1970. The words could not ring truer to me if they were written yesterday. Happy Spring everybody!

Shorewood

I will be eternally grateful to my parents for making the decision to move from Racine to Shorewood, Wisconsin when my brother and I were but wee'uns. My father was studying for his PhD at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee (where he wants his ashes scattered; I kid you not) and my mother was working to support the family. For a short while we moved elsewhere, after my father got a teaching position at the university in Bowling Green, Ohio; but then my parents got divorced, and my mom moved with us kids back to Shorewood. From my first day in first grade at Lake Bluff Elementary, with Miss Ann Furlong, I fell in love with school. Miss Furlong had a chic shag hairdo and wore pencil skirts and taught in the most glorious huge, sunny classroom with red geraniums on the windowsills. It was the Seventies - the school was experimenting with "open classrooms" and we would often open the large divider between our class and the one adjacent and have group activities. I remember every teacher: Miss Perkins, the wonderful music teacher playing "Sounds of Silence" on the ukulele; Mr. Saeger, the kooky and brilliant art teacher who once suggested that I add to my bizarre crayon-batik print of a gorilla (why a gorilla? who knows) a cartoon caption reading "Cuddle up a little closer..." - a song reference, I learned; Mr. Stich, the principal, a soft-spoken man with a linebacker's physique and a diplomatic demeanor that reminded me of Henry Kissinger (yes, I knew who Kissinger was); the librarian, Miss Mitchell, with her slightly raspy voice, reading out loud to us in that cozy warm library that smelled of glossy paper and ink...and I began my love affair with books and libraries. I remember wanting to be the absolute best at everything, just so my teachers would smile and be proud of me. I craved their approval.

Throughout intermediate school and high school, I had inspiring and demanding teachers that helped me think critically and speak more eloquently and insisted on not settling for mediocrity in my work. I was a sometimes lazy student who wanted to do a little of almost everything, but I was not disciplined enough to excel at any one subject, except giving good speeches when running for class or student council president. I participated in one of the first academic decathlons, and surprised everyone by winning top awards in my category (3.2 GPA and under, classic underachiever that I was)...I always performed well under time-constrained competitive pressure. It was when I was home alone, forced to plod methodically through a research paper or math problem that I would become discouraged and bored and distracted, and not bother to finish my work. My mom was working long hours as a saleswoman, my dad was in Ohio, and no one cared too much about looking over my shoulder and forcing me to finish. Mr. Huth, my literature teacher, newspaper advisor, and mentor at SHS, encouraged and cajoled and pushed me, and when I was achieving any success at all in college, I wanted him to know it. Sadly, he passed away from lymphoma a couple years after I graduated high school, and I never got to tell him that I was finally getting my roller coaster grades on a steady, upward track. I remember hearing the news of his death from my friend Pete Schmidt and being utterly shocked and devastated because I felt like I had no one to make proud. Not that my parents didn't care about my achievements - but Mr. Huth knew things about me that my parents did not. He spent more time with me during the day and after school during those trying teen years. Tears come to me now as I write this, and I am surprised by the effect his passing still has on me. Having someone pay careful, patient attention to you when you secretly feel invisible and and insignificant is a powerful, powerful thing.

I think that if I were to move from Manhattan and back to Shorewood, I'd like to be the drama teacher at Shorewood High, teach literature classes, and direct the plays and musicals after school. It'd be good to give back a little of what I got. ...Barbara Gensler, the SHS drama teacher (still going strong!) mercilessly drilled discipline and a work ethic into me as an actress that I only truly appreciated when I was in grad school suffering through an MFA. Every time I failed to memorize a scene thoroughly or debated having beers with buddies instead of analyzing a play I remembered her warnings and her telling me should would not cast me in a larger role if I couldn't buckle down and do the work. She didn't ever give me that lead. I didn't earn it.

My old Alma maters are struggling a bit now due to reduced enrollment and budget issues, though they are still highly rated schools. It's time I put some effort into raising some money for endowments, and to encourage my wealthier alum chums to do the same. http://blogs.shorewoodnow.com/comfort_connection_community/archive/2008/03/20/smelling-the-flowers-and-future-endowers.aspx

