Celebrity Baby Snatchers, Part One

A Call to Arms

I don’t know, maybe it’s because I haven’t been alive for ALL that long, but I feel like our society has reached a place where it is far more obsessed with its celebrities than ever before. It’s pretty hard to figure out which came first, the chicken or the egg that hatched into this drunken mess of a generation of famous folks who REFUSE to wear underwear. I mean, honestly, with all that money you’d expect that those who will remain unnamed (ahem LindsaySiennaBritneyDanielRadcliffe) could afford a pair of panties. I don’t even care if it’s a tie-dye pink sparkly thong. I’m just dying for a little cover-up.
Anyway, not the point. There are so many websites, magazines, even television shows devoted entirely to celebrities and most of them focus on the biggest wastoids of them all. The host of said television shows (who, in all honesty, is a little sad that there are no articles in US Weekly about him this week except for perhaps that gratuitous B-List celebrity photo that shows the host posing and looking cheesy next to an assistant editor wayyyy in the front by the masthead) will display a montage of the most unflattering shots of the train-wreck-of-the-moment and afterwards will cock his head and sigh, “Isn’t that sad?” And the TV-viewing public will sigh right after in chorus and think, “Poor thing. If only she wasn’t forced into the spotlight and swallowed up by the vile, amoral Hollywood executives. Her haircut is so bad. She doesn’t look well. Is that her boob? Why doesn’t she just get herself together? Somebody ought to help that girl.” Schadenfraude rules.
You know what, TV-viewing public? You’re right, which is weird because whenever I picture you I feel like you’re on a big couch in your entirely brown living room somewhere in the Midwest eating Cheetos and waiting for Sunday’s “Save Yourself from Satan” Ball at the local Mega-Mall-Church. But you know what? You have a point, even though it’s a little hypocritical because you, too, exposed your breast at the biker bar last week. (God, I can’t stop talking about you! Maybe YOU should be famous! Fuck an agent! Let’s face it: a good tit shot is all one really needs these days.) But let’s think harder, here, people. Perhaps this generation is too far gone. Perhaps it’s the next one we ought to worry about, and this is exactly why I’ve decided to take this matter into my own hands with a group I would like to officially name the Celebrity Baby Rescuers (CBR).
That’s right, folks. No longer will you have to sit on the train and read an article about little Suri Cruise and think, while wiping the tear from your face, “Gosh, I feel so helpless. I just wish there was something I could do. Is Tom really that short?” No longer will you have to listen to a famous woman weep to Barbara Walters and claim that she doesn’t understand the criticism because motherhood is her number one pry-oar-i-tay while you throw meat at the screen and scream, “SHUT UP YOU LYING BITCH!” No longer will you have to sit through an entire lunch where you could be talking about your own problems but instead have to listen to your friends run down the list of famous juvenile delinquents and ask over and over again, “Where is her mother?” You can do something. Become one of us, a group of vigilante baby-snatchers who plan to rescue the children and babies of countless celebrities whose parenting you’ve been judging forever.
Since I am the founder of CBR (even though there were people present when I came up with the idea, it was me, as in a moment of stoned brilliance I went to write it down in my notebook and foolishly answered the question of, “Hey, whatchyou…hehehe…writing?”), I’ll give you a brief explanation of my vision. First, we’ll need to recruit some folks to join our team. Obviously there’s me and, to placate those who were there so they won’t try to steal my glory or creative control of the brand name once we go global, my three female friends who were present the night of the founding. After that I think anyone who has an interest in human rights or criminal activity, you know, either/or, will be welcome, though I’m not seeing much of a place for anyone too squeamish as we’re going to be dealing with some freaky looking people. No time to get frozen like a deer in silicone headlights. We need people who are quick on their feet and ready for action. Of course, we’ll need two or three big dudes for intimidation effect. I’m going to suggest the Olsen twins’ bodyguards. They’re humungonormous. Have you SEEN these men? I honestly don’t even think it’s because the twins are small, either. I just think the bodyguards are that gigantic.
After we’ve found these brave, select few, we’ll all have to relocate to Los Angeles because that’s where the bad celebrity parents are. Think about New York celebrity parents: Sarah Jessica and Matthew Broderick, Maggie Gyllenhaal and Peter Saarsgard, Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin (kinda), Michelle Williams and Heath Ledger. They’re all “normal” relative to their freakishly tanned west coast counterparts. Okay, so some of them border on paranoid and grungy in that “don’t look at me but look at me” kind of way, but it sure as hell beats totally incoherent and neglectful. So we will leave New York for the hills of LA as no one there has enough brain cells left after tanning-drinking-snorting to realize that either a) they are shitty parents or b) their client is a shitty parent. We’ll naturally have to hole ourselves up on some sort of Manson-esque compound, minus the mass murdering (thought not the hallucinogens), so that the cops won’t catch us (not that they’ll try, as they have bigger problems to deal with, plus every few months we’ll arrange for some distracting criminal activity. I plan on calling in a bomb threat to Miramax and then waiting outside and watching Harvey Weinstein run out squealing like a little girl.)
