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Sometimes my boss isn't here
Posted by: Liz
Sometimes my boss isn't here and I don't really have work to do, yet the day flies right by. I think because I'm not all stressed out trying to click back to something work-related when my boss appears in my doorway. Stress makes the day go slower apparently. Hmm. Well, it is officially my last summer-hours Friday and I am celebrating by taking off ridiculously early and going to lunch with friends and later to drinks with more friends. These are good times.Do you ever think about the weird adjectives that people use to describe gross food? Sometimes, the adjective is perfect and describes exactly what you are tasting. The first time I heard someone describe an apple as "mealy," I knew that was the exact word for it and from that point on I hated "mealy" apples instead of "soft" apples. Others are more confusing. Kelly's brother always called processed cheese food slices "powdered cheese," which doesn't really make sense to me intuitively. But now when Kelly refers to powdered cheese, I can make a connection semantically and mentally, if not physically. Also thinks that "taste like cardboard." I don't think I've ever had anything in my mouth that recalled the flavor and texture of cardboard, but the phrase is invoked quite often. At school, everyone prefered sticky rice and wouldn't eat the "cardboard rice." Was it because it reminded people of the rice that comes from cardboard boxes or because it actually tastes like the stuff? I say things (like Little Ceasers pizza) taste like cardboard because I've been trained to associate tasteless things with the label "cardboard," not because I think of it when I'm eating.
Wow. great blog post, Liz. Way to go.
Alright, I gott post and publish here before I delete everything in a blind fury. I'm off! See you on Tuesday. Happy Laboring!
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Well, ladies and gents, I
Posted by: Liz
Well, ladies and gents, I think I finally found the perfect job for myself: --------Sometimes I plan all day
Posted by: Liz
Sometimes I plan all day to go to the gym, but then get home from work and I feel crappy. Most of the time I force myself to go and end up feeling good that I went. But then there are the awful times when it turns out my body wasn’t just messin’ with me, it really didn’t want to go to they gym and it can’ t believe it told me that and yet here I still am, at the gym with my unmotivated body, just wishin' for a bowl of cereal and some crappy TV. Well, that’s how it was yesterday. I love my Monday night yoga class, don’t get me wrong. The instructor is great (a tiny little man who is made up entirely of muscle and teaches yoga with gentleness and thoroughness you expect from a yoga instructor, but with the perseverance of a soccer coach). Usually I’m into the fact that he pushes us, but like I said, I was already not feeling that great and he was in some sort of mood that I’ve never seen him in before. He started by giving us a lecture about not assuming you maintain strength and flexibility if you don’t practice regularly. But in kind of a mean way. Then we launched into one of the craziest hard classes I’ve taken with him. It was all knee work and groin stretches and weird balance stuff. During a confusing point, a girl asked him to demonstrate a pose and he barked at her that he'd just ate, so that wasn't going to happen. And then he made us do this one pose (which I cannot find a picture of, but put your right ankle on your upper left thigh. Balancing on the ball of your left foot, squat all the way down and tuck your right shin into your armpits. Place your hands on the ground. Now lift yourself off the ground and extend your left leg straight out, so your body is now parallel to the ground. That’s what I said. Why are you still sitting there?). And everyone was kinda falling all over the place and watching this one girl who seemed to be the only one getting it. And he stopped us for a full minute or two to yell at us that if we watched everyone else instead of trying to do it, we would never get anywhere. I felt like total shit after that. But then he had me demonstrate a tripod headstand in front of the class and I felt better. Because I was feeling like a simple animal last night: yelling bad, praise good.And J bought a bunch of cereal and we ate it and watched “For Love or Money” and everything was okay once more. Adios craptacular Rob and your flat, emotionless voice!
Nell Freudenberger update: I am really enjoying Lucky Girls. Pick it up. She is a talented writer and has a nice writing style that is at once flat and complex. Like dried mangos with li-hing powder.
Tomorrow I am taking off because my friend I’ve known since preschool is coming to New York and I’m going to show her what’s what. She’s already done all the touristy stuff, so I’m excited for a day full of little galleries and odd shops and some Brooklyn fun.
Operation good/evil cover went into effect this morning. I debated briefly before sending CJOY, a Canadian radio station the white cover and a black cover to Salem Press in California. Yes, it seemed obvious to send the good cover to Joy and the evil cover to Salem, but what if they were trying to trick me?? You never know.
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Whip the hell out of
Posted by: Liz
Whip the hell out of that snow leopard's assApparently, I missed the death of Wesley Willis while away. This is sad news. I was actually lucky enough to meet the man himself when he turned up at a friend of mine's party in Denver one summer. He head butted me. My story is not as good as my other friends' story about giving him a lift to Ft. Collins, but I don't recall it well enough to retell here. I will gather information and come back with a good story for you, in honor of Mr. Willis.
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E-mail exchange between J and
Posted by: Liz
E-mail exchange between J and I this morning. You should know: we just got done reading a lot of Harry Potter and were just invited to a costumed Halloween party. You should also know: J has very blond hair and is easily antagonized by evil Malfoy comparisons.From: liz
To: J
Sent: Monday, August 25, 2003 10:32 AM
Subject: halloween
I know who you're going as and his name starts with D and ends with alfoy.
From: J
Sent: Monday, August 25, 2003 10:50 AM
To: Liz
Subject: Re: halloween
Dean Pabalfoy, the inventor of flexible electrical wire conduit? Nobody will get that even with Dean's trademark big thumbs and crooked grin.
