My Thumps

Bringing Androgyny Back

2009-03-21T06:28:00.002-04:00

Is Androgyny making a comeback in Celebrity Land?

Gender Neutral

Wonderwall | Gallery | Casting the New

2009-02-27T18:23:00.001-05:00

Awesome news '80s movie fans: CLUE is getting a remake! That's right, your favorite childhood "whodunnit" will be casting new suspects soon. What do you think of our choices? Tell me now...before I kill you, in the library, with a wrench.

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Wonderwall

2009-02-09T05:20:00.005-05:00

Hi guys. Come check out my new writing residence:

Wonderwall.com

Product Fiend Forever

2009-02-09T05:10:00.004-05:00

Sadly, I just discovered that the beauty and skin care products site I once contributed to has gone to the big discount pharmacy in the sky. Before all my hard beauty reporting work is lost forever, I bring to you one of the more important questions of the new millenium: What kind of lip balm do YOU use?

See more here:

Madonna Facial

Space NK Apothecary

Saved Tattoo

Beauty Ambush

Face Off!

I Was An Elementary School Slut

2008-11-22T05:30:00.004-05:00

I was four-years-old back in '82 when my parents took me and my brothers (seven and nine, respectively) to see "Porky's." I distinctly remember a young Kim Cattrall howling like a she-wolf in heat while getting boned by the assistant coach. I made a mental note to learn some animal mating calls for future "make believe" purposes. Seriously, why did my parents bring three little kids to see an R-rated sex comedy?

Dad: "We thought it was a Porky Pig movie!"

Mom: "Your father wanted to see it and you refused to leave! What could I do?"

Pass the popcorn, Mom. This sexy sneak preview to a post-pubescent future was the likely root of my hyper-sexuality, and here's what followed...

I Was An Elementary School Slut

The "Real" Best in Show: Worldwide Fido Awards 2008

2008-11-17T12:54:00.006-05:00

I yelped like an excited puppy at my invitation to Nick at Nite’s star-studded Worldwide Fido Awards. My friends and family know me best as a cat lover, but truthfully I am "bi-petual." A blues-singing beagle, jump-roping Jack Russell and bikini-wearing boxer were among the canine creme-de-la-creme competing for the coveted title of Worldwide Fido Winner...

Check out the full story here:

Hot Dogs: My Peek Inside Pooch Pageantry

Revenge of the Babysat

2008-10-08T03:36:00.011-04:00

Over the years, young-ish boys have tended to get randy with me and I'm not entirely sure why. I don't sit on park benches and offer them candy bars post-soccer practice, nor have I ever supplied alcohol for a junior prom after-party. (Also my tits really aren't that big.) Did I just somehow veer off my Mary Kay LeTourneau path of destiny?

Either way, I am unwittingly a cougar way before my time.

At age 14, I was sexually harassed by an 8-year-old who I was being paid to babysit. Rowen demanded we watch "Drop Dead Fred," an early '90s Phoebe Cates flick (sorry fellas, no bikini dream sequence here) where her childhood imaginary friend returns to wreak havoc upon her life.

Much like Fred, the Freudian representation of his sweet-but-meek owner's id, Rowen similarly tormented me and toyed with our power dynamic. He whined until I let him sit on my lap, and mere minutes into the movie, I felt his goblin hands grab my "bad touch" zone.

"Don't do that!" I scolded.

Rowen peered up at me mock-innocently. He may've been 8, but this little dude knew exactly what he was doing. (Admit it guys, some of you little pervs did.)

Even though I was getting the same uncomfortable vibes usually reserved for my best friend's Uncle Fester, I said to myself, "Self, he's just a kid. Don't make a mountain out of this weird little mole hill." But sure enough, moments later, Rowen was rubbing his face up against my shirt trying to motorboat me. I reprimanded him again and scooted the little molester off my lap for good. He grinned and giggled, turning his attentions back to the TV. This kid was a total deviant, and I was stuck with him for the next six hours. And like most abuse victims, I was too worried and embarrassed to tell to his parents what happened.

But years down the line, I realized it wasn't about age - it was about the particular boy. For instance, there was my 16-year-old intern, Kevin at my first job out of college. Kevin was tall and very cute and definitely "mature" for his age - it was hard to resist this smooth character's brand of mock-innocent flirting. It was also hard to tell him what to do, because he'd bat those big puppy dog eyes and IM me that I "looked sexy today." One day, Kevin swore me to secrecy over IM, then confessed ... he was having an affair with his female homeroom teacher. She was two years older than me. I wasn't surprised. In fact, I was sort of jealous.

Years later, I bumped into Kevin hanging out in a park with some of his soccer buddies . Alas, I was with some unmemorable boyfriend at the time and couldn't seize this finally-of-age moment with my former intern. It just wasn't meant to be for us.

BUT one summer when I was in my late 20s, I finally tested these wannabe cougar claws: Magnus was 19, the lead guitarist in a Swedish indie-rock-metal band. I could've been his babysitter, his camp counselor, his teacher, his manager - and manage we did. In the morning, I gave him a granola bar and sent him on his way back to Stockholm...

After that, I started getting it on with young dudes from all over the Tri-State, 'cuz we have the cutest frat guys in the world!

I hope this doesn't land me on some neighborhood watch list.

Confessions of a Celebrity Gossip Girl

2008-09-17T03:59:00.003-04:00

(The Reno she-cops and I want to help Britney!)

An essay I wrote about my former life as celebrity magazine/blog/web site reporter was recently published on Orato.com, and I'm relieved to finally share all my inner angst with everyone. I may be an eavesdropping namedropper, but at the very least, I do have a conscience!

Confessions of a Celebrity Gossip Girl

Exorcising the demons, forgive the regretfully earnest tone.

FACE THE FUTURE: SMOOTHMED

2008-07-30T15:18:00.005-04:00

The one where I take a little trip to a "drive thru" Botox clinic:

Botox on the Go

And yeah, needles and fillers totally freak me out! Is it written all over my face? (Yes, it is.)

Enjoy -- but beware -- this one isn't for the faint of heart.

Product Fiend: Lip Therapy

2008-04-10T16:17:00.003-04:00

Introducing "Beauty Ambush", where hostess Saryn Chorney (c'est moi) and aesthetician Nathalie DiNoia (une *fierce* French femme) prowl the streets for unsuspecting victims. This week: Lip Therapy

'Cuz your smoocher oughta be soft, always.

Sociopath Walks into A Bar

2008-04-04T01:07:00.021-04:00

My girl friends are always complaining about how hard it is to meet a decent guy. But I say, why not give an indecent guy a try?

I have a thing for sociopaths. Beyond all the neat con-artist tricks of the trade (free dinners, swindled concert tickets, credit card scams), there's just something oddly compelling about a dude who has zero ability to empathize with others. I'm not trying to change these emotionally-challenged freaks of nature, I just want to understand how their vacant hearts and scheming minds operate.

I met Andrew at a bar in New York City called "Heathers," named after the 1989 film starring Winona Ryder and Christian Slater (as a teen heartthrob-turned-sociopath, coincidentally).

Andrew was attractive and low key, probably in his late thirties. My friend Kathy said he looked like George Clooney in a sweatshirt, but I kept envisioning Christian Bale, the "American Psycho" himself. Yum.

Andrew overheard me mention one of my sociopath ex-boyfriends (I have at least two, maybe three) and perked up. He challenged my definition of the word, then agreed to be interviewed regarding his self-professed anti-social personality disorder.

Me: Do you have a job?

Socio-Andrew: I skate by.

Me: What do you do all day?

Socio-Andrew: Nothing.

Me: Nothing at all?

