I couldn't help but wonder

Rob and I took the train out to Long Island today to help his sister move herself and her three kids into a new house. It's a block and a half from the beach and has a huge deck in the backyard. The kids are upset that they have to move because they'll be further from their friends, but I say they should forget about that and make all new friends because this place is great. And there's an ice cream store down the street.
But that's not the point of this post. The point is, the woman behind me on the train got a phone call and spent 20 minutes talking to someone about how she wants to involuntarily commit her 45-year-old mother to a home because of her anorexia and psychological problems. After that, she called three more people to leave them messages about the same thing. Rob and I had differing opinions about this situation. He thought it was beyond outrageous that this woman was loudly subjecting the entire train to her unfortunate circumstances. I thought that if the situation was as extreme as it sounded and the train was where she found herself, then she probably needed to have the first conversation, which sounded like it was with someone in the psychiatric industry. I thought the next three calls probably could have waited, though.
In the time of MySpace and other social networking pages, blogs, and the ubiquitous mobile devices, is there a standard for what we owe each other when it comes to maintaining our privacy and staying considerate of the public space? Or is it just that people from Long Island should learn how to speak more quietly? And...could I sound any more like Carrie Bradshaw?

A SeeSarah Preview

Stay tuned for a Dan and Amanda feature, including Amanda's face in a rabbit body (it's totally normal) and Dan striking a pose beneath a flowery tree. New York was a better place for three days this week. I, however, could use a nap.

I like other people's weddings

Rob and I went to a beautiful wedding in Sag Harbor this weekend. Highlights included: no speeches or excessive cheesiness AND ice cream cookies instead of wedding cake.

If I hadn't eaten pie for lunch, this would be different

I am trying to motivate to go work out. If you think putting on your gym clothes is half the battle, you're wrong. I could go to sleep on the couch right now. The battle for me is sometimes not won even when I get to the gym. When I'm there, I feel like I could close my eyes and pass out on the elliptical machine. Maybe it would be better to skip the gym on days when I'm a somnambulist, but there is the inevitable moment that I can't explain where I am suddenly having a good work out and am glad to be right where I am. So I think about that moment when I'm in the house, looking lovingly at the couch and my book next to it. Tonight is a pilates class. I can't even think about it or I won't go. I have to trick myself. Oh, I'm just taking a little walk...hey look, the gym. I guess I'll go in. They have water. I can weigh myself, how fun. Hmmm...a classroom, I'll just step in for a second and grab one of these sticky mats. Then I'm in the class and there's no turning back. Here I go.

A NOTE: I was late for class because I was too busy blogging about going to actually get my ass out the door.

Am I drunk?

This post is on wine. I don't claim to be a wine connoisseur (unless having traveled to the Napa Valley and going on the Beringer tour 6 times makes you an expert) but I do like it, and when it comes to alcohol, it's almost all I drink. Which is good, because take, for example, the time that Liz was in town and she forced me to do shots of Southern Comfort and lime. I'm not going to describe the results of that failed experiment, but trust me, it was ugly.
Anyway, Rob and I were watching a terrible movie tonight (I'm not saying what it was because KLG probably loves it) and we were drinking a french rosé, which basically looks like white zinfandel. White zinfandel, specifically Ernest and Julio Gallo, was the wine I drank as a junior in college when I thought that I was so cool for drinking wine (and pairing it with string cheese.) This was Wisconsin, after all. Also, this was a step up from the boxed wine we used to drink in high school, which was a huge step up from the Mad Dog we used to drink several years before that.
I know that my wine tastes have improved drastically (tonight's choice was a Rosé Sancerre from the Cotes de Reigny-don't I sound pretentious?) but I still have an appreciation for my early wine drinking experience. I think it's a good idea to start wherever you're comfortable when you're trying something new. Apparently I was also really comfortable with Boone's Farm.

I feel compelled to add that I did eventually graduate from the Beringer tour.

Almost Naked Animals

Sometimes when you're at work, you need to look at Almost Naked Animals and read about their likes and dislikes.