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Back from my weekend dip
Posted by: Liz
Back from my weekend dip into Pennsylvania. There is much to relay, but I am not sure I have the energy for retelling at this moment. The four of us traveled via rental car, and due to a last minute money panic, had to do so without insurance (yikes!). Lucky us, nothing happened, so it turned out to work like a $60 discount for us. We stayed a pretty nice hotel in the town of State College. They actually named the city “State College,” yes. It was small and college towny: lots of grill-themed restaurants, music/clothing/crafty stores. There was the wedding, which had much potluck and organically grown flowers, and sobriety, and dense, homemade wedding cake. Mostly it was outside and a bluegrass band played. Everyone was relaxed and happy and the bride didn’t have makeup on and was kind and embracing of everything. It was a notch below the kind of wedding I’d want for myself, but the personal nature of everything was very touching. I’ll take a wedding like that over an overdone floofy affair with banquet tables any day.We made our way to Krista’s parents’ house in Indiana and that was also nice. We hot tubbed it and were fed amazing quantities of food.
Mostly, this trip makes me hungry for quiet porches and cool air.
Oh my goodness, I am so sleepy. It is one of those days where you feel like you are watching the words come out of your own mouth, interested in exactly what thoughts they are going to express. I’m moving underwater. I must stop writing for now. I’ll be back when there is more caffeine or something in my system and I can make coherent thoughts again.
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This afternoon, I treat you
Posted by: Liz
This afternoon, I treat you all to an elated Liz. This morning I forgot my reading material, so was forced to sit on the local train all the way to work with nothing to do. I realized this is not a good idea because it makes me brood and stir up anxiety about work and my future and everything, instead of just relaxing with a good read. But the day soon turned around. I got a call and now have two interviews lined up in the next couple of weeks (yea!), so I have that to look forward to in the long run. In the short run, I have a little road trip and wedding to look forward to starting tomorrow. And in the more immediate short run, I am going to dinner tonight at the pressed sandwich place. Let me restate: THE Pressed Sandwich Place, as in the best place you will ever get two slabs of crispy ciabatta bread with melted heaven inside. AND, while we're on the subject of heaven in the mouth, I must bestow mad culinary props to Kelly who, in a fit of food network inspired creation made a mud pie. We're talking THICK oreo crust, coffee ice cream, Bailey's Irish Cream topping. And more oreos. Yes, that's what I said. In an a very immediate short run, I get to leave work in an hour to begin my three-day weekend. This is pure bliss as well. But what about your ride home? Won't you be sad you don't have anything to read on the subway, Liz? No, no I will not, because my friend sent me a copy of Lucky Girls by Nell Freudenberger and I will read that.I've been sort of excited for this one because it is the culmination of a highly hyped event. This girl (Nell) landed her self right in the middle of every young, aspiring writer's wet dream: an assistant at the New Yorker, her boss encouraged her to submit a story to that year's new fiction issue, which she did. It was chosen and a hottsy tottsy picture of her was displayed next to her story. (This is the same issue that Jonathan Safran Foer's fiction, the seed of Everything Is Illuminated, made its appearance) It was a good story. So good in fact that it sparked a bidding frenzy amongst the publishing houses, and the girl landed herself a $100,000 advance for a book of short stories and a novel. All based on nothing more than one story published in the New Yorker. So, the publishing world has been eagerly and nerdily anticipating her first book to consume ravenously and lay judgement upon. So! Subway reading for me!
Have you seen the new "Hershey's To Go" candies? Explain to me the Whoppers To Go. Is the bag easier to carry than the box? When you are just in too much of a hurry to do anything more than gnash your teeth across the corner of a foil bag? In which case, are sure you really need those Whoppers right now? You sound a little too rushed for candy, sir.
--------How wrong is it that
Posted by: Liz
How wrong is it that at least two books we're currently publishing are counting on their subjects to die for the book to be a real success? In the prep cds the editors gave us, the editor for one book actually said, "Okay everybody, let's put our cards on the table. I hope you'll forgive me for being direct, but the Pope can't live forever." The first sentence in the same book is, "By the time the reader picks up this book, it is likely that the exquisit drama of the papal elections will have already taken place, considering the age and ill health of the pope." Yes, let's take that prediction all the way to the bank. --------A little while ago, an
Posted by: Liz
A little while ago, an assistant was returning the call of an elderly, well-respected book reviewer. The phone rang a few times before picking up and the assistant heard on the other end, in the sing-songy, unmistakable voice of the reviewer, "Fuck off, pleease." We are dying. I think this woman is in her nineties. --------This morning is a sleepy
Posted by: Liz
This morning is a sleepy sleepy morning. The alarm went off (to music finally! I’ve been trying a different station every morning in an attempt to have music wake me up, but 7:15 seems to be talk time everywhere) and I rolled over and curled up to J. The cat, instead of getting all grumpy and leaving, curled up to the small of my back and I thought it would be nice if my job was to lie in bed all day curled up with warm things. I would be good at that. But alas, my job is sitting in an air-conditioned office staring at a computer screen, so I eventually got up. Now here I am, considerably less enthused than I was two hours ago.We’re off to a wedding this weekend in Pennsylvania. It is a hippie wedding for some friends of Krista and J’s, but I don’t know them. It’s a potluck ordeal and I was reminded that we volunteered ourselves for a vegetarian main dish. What’s a vegetarian main dish that can be made on a Thursday, travel all day in a car on Friday, spend the night and the following day in a hotel, and then be served with little preparation on Saturday night? The mind boggles. I think we’ve decided on a cold spinach noodle dish with peanut sauce.
I called Willow on her cell yesterday and she picked up even though she was bartending (slow hour), which she doesn’t usually do. She said she thought I might be this guy who had just called who, when Willow answered, launched into: “I just took a bunch more pills. Do you want to meet me in the same place we met last time?”
Willow said, “Who are you talking to?”
The guy paused and said, “Allie?”
Willow said, “You have the wrong number and you need some help.”
He said, “Oh,” mumbled an apology and hung up.