Our first attack, naturally, is Britney Spears. Now, time is of the essence here, people, as Brit-Brit JUST finalized her divorce with K-Fed and we’d like to get in there before either one of those morons has the time to bond with the children (because Lord knows, it certainly hasn’t happened up until this point). I predict this mission to be rather easy. We’ll have to get a helicopter (don’t worry, I got people) and fly over the Spears estate dropping buckets of fried chicken out of the window. Then Britney will run outside yelling, “Oh my gahwd, it’s raining fried chicken. CHICKEN FROM HEAVEN!” This is not my prediction. It is what will happen. Of course all of Britney’s staff (even the nannies) will follow her out in attempts to control her (they’ve been through a lot, guys, and just don’t want to see Brit BACKSLIDE like that.) Meanwhile, those of us who parachuted out near the back of the estate (I call that job) will rush in through the back door, find the kids Sean Preston and What’s-his-name, run out through the back door and back gate, where a getaway car will be waiting for us.
Too easy? Let’s remember that we’re not dealing with the upper echelon of intelligence here, especially not when it comes to childcare. Celebrities are very easily distracted and we will use this to the best of our advantage.
Okay the next celebrity family we need to ambush is one that has needed an intervention of this sort for a very, very long time: the Jacksons. Seriously, how has NO ONE tried to save these children yet? Okay, okay, so he was acquitted, but does anyone actually believe he was innocent? And even if he was innocent, isn’t a bit fucked up that the kids only appear in public with blankets and towels over their faces? That’s enough to scar a child for life.
“Daddy, why do I have to wear a towel over my face when I go outside?” Little Paris Jackson asks.
“Well, sweetheart, I need to protect you from all the people who want to look at you in the world, not to mention the spores the aliens release into our oxygen that goes in your brain and makes you hear the whispers, whispers…”
“But Daddy, I have to wear my towel inside and Michael Junior and Blanket don’t. Why is that?”
“That’s just because I like little boy faces better than little girl ones.”
Dear God, someone has to help these kids! If we don’t save them, then who will? Our first step in this mission will be to locate the Jackson family, as they often bounce from location to location. Research tells me they are currently living in Las Vegas, which is sad because I kind of wanted the opportunity to visit Dubai and see that fake world made of islands. This is a selfless endeavor, though, so Las Vegas it is. I think in this one we’ll have to use our whole team and set it up like a federal sting operation: just bust in the doors with big (fake, if the Iranians won’t cooperate with me) guns and just start screaming, “EVERYBODY GET DOWN!” Then we’ll grab the kids while Michael’s bodyguards try to deal with the fact that he’s lying on the ground in the fetal position whimpering, “No, Daddy, I’m sorry, I’ll sing for you! I’ll SING!” The whole towel thing will actually serve us well as we won’t have to worry too much about hiding the kids as no one will recognize them. We can take them to the park and they can play on the playground and do all those things they never got to do while living with “scary ghost man daddy.”
For sure the next priority will have to be little Suri Cruise. To be honest, I thought that kid would be heinous, but she’s actually rather cute, which does make me even more sympathetic to her plight (as un-PC as that is) of being stuck there in a house full of doubtlessly certifiable individuals. As many of us know from reading tabloids, the Cruise compound is on virtual lockdown and it’s nearly impossible to get in, so this mission won’t be nearly as easy as the last two were. This is the way I see this going down: first, two lucky team members will have to pretend to want to recruit to Scientology and take a little trip down to the center in LA and sit through some info sessions, maybe some torture and definitely some reprogramming (don’t worry, guys, we’ll re-reprogram you with marijuana and humorous readings of L. Ron Hubbard’s work, particularly passages that highlight his idea that “money is in starting religions”). Now, this will be hard, but we’ll need to figure out some way to get a private audience with Tom Cruise. I propose making up some bogus story about coming down off of Zoloft and wanting encouragement and advice from “a celebrity who knows the history of psychiatry.” And yes, I’m being glib.
The scientology center will then arrange for the two faux-recruits to pay a little visit to the compound where Tom will most likely jump on a couch and Katie will answer every question with, “I love it here.” Don’t look into her glazed eyes too long, brave soldiers, as it will make you sad and you will want to save little Joey Potter too but the bag you have won’t be big enough. See, while all this commotion is happening one of you will politely excuse yourself to use the restroom, find little Suri, stick her in a duffle bag, go back downstairs and then make up some excuse to leave such as, “You know? I’m thinking maybe I’ll go Kabbalah instead” and then hightail it out of there.