Socio-Andrew: I go to therapy.

Me: Why?

Socio-Andrew: I try to break the therapist. This guy I'm seeing now, he's tough, but I think I'm close.

Me: How do you afford therapy if you don't have a job?

Socio-Andrew: I'm not a trust funder.

Me: Well what do you do for money?

Socio-Andrew: I stock the aisles at Trader Joes.

Me: Is that true?

Socio-Andrew: Maybe.

Clearly I was having a hard time getting a straight answer from my new crush. It was time to get specific.

Me: What are your favorite books?

Socio-Andrew: Philip K. Dick, "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?" Susan Sontag, "The Dummy." Isaac Asimov, "I, Robot." Artificially intelligent life forms want to live, but people like me, we want to die.

Me: Do you have any hobbies?

Socio-Andrew: My own demise.

Me: What does that mean?

Socio-Andrew: I dream of new ways to kill myself.

Me: Do you daydream or actually dream at night about it?

Socio-Andrew: Both. Jung once dreamt he took a crap on the church. You should read his autobiography, "Memories, Dreams and Reflections."

Me: You seem to like reading. Does it make you happy?

Socio-Andrew: It's not about wanting or not wanting to be happy. I only mimic.

Me: Mimic who, or what?

Socio-Andrew: Emotions. I'm not an actor; I'm a channeler. I could read anyone in this bar. But mainly, I want to kill myself.

I looked him dead in the eye.

Me: So why don't you just do it already?

Andrew didn't respond, but he did crack a smile. Had I finally succeed in making him happy -- or was he merely mimicking my own inner glee at the thought of such an accomplishment? I'll never know. My friend decided she was officially creeped out and declared it time for us to go.

As I left the bar, Andrew called out my name. I felt that old familiar urge to return and continue our disturbing banter. What if I was his only hope for human connection? But even a magically sympathetic princess like myself knows when it's time to stop kissing frogs.

So, I bid my sociopathic prince adieu: Sweet dreams, Andrew. If you ever need help writing a suicide note, I'm your girl.

Skin Scoop: Favorite Facial Masks

2008-03-17T21:29:00.004-04:00

Hello Mythumpers! I have some news...you can now watch me stalk women on the streets of New York City, discovering the secrets of beautiful skin care. The blog is called Product Fiend, and it's produced by Conde Nast & Sebastian's Factory. Check it out ladies & metrosexuals:

In My Skin

2008-03-02T15:32:00.013-05:00

As you'll soon see, I've been hosting the videos for a new skin-focused web site called Product Fiend. Thus, I thought I'd take a moment to discuss my own epidermal history.

I'm of Eastern European (Russian, Romanian, German, Polish) and Jewish heritage, so my olive-toned skin is fairly tan year-round, and definitely dark in the summer. If you didn't know me, you might guess I was of Latina, Middle Eastern or Mediterranean descent. Thus, I tend to classify my skin tone as "ethnically ambiguous." And because the exotic look is currently in vogue (think: Eva Mendes, Eva Longoria, Jessica Alba), I feel fairly confident in my own skin these days. But that was not always the case...

I first became aware of my skin’s "other" status while growing up in a small, WASP-y Connecticut town. Throughout the '80s and '90s, the girls that were considered the prettiest were blond, usually light-eyed, and had fair complexions. For the most part, that image was reflected in the media as well (Christie Brinkley, Michelle Pfeiffer, and, um, Debbie Gibson).

I remember when I was 11 or 12 years old, I had a discussion with my mother about a boy I liked and how he had a crush on another, "fairer" girl than I. She promised that I had an "interesting" look and predicted that when I was older, my dark beauty would eventually be appreciated. (Thanks Mom!) Unfortunately, the fact that I also had caterpillar eyebrows and acne-prone skin only made matters worse. Throughout middle school, I woke up two hours early in order to apply layers of pimple-fighting creams, foundation and cover-up to hide my zits. It didn't help that I was an obsessive compulsive picker and pimple-popper, either. So, I mainly tried to hide my complexion behind my mane of thick, dark hair.

Eventually I became a guinea pig for a new acne-fighting medication called Accutane. Despite some weird side effects, it worked. My skin cleared up just in time for high school. I distinctly remember a popular blond friend one day turning to me at the lunch table and announcing, "You have perfect skin!" All the girls looked at me and nodded their heads in agreement. I was shocked. I had never heard that before, and certainly not in any public forum. This was the beginning of my newfound "skin-esteem."

From time to time I still struggle with skin-related issues. I have the occasional acne outbreak or pimple that just won’t quit. I have little red bumps on the back of my upper arms that I detest. I have cellulite, stretch marks and the slight beginning of varicose veins. Luckily, I don't have many wrinkles yet, nor any scary moles to speak of. Hallelujah!

However, I am an obsessive facial and body hair tweezer. After a few years of waxing and a bout with laser-hair removal, I've finally reverted back to shaving, bleaching and threading (not too painful or expensive). I decided the ends didn’t justify the means – just to meet some imaginary ideal of "pretty?" Pretty impossible is more like it.

Collagen lip injections, Botox, chemical peels and plastic surgery will likely never be options for me. Nowadays, I simply believe my skin requires a healthy diet, some moisturizing-care and rest. Approaching 30 and becoming increasingly comfortable in my own skin means a low-maintenance, self-accepting attitude towards skincare, not the other way around.

Catnapped

2008-02-14T18:24:00.017-05:00

The video above was filmed in happier times, with my exboyfriend (*I'll call him Patrick*) and "our" cat Tijs during November 2004 at my brother's Vermont house. Sadly, Tijs only got to visit Vermont once or twice as my brother is deathly allergic. That's only the unlucky beginning to the tale of my misfortune regarding Tijs...today is his birthday actually (ok, it was appointed -- he was adopted, who knows really?!) and I'm missing him dearly.

Most of my friends and family know the sad story I am about to recount, but it's taken me a while to write down this saga or talk to strangers about it. Detailing my Tijs story, even in a diary, seems to make the loss realer somehow. I keep waiting for an amount of time to pass such that I'll be able to look back on my experience with some kind of wisdom or perspective. But being the eternal optimist and feline-o-phile I am, from the very start, I held out hope that my love for and connection with this particular cat would trump all obstacles. Currently, my main lesson learned is borrowed from Nietzsche: "A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything."

I know what you're thinking -- and yes, I am being rather melodramatic about A CAT. If all you dog-lovers or horse-lovers or whatever-lovers could put yourself in my shoes for a moment and remember what it's like to lose a beloved pet, I would be grateful for the understanding. Now, imagine your pet didn't pass away. Nope, this animal you adore simply lives a few blocks north with your ex's sister now. WTF? Indeed.

Patrick and I talked about adopting a cat together just a few months into our relationship. I had grown up with seven cats, read a million cat behavior books, and am generally known as a "cat lady," petting every single slinky feline that crosses my path. Some, including my ex, call me a cat whisperer.

My last cat, Pumpkin, had wandered off to kitty heaven while I was in college. My college roommates and I briefly co-owned a cat, Maverick, who went home with my friend Sarah after senior year. Many a late night living in New York City, I longed for a kitty companion. When Patrick mentioned that he was thinking about getting a pet, either a small dog or a cat, I heavily campaigned for the latter (I love dogs too, but isn't a cat just easier in NYC? You might be surprised...). My ex toyed with me, saying he'd get me a cat if I did this, or he'd get me a cat if I did that. Finally, I agreed to paint him four cats. (In the aftermath, at my request, he gave me this framed painting back... but not the flesh-and-furball that is Tijs. I wish.)