I babysat last night and once again failed to bring a treat that pleased. I usually bring some cookies or something for the kids’ dessert, but lately all attempts would barely receive passing grades. I know the simple equation: Willa likes vanilla, Tessa chocolate. But I keep trying to creative on them. I brought linzer tarts yesterday and they both pressed their fingers decidedly into the hardened jam peeking out of the cut out heart and said, “I don’t like jelly.” We watched the Lizzie McGuire movie.
After bed, I ordered dinner (goat cheese salad, mango shake, and coconut rice pudding) and watched Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. Is there anyone who doesn’t love this show? Good god, that’s some quality programming. I then tried to watch an episode of the new Real World, but it turns out I can’t because I instantly hated all the characters. It must be hard to cast these people just right. They need good looking, young, angsty, self-involved, people who also have the ability to instinctively skip right over any problem solving dialogue when faced with a problem. Yelling, retaliation, talking behind the back, telling the camera tearfully how you really feel, and stalking off angry are the only options these kids choose from. But I guess last night’s episodes wouldn’t have even happened if “Would you please not eat my personal food,” and “It’s 4am and the pool table is right over my bedroom ceiling. The sound of the balls hitting each other has been keeping me up for the past two hours—would you mind cooling it til morning?” came out of one girl’s mouth. It would be a boring show about effective dialogue and no one would watch. SO I watched a gay boy dating show instead. I knew that long haired guy was straight! Called it from the first episode.
We have one author who has been dead for quite a while, but whose books we continue to publish (it was a Trivial Pursuit question!). The line we feed inquiring folks is: He left several manuscripts behind in various stages of completion. But c’mon. It’s all the ghostwriter. In any case, because the company has decided to downplay the whole “death” aspect, all publicity material has to be carefully screened by the lawyers. It can’t say, “The new book by Dead Author” or “Death Author’s new book!” It has to say, “The new Dead Author thriller,” so Dead Author could be legally conceived as a brand. Like Disney. I get fan mail for him all the time, which I forward onto his family. I always wonder what they write the Dead Author, since they are obviously unaware that he can no longer read mail. Overcome with curiosity, I opened a letter yesterday. It was from a Catholic Parish wanting him to donate a signed copy of his book for an auction. There was even a little hand-written note: “Dear Mr. Author, you have many fans within our parish and your donation would mean a lot to us. Thank you for your consideration.” Well, that’s sad. I forwarded it on.
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From Salon Holy shit!! Man
Posted by: Liz
From Salon Holy shit!!Man is trapped in elevator, decapitated
Aug. 18, 2003 | HOUSTON (AP) -- A surgical resident was killed when an elevator malfunctioned and decapitated him, authorities said.
Hitoshi Nikaidoh, 35, was stepping into a second-floor elevator at Christus St. Joseph Hospital Saturday morning when the doors suddenly closed, pinning his shoulders. His head was severed when the elevator car moved upward.
A hospital employee witnessed the accident and spent about 20 minutes trapped inside the elevator before firefighters rescued her. She was treated for shock in the hospital's emergency room, hospital spokeswoman India Chumney Hancock said.
Harris County medical examiners were conducting an inquiry into the accident. Police said earlier that maintenance crews had worked on the elevators during the week.
The entire elevator bank was pulled from operation until the investigation is complete.
Nikaidoh graduated in 2003 from the University of Texas-Houston Medical School.
Elevators and escalators kill about 30 and injure about 17,100 people each year in the United States, according to data from the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics and the Consumer Product Safety Commission.
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Heather Emmanuel, headed to Utica
Posted by: Liz
Heather Emmanuel, headed to Utica Avenue in Brooklyn, also accidentally joined the party in Midtown. She said she was planning to finish a book she was reading about a biblical apocalypse but instead sat and watched the partyers form a soul train down the middle of the car. "They seem like nice young people," she said. --------Questions listed on the Gillette
Posted by: Liz
Questions listed on the Gillette web site, presumably the most commonly asked, and apparently ungrouped: 1 Who is the Transfer Agent and Registrar and how do I contact them? 2 How do I submit an idea to Gillette? 3 How can I change the name on my stock certificate? 4 Are there any career opportunities and where should I send my resume? 5 Where can I buy MACH3®Turbo and Gillette® Series products? 6 How can I receive and Annual Report, Proxy Statement, Investor Kit or other Gillette Financial information? 7 Where can I find information about Gillette for a school assignment? 8 So what's different about the Venus? 9 What are antiplaque or antibacterial rinses? 10 How can I access my online shareholder account? 11 How do I replace a lost, stolen or destroyed stock certificate? 12 What is your policy on charitable giving? 13 Why does the CrossAction® toothbrush feel different in my mouth? 14 Who can I contact with questions regarding my shareholder account? 15 Does Gillette offer a direct stock purchase program? 16 How can I change the address on my shareholder account? 17 Does Gillette offer Product Donations or Coupons? 18 Is there a right way to shave? 19 Myth or Fact? - Batteries should be refrigerated when not in use. 20 What's new about Gillette® Series Antiperspirants and Deodorants? My favorite is #13, tossed in there between company policy stuff --------Blackouts, Disease, Floods, and Art
Posted by: Liz
Blackouts, Disease, Floods, and ArtWell, hello! Back from a long, event-filled weekend. There was enough excitement this weekend to be several weekends of excitement. But that’s not how things work. You can’t pick and space out all the things that happen, you can only lean back and hope you’re ready when it all hits. Of course it all started late afternoon on Thursday when the power went out. After much stressing out, I eventually ended up walking home to Brooklyn with Kelly, who came to meet me. The crowds were something else, it was hot and muggy, but I was glad for many things: the loaning to me of tennis shoes by a coworker (many blisters were stoically endured by Kelly and her hot shoes), my status as un-pregnant, and the fact that I was not in a subway car when it happened. I would have completely freaked the fuck out and you might never have heard from me again, as I’m not sure how much blogging they allow in the sanitarium. Anyway, J was home when I got there and we sat around in our underwear eating melting Ben & Jerry’s until it got too dark, and then we read Harry Potter by candlelight. As we were falling asleep with the kids playing outside and the windows open to let in any breeze that happened along, J mentioned that he would be able to tell if the power came on during the night because the little clock on my stereo would start blinking, which I thought was very funny as there were bound to be much brighter things (like street lights and alarm clocks) to alert us. As it turned out, it was my cell phone beeping with received messages that finally woke us up at 4am, to light streaming out of the bathroom and electricity humming once again.