PART TWO: Sharon Stone's kid, the emergency that is Dannielynn Smith-Stern-Birkhead, and our favorite new expats.

The Weekend Shopper

Shopping can be a lot better when you have an excuse. Though you may convince yourself that you are only setting out for one item, inevitably you will return home with one extra necessity. This past Sunday, I hit the ubiquitous NoLiTa/LES boutiques to find the perfect dress. This time, I was looking for something S-E-X-Y; a flirty creation in a bright spring color. I started out heading east towards towards Orchard street where I stumbled into Frock (148 Orchard Steet between Stanton and Rivington) which has received some publicity for its one of a kind vintage dress selections. I tried on an incredibly well-crafted green and white floral taffeta cocktail dress circa 1950. The strapless bodice was well boned and the structured fit of the top offset the playful green hues and large cross shaped bow whose ends extended slightly below the hem of the dress. Unfortunately, at $425, I was going to have to pass up this magnificent peice as the color was reminiscent of St. Patty's green, and I figured it would be relegated to a one hit wonder, left in the back of my closet for a the Tupperware party I was never going to.
I continued further east to my roomate's favorite, Dolce Vita (149 Ludlow between Stanton and Rivington) www.shopdolcevita.com. The store features a great run down of current trends and basics including a trendy shoe line and a collection of delicate accessories. A couple of doors down exists a smaller Dolce Vita outlet which features many styles at discounted prices. Here I scored a classy red satin halter dress for a mere $25. Ironically, its magenta sister was listed at $200 two doors down. The dress was certainly a steal, yet not quite the one of a kind outfit I was craving.



My Dolce Vita cocktail dress; great value for a classic staple with unique details.




Oftentimes while shopping, obstacles like price or originality get in the way of making a purchase. The handmade, contemporary and reasonably priced attire including graphic t-shirts, gold jewelry, and canvas tote bags at my next and final stop The Young Designer's Market which runs Saturdays and Sundays at 268 Mulberry in NoLiTa, was a well-located cure for my end of the day, shopping frustrations. One notable pick at the sizable market was the Box 185 booth where designer Sara Kaiser rocked her handmade leg warmers with faux fur fringe strategically located along the back of the leg, over skinny jeans and peaking out of tall boots. The leg warmers came in many faux-fur and patterened variations which naturally seem a bit more suitable for a funky fall and winter look. Luckily, Sara was kind of enough to give us some tips for spring. One of her favorite looks for warmer weather is a classic white skinny jean. She recommended pairing this spring/summer pant with a flowy, empire waist top and a put together day or evening look. Finally, at one booth featuring Japanese imports, I couldn't resist a pair of silver snake-skin low heeled pumps with bows which I plan to wear out dancing with a pair of skinny jeans and a t-shirt.
LESSON LEARNED: Sometimes you might not find what exactly what you're looking for, but if you're lucky you'll return with a new purchase to distract you for the time being:)

