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?