I had already decided I wasn’t going into work the next morning by the time we heard the subways were out anyway. We had a leisurely morning: I baked corn muffins, which we ate with Alaskan blueberry syrup and strong coffee. J eventually went to see if he had power at work and I invited the girls over for day-off-from-work drinks. We went super girly and blended up strawberry daiquiris and frozen mudslides (we had to buy ice at $.50 a cup from Princess Pizza, as everyone else had sold out), and watched “Deconstructing Harry.” We found out Park Slope was the only part of Brooklyn that regained power so quickly, so J came home defeated, but absolved of responsibility. He had a bug bit on his arm that was growing steadily more red and while we discussed it he entertained Jenny and Kelly with his story of The Line, where he got a piece of wood stuck in his arm and an infection got into his blood stream and crept up his arm in a line. Apparently, if the infection had reached his heart, he would have died, and they actually had to bleed him (!) to drain the infectious blood from him.
It is significant that he told this story, because the next morning he awoke and there was a line coming from the bug bite. I tried to rationalize that perhaps it was a sleep line or that he’d scratched the bite in his sleep or something, but it wasn’t fading. Saturday morning was spent in the emergency room, where they quickly diagnosed him with cellulosis and prescribed antibiotics. They also drew an ink circle around the bug bite, telling him to return if the red area crept outside the circle and mysteriously told him not to “wash the area.” Pre-blackout, we had plans to go upstate to visit my aunt and uncle and go to the DIA Center. We’d rescheduled due to the suspect trains, but it looks like the ol’ cellulosis would have kept us out anyway.
That night, we went to a drawing party hosted by Marcel Dzama, who is a very talented artist who was staying with his wife in his art dealer’s apartment in SoHo. I have never been in any residence in SoHo, so it was pretty excited. The place was really huge and quite beautiful, I thought. I’d never met Marcel, but obviously he’s very tight with all the McSweeney’s folks, and I found him to be very sweet and welcoming. He had a long white table covered with art supplies and everyone sat around and ate food and made art. I’ve always considered myself, how do you say, retarded at drawing, but after a few self-conscious moments, I was dug in a had a lot of fun. I guess he’s known for adding to or working off of other people’s work to create some of his pieces, and he kept a stack of our work. I’ll let you know when my Village Voice collage makes it into a gallery. The night ended with a bittersweet finishing of Harry Potter. It takes a long time to read out loud, I’ll tell you right now. But I’m going through a bit of withdrawal, I must admit.
The weekend began with a blackout and ended with a flood: J and I found ourselves soaked to the bone as we made out way down 5th Ave. to meet the girls and Tom for his birthday Thai dinner. What started out as a sprinkling, escalated to a pounding torrential rain. My shoes were making the squishing noises and by the end of dinner, there was a large pool of water under the table
And now! Now I am back at work. My boss is out, the phone’s still aren’t working and I have this Friday off: a promising start to an unstressful week.
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My work buddy brought back
Posted by: Liz
My work buddy brought back a bag of saltwater taffy from Santa Barbara, where she was just visiting for a wedding. I can't stop eating them, despite their dubious flavors and toothache-inducing sweetness.Almost all the people I know right now are going through a crisis of empoyment at the moment. Either they don't have it or have it and hate it. It is strange to know that many people all hating their jobs at the same moment. Is this "quarter-life crisis" (and I hate using that phrase because it sounds so utterly contrived and read-to-be-made-into-a-peppy-handbook) something that has developed in recent years? I wonder if it is a result of so much communication--either between unhappy or happy people, that give you a springboard off which to view your own position. Or is it that in the aftermath of being told by everyone from 1st grade teachers to afterschool specials that we could be anything we wanted, achieve the impossible, aspire to any goal, we are still assistants and laborers, and
(side story: the newly promoted publicist sitting in the office next to me just called her assistant in to look at a funny personal ad she just found--Tazmanian Devil looking for sleek black goddess to search the deep dark jungles with--but prefaced the invitation with, "Don't ask how I found this, but..." Uh, ok. She is so weird. I'm sorry, but she is fantastically uncomprehensible to me in so many ways, yet she keeps surprising me with new and weirder ways for me to marvel at her oddness. She wears glasses with huge, perfectly circular lenses, that sit on the edge of her nose. If I think about that long enough, my mind will start to colapse in on itself. Why those lenses? Why the tip of her nose? Why? Why!)
in unfulfilled positions. I know for me, it is fighting my knowledge that I could be something great in the business world, but I could also be something great without it. I could live in the mountains and garden
(oh fer fuck's...she just e-mailed the personal ad around the office. So weird! I am just realizing that perhaps this is not all that weird to you all. Perhaps you need to meet her. Then you would know. Kelly knows!)
uh...I've lost the train of thought. They're doing work on our computers tomorrow, so I won't have a computer after noon or so. We were all excited for the e-mail because it basically means work ends after that. We seriously lose the ability to do any serious work without the computers. I guess what I was trying to get at above is this: were secretaries of 30 years ago sad and worried about their futures, too? Is knowing you have infinate possibility the reason we feel so restless and worried?