waste management

Last night, with my birthday bash in full throttle, Saki bombs, joints and free packs (PACKS!) of Camel lights being passed around, I overheard some friends talking about battery disposal. Toxic waste, what? Well yes, apparently if you just throw your dead double A's in the trash, the zinc sulfate and copper sulfate can leak into our air and water supply and that is a big no no! So how do environmental conscious gals like [some of]us dispose of the batteries from our remote controls, electronic catchphrase, and other sorts of delightful gadgets that power endless nights of entertainment?

Just before the battery-waste debate got heated, someone made a shocking observation.
Wait a second, look how much waste we are generating RIGHT NOW! Beer bottles, caps, cardboard six packs, cigarette packs and butts, random plastic casing from wine and sake bottles littered our coffee table. And even though she was drunk, she was right! We humans do make a lot of waste, especially on special occasions like birthdays where we indulge in all that this fine earth has to give us.
In the New York Times this week there was a lovely peice The Year Without Toilet Paper about a young family living on 5th avenue who is experimenting with green living in a pretty all or nothing kind of way. In their year long experiment "No Impact", the family will attempt to live in NYC and cause no net impact on the environment. They will eat locally (within 250 miles) grown foods, abstain from carbon producing modes of transportation, buy nothing new, and generate no waste by composting their garbage! No Impact man and his wife, who openly admits an affinity for designer footwear- she purchases a pair of Chloe thigh high boots before the no new purchases rule goes into affect- are certainly blazing new terrain for us urban folks. Support their experiment by visiting their blog here. Most of us are probably not willing to give up our caffeine fix(no imported coffee allowed) or the convenience of riding a cab or an elevator. But, by incorporating this type of aesthetic into our lives, we would certainly discover some benefits. Baby steps....

Its Kosher!

In case anyone was worried, Coke and Pepsi are kosher for Passover.
check it out:
Kosher Coke!

le freak c'est chic!

On a rainy Thursday night last week a couple of us rode the subway to Brooklyn Art Museum (BAM) to see a dance performance choreographed by British choreographer Matthew Bourne. The dance performance was based exclusively on Tim Burton's movie Edward Scissorhands, a personal favorite of mine, and tells the story of a boy who has sharp, twitching blades for hands, and the suburban town who welcomes him onto their carefully manicured lawns. While the movie's morals are apparent, the story, expressed through movement highlights the nuances of the tale that much more.
Burke is a renowned for his offbeat, comedic, and sometimes dark performances such as a homo-errotic spin on Swan Lake, and a version of the Nutcracker where Clara, the young girl falls in love with and is kidnapped by the Nutcracker! In Edward Scissorhands, Burke relies on a modern dance aesthetic, coupled with a brilliant set that adds enchantment to a typical suburban town. Clearly, Burke possesses enormous talent as a choreographer, as he encouraged his dancers to rely on the natural way their characters would move and then syncs the performers on one stage. The housewife slut prowls the stage, moving quickly, while the suburban mom who takes Edward in steps gently with graceful movements in her hands and neck. Edward himself alternates between ferociously swinging his blades as he leaps across the stage and gently sliding his scissorhands back and forth in timid strokes. Finally, the dark side of the town which is a female character in the movie is portrayed by a group of gothic teenagers whose clustered formation and stealth like steps resemble the crucification of Jesus!
In addition to an excellent, all around performance by the dancers, the score, played by a live orchestra evoked both a dark and tender mood, the perfect compliment to the story of a skittish freak in American suburbia. The music, costumes, and stage set were exquisite elements in Bourne's Edward Scissorhands adaptation. But, as the performance came to a close, it became clear that while body language is often regarded, we can actually rely on human movement as an entirely complete form of communication and expression.