Meanwhile, adoption plans had to wait, because Patrick and I were taking a month-long trip to Europe and Turkey first! I quit my job to accompany my recent business school graduate boyfriend on a cross-cultural journey which ended in heartbreak: The night before flying from Prague to Istanbul, Patrick learned that his father had suddenly passed away from a heart attack. We packed our bags and flew for 24 hours, at least 4 connecting flights, to get to the funeral in Florida. We had been dating less than 5 months, so the only time I ever saw his father was in that open casket. I spent a week getting to know Patrick's extended family and helping him grieve.

Upon returning to New York, Patrick was quite depressed. I suggested we go to the ASPCA and pick out a cat to help cheer him up. Being the cat expert I am, I knew the qualities to look for when choosing a kitten or young cat as a pet. Friendly, playful, a licker...it came down to two cats, a girl and a boy. Ultimately, Patrick chose the boy, whose cage was posted with a sign that read, "Pick of the litter." We were smitten.

The next day, we went back to formally adopt him. When the agent pushed the papers our way, Patrick snatched them away and signed, just himself. I wanted to sign them too, but he ignored my pleas, and I let it go thinking, "I'm going to marry him one day. It will be fine." Stupid? Sure, but at the time, I was twenty-five and really believed we would be together always and live happily ever after... with our cat. I let him pay the $60 adoption fee, since he uncharacteristically ignored the wallet I pulled out as well. The cat was a gift for me, I rationalized. Wrong.

This is the day that we found you!

Add to My Profile | More Videos

When we brought our sixth month old home, I was in charge of naming him. Linus was a thought...but then I offered, "How about T.J.?" It was a joke between us that all the men in Patrick's family were either named "Tommy" or "Joey." T.J. didn't seem quite right, but I did a little research... Patrick's favorite DJ was Tiesto, whose real name was "Tijs" (that's Dutch for "Matthew," basically). We had a winner, even if others would have problems pronouncing it down the line. (FYI: NBC anchor Matt Lauer's son is also named Tijs, but that was years later.)

Matt Lauers Wife Gives Birth

Unfortunately, we only had Tijs a week before he started showing symptoms of illness. Our little man was not eating or drinking and became increasingly lethargic. The first visit to the vet informed us he had a typical upper respiratory infection. After a few days on meds, he was only getting worse... we brought him to the vet hospital where he was diagnosed with Feline Panleukopenia. This disease is very similar to distemper or Pardo in dogs, i.e., it involves a critical loss of white blood cells which makes the animal extremely vulnerable to other diseases as well.

As the vet bills mounted into the the thousands, Patrick tried to nickel-and-dime every procedure, every medication, every day of care with the doctors. After a week of visiting our dying kitten each evening in isolation at the hospital, a vet assigned to the case finally told us very frankly that we either had to commit to paying any amount of money possible to try to save the cat (with no guarantee of survival) or pay another $500 to have him put to sleep (the "humane" thing to do). We were caught between a rock and a hard place. We had already connected with this animal. When we came to visit, I would look into his eyes and cry my own eyes out. Even in his weakened state, he would try to stand up, try to meow at us. I am very serious when I say that I knew this cat was special, and I could not let him go without a fight. However, I also knew the anguish Patrick had already been through only weeks ago over his Dad. It felt impossibly unfair to now put him through this. As we deliberated over what to do (Patrick almost agreed to have him put down, but I wouldn't have it), a vet came in and relieved us: The special care vet at the hospital had grown attached to Tijs, and she offered to take over his medical bills if we signed away our rights to him. Losing custody of him wasn't the best option, but it felt like a small miracle at the time.

And what a miracle it was: Two and a half weeks (and a near break-up) later, we got the call that Tijs was alive and well. After six (or was it eight?) blood transfusions and a quote from the doctor, "Tijs was as sick as an animal could possibly be -- he's literally been to hell and back" -- our little champ was alive and slowly but surely made a swift, spirited recovery. He was a weakling when he finally came home, but had the loudest, strongest purr ever that day. (Aside: The $3,000+ in vet bills were passed back to us at that point. My ex did some shady dealings and to this day, I am unsure whether these bills were ever fully paid for... I suspect not. To be fair, Patrick was a good parent otherwise, paying for future vet check-up bills. To be fairer, I paid for a few along the way too.)

Weeks, months, years (nearly two) passed along, and Tijs grew up to be pretty much the coolest cat ever. I used to say he was like a dog, but he was even cooler than most dogs. Super affectionate, Tijs would lick me for like 10 minutes straight when I got home, holding my face between his paws. Patrick taught him (and encouraged me to help train, which I did) numerous doggy tricks, like sit, fetch, roll-over, etc. He liked to pull out these "party tricks" for friends, and liked to think these things made Tijs an even more valuable commodity/companion, but personally, they were mere side notes of coolness in my book. The best things about Tijs are his genuine affection, playfulness and human-meets-cat instincts.

As things began to deteriorate in my relationship with Patrick, I often thought about how hard it would be to break up because of Tijs. I didn't trust him to just give me the cat without some sort of condition attached, but I did truly believe that when all was said and done, Patrick would not take this pet away from me entirely. He often said that he knew Tijs loved me more (I won't dispute that!), and he also joked that I'd never leave him because of our cat. In the final analysis, I knew our relationship was unhealthy and damaging to my self-esteem (I really hate talking/writing about such a personal issue, but it seems I must on this occasion). I could no longer subject myself to my ex's manipulations and various sociopathic behaviors. The day I broke up with him, I sat holding Tijs, crying my eyes out again on the behalf of this furry creature I'd cherished above all other pets. Patrick sat there watching us, silently crying too. I'm not quite sure why, honestly...

During the months -- actually a year and a half to be exact -- that followed, Patrick and I attempted a hesitant friendship that pretty much revolved around Tijs. We had a shaky co-custody that consisted of traveling the mile-plus between our apartments and caring for Tijs separately about every 2 weeks or so. While Patrick's apartment was his original home base, Tijs became quite accustomed and happy in my apartment which had more nooks and crannies and sunny windows than Patrick's place. As a freelance writer, I was also home more often than Patrick, so Tijs and I spent much quality time together.

At this point, Patrick had already begun talking about moving out of the country - South America, India - but I didn't take him entirely seriously. I secretly practiced a motto of "Kill 'em with kindness" and tried my hardest to appeal to Patrick's sensitive side. One evening, I invited him and his sister to a concert in Central Park. There, Patrick told me that he intended to move to Argentina within the next year, and when he did, he said he would give Tijs to me. I remember his exact words: "I know how much it would hurt me to be away from Tijs, and I couldn't put you through that." I was touched, thanked him from the bottom of my heart and even discussed this with his sister, shocked by his apparent selflessness. A few months later, we were out for brunch with a mutual friend. When he announced he was moving out of the country once more, our friend asked what we'd do with Tijs? Patrick hesitated, looked me in the eye, and declared, "I'm bringing him with me." Of course I flew off the handle. Hadn't he just told me a few weeks earlier that he'd give him to me? At first he lied and denied the conversation. Finally he acquiesced, admitting that when he discovered there are no animal quarantine laws in Argentina, he no longer planned on giving the cat to me for good.

I didn't speak to him in a friendly way for months. We continued to share custody, but I was massively distrustful. However, I could not bare the thought of Tijs being gone for good. So, I returned to my initial plan of befriending the enemy, hoping that some sliver of kindness or fortunate opportunity would place my cat back in my lap once and for all. Alas, this was not to be.