--------Post in which my food
Posted by: Liz
Post in which my food aspirations and admirations conflict disgustingly with my food realitiesToday, today is a food day. First of all, you should check out the Julie/Julia project here. Over the course of a year, this woman has been cooking every recipe in Mastering the Art of French Cooking by Julia Child ("365 days. 536 recipes. One girl and a crappy outer borough kitchen.") This is endlessly fascinating to me, though I don't imagine I would take on French cooking. However, doing a different dessert every day to master the art of pastries sounds like something right up my alley. I think mostly because I don't eat meat, I have a hard time getting all drooly over cooking shows or recipes that deal with the stuff. I think a large part of the allure of cooking/baking is the ability to project the taste of whatever is being made onto your tongue. So while I never get tired of watching pastry chefs go to work on crazy desserts, I have very limited attention for big meaty things (heh). Although...I was completely transfixed by several pieces the Food Network aired on the annual Coney Island hot dog eating contest. But: A. eating 86 hot dogs is incredible, no two ways around it, and B. I really love vegetarian hot dogs. I'm also not huge on that French guy's cooking show where he makes all these little toy-like things out of chocolate. They're too decorative to get all foodie about.
At lunch I picked up Seed magazine, and it happens to be their food issue. They did a really incredible reporting job on several stories of note. The slant was mostly the integration of science into the art of taste. Amongst the profiles, a bartender who uses his chemistry knowledge to create perfect drink combinations. One is named after an ex-girlfriend because--being made with several ingredients and topped with grapefruit foam, which melts slowly into the liquid--it tastes bittersweet at first, then grows more complex and sweet as the flavors begin to mix and bond. (The emotions one goes through after a break up?) Such artistry. I want to be less romantic in my description here, but I'm failing! I love the idea of this drink! I want to shell out $15 for it! I want it to be Proust in a glass with a lemon garnish!
Also was a story about Fat Duck, a British restaurant that takes a similarly scientific look at food creations. They describe him as a modern Willie Wonka, manufacturing taste emotions based on what he knows about the nature of the products. The article starts out with a description of the cook trying to figure out the best way to integrate Tryptophan into petit fours (so you would feel relaxed when paying the bill.) Other things that sound exciting: frozen green tea with lime foam, parsnip cereal (tastes like the dregs of Frosted Flakes), mustard ice cream with purple-cabbage gazpacho topping, a substance that morphs through several flavors (ala Violet Boregard's gum) going from basil to olive to thyme into onion (still in the works). Wow! Go out and read this article right now!
And to round things off, Seed also included photos and commentary by the Julie/Julia project woman.
My friend Brion has a great idea for a restaurant involving one common table and a dinner party theme.
Things I enjoy eating, but feel embarrassed to enjoy in front of others, as they usually ask what I am doing:
>Pretzels dipped in yogurt (which I still don't think is so weird. People eat yogurt covered pretzels all the time. But I got shit at lunch today anyway.)
>Cold vegetarian hot dogs out of the can (thanks, Willow!)
>Apples with salt
>V8
>Soggy cereal dust
>Cold canned sweet peas
>Cottage cheese with peas/oyster crackers
>Bread dipped in water or milk (this combo first came to me when watching "Old Yeller" as a kid. There was some reference to bread dipped in milk and I asked my babysitter for some. She refused on the grounds that she knew I would hate it. But she was wrong. I also like milk toast, which is some southern thing I think, but really good. My friend Stephen hates any sort of soggy bread product with a vehemence.)
So there you go, a foodie post from the girl who had Reece's PB cups for breakfast.
--------Kelly and I are off
Posted by: Liz
Kelly and I are off to have a spa evening. She is such a nice friend that she bought me all these wonderful little treats from a fancy spa. Some of the things I've never heard of and some I've just simply never done. Like eyebrow waxing for one. I've never really considered my eyebrows up until a few years ago, and I certainly never had a unibrow or anything, but as time progressed (and I found myself amongst the swarming fashionable masses of New York, teeming with groomed brows and pedicured toes) I certainly paid more attention. I pluck to keep up a nice arch, but it's nothing Barbie would call her own. However, Kelly did manage to dig up some pictures of us from pre-grooming years and the brows on us are a bit of a sight to behold. I've been letting them grow in preparation for this waxing and the strays are, surprisingly, stressing me out a bit, which is a good to counteract my slight worry about this whole procedure. Wax the fuckers goddammnit!Here's fun updates from the book publishing world:
Apparently we just received a manuscript for Randy Jackson's book, "What's Up, Dawg: A Memoir." (ok, I'm improvising a working title there)
A long time ago I got some fan mail from a woman writing to the author of this book on ghosts. I remember this fan mail distinctly because it was a long letter and had several photos enclosed with it. These photos were taken at night and were dotted with numerous transparent white spots, which the woman went on to explain were ghosts. We all got a good laugh and I sent the letter onto the author. Anyway, this woman just called and asked
what happened to her letter. I obviously remembered the letter and told her I mailed it to the author, as is protocol. She was very upset and said that she had asked the author to mail the pictures back to her and the author had not, as of yet, done so. When I informed her that there was really nothing I could do, she got even more upset, telling me that she had pictures that would make my lips curl (her phrase) and that she wasn't "into all this ghost photography" (hmm) but that she seemed to draw in strange things. And she was glad she didn't send the good pictures. Alright lady, number one rule of mailing strangers things: don't mail them things you want back. I know checking that little box at the kiosk to get additional photos is a big deal, and color copies are very hard to come by, but you think she might have not sent original, one-of-a-kind, sentimentally valued items to someone she doesn't know. Especially if that person is a crazy ghost author.
