Do I wake or sleep?

I'm making a custom Google map showing where all the good dessert/ice cream places and bakeries are. Y'all are welcome to add your suggestions, just format the info box approrpriately (i.e., brief description, hours if you can find them and a phone number).

My one confusion is that I can't seem to be able to access the map on my SmartPhone--I have installed Google Maps for Mobile on my phone, but for some reason I can't access this map--the mobile application doesn't let you keep "favorite" maps like regular Google maps does. Weird.


View The Sweet Stuff in NYC in a larger map

Pedicab driver shows his ass, caught on film by Fox news.

In addition to slowing down traffic for a useless function (pedicabs are strictly for tourists, they should stick to Central Park), this guy is apparently ridiculously thin-skinned. Getting honked at is part of the fabric of Manhattan traffic. If you don't like it, get off the streets or flip him off--you don't throw shit. You don't go ballistic, throw a hot drink through someone's window, then after getting the beat down you deserve, throw a garbage can at the other guy (missing wildly) and then try to make a getaway by pedaling against traffic and then on the sidwalk to avoid the cops.

What a complete fucking loser. Generally speaking I loathe manufactured class warfare (hipster vs. ethnic cabbie) but in this case, I side completely with the cabbie, although he should not have attacked the guy.

So, I've been putting together a "rough" (heh heh) itinerary for London, for which my Mom and I leave in EXACTLY TWO DAYS. Yay! The itinerary is pretty full, since there's so much we want to do. This is what it looks like:

Friday, 10/2

9:30 Arrive in London, go through customs

11:30 (approx.) Check into hotel

River tour (weather)—meet at Westminster Pier by Westminster Bridge. (£6.90 1-way, £8.70, round-trip)



Westminster Bridge and Big Ben

Shopping/wandering?

7:30 Jack the Ripper tour (£7, £5 for Mom, 2 hours, weather)

Saturday, 10/3

Morning Globe/Rose tour (Clara—remember to bring LLL ticket for discount)

2:00 British Museum (free)

7:30—Love’s Labour’s Lost at the Globe (Clara—pre-booked, pick up tix at window)



The Globe

There's more of course, including Hampton Court, Evensong at St. Paul's, Evensong at Westminster Abbey, the Tower of London...I'm trying to figure out how I can fit in a custom-made Xmas Carol tour--they offer them but only during the holidays, it seems. So I'll have to pull out the map of London I consulted for Xmas Carol research and map out my own tour.

Oh, and I found out our hotel has 1) free WiFi, 2) a GYM (whoo hoo! I can work out every day!) and 3) full English breakfasts, included in the room! YUM.

Susan Atkins, one of the Manson girls and the murderer of Sharon Tate and several others, died last week. A few weeks ago she had a final hearing in front of the parole board, where her husband and lawyer argued for a "compassionate release" because she was so close to death (she was dying of brain cancer). Vincent Bugliosi supported this, saying the mercy would be "minimal" since she was so close to death and that it would also save the state money. The family members of her victims (including Tate family members) testified against release, saying "It's important that she die in incarceration." Generally on this, I would punt to the victims' families--if they can find that mercy in them, that's wonderful, but I don't think Atkins should've expected it. Frankly the mercy is that she lived that long, since she'd originally been sentenced to death. She got to enjoy an additional 37 years (the death penalty was overturned in California in 1972) that the victims did not. She apparently discovered religion in prison and from all accounts, it was genuine and she did some very good works there and completely renounced Manson and his teachings (something Squeaky Fromme never did). But still. What Atkins did was really, unbelievably dreadful. Read about Sharon Tate's last moments sometime, it is heartbreaking. The other victims' stories are so sad as well--Gary Hinman was a Ph.D. candidate in music. He was trying to help the "family." It's all such a waste, such a pointless waste. I'm not sure she could ever pay her debt to society completely.