Good Karma for the Communal Closet

The lovely ladies behind the Communal Closet stepped out once again on Sunday to set up shop at the flea market at Karma Lounge in the East Village. Bringing together the best of the well worn and barely used vintage, designer, hand made and ready to wear pieces from the Closet, the sale was, once again, a big hit and a lot of fun. We had a damn good time despite post St. Pat's mayhem and creepy dudes buying us shots at 1pm. Morning cocktails and shisha kept us entertained and in good spirits as our fashionable clientele shopped their way through our beloved treasures.
The sale is looking for a new home next month (hopefully outside if the weather is nice, maybe the 16th street steps, the market on Prince or the Columbia campus again?) where we plan to shed the last of our winter wardrobe and make room for some of our lusted-after pieces for the Spring. Look out for a preview of our trend forecast/must haves for Spring/Summer '07.

Music To My Ears

So I just went on a major shopping spree. No, I didn't hit up any of the usual suspects, and my purchases did not come wrapped neatly in tissue and tucked inside a bag. My money was spent (or really not spent at all) on far longer-lasting investments: music. One of my favorite pastimes is scanning the ITunes Music Store; you can check out the hottest new downloads, best selling albums, and even peek into what the celebs are rocking out to these days. Usually, these playlists fall into one of a few categories: "pompous", "bubble-gum pop", "snoozers", or nothing i haven't already heard and either hated or already beaten deep into the ground. Recently I was excited to see that Drew Barrymore had posted a playlist. Expecting to see the regular spread of The Shins, et al., I was surprised and comforted when I actually really enjoyed the artists she chose. There was a whole schmorgesboard to choose from, but here are a few of my favorites:
(please note that I explored the artists' repetoires further and I have listed the songs that made the cut)



Har Mar Superstar - (DUI/Cut Me Up/Let Me Use Your Ride)
Mickey Avalon - (Jane Fonda/Waiting to Die/Friends and Lovers/Fashion Glam & Coke/My Dick)
Spank Rock - (Bump(thanks Drew)/What it Look Like)




Honorary Mention goes to:
Sia- Breathe Me
The Cure - Close to Me
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah - The skin of my yellow country teeth

Moving on from celeb playlists, I went to the concierge of online music. Did you know that ITunes will actually make a nice selection of music it thinks you will like based upon what currently chills in your music library? It's amazing. Theres nothing better then lighting up and getting down to some music you'd never know about. Here are my recent finds:

The Muse - Butterflies and Hurricanes
Spoon- I Turn My Camera On
Bloc Party- Hunting for Witches
Nightmares on Wax - Survival/You Wish

I found two additional artists that I want to speak a little more about:

* Cut Chemist: The Audience's Listening



Following in a similar vein as the turntable/computertech/hip hop jams as crafted by musical ingenue RJD2 (Ghostwriter anyone?), Cut Chemist has come out with their first "non-mix-full-lenth" CD.
An excerpt from itunes... 'cause they can say it better than I can:

This incredibly diverse album tempers scratch-heavy feats of skill . . . with more musical numbers that offer plenty of substance once the "wow" factor has played itself out.