About six months ago, Patrick and I got into our last fight. The details why are unimportant, as they relate to reasons why we broke up in the first place, but I knew at that moment that he and I could never have a true friendship. We each wanted something from the other...I wanted my cat back, and he wanted to continue to have that control and influence over my life. As long as he had Tijs, he'd always have me and he knew it, and took advantage of it. I couldn't stand the situation any longer. So I told him to keep Tijs, to go fuck himself, and to begone from my life forever.

That almost happened. There were a few more instances of nasty email exchanges, one run-in while jogging and another at a concert. We were pleasant to each other, but I did my best to remain distant. It was too emotionally taxing to re-involve myself in that catastrophe (pun intended). I even decided to adopt a new cat. Haruka aka Ruki is the little sister I imagine Tijs never had. Call me crazy, but I have daydreams of these two meeting and playing and generally adoring each other. I love her, but she didn't replace him in my heart. In fact, I had a nightmare recently that he had taken Ruki and wouldn't give her back either. Even my subconscious is deeply unsettled, no meows about it.

Just before Patrick moved to India (to travel for a year or so, then he plans to move to South America...don't ask), I sent him and his sister, who he had appointed Tijs's guardian, a note letting them both know how much I still wanted Tijs. I thought maybe, just maybe, his sister didn't know that I was willing to take over ownership of Tijs. She and I had been close; she was a cat-owner too. No matter; no reply. Patrick wrote me back and said he'd let me care for Tijs during the time he was away, however long that may be, but he'd certainly come back for him. I knew I couldn't bare to deal with losing Tijs AGAIN, so I backed down. Besides, there were too many variables involved: Would Tijs and Ruki get along? Would Patrick pay me for my catsitter status? Should I just go along with it and then catnap Tijs in his absence? And if I did, would I ever truly be rid of Patrick? At the end of the day, and with much advice from friends and family, I reluctantly withdrew from my adored animal once more.

Patrick's off gallivanting across India and Asia now, and Tijs lives with his sister and her cat. I'm grateful he has a home, and his "cat cousin" there, but I am ever-distraught by the reality of my situation. She no longer speaks to me, but we are still "friends" on Facebook and other social networking sites. Every now and again, she'll post photos of my cat playing with her friends. I don't know how to explain the bitter sadness and even jealousy I feel looking at those pictures. He's usually perched on someone's shoulders, and I think about what fun they must be having with him, and that's great and all, but at who's expense? They may try to forget me, but I truly believe that cat never will...

I even saw one of Patrick's oldest and best friends at a party recently, who apologized for what he knew I'd been through regarding Tijs. He told me tried to talk Patrick into giving me the cat, but clearly to no avail. I appreciated the thought, even if it failed to count.

I just want my Tijs, back in my lap, happily purring where he belongs. Because I was too kind (or too weak?) to take Tijs from him/them, I am the one who will forever feel catnapped. This was my one and only dance with martyrdom, kitties, and it was a doozie. May I never deal with a real divorce, with "real" kids. That -- and never get a pet with anyone you're not married to (even then, I'm not convinced anymore!) -- are my hardknock lessons earned and learned. Hisssss.

My last video of Tijs:

Channeling Chuck Woolery

2008-01-26T03:22:00.000-05:00

I recently started a new gig as a dating columnist for a New York City newspaper. Although I never would have predicted taking a job quite like this, it's turned out to be a good match (pun intended) thus far, fortuitously bringing to the forefront one of my lesser-known skills: matchmaking. As a couple of my closest girl friends have noted in the past, I am something of a "sexual instigator." Basically, I like helping people get their groove on with like-minded individuals. Love makes the world go round, i.e. sex keeps us mentally and physically stimulated -- specifically, sex with another person, not surfing YouPorn (although that's a close second).

You see, I'm a natural in this position due to a certain saucy "joie de vivre" I possess. At times, my presence seems to inspire full-moon-like behavior amongst the menfolk. I am frequently approached by dudes -- at the gym, on the subway, on the street, in the bar, etc. Sadly, I must admit their quality is nothing to brag about; it's their quantity. I may just be the pied-piper of plebeian pollywogs! Let's put it this way: the Millionaire Matchmaker probably wouldn't touch my Tenderonnies with a ten foot pole.

Nowadays, freak shows not only harass me in real life, but they've found me here on the internet, too. More and more frequently, I become acquainted with the cyber-eyes of sybaritic guys through social networking services like Myspace, Friendster and Facebook. From dwarves to dragonslayers (I'm not kidding), my male admirers are nothing if not diverse. Below, you'll find examples of three bachelors who have recently reached out to me. That's right -- it's time to turn the tables on your hostess and play Love Connection!

Bachelor Number One: Barry

Barry sent me an intriguing message over Myspace that read, "I'm an actor and musician. I own a talent agency in New York for actors and models. Would like to talk to you. Call me at 212-***-****. Barry"

As you can see by his photos, Barry resembles Billy Idol on crystal meth. Call me crazy, but I had to know more. So, I checked out his profile...

About me:

Sexy great body, funny open minded, athletic, insatiable, incredible in bed, and I'm an actor/singer and I own a talent agency. If you're lucky enough to meet me, you will be in for the thrill of your life.

Who I'd like to meet:

I'd like to meet the sexy girl version of myself. If you're out there, don't even think about getting back to me - just do it!

While Barry's virtual casting couch was tempting, I was soon bowled over by...

Bachelor Number Two: Peter Chimpanzee

Like many of our ancestors at Ellis Island, my Nigerian prince had to have his real last name Americanized and changed into the more easily pronounceable "Chimpanzee." But as you can see, his note via Friendster proves that Peter is fluent in the International Language, if not the fine art of punctuation.

Subject: Hi Angel

Message:

Hello Dear,
Impressing is what I describe your profile as...a near perfect description of what I desire in a (woman), even your pics go a long way in describing the quintessential, underlying beauty any would seek for in a (partner)... I know I like you from the moment that I have laid my eyes on your profile...I know I like you but all that matters is to know that real friendship and love relationships begin on a basic foundation of friendship and that is something that (depends on) communication. I am Peter (Chimpanzee) by name and I am from Nigeria, I am searching through singles profiles looking for a serious partner in my life, when I get hooked to your cute and gorgeous picture, it was a surprise for me that someone very beautiful and lovely like you can be found by me, because it is all I have been praying for all of my life, your profile also drive me crazily and get my heart nurtured. Well I am a religious and God fearing (man) looking for a woman who is going to be my everything in life, my life, my soul and my successor, someone who is ready to be loved, someone who is ready for a strong and long-time relationship that is never going to end but will be everlasting through eternity, someone sweet and very fantastic, someone to blow (kisses) and spell the word love in my mind, my motive is to love and be loved returned as life is so much (to ponder). I (would) love to get to know you more better and yes you can reach me on here through email "chimpazee@yahoo.com" or through my number +234**********.

Sweet and very fantastic? I'll take that. But I must admit, while it's cute at first, eventually it becomes a chore to constantly have to translate your soul mate's broken English. Call me a snob, but I need a man who can write a good game. And that's why I was so intrigued by...

Bachelor Number Three: The Alchemist

Dr. Alchemy is actually someone I've met a handful of times in reality. While he seemed a little odd/overly attentive, I didn't quite understand the depth of his feelings until I received this email on Myspace:

Subject: Lights, camera, ACTION!!!

Take 2 of scene, "The Alchemist"'s Myspace Friend Request to the mystically beautiful, Saryn.