And Mackenzie Phillips--oh my God, what a story. That woman is a true casualty of the '60s. I was kind of angry reading some comments on FB when this story broke last week--some were commenting on how "she has a book coming out," implying the timing was suspicious. Um, the book IS ABOUT THE INCEST. Yes, of course this is why she's talking about it now! Even worse, some were suggesting she was making it up. How cynical do you have to be to believe that? Do you honestly think someone would LIE about something as horrible as your own father raping you for 10 years--just to sell a book? Jesus. There are either two possibilities--it's not true, in which case she's delusional, or it's true. Personally I favor the latter, since her sister Chynna said that Mackenzie had confided in her years ago. But the whole thing is just awful. I think she's very brave to write about this.

And finally--yay, they finally caught child rapist Roman Polanski! So, so happy! Come and serve your time for giving a thirteen year old girl quaaludes and champagne, raping her vaginally and anally, and then threatening her not to tell. LOVE. IT.

After visiting Ipswich, Mass. (which is near Salem) in July for my cousin Larson's wedding, I watched a terrific miniseries about the 1692 witch trials. And then this week I saw the 1996 movie adaptation of The Crucible. Miller wrote the screenplay, and he did a terrific job--as heavily stage-bound and unnaturalistic as the play is, he really adapted it well to the screen. For instance, the second act, which takes place entirely in the Proctor farmhouse on one night, is spread out over weeks, and you see some of the events that the Proctors discuss. The one big change I didn't like was how much he cut the scene in the forest between John and Abigail--her monologue was eliminated, and I LOVE that monologue, it is so creepy and poetic and wonderful. "...As bare as some December tree I saw them all--walking like saints to church, running to feed the sick, and hypocrites in their hearts! And God gave me the strength to call them liars, and God made men to listen to me, and by God I will scrub the world clean for the love of Him! Oh, John, I will make you such a wife when the world is white again!"

The performances are all very strong, especially Daniel Day Lewis as John Proctor, Joan Allen as Elizabeth Proctor and Paul Scofield as Judge Danforth. And I actually quite liked Wynona Ryder as Abigail--she can be a little mannered for me sometimes but I thought she did a good job here. Her (and the director's) take on the character was interesting--more waifish and little-girl-lost, especially in her first scene alone with Proctor, than the Homewrecking Temptress as she is typically portrayed. This is entirely appropriate since when you think about it--John Proctor is completely at fault for their affair. A teenage girl in a sexually repressed society who is therefore completely unaware of her own sexuality, an orphan living in the scraps of her uncle, who's working in someone else's home--he was obviously much more in control of the situation than she was, and is therefore more to blame. Now, what Abigail goes on to do is her responsibility--I'm certainly not defending that--but you can't help feeling for her at the beginning of the story. She really is lost. I've just seen so many harpy Abigails* that I liked this take on it.

( History's Mysteries... )

*Years ago, in Virginia, the play group of my home parish, St. Andrew's, was performing The Crucible (they were using the altar as a stage, which I thought was extremely cool. Hey, we're (Anglo-)Catholics, there's a very fine line between performing and celebrating Mass! Anyway, one of the supporters of the group, my grandmother's best friend June Hansen (a well-known Equity actress and Helen Hayes award winner in DC) asked me to look in on the rehearsals and give the director any feedback I might have--I guess this was at his request, I certainly made it clear to him he was free to reject or accept my thoughts, as he wished. I watched a little bit of the first scene--this scene is set at the Parris's household, and Betty is catatonic and we hear how the night before, Parris caught the girls dancing in the woods. Proctor comes over and eventually he and Abigail are alone together. She tells him "'tis nothing--my uncle caught us dancing in the woods, is all" and he replies "you'll be clapped in the stocks before you're twenty." And she melts, saying "give me a word, John, a soft word."