This morning I had to listed to the VP rant about another publicist not being able to get authors on radio shows. With a straight face: "If I can get people on national TV any time I want, you'd think she could get a couple on a radio show!" Yeah, big VP who deigns to touch only the most celebrity of celebrity books, way to work hard. I would love to see him try to dredge up publicity for a poorly written biography of an obscure 16th century minor British political figure. Try to get a radio show for that, asshole. arg.
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"You're in a tail, 16
Posted by: Liz
"You're in a tail, 16 feet under water, breathing on a hose," she said. "If you think about it too much you can freak out." --------Health Foods Last week, I
Posted by: Liz
Health FoodsLast week, I was watching a documentary on nostalgic foods. It was sort of a watered down, more serious look at junk food than you'd get on say, "Good Eats" (read: less Mark Summers, more black and white still shots from a clip library). Entertaining nonetheless. Here are some things I learned:
> Cornflakes were inspired by an overbaked loaf of wheat bread that the bakers ended up crumbling up and serving with milk. This happened at some weird health resort place, which might sound familiar if you've seen "Road to Wellville" (a movie which I remember very little of, save the fact that my friend Heather and I saw it when it first came out and dubbed it the worst movie we'd ever seen. Ever.)
>Marshmallows were originally believed to possess medicinal value and were at one point prescribed for various illnesses.
>The same goes for Dr. Pepper. A doctor "discovered" that people's blood sugar dropped each day around 10:00, 2, and 4 (surprise!), but found that drinking Dr. Pepper at those times helped raise those levels right back up (for some kooky medical reason!). Their slogan was actually "Drink a Bite to Eat at 10, 2, and 4!"
This makes for a complete, health-filled meal of Cornflakes with marshmallows and a tall frosty bottle of Dr. Pepper! Atkins is turning over in his grave.
>Pez was originally mint-flavored and marketed to smokers, coming sheathed in a what resembled a lighter. An idea before it's time: they should think about re-releasing this.
What they should not think about re-releasing...
>Pez at one point came in a dispenser shaped like a gun. So that kids could shoot the candy right into their mouths. With their lips wrapped around the barrel. Good one, Pez!
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bugsbugsbugs Ah, back at work
Posted by: Liz
bugsbugsbugsAh, back at work after one of my last 3-day weekends, which are rapidly disappearing—only 2 more left! Summer hours have been kind to me, and I list them amongst the shining moments of my publishing career, thus far. The weekend was a busy one, full of “getting shit together” fun. J and I finally cleared buckled down and got the apartment in some sort of shape, which feels nice. Despite all my urges to travel and project non-materialistic values, it still feels satisfying to be in my own space with my own things and, I guess, have a home. On Friday I played all domestic and went to the grocery store to indulge in some much needed food shopping. I went nuts: from kiwis to two kinds of hummus, veggie booty to organic applesauce, cookie ingredients to anti-bacterial disinfectant spray. Ah! I had to cart the huge haul home and felt very Susie Homemaker. Now when I want a snack, I can actually open the cupboard to find food sitting there!
Oh.
I completely forgot about the meltdown leading up to the shopping spree. Feeling all revved up, I decided to clean out the cupboards and get rid of all the old food and jars of peanut butter with a tablespoon of scrapings left inside. Every once in a while, when I open up the cupboard, I see a cockroach and it freaks me the fuck out. Every apartment in NY has some cockroaches somewhere, but ever since the construction started next door, their visits have been more frequent, much to my disdain and severe disgust. (J doesn’t mind them, even respecting them for their superlative survival skills.) So I decided I’d remove all the food, clean everything out, give the cracks a good spray with a deadly bug killing agent, air it out and refill the space with lovely new foods. Oh the simple plan. Somewhere between opening the cupboard and refilling it with food, I had a major breakdown as bugs began emerging all over the place. I kept screaming and squashing, jumping and spraying, the whole time trying to calm myself down and remind myself these are only bugs for chrissakes, but with each bug I freaked out a little more. It was awful. I could only do one cupboard, and haven’t open the other one since. But I also haven’t seen any bugs in the clean one. I spent the rest of the weekend jumping at dark spots on in the wood and pieces of floating lint.
This morning I had a bunch of grits for breakfast…I can’t seem to get enough.
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Googlography I know everyone indulges
Posted by: Liz
GooglographyI know everyone indulges in self-googling from time to time and it is always a disappointment to see the same things pop up all the time. So now that I have ultimate control over my little slice of the cyber world, I thought from time to time I'd give particular people google hits. The things google pulls up are never as good as you want, so I'll try to give you what you insatiable little stalkers want. For someone with as crazy of a name as Tug Leeder, one would think there might be an excess of information on the boy. But one would be wrong. In fact, a google search show us Mr. Leeder's name sadly "does not match any documents." The reason for this is that "Tug Leeder" is not this person's real name. So if you are a cute girl who has been approached by a darling hipster boy by this distinctive name, you should be warned he operates under an assumed moniker. And perhaps many more. Here's what we know about Tug:
>He is from New Mexico, where I believe he is currently residing
>He has got the darling hipster routine down pat. I don't think he can help it. But also I think that's what he wants you to think.
>He's had his heart broken by a couple of girls
>He came to New York where he became fast friends with me and my friends
>He came recommended by several New Mexican friends, who are also my friends
>My friends met him while wandering around drunk one afternoon and wandered by his house and got to talking about music
>While here, his roommate was Brendan Sexton, from "Welcome to the Dollhouse" fame
>Kelly helped him write a quality cover letter and resume, but the temp agency we were woriking for at the time still wouldn't interview him
>He worked at a comic book store here for awhile
>He once tried to come onto a girl by making an elaborate marquee message starting with fireworks and ending with: Will you make out with me?
>The girl laughed but, sadly, did not make out with Tug.