Celine Dion is trembly and pointy

No, this is not a news blog, but this morning I am utterly confused by Hillary Clinton's bizarre choice of campaign song, Celine Dion's You and I. Celine Dion? She's more polarizing than Hillary. Maybe she resonates in the areas where Hillary needs support, but...really? Shouldn't Hillary be playing to the South? Or younger? Or to someone who men might also be inclined to listen to? Which brings me to: Who does listen to Celine Dion? I'm going to look into this today.

I also checked out the Clinton spoof on The Sopranos. Eh. I think she'll get people to watch it, but I think they'll all end up shaking their heads and backing slowly away from their computers as they click the link to learn that Celine Dion and Hillary will be skipping and holding hands into campaign weirdness. What's next, Barack Obama and Kenny G?

A Monday morning treat

I was in Starbucks this morning, which is kind of a big deal because typically I walk past it, look in, am horrified that the line is nearly to the door, go to work and drink tea. But today I got up early enough to be something like the 7th person in line. I was waiting patiently and checking out everyone else's outfits when the guy behind me said "Look out." I quickly ran through the list of what one might need to be on their toes for in Starbucks. Spilled coffee? High calorie scones? Paul McCartney CDs? Maybe in other cities. But in New York what you need to avoid is apparently the same whether you're in a coffee shop or out on the street. And there was a neat little pile of it right on the floor. A blond girl in her 20s walked up to the line. "Look out," said Helpful. "I'm cleaning it," she snapped, although whether she was irritated with him or the 3-pound yorky in her arms was unclear. "I never even put him down," she muttered as she wiped up the pile, which didn't seem like it could have been created by a dog that size (especially one that someone was holding.) And wiping the floor with paper towels probably didn't do a whole lot sanitation-wise for the situation, but it was the only thing I saw anyone do in the time that I was there. My latte was pretty good, though.

Southern children are cute and funny

This weekend Rob and I were in Atlanta visiting his best childhood friend, who now has three children. As you may have suspected, the children have southern accents, which is adorable and makes everything funnier. Highlights from the experience include:

Elena (4 years old), screaming "I'm going to spank you like a baby elephant!" as she slaps Rob, who calmly continues spreading cream cheese on his bagel.

Elena, from the back of the car, again screaming (this is basically the volume at which she operates) "Mommy, cut it up! Cut it up!" and gesturing to the DVD player. When I asked what "cut it up" meant, she explained to me, with typical little-kid gestures of impatience, that "sometimes when you can't hear the movie, you have to, you know, cut it up." Oh, turn it up. I actually don't think this is southern, I think it's just Elena.

We went out to brunch today to celebrate Father's Day and when we asked Gus (6 years old) what Elena was having, he replied "She's having a meltdown." Which is true, she was. It was something about having dropped her fork.

Being around kids is great, but it's also an exceptional form of birth control.

I have learned a lesson

Blogs are public. Yes, I was aware of this in a general sense, but also assumed that my particular posts would be about as interesting to the outside world as the contents of the average schoolkid's lunchbox. But I underestimated the power of Google and an author's attention to everything that is being said about them and their newly launched titles. So...Jane Porter, I apologize for my hasty comments about Odd Mom Out and hereby pledge to read the book and post an honest and educated review of it. For the record, I like Rachel McAdams movies. Except for The Notebook. I only watched part of it, but it seemed pretty sappy.

I should make all the decisions

I'm watching Half Nelson, which is a really good movie. I wanted to watch Borat, but Rob insisted that we watch this instead. This is fine in theory, except that he picked up the computer as soon as the movie started and then when he put it down it was only to go into the other room and start messing with various things. Now he's asking questions about what's going on in the movie and I'm pretending I can't hear him. Instead of answering, I think I'm going to throw a remote at him. We have three. I'm going to throw the heaviest one.