Indoor: Bedroom painted in a pastel-like baby blue with touches of sand like texture all around the mid-to-bottom part of the wall. Saryn lounges by her bed in her pj's with her kitty kat to her left and her lap top by the headboard, which resembles a sculpture created by Rodin, something along the gates of hell. The sun is gleaming ever so smoothly through her Morrocan-style window. Her Turkish silk curtains are flowing with the help of the breeze from the Mediterranean sea. She is checking her Myspace page and realizes she has received another friend request from this persistent character named "The Alchemist." Saryn has this facial expression which asks, "Who is this Kat?"... If you read this e-mail, then tradition has it that you should continue to develop the rest of this story.

Interestingly enough, these men exemplify three of my basic boyfriend types: the arrogant business man, the romantic foreigner, and the creative counterpart. Keeping that in mind, I leave it to you, dear audience, to decide which fine gentleman deserves a shot at destiny with Saryndipity (that's me). Who should it be: Barry, Peter or The Alchemist? Vote now!

I'll be back in two-and-two ;)

The Primate Memorial Project & Investigative Report

2008-01-18T13:04:00.000-05:00

After many full moons, my hard-hitting documentary of deep journalistic integrity has finally achieved a world premiere on youtube. Please support this fine piece of furry filmmaking:

*Rest in peace, sweet simians, we will not forget you*

Lamda Epsilon Zeta

2007-12-18T02:09:00.000-05:00

Starring: Ashley, Melanie & Lisa

(OPEN ON: SORORITY HOUSE BEDROOM. THREE BEDS. MELANIE PAINTS HER TOE NAILS. ASHLEY SITS AT A DESK IN FRONT OF LISA’S COMPUTER. LISA IS NOT THERE YET.)

ASHLEY
Do you remember that picture Lisa took of me at the winter semi-formal?

Ashley scans though Lisa’s computer files.

MELANIE
You mean the one of you giving Danimal head in the back of the bus?

Ashley rolls her eyes.

ASHLEY
I just want to post it on his Facebook page.

MELANIE
That’s sweet.

Ashley suddenly shrieks.

MELANIE
Goddamnit Ash, you just made me spill all over my brand new Isaac Mizrahi Target designer pillow sham. What is your fucking malfunction?

ASHLEY
Lisa. Is. A. Lesbian.

MELANIE
Twat the fuck are you talking about?

Melanie sidles up beside Ashley at the computer. Ash clicks on a file marked “XXX,”
revealing numerous porn shots of girls getting it on with each other –twosomes, threesomes, foursomes – as well as some video porn files. Melanie pushes Ashley aside and clicks on a video. Two girls fellate a hot pink dildo.

MELANIE & ASHLEY
(screaming)
Ewwww! Ewwww! Ewwwww!

The girls look at each other in horror, then both look at the bed in the middle of the room. Lisa’s bed. Melanie immediately starts tearing apart her nightstand while Ashley drops to her knees and hunts under the dust ruffle.

MELANIE
(holding up a book)
Jenna Jameson: How to Make Love Like a Pornstar!

ASHLEY
(holding up a box)
A vibrator signed by Ellen Degeneres!

They gasp. At that moment, the door swings open. It’s Lisa. She’s on her cellie.

LISA
…So I told that slut to lick my left tit!

Melanie and Ashley look at each other knowingly. Lisa sees all her belongings strewn about the room.

LISA
What the fuck!

She snaps the phone shut.

ASHLEY
Lisa, we know.

LISA
Know what?

MELANIE
Don’t play dumb. You like to chow box.

LISA
I like chow mein...

ASHLEY
How do you explain this?

She tosses over a copy of BUST magazine.

LISA
So what? I subscribe to it for my Gender Relations class.

Melanie clucks her tongue and holds up a DVD. It’s "Kissing Jessica Stein."

LISA
C’mon. We all watched that together.

ASHLEY
Yeah, before we knew you were a LESBIAN.

MELANIE
Just admit it Lisa.

LISA
I am not a lesbian.

Both Ashley and Melanie cross their arms across their chests, scowling.

ASHLEY
Look. We found the porn on your computer.

Lisa sighs.

LISA
Watching lesbian porn does not make me a lesbian.

MELANIE
Well what does it make you -- BI?

LISA
No. I just like to watch lesbian porn.

ASHLEY
Why?

LISA
I don’t know. It's kinda hot.

MELANIE
And that's why you are a lesbian!

LISA
But I’ve never even kissed a girl. I can’t be a lesbian.

ASHLEY
But you want to kiss a girl?

LISA
No. I just like to watch.

MELANIE
Do you play with yourself while you watch?

LISA
Ummm, sometimes?

ASHLEY
Lesbian!

LISA
Not true. I’ve only ever been in love guys. There are lots of girls like me. You can ask my Womens Studies professor all about it. Now I’m late for cheerleading practice.

Lisa grabs a small duffle bag and her poms-poms and exits the room. The girls look really confused.

ASHLEY
I thought for sure she was a lesbo.

MELANIE
Me too. Who knows. Forget it. I need to take a shower anyway.

ASHLEY
Oh, do you want help shaving your bikini line again?

MELANIE
Sure. And can you deep condition my pubes with Pantene this time?

The girls smile and head for the bathroom...

THE END

The Casual Catcaller (still sketchy!)

2007-11-08T20:27:00.000-05:00

OPEN ON: BRANDON AND SUZY, TWO CLEAN-CUT TWENTYSOMETHINGS. THEY SIT ACROSS FROM EACH OTHER AT A TABLE INSIDE AN INTIMATE RESTAURANT, SMILING DREAMILY AT ONE ANOTHER ON THEIR FIRST DATE.

SUZY: I’m so glad you found me Brandon.

BRANDON: I don’t usually meet girls online, but you seemed different.

SUZY: What was it about me that caught your eye?

BRANDON: Your hot pic of course! But also your caption.

SUZY: Hollaback Girl?

BRANDON: I was intrigued.

SUZY: Don't tell me you're a Gwen Stefani fan too!

Brandon reaches across the table and delicately puts a finger across her lips.

BRANDON: Shhh. Don’t speak.

Suzy smiles in anticipation.

BRANDON: I’m looking for a girl who’s a good listener, but has something thoughtful to say in return. Someone who’s outdoorsy, but not a tomboy, who isn’t afraid to flaunt her God-given gifts. Someone who isn't pre-packaged. And a nice pair of legs certainly doesn’t hurt. You seem like the real deal, Suzy.

Suzy beams with joy.

SUZY: Oh Brandon, I’ve never met a guy who was so comfortable expressing his true feelings. You’re different. Special.

The waiter comes and hands Brandon the bill. He pays, then gets up, pulls out her chair for her, helps her with her jacket, holds open the door and walks her out. The valet pulls up with his car, they get in.

BRANDON: It’s such a beautiful night. Let's go for a drive.

SUZY: I'd like that.

Brandon grins, rolls down the windows and blasts the stereo playing “Ain’t No Fun” by Snoop Dog: “When I met you last night baby/Before you opened up your gap/I had respect for you lady/Now I take it all back”

Brandon sings along and unbuttons his collared shirt revealing a white wife beater, chest hair and a gold medallion. Suzy looks perturbed.

BRANDON (singing):Cause you gave me all your pussy/And you even licked my balls/Leave your number on the cabinet/And I promised baby/I’d give you a call!

He busts open a forty, spraying it on her blouse as he does.

BRANDON: You like St. Ides, beh-beh?

Suzy wipes her shirt off, annoyed. She doesn’t say anything, just glares at him in disbelief.

BRANDON: Aight shorty. Yo' ass is too good for the malt shit? Next time I git da Cristal! You want some endo, mami?

He lights a blunt.

SUZY: No. And just so you know, the rappers boycotted Cristal in favor of Dom Perignon.

Brandon cuts her off, sticking his head out the window, hollering at a group of girls. His car slowly bumps along following them.