Well, the way this scene was being performed by my church group, John says the stocks line (and the preceding lines) to her sternly, as though he were lecturing her. There was absolutely no flirtatiousness between them--he is stern and stiff, holding her at arms' length. The director asked me for any feedback, and I said "uh, you may want to consider exploring some of the subtext in that scene--it's more interesting if John is still attracted to her and he's fighting against that." Not to mention--it's hardly even subtext when the script itself adds it--the stage directions say that John is smiling on that line and she responds with "a giggle." It's this buildup that leads to "give me a word, John--a soft word." The director looks at me in confusion--"really? You think I should put that in?" Well, YEAH! Arthur Miller thinks so too! May I introduce you to THE SCRIPT? I know Miller's asides are long but they're actually quite helpful.

Anyway, getting back to the movie, as I said the performances are all great, and the last scene between John and Elizabeth will blow you away. Truly fantastic acting between the two of them. And the direction is quite strong as well--in the commentary track, Nicholas Hytner says how he and the crew had this fancy that the Devil had entered the camera, and at times, there was a Devil's-eye-view. For example, the "yellow bird" that the girls "see" during Mary Warren's testimony comes swooping down on the girls--I thought that was great. It was filmed at some uninhabited island in Cape Ann, and the whole thing just looks gorgeous.

My cousin Colin is in town--he's the son of my aunt Suzy, youngest sister of my dad. (He's the older brother of Roslyn who visited in July.) He's just finished a contract playing at Foxwood's--he's a sax and keyboard player. He's been here about a week and has been enjoying his first long stay in NYC thoroughly. He pronounced Lori's and my apartment "sick" and wants to move here immediately. We hung out on my fire escape the first night he was here, talking about tennis (he wants to scrape together money to take his mother to see Wimbledon) and our family.

We had a blast yesterday--we went into Central Park to play a pickup game of softball with some friends of mine. Although I certainly enjoy softball, I find it frustrating compared to the experience I had in Little League (hardball)--the ball in softball is SO BIG and logey--it's difficult for me to hit it out of the infield, I have no power. Whereas in hardball, the ball moves so much faster and is lighter--I used to hit home runs in hardball. *Sigh.* Anyway, so we had a BLAST although our team sucked. The last time (which was the first time) I played with these people, there was a guy on our team who played first base. Generally you stick the tallest person on the team at 1st, since the ball is thrown to first so often. As the game progressed (I played shortstop), I noticed he was flubbing a lot of catches, even easy ones. Um, if you can't catch, maybe you shouldn't be playing that position--since there's something like a 50% chance the ball will be thrown to you! It irritated me because I just know, the assumption was--he's big and he's a guy, he MUST be a good athlete! [sarcasm] Whereas a small female like me has to prove themselves constantly. Believe me, I see this all the time, in any sort of co-ed athletic situation.

So this time around, I told Colin "as soon as they start sorting out positions, call first base." Which he did (Colin is 6'3", with an amazing wingspan. Perfect for first). This guy kind of muttered about that, then explained to the rest of us that he had some sort of back problem and couldn't really throw longer ranges, so he couldn't play third or short--he wanted to play second. Uh, second is a pret-ty high traffic position--maybe you should be in right field? Well, I was pitching and stopping quite a bit of traffic myself (grabbed several line drives as well as some mean grounders--Colin and I got to do several variations on the Cousin Out :) Me fielding it and throwing to Colin, Colin fielding while I covered first, etc. Awesome! Nothing like a little Green cousin teamwork!)