Obviously the cleaning lady is collaborating with my mom

I met Hazel two years ago when Rob first hired her to clean the apartment twice a month. I have seen her and spoken to her on the phone many times. She knows my name. But when I arrived home today--to a lovely clean apartment, which I very quickly defiled by knocking an entire bottle of balsamic vinegar off the fridge (totally different story)--I was greeted by the following note:

Rob, Wife,
Thanking you both again. See you in 2 weeks. Have a blessed weekend. We need some bleach and soap. Thank you,
Hazel

Everybody loves Nana and Papa

This was taken at my one of mom's myriad retirement parties. She had 4 of them and I think this was the 3rd. Get over it, people. She's retired. But anyway, my favorite part about this picture is that Papa is looking into the camera like there are treats in it. Or puppies. I love this man.

So many books

Last weekend was Book Expo, which happens once a year and is typically dreaded by all involved, especially me and especially this year, because I was working for two companies all weekend. This meant a lot of running back and forth, plus a lot of smiling and pretending I'm nicer than I am. But I did get some good free books. Here's the list of what I picked up, along with a line--that I did not write--describing them and my comments--which I did write--in parentheses:

Chambermaid by Saira Rao: The devil holds a gavel...a wickedly entertaining debut novel about a young attorney's eventful year clerking for a federal judge. (That is so trying to play off The Devil Wears Prada. Lame.)

The Air We Breathe by Andrea Barrett: The exquisite, much-anticipated new novel by the author of Ship Fever, winner of the National Book Award. (This looks good. The back cover has words like "tragedy" "thwarted" "betrayal" and "cottages.")


Odd Mom Out by Jane Porter: Can this ex-urbanite remain uniquely herself without alienating the inner circle of smug, cookie-cutter executive wives? (Oh my god, this sounds so bad. I must have been in a book collecting daze. This is screaming film adaptation, probably with Rachel McAdams or something.)

The What's Happening to My Body Book for Girls by Lynda Madaras: (This is the book my mom gave me when I was first learning about sex. She made me read it with her on vacation while everyone else got to go swimming. Still, I love this book. When I saw that they had a new edition, I had to get it.)


Beginners Greek by James Collins: A delicious and irresistible romantic comedy in which true love begins on a New York to Los Angeles flight. (Well, suspend your disbelief, I guess, because who even talks to people on flights anymore? Doesn't everyone just put their headphones on and pretend to be really busy or unconscious? Plus, the people at this booth were basically shoving this book at anyone walking by. Not good.)


The Secret River by Kate Grenville: "Magnificent...Grenville's psychological acuity, and the sheer gorgeousness of her descriptions of the territory being fought over, pulls us ever deeper into a time when one community's opportunity spelled another's doom." --The New Yorker (The only thing I want to say about this book is that the cover designer's name is Hoo Ha.)

The People's Act of Love by James Meek: "Doctor Zhivago...Anna Karenina...Lermontov's A Hero of Our Time...The People's Act of Love will remind you of all these books...Magnificent...heart-pounding." --Washington Post Book World (There's something I distrust about that many ellipses. Who knows what the Post really said? Maybe it was "Not magnificent...not heart-pounding." Hmmm?)


Halfway House by Katharine Noel: With grace and precision, debut novelist Katharine Noel guides us through a world where love is imperfect, and where longing for an imagined ideal can both destroy one family's happiness and offer it redemption. (This looks good and it has a cool cover.)

Let's try this instead

OK, today I realized that I have about 7 friends I owe phone calls to and instead of actually picking up the phone and doing something about it, I am creating a blog so that you can read about what I'm doing when I'm not calling you. Last night I went to sing karaoke with Cameron and Jay and a bunch of their friends. It was Cameron's fake birthday, which means there was cake and some people who got a little confused brought presents. I announced at the beginning of the night that I would not be singing karaoke and then, after a few drinks, proceeded to rock Shoop, Let's Talk About Sex, I Say a Little Prayer (which was really Jay's song, but I screamed it into his ear until he just put the microphone in my face), and Crazy Train. The night ended with a group sing along to Sublime's Santaria. Jay told me that his magic formula for being comfortable singing karaoke is as follows:

4 glasses of wine
2 jello shots (yes, we had jello shots. I told you it was a fake bday party. I just failed to mention it was a fake 21st bday party)
4 vodka tonics

Jesus. That's my magic formula for falling down the stairs and going into rehab. Just kidding, Jay.