BRANDON: Which of youz fineass biznatches need a ride?

The girls flick him off.

BIZNATCH #1: Get a life Brando!

BRANDON: You frontin’ hizzo!

He throws the forty out the window at the girl, but it misses. She ducks into a pizza parlor. He puts his pedal to the metal.

BRANDON: Trickass bitch!

SUZY: Brando? Is that who you really are? You’re not the same guy I met over Craigslist. Let me out of this car right now!

BRANDON: Well I do-not-know? Maybe there be two of us!

She rolls her eyes in disgust. He stops the car and she gets out and slams the door. As she starts walking away, he slowly trails her.

BRANDON: I'll text you beh-beh.

She ignores him.

BRANDON: You know I already be missin' that sweet ass of yours.

She keeps on walking – it’s almost a strut now.

BRANDON: I wanna lick you.

Suzy stops and turns around. She squeezes her crotch a la Michael Jackson or Madonna.

SUZY: Just do it, do it, do it, do it, do it now! Lick it good suck this pussy, just like you should. Right now, Lick it good. Suck this pussy just like you should. My Neck, my back. Lick my pussy and my crack!

Brandon starts honking his horn & bumping the car along.

FADE TO: Decades later. The Senior Citizen version of Brandon and Suzy sit on a couch talking to the camera, documentary-style.

OLD SUZY: We met on Criagslist-

OLD BRANDON: It was the Casual Encounters section-

OLD SUZY: I gave him something to rant & rave about-

OLD BRANDON: And two weeks later we were married and it's over fifty years later and we are still married.

OLD SUZY: I love you.

OLD BRANDON: I love you too, ho.

They peck each other on the lips.

THE END

EDDIE’S MOM (A Sketch of Mythical Proportions)

2007-08-27T00:50:00.000-04:00

INT. ANCIENT GREEK CASTLE – NIGHT

A beautiful queen in a skimpy toga tucks her son, 7, into bed.

MOMMY

OK Eddie, now it’s time to say our bedtime prayers.

Eddie and Mommy clasp their hands together.

EDDIE

Dear Zeus, thank you for giving me the best Mommy. She is the prettiest Queen in Thebes.

MOMMY

I’m the only Queen in Thebes, but that was very sweet of you.

EDDIE

Even the prophet Teirisias says you’re a MILF.

The Queen looks annoyed.

MOMMY

That blind old fool -- he doesn’t know what I look like! Now it’s time for you to get under the covers.

Eddie smiles as his mother pulls the sheep’s wool blanket over his chest. He snuggles against her.

EDDIE

Good night mommy...I love you.

MOMMY

I know you do.

EDDIE

Do you love me?

MOMMY

(sighs, exasperated)

We’ve been through this before, Eddie.

EDDIE

(early stages of a temper tantrum)

But why can’t you just say it back?

MOMMY

I don’t want to say it if I don’t mean it. I like you a lot. I just need time.

EDDIE

But it’s been seven years!

MOMMY

Eight if you count pregnancy...Look Eddie, you mean a lot to me.

We’ve had some good times: playing Hungry Hippopotamus, hanging out at Goat Stone Creamery, breast-feeding. But I’m more than just “Mommy.” I used to be somebody else.

EDDIE

Who?

MOMMY

My real name isn’t Mommy. It’s Jocasta.

EDDIE

What kind of name is that?

MOMMY
(rolls her eyes)

It’s Greek, like us. That’s why we eat souvlaki every Sunday.

EDDIE

Oh yeah. The salty meat and yogurt dip.

MOMMY

Exactly. Before you were born - before I became Queen - I was a waitress at a diner. A psychic customer warned me my first born son would kill his own father.

EDDIE
(whimpers)

But, why did you have me then?

MOMMY

Damn lambskin condom broke! What can I say? I’m just not the mother-son relationship type. I’m sorry. Now go to sleep -- and you better not try to sneak into my bed again tonight, the Oracle says it ain’t normal.

Eddie begins to WAIL.

MOMMY (CONT’D)

Oedipus Timothy Rex, crying your eyeballs out isn’t going to help matters! Go to bed.

Mommy blows out the oil lamp and leaves the room. Eddie holds his Sphinx and looks intently at its face.

EDDIE

Sphinxy, will Mommy ever love me like I love her?

SPHINXY

Not while Daddy’s still around...

THE END

All About My Mother

2007-06-07T02:23:00.000-04:00

Disclaimer: I don't usually take requests, but in this case I had to make an exception. My mother inquired a while back why I had not written about her yet. While I have most certainly mentioned mi madre here and there, it's true that my dad got his very own special blog post - mainly because he's an easy target! - but alas, she deserves one too. (Much like how my brothers and I must always check in about Thanksgiving and birthday plans, I'm trying to be fair here -- goddamn children-of-divorce syndrome!) I actually meant to write this in time for her April birthday, and then I procrastinated it to Mother's Day in May... but I was kinda, like, busy quitting my job and stuff then...so forgive me Mom, but here is your long overdue entry. Now don't hold it against me -- you asked for it!

Growing up, my immediate family (party of five) skewed male. We often had female pets, but that didn't exactly make up for the testosterone vs. estrogen imbalance. When I was little, my mom and I stuck together (no need to delve into the teenage dark years just yet...) And now, seven sweet memories of me 'n mom:

1. "Sisterhood is Powerful"
As a child, I was always forced by my brothers to sit in the middle of the backseat. They would take great joy in squeezing and pushing me back and forth between them, often to the point where I would become irate and end up lashing out in a crazed scratching-and-biting frenzy (yes I was a little heathen...and I admit, sometimes, when I'm mad, I still feel an urge to bite -- so keep your f'n distance)! Years later, my mom confided in me that the reason she never punished me for reacting violently was because she knew my brothers deserved it. Gotta love that early form of undercover feminist training! Anyway, I was also car sick quite often as a child and puked all over my bros at least 25% of the time we were in transit. I wonder, did she think they deserved that too? Probably, considering that at least 50% of the time my brothers or father farted in the car they blamed it on my mom. She would get all huffy and pissed off while they laughed their gassy asses off. I would've come to her defense, but sadly, I was just glad the attention was off of me in those instances. Clearly my poor mother and I were vehicularly abused throughout most of the 1980s.

2. "If You Don't Look Good, We Don't Look Good"
Speaking of the '80s, my mother was big into aerobics back then. I have fond memories of us dressed in near-matching leotards stretching it out to the Jane Fonda workout on VHS.

In fact, I was pretty much obsessed with being just like Mommy when I was a little girl. This desire manifested itself in near-daily dress up sessions inside my mom's closet. During the after school "I Dream of Jeannie"/"Bewitched" power hour, I would try on my mom's clothes (years later I would come to inherit many of these fabulous items, particularly the infamous - now lost, booohooo - "bird shirt").

But it wouldn't stop there -- I'd paint my face using all her makeup and put my hair in big hot curlers. Basically, I ended up looking like an adolescent streetwalker... but what else is new? For better or worse, my mom was either cool with me rifling through her stuff or maybe she just never noticed? Either way, hands down, our favorite mother-daughter weekend activity was bargain shopping at the local T.J.Maxx, Loehmann's, Filene's, etc. In high school, she actually encouraged me to pick a pink and red and purple rose patterned Betsey Johnson babydoll dress for the Junior Prom -- which I then saw fit to embellish with hot pink tights, black platform heels, long black gloves and flowers in my hair. Years later, I showed the photos to my (then) boyfriend's mother who exclaimed, "Oh Saryn -- You look like a Puerto Rican hooker!" Sadly, she was right. Mom, why didn't you stop me?! Just this past Spring I ran into my former high school English teacher who introduced me to her companion saying, "Saryn used to dress like Madonna. She was one of our girls who had a lot of flair." Ah well, I guess I could be remembered for worse things...