One Cup of Love

When I was a senior in college, I took a course called "The Philosophy of Marriage." I was 23, engaged to be married to the man I had been dating since I was 16, and I had not been faithful while in college. I was very much afraid that I would continue to be unfaithful if I got married. I wanted to be an actress, and that meant late nights at the theatre and going out afterwards with my fabulous, wacky friends, and my boyfriend/fiance, though a fun guy, was neither a late night animal, nor particularly enamored of participating in the fabulous wackiness that my friends and I had. He didn't condemn it; he just did not participate. I took the philosophy course because I was hoping for some insight into marriage...an "aha!" that would show me what to do. What the professor said was " I don't believe we have just one cup of love to give." He discussed his open marriage with his wife, and reminded us how unnatural monogamy is to animals. This was not shocking territory...my mother believes in open relationships and had said that she and my father had attempted to have an open marriage after her rather intense infidelity had been revealed...but my father is a traditional man, and besides, one free-thinking woman was plenty to handle, and they eventually divorced. So, afraid that I would emulate my mother, and realizing my professor was right, I called off the engagement six months before the wedding date. I was falling in love with someone else (or so I thought), and knew my fiance deserved better, though I still loved him deeply and was very, very troubled by the thought of giving him up. The guy I thought I was falling in love with changed his mind about me soon after we moved in together in some tiny Ohio college town, and started screwing someone else. On my way to the small-town shrink to deal with my downward spiral, I received an announcement that the ex-fiance married someone else, six months after we had broken it off. He's still married to her. I am still single.

I bring this all up because David Paterson, the new Governor of New York, has revealed that he had affairs with several women, and his wife has had to admit to infidelity as well, all for the sake of "coming clean." And Detroit mayor Kwame Kilpatrick may lose his job because the city council thinks he lied about having an affair under oath. Really, this is no one's business but the people directly involved. I dare you to name a marriage or long term relationship that hasn't dabbled in infidelity or near-misses or longings for someone else or on-line porn viewing. Monogamy is not natural...but jealousy and possessiveness seem to demand that our beloved remain our beloved upon pain of death, or until something better comes along. And for some strange reason, people demand that their politicians are completely free of natural human behavior.

I am not saying I've never been jealous, or have never been possessive, or have not wanted an exclusive relationship, or not regretted my infidelities; I have. But at some point we all have to realize that if a politician has sex with another consenting adult IT DOESN'T AFFECT THE CONSTITUENTS. We don't really need to know, do we? Isn't it a painful, private situation? Stones, glass houses. Pots, kettles. Get over it, people.

Wow.

Okay, where do we start?

Bear Stearns being purchased by JP Morgan for TWO DOLLARS A SHARE? Old Gov out, new Gov in? Allegations of threesomes with the former Governor of New Jersey Jim McGreevey and his now ex-wife Dina? St. Patrick's Day's hordes roaming the streets? Cheney in Iraq?(oh pleasepleaseplease...) Chinook Salmon disappearing? Charles Manson? Holy Week?

I think it is most definitely Holy Week for reporters. The New York Post must be wracked in spasms of glee. I am almost afraid to go to sleep (it's now 3:38 a.m.); I might miss the sounds of the Horsemen....

Dieu-Singe: Eddie Izzard

excellent photo by Michael Nagle for The New York Times

Is it so wrong for me to want to invite this actor-man home, cook him dinner, serve him wine, and then ravish him? Eddie Izzard is my creative ideal. He gives me hope. He demands that we be smart, and know history, and speak different languages, but knows deep in his black heart that we do not obey. Teach us. Okay, just teach me. Caryn James of The New York Times writes an acceptable piece (it needed a Campbell Robertson touch. You know how I feel about Campbell) but read it anyway: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/03/16/arts/television/16jame.html?ref=arts
Oh, and here's a bit of him performing from YouTube:

Still at work on Friday at 7:55 pm. Loser.

Okay, I promise not to overdo the icanhascheezburger cat cuteness. But I am still at work, and I don't have any clean clothes at home, and my neighborhood laundromat has a "last load at 7:30 pm" policy. there are no other laundromats within ten blocks (AHA! Business idea: start own laundromat with longer hours and beer. That's right, beer.) Sometimes living in this expensive city paycheck to paycheck and going insane in my teeny dollhouse apartment is not all it's freakin' cracked up to be. Tomorrow, I will wear whatever crappy tee shirt I grab first, my not-favorite-because-it's-tight undies, and unmatched socks. Doing laundry on a Saturday morn in my neighborhood=dance of the damned.

http://www.icanhascheezburger.com

Ugh. I was sick all day. Like, bad sick. The kind of sick where I could not watch t.v. or look at the laptop or walk in anything (including to the drugstore) except my slippers. My cats were even concerned, and they don't usually give a crap about anything except 1) being fed 2) being brushed 3) sleeping next to me on the bed. I have managed to sip one half bottle of water and a tablespoon or two of some semi-frozen fruit slush. I look like a recovering heroin addict, sans the skinny part. I need chicken soup. I need a bath. Oh, the good news is: my dear friends from London are in town! The bad news: they enjoy the pub crawl. If I even think about a drink, my stomach muscles start to contract. Gahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Gah. Hey, go see this website http://icanhascheezburger.com/ it's funny. Cats talk funny because they don't has lips.