All in all, Chemist's got skills: the music is like looking at a collage: all little pieces pasted together to form one solid fluid track. beats, hooks, unique dialogues, and the like make each song unique and memorable. Check out the following to see what I mean:
(My 1st) Big Break
Garden
Spat
What'd the Attitude
Spoon
The Audience's Listening Theme


* The Weepies: Say I Am You/Happiness



I must admit that I was skeptical about this music at first. The band name alone made me cover the screen of my ipod when on the subway so as to avoid strangers thinking that I'm some weird angst-riddled emo headcase. But after giving the music a chance, I have to say that I came around. There are no gimmicks here, just folksy, pretty songs with interesting lyrics and velvety melodies. There are few things I look forward to as much as going to bed with The Weepies cooing from my speakers as I drift off to sleep. (cheesy i know, but seriously its really relaxing). At the same time, there is nothing better than jamming to these songs when i'm feeling just a tad meloncholy or when the weather is as shitty as it is today and all i want to do is wrap myself in a blanket and lie in bed. Anyway, enough of my rambling, check it out for yourself. here are some of my favorite tracks:

Gotta Have You
Painting By Chagall
All That I Want
Vegas Baby
Living in Twilight
Stars
Take It From Me

If you're in the mood for something cheesy, here are my top choices for when I need a pick me up / need to wake up:

The Pussy Cat Dolls (yeah yeah i know, but its good i swear!) - Beep/I Don't Need a Man
Timbaland feat. Nelly Furtado and J.Timberlake - Give it To Me
Diddy feat. Keyshia Cole - Last Night


Download, Upload and Enjoy : )

secret eating contest

In this week's e-mail edition of The Weekender, our friends at Urban Daddy bring us this:

TUESDAY COMPETITIVE EATING
Vending Machine Challenge II
LVHRD returns with VMC II, a competitive eating event in which teams of three (this year, The Onion and MoMA) attempt to consume the entire contents of a standard vending machine. Hard to believe, but it's the world's only contest of its kind. To witness it, sign up and you will be texted the secret location.

For tickets, click here

yey i love chips!

drug dealer or stylish big sister?

In Today's times (3.15.07), there is somewhat of a random article about Rachel Zoe "The Stylist Who Would Be a Star" The reporter spins Zoe in a pretty positive light considering for one, our post "gifts of crystal" (filed under politics).
Zoe, 35 is characterized as a maternal stylist who bonds and hangs with her "girls" including Mischa and Lindsay, but not Nicole. The stylist won't discuss the events surrounding Richie, her former client, but the articles notes that she was dropped for a rival stylist! ouch.
Check out the article HERE and decide for yourself. Is the woman responsible for last summer's ubiquitous bug-eyed look a forward thinking fashionista or just another crackwhore trying to get her fix by bringing hipster vintage to Hollywood's clueless starlets?

Cruel Comment

If this were Perez Hilton this would be filed under "If you are easily offended..."

So if you are, don't continue reading.

Have you ever seen a fat person on a wheelchair or a rolly-thing that looks like two walkers hooked together? If so, do you wonder whether or not they're in the wheelchair because they're fat or the other way around?

Mwahaha.

The Communal Closet Sale Part Deux

Spring has arrived!
Last year around this time we pioneered new territory on Columbia's campus by bringing our very own "communal closet" to a little plot of grass adjacent to Low Library. Highlights included leftovers from the Vogue closet, handpicked vintage dresses and never been worn designer wear! This season, we're making it happen all over again! Here is a preview of some of the stuff we will have for sale THIS SUNDAY, March 18th at 12pm @ Karma Lounge, 51 1st Ave between 3rd and 4th streets. There will be $3 drink specials! Come early for the best selection!
Also, be sure to check out some of the postings below, straight from the runways of NYC Fashion Week for some inspiration before you shop!




wide legged, Habitual denim shorts!


hipster plaid! spring jacket!

art deco-esque heels, ladies size 8



vintage 80's teal minidress


cinch your waist!

mock-Chanel granny cardigan

houndstooth bubble dress!

Saturday

So many of you might be wondering, "Hey Kelsey, why do you seem so anti-blog?" Maybe (probably) you don't even ask that question, seeing as I am the most overtly anti-internet of the bunch. Maybe you even connect the dots and realize that part of it is because I prefer tangible objects over things that exist in the netherworld of the "virtual." (Obviously physical objects are easier to deal with when you're achingly cerebral and spent most of your childhood contemplating, to not ostensible conclusion, the nature of "that which we cannot see." Duh.) Maybe you come to the latest, greatest conclusion, which is that I have to write so often that rarely do I want to do that in whatever time I have left over. Support the publishing industry, my friends. Buy books and magazines!