3."Just Eat It"
When we were little, Mom insisted on a "healthy kitchen." This meant lots of Wheat Germ, no sugar cereals (except on vacation), and a steady insistence on feeding us peas & lima beans & this horrible French/vegetarian dish called "ratatouille." No surprise, my brothers and I spent many a late night sitting at the dinner table refusing to eat our veggies...and eventually either feeding them to the dog, tossing the peas randomly to far corners of the kitchen, or hiding it all in the back of our cheeks and then sneaking off to the bathroom and spitting it all out into the toilet! (Thank god for my Dad's many late night pizza binges!) I guess my mom just gave up somewhere down the line, because around '86/'87 she began buying stuff like Doritos and Fruity Pebbles for us without blinking an eye. On the bright side, I did however inherit an affinity towards baking, and a knack for salads, seasonings & side dishes -- as well as a near magical talent for whipping up a decent meal with seemingly *nothing* in the fridge/cupboards.

4."Getting Away With It (All My Life)"
My mom pretty much had a laissez-faire attitude towards almost every hobby/extracurricular activity I ever tried (ballet, tap, the violin, field hockey, etc.), but she was nothing if not supportive regarding my love of animals. My brother Peter & my Dad both claimed to be allergic to cats (to be fair, Pete really is - but my Dad? Questionable.) I'll never forget New Year's Eve 1989...I was home alone watching Dick Clark's countdown in my parents' room with my cat Pumpkin. At about ten minutes to midnight, I suddenly smelled something stiiiinky. Turns out Pumpy had taken a big poopy right on top of my Dad's pillow! (They had a mutual hate-hate relationship.) I frantically threw the sheets in the washing machine and switched in a new pillow, but nothing could get that stench out of the air -- and my parents were due home any moment. Luckily, my mom arrived home before my dad and quickly helped her hysterically crying ten-year-old cover up all evidence of cat shit. Oh, did I mention I only owned "outdoor" cats? Yeah, they weren't exactly supposed to be inside -- especially not in my parents' bedroom! Lucky for me, my Dad never suspected a thing. I still owe my Mom BIGTIME for saving my 'lil ass that night.

5. "Sexytime!"
One thing about my Mom that I've always told people with pride was that back in the day, she started up a satellite planned parenthood clinic and consciousness raising group for teenage girls. Of course, when I was younger, I didn't exactly understand what that meant, so I'd just tell my friends that my Mom was a Sex Ed Teacher. Considering all the sexuality books we had around my house growing up (which I eagerly perused, and showed all my friends...no wonder everyone's parents considered me "precocious"), I ended up fairly normal despite my occasional nymphette tendencies. In good times and bad, I could always tell my mom anything. Unfortunately, that sentiment did not exactly work in the reverse. Once my parents were divorced and my mom started dating, she would sometimes treat me more like a sister and tell me stuff I really did not care to ponder/envision. I think I blocked most of those discussions out of my memory by now, but I do have a recollection of a lipstick shaped like a penis that my mom took great delight in showing me! And again, as much as I was uncomfortable with it all back then, I must commend my mom in particular for that one cute younger dude she dated -- in today's terms, she was most definitely a cougar/MILF.

6."You're the Inspiration"
Besides my affinity towards the subjects of sexuality/women's issues mentioned above, I also inherited many creative inclinations from my mom. As a former art teacher (she really was!), my mother absolutely encouraged all my artistic and writing endeavors...I was quite the little award winner way back when, if I do brag so myself! But anyway, while my mom was busy painting water colors of naked women and Nantucket beaches, I was furiously cartooning away in my notepad...or scribbling in my diary ...or watching some over-my-head art house film like "Kiss of the Spider Woman" that my mom had rented. On a musical note, I also have many a recollection of my mother singing along to songs on the radio in the car (that is, when she wasn't listening to comedy cassettes of Judy Tenuta and Rita Rudner). I'm pretty sure I picked up my love of Peter Cetera/Chicago, Sting, Phil Collins, Reo Speedwagon, Carly Simon and more from my Mom.

7. "The Mothership Dream"
The craziest, scariest, most vivid and perhaps most personally meaningful dream I ever had was about my mother. I will attempt to recount it here: Basically, I am standing on a deserted street in front of my old office. I'm supposed to be meeting my mother, but instead a strange woman shows up -- it turns out this woman is my Aunt Rita (in real life, Rita is a lost soul that nobody knows how to contact anymore, though I've bumped into her in the city twice). Aunt Rita gives me an envelope that she says is from my mother, and leads me inside the building. Inside, the scene is like something out of a Hieronymus Bosch painting meets Dante's Inferno crossed with a modern night club...for instance...let's just say Marquee.

People are naked and dancing and it's dark and music is blaring -- and there's a giant, ominous, spiral staircase in the middle of the room that seems to go infinitely upwards and infinitely downwards. My Aunt then hands me off to my brother Peter and my sister (except I don't really have a sister, so it's unclear who this girl is) who take me out of the club area and in through a doorway that leads to a long, dull greenish- gray hallway. They bring me to an empty room with just a single bed and a small window. I realize I am in some sort of hospital/asylum now, just as my brother tells me it's time to open the envelope. They leave me in the room alone. I open the envelope and inside, I find my birth certificate. It turns out that my mother is NOT my real mother, rather my Aunt Rita is. Holy shit! Right as I begin to bug out in my dream...I wake up. Thank God. Despite all the ups & downs we've had, I certainly would be devastated if my Mom was not "My Mom." The aftermath of that dream provided a certain moment of clarity. Years later, I wrote a poem about that dream which was published in an inter-collegiate magazine called Spires (feel free to Google it), and a few years after that, I painted/illustrated a little picture of that dreaming/writing process. Once again, my mother was a source of creative inspiration.

In conclusion, many girls/women worry they'll turn into their mothers one day. And I admit, I've spent a lot of my "adult" life worrying about not making the same mistakes my mom made (particularly regarding relationships), but at the same time, I'm proud of her many accomplishments and hope to carry on her legacy in some shape or form through my own career endeavors. Anyway, I don't want to get too sappy, but my most missed childhood memory is probably all the nights I would crawl into bed with her and watch TV together, usually some movie/miniseries of the week (and especially the Academy Awards). Inevitably I'd pass out, and inexplicably wake up in my own bed in the morning (my Dad might've had something to do with that). I truly do miss that mother-daughter intimacy of my childhood. I look forward to *not* taking such moments for granted when I am a mother one day.

Nowadays, I think that my parents were still basically kids themselves when they got married (and when they started having their own kids). I'm glad I've gotten *most* of my immaturity out of my system at this point, because when my biological clock starts ticking forreals, I may actually be ready for that life phase. However, as much as I want a little girl to dress up and buy Barbies for, I realize that daughters can be a real pain in the ass. What can I say? I was a tough cookie. But deep down, I'm pretty positive my mom wouldn't have it any other way.

The Urchin

2007-05-22T10:50:00.000-04:00

The seer, the seer
She swam in the sea
Fed up on blue algae
But the otters stole me

The seer, the seer
She dwelled in a tree
Put hexes on squirrels
But vexed over me

The seer, the seer
Her spirit is glee
Portends to be spiny
But she wouldn't spike me

The seer, the seer
Locksmithed a chance key
It cost her a penny
But the latch set me free

It's All About Benjamin Franklin

2007-04-09T22:25:00.000-04:00

When I was 16, I wrote an essay about a selected reading by Benjamin Franklin. Coincidentally, Franklin founded the college (University of Pennsylvania) where I later studied. (I must admit, Penn was not my first choice school -- Brown was, though maybe only for the arbitrary reason that my cousin Franny went there. In retrospect, I think Philadelphia was a much better choice than Providence, but I do wish I could've taken some art classes at RISD.) ANYWAY, the point is, although B.Frank was never a president, he is still one of the most memorable and important men in American history.