What are my upstairs neighbors DOING as they seeemingly pace non-stop in their 250 SQUARE FOOT APARTMENT???!! I just cannot imagine there is THAT much to do in such a tiny space...I should know, since I live in the same size cave. What in sweet Django's name could they be doing that makes it necessary to walk constantly? Is it neurotic zoo-animal behavior? Are they performing a ritual? Will I be able to gather the willpower to throw my shoe at the ceiling soon????? Auuugggghhhhhhhh.

Page from FBI Affidavit re: Spitzer aka "Client 9"

The Smoking Gun website has obtained the FBI affidavit (see excerpt above re: Client 9's desire to be unsafe) detailing the financial wranglings and numerous calls and complications in procuring a lady for "Client 9." Full affidavit here: http://www.thesmokinggun.com/archive/years/2008/0310082spitzer1.html

Spitzer

Wow. When will these politicians EVER learn? The New York Times reports that New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer is linked to a "prostitution ring"...in other words...he was a client of the Emperor's Club VIP escort service. Listen, I think prostitution should be legalized...but people who want to be in power cannot eat their cake AND have it too. http://www.nytimes.com/2008/03/10/nyregion/10cnd-spitzer.html?hp

[Photograph of Governor Spitzer, with his wife Silda Wall Spitzer, by Mary Altaffer/AP]

Lawyers

Oh, Danny Boy?

Just in time to dissuade the vomiting hordes from breaking into sad song: Foley's Pub, across from the Empire State Building here in good ole NYC, has banned the singing of "Danny Boy" for the entire month of March. Sweet Jesu, I thank ye. http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2008/03/06/ap/strange/main3913094.shtml

Swayze

Patrick Swayze has been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Swayze's publicist issued the following statement to TMZ: "Actor Patrick Swayze has been diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer and is currently undergoing treatment."The statement continues, "Patrick's physician Dr. George Fisher states, 'Patrick has a very limited amount of disease and he appears to be responding well to treatment thus far. All of the reports stating the time frame of his prognosis and his physical side effects are absolutely untrue. We are considerably more optimistic.' Patrick is continuing his normal schedule during this time, which includes working on upcoming projects. The outpouring of support and concern he has already received from the public is deeply appreciated by Patrick and his family." http://www.tmz.com/2008/03/05/confirmed-patrick-swayze-has-cancer/#continuedcontents

I have a date tonight, a first date, and I hate the way I feel in the hours before the date occurs. I suddenly want to buy a new dress and I re-evaluate my recent choice to cut my hair shorter, and I worry that I'm too zaftig. Ridiculous shit. And the dude that asked me out? He seems nice enough, good-looking enough, and he's honest; and though he is in the entertainment biz (usually an "ugh" from me), he is not completely full of crap as far I can tell. He was rather forced to ask me out by my new yenta-auntie Elaine Kaufman, and I know this because I saw the conversation take place a few feet from my table last weekend. So he's doing it to be nice, or to please Elaine, or maybe he really has wanted to ask me out even though he has had numerous occasions to do so, since we both hang at Elaine's regularly...but I don't know. I am not a good first-dater. I'm the kind of chick you get to know and THEN get attracted to...I am not a knock-out, or under 30, or terribly successful and vivacious. I am NOT myself on first dates. I am too polite and sweet and act like I'm the host of a fake chat show on an infomercial. Blechhhh. What has happened to the old me.... The sassy, devil-may-care funster??

Wish me luck. [I like that Spellcheck thinks that the word 'zaftig' should be either "sifting" "fatigue" "stag" "FTC" or "safetied" and 'funster' should possibly be " Munster"]

Okay. I've been analyzing the whole female comedian (er...comedienne. Ugh.) thang for years. Christopher Hitchens wrote a piece in Vanity Fair last year saying that chicks aren't as funny as dudes. WhatEVER. Now, Alessandra Stanley responds in VF with her fairly unfunny piece http://www.vanityfair.com/culture/features/2008/04/funnygirls200804. But she has some interesting points. I also find it interesting that they have mostly young white chicks representin' the lady funsters. Oh, and ONE black comic. Oh, and no pix of chubby ladies. Oh, and Sandra Bernhardt. Yup, good thing we've come a looooong way, baby. Cough. Cough. ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Campbell Robertson is Awesome.

Campbell Robertson has a piece in NYTimes today about suffer-no-bullshit Mary-Louise Parker. She is intense, yes, as actors are wont...and mayhaps for good reason. But I just shamelessly adore Campbell Robertson and his super-dry sense of humor. Read his article. And, by the way, Ms. Parker is my hero for not giving in to acting school power struggles and forced good-l'il-soldier attitude that GETS YOU NOWHERE in the acting world. More power to her.

Maple Syrup Smell!

The maple syrup smell returns! It always happens on a Thursday night (that's when the first reports came in to 311 and 911)...and I think it's what made me want to buy donuts this morning. Either that or my special lady-time munchies. http://gawker.com/362555/maple-syrup-smell-is-back