"But hey, Kelsey, if you're so anti that you're going on a self-centered rant about the pointlessness of blogging, why are you signed into the Communal Closet right now?"

Well that's easier, kid: I'm fucking BORED.

I've been holed up in this giant, temporary home of mine for two days with a cold that makes me feel like the little plumbers that work in my nasal cavity burst a pipe. I've watched six episodes of Big Love (in a row), filled an entire garbage can with damp tissues, drank a whole carton of orange juice and bought a lot of unnecessary things on ebay, including a turban (East Hampton here I come!). In short, I've done absolutely nothing. All of a sudden I'm craving a nice warm meal and a big class of Merlot, but I hesitate to call anyone lest I push myself back into the hell that was yesterday (and no, I don't think I'm being overly dramatic).

Thus I have decided to write this little post to save myself from boredom-induced suicide and to avoid my next activity of choice, which is drawing (I approach this with trepidation but without talent.)

RANDOM THOUGHTS

Damn, I know I just got a turban, but I really want one of those satin Prada ones. Who ever thought turbans would be hip again?

Good deed that requires little-to-no effort: when a penny falls out of your purse, leave it on the ground. Usually I like to turn the heads side up because that's where the real luck comes from.

Is anyone else fascinated by the virgin leitmotif in horror films? In virtually all horror movies, virgins are the only ones who are immune to the killing abilities of the vampires or werewolves or whatever the evil being happens to be and, consequently, the only ones who can battle the evil force. Either that or they are the ones most sought after. What does this say about humans? Why are we so fixated on virginity and its natural equivalent, purity? It's not that we like that, it seems, but rather we like to watch it be destroyed, either symbolically or really. Is this part of our guilt at being born so impure ourselves or (as if it has to be one or the other) the ubiquitous desire to watch things be destroyed? This has been on my mind for a while.

Everyone keep their eyes out for promotional tickets for the one-woman show adapted from Joan Didion's book The Year of Magical Thinking, starring Vanessa Redgrave. We have to support badass women everywhere.

If you had to move out of the country, where would you move?

How do we feel about Selma Blair's new haircut? Balenciaga's metal pants? The model BMI controversy? Electric blue nailpolish (saw some and contemplated getting it earlier. Where you ask? Ricky's. Where else?)

Everyone check out the stores and cute restaurants and what is soon to be my street, East 9th Street. Gila and Marisa took a lil field trip today and, hopefully, will update you on their finds.

If you could be made into anything on the MTV show "Made", what would it be? I would want to be either a skateboarder or a drummer, probably the latter.

Upcoming cultural events: seeing Grey Gardens (finally!), a modern dance adaptation of Edward Scissorhands at BAM (how fucking AWESOME?!?!?) and hopefully Zodiac and Pan's Labyrinth (after many a bong rip). Concerts include: Bloc Party and LCD Soundsystem (everyone check them out on iTunes then buy yourself a ticket. It's at Webster Hall. Enough said.) I just saw this terrifying German/Austrian flick called Funny Games, which I would recommend, and rewatched the Bob Dylan documentary as well as Training Day, where Ethan Hawke looks considerably less fuck-worthy than he did circa-Reality Bites. Eh, what are you going to do? We all grow old sometime. Well, everyone but Marisa and I, that is.

Catchphrase kicks ass. We have to play celebrity and Apples to Apples. The BOMB.

Finally, I leave you with a quote from the ever-wise Michelle Pfeiffer, who looked sizzling in Scarface and, as a result, has become my new style icon:

"I used to smoke a pack a day but now I don't smoke at all. I will never consider myself a non-smoker because I always find smokers the most interesting people at the table."

Well said, girl.