>He looks like some guy I saw on the subway last night, which is what made me think of him
>He has a "friend" named Peter Alamouski who may or may not be either another alias or his real name
>My friend John knows his real name but won't tell anyone
That's all for now. Dear Tug Leeder, please enjoy your google entry.
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Oh also, Celebrity Publicist Update:
Posted by: Liz
Oh also, Celebrity Publicist Update: My boss says all his he and all his superfluous e-mails annoy the shit out of everyone in editorial. ha ha --------Cat Jacuzzi Ok, J just
Posted by: Liz
Cat JacuzziOk, J just informed me that when he went into our bathroom in the morning, he was greeted by the sight of Max sitting in the toilet. With his arms over the rim, as though in a hot tub. (Yes this is a gross hot tub and, okay, not very hot.) I asked if he had fallen in and J said no, that he seemed very content and lept out as soon as J caught sight of him. Now unless J is describing this completely wrong or I am picturing this completely wrong, the cat using the toilet bowl as a personal wet lounge is the funniest image I have come across in a very long time.
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Oh no! I’m the worst
Posted by: Liz
Oh no! I’m the worst girlfriend ever. I booked all the nonrefundable flight stuff and didn’t realize J has class the weekend we’re scheduled to leave. He misses 4 classes, including finals. Shitballs. I feel awful. This is what I get for being overexcited about things. What to do? --------Pub alert! Liz totally bitter!
Posted by: Liz
Pub alert! Liz totally bitter!We're supposed to send out these "Pub Alerts" when one of our books gets national attention. They're supposed to be functional in that they alert other departments about what's happening with a certain book. But they are also inherently boastful, and are essentially an e-mail to other publicists proclaiming: lookie what I did naaaaah! The problem is, publicity is created unequal: a review in a glossy magazine for a random academic book is a big deal--the publicist probably worked hard to get that. A mention in a gossip mag about a celebrity book is a given--the publicist probably never lifted a finger. Celebrity books get all the attention here and only one publicist works on them. And irritatingly, the more celebrity the book is, the more likely it is to have an outside publicist and also generate it's own media, i.e. the less work the publicist here actually has to do. But guess which books get the most attention and thus the most pub alerts? Guess who looks like they are better at their job and doing more? Guess who has the easiest job? An especially annoying example is that a weekly pub alert goes out announcing the national bestsellers. The Celebrity Publicist then follows that up with a pub alert for each of his books on the list. He's not announcing anything! The bestseller list JUST told us what he is now re-telling us. But our mailboxes fill up with his name and his freakin' exclamation points anyway. Go get 'em Celebrity Publicist!
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Mmmm...I'll have the moist with
Posted by: Liz
Mmmm...I'll have the moist with a side of crispy and a large coldIn a wonderful surprise move, my parents offered to buy my and J's plane tickets to Denver for a xmas visit. This is great news as we are very poor and this saves us not only money but stress and 2 a.m flights out of Newark. I was booking the tickets today (better early than not...In March I delayed buying tickets to Tulsa for a couple hours only to log back on after lunch and find the price had jumped $100 inexplicably, never to drop again. There is no getting over a frustration like that.) I feel a little silly booking 4 months in advance, but then again it makes vacation seem that much closer. mmm, vacation... In any case, when I was filling out the online form about myself and selecting a meal preference, one of the choices was "bland." And you have to wonder about that. It wasn't like the other choices were tasty, overly salted, piquant, chewy, and heavily sweetened (although imagine if we picked food by the sensation they made...that might be fun). I bet it means low-sodium and some saltaphiliac like me is editor of the online forms and just decided to tell it like it is.
How I Entertain Myself
We got in our shipment of the big fall thriller and they did half the books in a black jacket and half in an identical white jacket. I see endless possibilities for exploiting the differences in these books. I suggested to my boss that we send the black ones to the evil reviewers and the white ones to the good ones. We could start the Great War of the Book Reviewers. We would be in charge of deciding who was worthy enough for the white covers and who deserved the dark mark of the black covers and reviewers would wait in anxious fear to find out how they behavior has defined them. Won't return calls? Black cover! Courteous and patient on the phone? White cover! Makes snide remarks about our books when we pitch? Double black cover! Sends us copies of reviews? White cover!
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J and went to my
Posted by: Liz
J and went to my cousin's apartment for dinner last night. She put together this really nice spread of all these different grain salads, veggie sushi, roast vegetables and babaganoush, which made me feel very healthy and vegetarian. The kids were all hyped up to have us there. While we were eating, Willa would wander over to J and whisper in his ear while he listened solemnly. Then he would turn and say, "Liz, Willa can swim in the big pool now, all by herself. And without swim wings, even!" Then Willa would run over to me and whisper in my ear to tell J that she went down the slide on her dad's lap and that water sprayed her on the way down. This is typical Willa: she likes to generate conversations about herself and accomplishments, while ostensibly not tooting her own horn too much. Tessa kinda lives in her own world. She's just as outgoing, but in an entirely different way, somehow more self-contained. We watched a slide show of their trip to Cali and in all the pictures Willa is smiling brightly into the camera, while Tessa is caught in motion making some funny face. She's the kinda kid who knows what's going on.We also received our first gift as a couple: a fondue set! Which I think is very appropriate. I'm completely craving this fondue I had at a restaurant a few years ago made with white chocolate, Bailey's, and Oreo crumbs, but I might have to find a recipe w/o the alcohol for ol' alcohol-hatin' J. Oh the sacrifices! On the Food Network website, they have all kinds of recipes, but before you get to it, you have to scroll through a big ol Atkin's ad with an ecstatic skinny woman on it. I assume the ad is indiscriminate, that it comes up regardless of whether you're searching for chocolate fondue or vegetable broth, but it is unnerving nonetheless. Like, "We know what you're trying to cook here, and we have to tell you: bad idea. Do you really want to be fat and unhappy your whole life? Because if you're researching fondue recipes I'll let you in on a little secret: you're heading in that direction, tubby. So why don't you lay off the recipe searches and focus on buying pre-packaged food that we're selling. See, don't you feel skinnier already?"