Anyway, so we had a runner on first, so the play was to second. Grounder to me, I turned around and tossed it, a nice easy toss, to second--and the guy dropped it. This happened a couple more times, and you can imagine my annoyance. So I just stopped trying for the force at second, and would throw to first instead. You're supposed to try for the lead runner--but it doesn't help if the second baseman can't catch! (Anyway, more importantly than getting the lead runner, is the need to get the sure out.) After a couple of innings of this, 2nd baseman comes up to me and requests that I throw it to him as carefully as possible--he has a hard time bending over because of this back thing. I just give him a non-committal smile--dude, are you nuts? This is softball, not croquet, I don't have time to carefully set up a throw to your chest! Again, WHY volunteer for 2nd base? That's a very high-traffic position. Seriously, right field would've been so much easier for him. Honestly I have no problem with people who aren't good--I help the non-athletic girls all the time and have great patience with them (in fact one of the girls on my team was VERY new to softball, and absolutely tiny. When she picked up the bat, it was clear she'd never held one before, so I jogged over and gave her a quick batting lesson. Line up your knuckles, don't rest the bat on your shoulder, bend your knees a little bit to stay loose and most importantly--keep your eye on the ball. She got wood several times and actually recorded two hits!) It's someone who thinks he's better than he is (and is seen as such because he's a guy) and pushes himself into a position he can't play. Just play in the outfield, dude.

But I have to say, as little as I enjoyed the actual pitching (I have a hard time with the underhand pitch with the arc--I am used to overhand, and it's just not easy for me), I LOVE being that close to the batter! I *am* a scrappy little infielder, and the first time I stopped one of those line drives, the guys on the other team were ragging their batter FIERCE. "OOOh, she DENIED him. She stopped him COLD. 'The bank is CLOSED, your bus pass is NO GOOD.'" I could not stop laughing. I love it when guys give each other shit.

Of course when we batted, I had much more difficulty with that. I can certainly hit the ball but again, I can barely get it out of the outfield. Thank God I can run--if it weren't for that, I would never get on base. Then I started bunting and got on base several times. I even got to slide a few times! Of course both times, it was a force play so I really didn't NEED to slide--no tag to avoid--but I had to show off ;) And besides, that's why I wore those jeans (which are FILTHY today).

We got trounced, naturally, but it was all in good fun. (Although next time--BLOOD. Oh yeah.) Afterward we went out to grab a beer and eventually Colin and I drifted away to get food, and had a grand old time rehashing the game and discussing tennis.

Okay, my married friends--please don't take this personally, it is too funny not to post.

STFU, Marrieds

It's a blog devoted to calling out lame FB updates from obnoxiously happily married (or committed) couples. There is some schadenfreude here but you know, there are also some things you probably shouldn't post on FB if you don't want people to mock it. The comments are the best.



I love that angry scrawl on the right.

But the best one is definitely this one, I am literally laughing out loud here at my desk. I love that long beautiful eloquent advice "don't fall prey to the drama...you know where his heart is...be the better person..." and ending with "so fuck that ho."

Had an insanely hardcore workout yesterday--between the heat and the workout, it took so much out of me, I was dozing off as I went to work. I meant to go to Trader Joe's and Lush after work but just could not summon up the energy--I dragged myself home, had macaroni and cheese, beer and a whoopie pie for dinner, took the hottest bath I could stand, and then passed out.

The bath must've helped--I was a little sore this morning, but not nearly what I feared. I can actually walk and move like a normal person.

As it turns out, someone else is singing "My White Knight" at the benefit tomorrow, so yesterday I emailed Dave and suggested "Gooch's Song."

I'm going to try to see Half-Blood Prince this Sunday.

I shouldn't have finished this at work. All I want to do is lay down my head and cry.

In fact, that's all I can do.

One time, a long time ago, a Nice Guy wrote into Dan Savage in the Voice--a loooong diatribe about how he was Nice but he never got any action and no girl was ever interested in him and blah blah blah, entitlement-cakes. Note that nowhere in the letter did the guy talk about wanting to share his life with someone, about wanting to "traverse the fall line of our aloneness" (in Diane Chambers's memorable phraseology from the Cheers episode where she and Sam first hook up--God, I remember that entire script! Hilarious!)--nothing that indicated he saw women as human beings with agency. No, he wanted to get some. Well, that problem is easily solvable--go to a prostitute. Oooooh, you want free sex? A relationship? (Although, frankly, it doesn't sounds as though he wants a relationship, because that would mean seeing women as human beings with agency, instead of lying bitches who won't accommodate you). Well, then you have to charm the woman, don't you? She has to want to have sex with you. So you need to improve your game. Don't get mad because she's not responding--she has every right not to find you attractive, not to be interested. Every woman has that right. Life gives you no guarantees about relationships, sex, anything like that. (And the madder you get, the more pathetic you look--see below. If you want to have a connection, find a way to appeal to her, up your game--ideally of course by treating her as an intelligent human being. And if you've indicated your interest and she doesn't find you attractive, accept it gracefully and move on.