Office Romance: The good, the bad and the ugly

When you are on the train, riding the subway, in line at Starbucks or A.B.P and other corporate watering holes, and stuck in an office building for the better part of your day, you begin to believe that long wool coat wearing, on the brink of balding, slight paunch-sporting, brief case wielding men are all that are out there. So, when any slim lapeled, recent post-graduate under 30, who is brave enough to break the corporate barrier by talking about their favorite bar or cracking a joke at a superior's expense, comes along, you are inclined to give him the time of day.
I recently decided to give one of these guys more than the time of day. And not just any corporate clone, one that I work for!
First the good:
The whole thing began with some complaining work emails that quickly turned more frequent and then flirtatious until they eventually devolved into invites to parties where no other work buddies were to be found. I thought, "This guy is kind of dreamy, athletic, funny, well behaved and sweet, not obnoxious, he doesn't clam up when we talk shit about our co-workers, lives in a great neighborhood, and makes a great salary (I know this because, um, I work for him)".
Anyway, the first invite was casual but exciting. We talked at his party and neither of us spoke about our relationship status and basically just shot the shit for a while and gossiped about work. He was attentive and quick to get me a drink. But then another invite followed, which I couldn't make. Then I suggested we grab drinks to make up for my no show. Bold? I think so, but well received. By the time we met up late Saturday night, both of us were sufficiently crunked and pretty much hooked up right then and there which led to my place or yours? which led to [the portion has been edited for the blog].
The next day was followed by a very mature brunch, several assurances of "I wont act weird or tell anyone at work". He has called me and hasn't told anyone and generally been very respectful and sweet. We've even had some fun sneak outs where we share a cab home or grab drinks. And there is always a nice brunch in the morning. It's also nice to receive emails saying you look hot today when you are feeling nasty in your business casual.
Oh and guys, listen up, he ALWAYS pays. Even when I protest and I really mean it, he always always pays. This is not about money. It is about being treated. It doesn't matter the cost. It's the act of being treated. Please keep that in mind. It's important.

Ok, so here is where it gets bad:
We talk almost every day on IM at work which is extremely distracting. I have a heart attack and trip over myself every time I have to go to his office or walk past him in a meeting. When we see each other on the weekends or for drinks after work, we inevitably talk about WORK! It sucks. And, one of my co-workers who I love and think is the sweetest girl ever has a raging crush on him! Normally, I'd say, hey friend, just letting you know I've hooked up with him because I definitely feel deceitful but I can't tell her because we work together! I really want to tell my other friend at work too but I just can't risk it.

And here is where it gets ugly:
The more I get to know this guy, the less we have in common. He is not from either coast or international (generally a requirement in my book, though I make exceptions) and quite immature, not the reserved and quiet guy I fell for over file folders. He loves ESPN... but really, obsessed and reads drugstore novels. He gives me blank looks when I say I went to a museum or listen to some non mainstream music. Also, how do you tell someone you work with that he is a bad hook-up (painfully so). I'm talking leaves you feeling like you fought a war down there. Foreplay is more like awkward pokes. I like a good hard squeeze from time to time but being rough with the tender parts ain't ok. When I try to guide him, he freaks out and feels self-concious. Oh, and why am I louder than him in bed? Oh, and what is with guys who don't make it obvious when they are about to come. Like, I just keep going along, like when is this going to end? I would like a status update once in a while to keep me engaged please...
Outside of the bedroom, he is also a little bland and dresses a bit B&T on the weekends.
Most importantly, he is not the only one in my roladex and I plan to keep it that way. But he puts me in an awkward position by asking if there are others? If I tell him, he'd get pissed. If I don't, I feel like a liar. Lord... I never thought about the fact that breaking it off could cause serious repercussions including awkward working relationship and word getting around. Now that I've sailed down this river, I feel there is not much I can do. I've tried being stand offish and that seems to encourage him. When I don't call him, he calls me to check in more. And... I really do like him as a person. He's funny and down to earth, unpretentious and has a good heart but this is growing into something more than I bargained for. Can we just be friends but really be friends? I want my office confidant back.
So, work hook-ups: Better left to daydreams in front of your PC.