And on to books...
I just finished Darin Strauss's Chang and Eng and I recommend it if you want to read some crazy fiction-based-on-fact about the original Siamese twins. Fact: they got married and fathered 21 children between the two of them. I know.
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Holy goddamn is the rain
Posted by: Liz
Holy goddamn is the rain coming down! This is an honest to goodness crazy rainstorm, with thunder and lightening, dark skies and furious rain. I'm really glad we closed our skylight at home before we left. Last night it came in all which way through the open skylight, soaking everything underneath. Usually the skylight isn’t an issue during storms—something about the angle of it tends to keep tame rain out. But not this rain! This rain was getting inside whether we liked it or not. J was up at 7 am with a stool and a towel trying to close and dry everything. There is a leak in the hallway that is causing a strip of ceiling to peel away and we thought that might be the source of the loud drip we were hearing through the wall in our room, but further investigation showed this was not the case at all. It seems the drip is coming from a mystery location, which worries me a little. It actually sounds like it is coming from inside the wall, which can’t be good. But moreover: poor J! Something in his brain tunes him into small noises that don’t register with me at all. Like, I hear the drip, but then I go back to sleep. For J, the drip enters his brain, unpacks a little dance bag and starts hammering out a rousing Shirley Temple routine. In the other bedroom, it was little cheeping birds --------Here is a great link
Posted by: Liz
Here is a great link to recipes from Weight Watchers cards circa 1974! This is a fine example of things that should be put on the web for everyone's general amusement. The props alone are enough to slay me. The animals! (This was found thanks to Eva, who also lead me to this site awhile ago, which is hours of how-much-is-inside entertainment.) --------Etiquette? Now that I'm bringing
Posted by: Liz
Etiquette?Now that I'm bringing others into this mess, is there etiquette? Do I inform people of my linking of their page on my page? What if I don't know them? What if they are the Liz* I stumbled upon while wondering about seasame seeds and have no connection to them at all? But then their blogs are interesting or otherwise entertaining and I check up on them? I'm like a little blog stalker. But stalk no more, now you will know if I've been stalking because my little stalk will show up on a sidebar now. Unless you don't want it there; then you have to tell me.
* Turns out she is actually a Liza. Hard to know when to stop when you're reading meshed together words.
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My friend Abby, who was
Posted by: Liz
My friend Abby, who was one of the main culprits in luring me into this whole Liz blogging business (passive luring, luring by example, as it were) is now officially my blogging mentor, and will lead me through exciting advances in this blogging world. She has shown me how to add links! Now I not only feel much smarter, but I can encourage you to read all about Abby's goings on. Do it...you know you want to. --------What a dreary day it
Posted by: Liz
What a dreary day it is outside! This summer sure hasn't felt like much of a summer, what with the late start and now this early autumn business. There better be some serious sun pockets hiding in the upcoming two seasons. And I mean serious. I am completely tanless this summer. This is a first for me. Not that I'm a usual glossy bronze or anything, but typically my summer calls me out into the sun for numerous sun-related activities wherein a tan comes upon me. This summer, no such luck. Boo that. Boo all that shit, yo.The trash trucks that roam down my streets have painted across their rears, in bold black letters: "DON'T LITTER."
If I walk from Union Square to work in the mornings, I pass a mattress store that has lots of displays in the window. One such display is a minature mattress with a cutaway section so you can see the inticate inner construction of this miracle mattress that supports you like no other. Atop this small mattress is a cutout of a woman's body, laying on her side, back towards you. She is presumably sleeping soundly and--holy cow!--she's in the buff, so you can trace with your eyes the lovely dip of her waist and curves of her buttocks. That is, however, if you aren't distracted by the exposed SPINE you can also see pertruding along the cutaway of her back. She's not a hot naked sleeping girl! She's dead! She's been murderd and her back peeled away from her supine body! Look away!
Today is a co-worker's last day, so we took her out for lunch yesterday at this fancy Greek restaurant. Everything was pretty good, but we had a very strange waitress. Youngish and with flyaway tan hair pulled into a messy ponytail, she spoke with halting English. I had a feeling she might have been French or Italian, though. Possibly not Greek. She seemed utterly unsure of herself the entire time she was taking our orders. (I had an appitizer greek salad for my entree, as there were no vegetarian things on the menu, but after realizing that the salad was only tomatoes, cucumbers, and feta, I asked if I could get some greens with it, too. She assured me it came with greens. But it actually came with green, singular, being a lonely piece of lettuce upon which all the other stuff was piled. A garnish, if you will. Luckily I was all filled up on bread, so no biggie.) She would sidle up and, even when none of us were talking because we were waiting for her to come over, she appeared loath to interrupt us and took a minute to break into our conversation. Even when we weren't talking. And then-and this is the baffling thing to me--as she was clearing the plates, she pointedly started humming loudly. Now, if we were in a diner, and Lorraine our brisk and never-faltering, sure-of-herself waitress, swept in to collect the dishes and was humming a bit while whisking things away, I would not be surprised. That Lorraine, she's all business but likes a little hum to distract her! But this girl was obviously neither brisk nor all business and neither whisked or swept anything. She was just humming rather oddly and awkwardly. I had the thought that she was perhaps a French girl and someone had told her to play the part of a Greek waitress and that in Greece, things are brisk and airy and one might hum as one is taking dishes away. Maybe she was humming under orders? I think humming is one of those things you can only undertake under your own inclination. Humming under duress is pretty awful.
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