And as someone wrote back "LAS sounds crazy, desperate, and driven by rage. That is not any woman's idea of sexy. That he calls all women 'inherently self-destructive, lying, shallow whores' suggests that LAS is a guy with some issues about women. Frankly, LAS sounds like he'd rather chop me up into bite-size pieces and store me in his freezer than fuck me. I would strongly recommend 'Lonely and Suicidal' get himself laid somehow, even if he has to pay for it. Like halitosis, the stench of desperation is obvious to everyone around him, even if he can't smell it. After LAS finds a hooker, he should forgive his mother, and drop his pathetic 'I haven't been laid in four years' schtick." I wrote to Dan (although the letter did not get picked for publication) "Newsflash--you may NEVER again get laid. It's not in the Constitution, you know. You need to make your peace with that and stop blaming women for not finding you sexy."

See, what Nice Guys don't understand is the appeal of [Nice-Guy-styled] assholes. (Frankly, to some Nice Guys, an asshole is anyone who gets more action than he does.) It's not that women like Assholes as such, or particularly want to have someone dismiss their feelings. But at the same time there's something very refreshing about not having to deal with The Whining. If an Asshole hurts you, you can get the hell out of Dodge City. Your feelings might be hurt, and the damage might be bad but at least you're out of there. And you avoid that intensely annoying experience when you're forced to fend off a Nice Guy months later, who's been nursing a grudge about "that time you totally ignored me when you saw me at that party." (It's always about being ignored with Nice Guys--they have this whole game of social Battleship mapped out in their heads where people at parties are always sweeping past each other majestically, like ships in the night. This is similar to the Angry Guy, who also seems to be ignored a lot.)

( BOY, do I speak from experience )

The thing is--he was interested, obviously, but he didn't want to come right out and say so, because then he risked rejection. He was doing the "hopeful signals" strategy. Okay, that's fine, it can be tough to put yourself completely on the line--there's no shame in just sending out signals to see if she responds. But when the woman correctly reads your signals and 1) doesn't respond (which IS a response), or 2) gently alludes to the fact that this will not happen, don't get pissy and coy with her. "I was never interested in you, why would you think that?" clutching his pearls coyly. Oh bullshit, BOB, you were too. You made a play, it didn't pan out, man up and move on. Stop trying to preserve your fragile ego by putting the blame on the woman for some last-minute, trumped up transgression--every one knows what you're really blaming her for is not finding you attractive.

Coda to the New Year's Eve party--I DID have lots of champagne (FINALLY) and ended up flirting quite a bit with an ex-boyfriend of mine (Joni, you remember Marcus? He's on Facebook now, BTW) and THAT started up again for a few months. *smug smile* The Mean Girl part of me hopes that "Bob" saw us lingering at the door and making out. :->

The kicker is that a little over a year later, Joni and I were doing a show together, The Boyfriend, and he came to see it. By that time he and I would play the occasional game of tennis together. He came to see the show, brought me a full bouquet of flowers and included a note card on which he had covered every inch with a long, personal note about how much our "friendship" meant to him and how much he valued it. I mean, every. square. inch. was covered. I remember popping it open to another castmate, Jill, who knew the whole story, and her eyes got very big--"Oh my God, that took effort!" I said "I know, right?!"

There's even more to the story, but it doesn't involve me. Suffice it to say, Bob didn't really learn from this episode.