Not only was he a genius scientist, inventor, author and beloved statesman, he also had great respect for women and a nearly unprecedented (especially for his time) vision regarding intimate male-female relationships... as evidenced by this essay I wrote for Mr. Heifetz's 11th grade English class. Learn, reflect, enjoy:

"Advising a Young Man as to the Selection of a Mistress" is an essay (in the form of a letter) written by Benjamin Franklin, which is characteristic of the author's attitude and style. This piece was not written for publication, yet rather for the amusement of Franklin, whose humor and wit are apparent throughout. At first glance, it may appear to be a mere "fluff" piece, but upon deeper analysis, one finds the essay contains some surprising truths, revealing much about Franklin as well as his sense of humour. Furthermore, he includes cleverness, logical thinking, goals of balance and order, and perfection of his moral self as main concerns. Aside from insights into Franklin's character, "Advising a Young Man as to the Selection of a Mistress" is a revelatory commentary on relationships between the sexes.

Foremost, the idea that it is better for a man to marry a woman of mature age and mindset prevails throughout Franklin's piece. He gives many reasons why this is the best choice. For example, that they will be less dependent because, "they are already knowledgeable of the world," and thus, less demanding. Franklin is often described as having the great American qualities of "self-reliance" and "independence," so it is natural he would declare a woman who possessed those characteristics as desirable in return. Such a woman would in turn allow her husband to cultivate his own sense of self-reliance, independence and his overall utmost potential. Franklin's observation, "When women cease to be handsome they study to be good," may be somewhat politically incorrect nowadays, but the sentiment behind it prevails: A mature woman focuses on building her character, intellect and creative pursuits.

(Benjamin Franklin checking out my ass.)

Aside from insights into Franklin's belief system, this essay has much to say about human nature, particularly partner selection. In Franklin's eyes, older women are more appealing because they've cultivated qualities that we all should hope for in a mate: intelligence, confidence, self-reliance, generosity, tenderness, honesty and compassion. If these qualities are evident in both persons involved in a relationship, there is a better chance for lasting balance and harmony between them. Franklin believes that outer beauty and lust will fade with time, but friendship, respect, companionship and love will result in lasting happiness and connection.

In fact, Franklin goes against the modern man's ideal: a young, fresh, beautiful, virginal girl for a wife ("...debauching a virgin may be her ruin, and make her unhappy for life.") On the contrary, he believes that an older person who is already formed as an individual and has experienced life is more stable, as compared to a flighty youngster whose personality, attitudes and life are still destined to go through many changes.

Unfortunately I only have pages 1 & 3 of that 4 page essay available (the dog ate it?), but let's just say if Franky B. were alive today, he'd be one dope dude to date, and I'm not just saying that because he was my college mascot, or because my first boyfriend's name is (was?) Ben, nor because he'd likely have a shiteload of namesake bills on him. I'm saying it because he was fluent in five languages, rocked a mulleted bald head like a 1780s style studmuffin and invented the lightning rod to boot. Oh, and he wore bifocals ;) Sadly, his common law wife (they were the Susan Sarandon & Tim Robbins of their era) Deborah Read was afraid of the sea and refused to accompany him on his many sojourns to Europe. But me, I love the sea and trips to Europe! Curses, born too late! (I love this song by the French band Phoenix... keep watching until you get to the dance sequence at the end. Fun fact: Benny Boy was also the Ambassador to France.)

In conclusion, Benjamin Franklin was a Revolutionary Renaissance Man with a Feminist Soul. If he were alive today, I'm pretty certain this country would be a better place. That's why I'm all about Mr. Benjamin Franklin, baby.

The Britney Culture Crisis (I'm Serious)

2007-03-19T23:34:00.000-04:00

Aside from all the prurient interest, myself and many other young-ish females I know felt in some strange way personally affected by Britney's recent downward spiral. It wasn't just a sinister gossipy interest, it was a true concern for her and a sinking, sick feeling about what our society has become...as we document her every move, and she lets us.

In Madonna's early '90s documentary "Truth or Dare," Warren Beatty noted that the superstar did not want to live off camera. Narcissism may have been in Madonna's blood, but at least she was in her mid-20s when she first became famous. There's no doubt Britney lives for the cameras, for that 1st category of adoring eyes (as described by Milan Kundera in The Unbearable Lightness of Being) of an unknown public. Hell, it's probably what every creative person desires -- myself included -- for our work to be looked at, to be highly regarded. With actors and performers (Brit may have pumped out some anthemic songs, but she is neither a true songwriter nor a sparrow), it is as much or even moreso about image as it is about craft.

Not for nothin', let's at least keep in mind Britney was 16 - not nearly a mature adult yet - when she became mega-famous, a cultural icon in fact. Self-consciousness is not the same as self-awareness. Imagine if everyone really *was* staring at you as a teenager? It would warp your head too. And who knows what her actual intellectual capacity really is, I mean, it's not like she went to college or even a real high school. This relatively daft, pretty cheerleader-type from Louisiana was set on the "fame" treadmill/pedestal that skyrocketed her to international stardom. I can't even fathom the many ways that would fuck a person up. Now I'm not saying this as an excuse, I just think there are a plethora of reasons why Britney has become such a goddamn mess and why so many people care. Call me a a baby feminist , but I hope people are starting to catch onto how impressionable and vulnerable girls are to the messages in the media. Images are powerful, and contradictions are confusing (to both sexes, surely).

I'm all for freedom of choice and expression, and yet, children do need to be protected. In many ways, kids seem to know more than their parents these days -- as New York Magazine recently pointed out, there currently exists a major generation gap in terms of computers/the internet and values regarding privacy and sexual morality. Self-objectification and our "youth is sexy" coda have intermingled to reveal a disturbing trend towards the fetishization of what is, essentially, pedophilia. But is this "Lolitization" (for lack of a better word) new? Not really. Long before there were bizarre Mormon sects and Jerry Lee Lewis and organizations that saved Thai child prostitutes, men were having sex with and/or marrying pre-teen and teenage girls. So now that we Westerners know it's "wrong," now what? We watch "Girls Gone Wild" and barely legal porn and Antonella Barba on American Idol, or rather, the internet.

Here are 3 interesting articles/talking points regarding the public downward spiral of America's (former) favorite pop princess. Also included are some telling excerpts:

A local perspective

http://www.popmatters.com/pm/blogs/marginalutility_post/11556/britneys-breakdown-in-tarzana

Britney's breakdown in Tarzana
By Rob Horning

"I don't think too many gossip consumers are disappointed or surprised by the idea that too much fame can push you over the edge. In fact, it serves the supreme ideological function of dignifying our obscurity—we ordinary Tarzanans are much better off, away from the soul-sucking media glare. But we are that media glare; we are doing the soul sucking. To then gloat over the misery we've caused her seems impolitic..."

A Female Perspective

http://www.smh.com.au/news/opinion/losers-of-the-sexual-revolution/2007/02/21/1171733846228.html

Losers of the sexual revolution
By Miranda Devine

"As other celebrity car crashes - Lindsay Lohan, Nicole Richie, Paris Hilton and Anna Nicole Smith - pile up, it is clear something is terribly wrong with the fairer sex...Spears inhabits the same space, her increasingly desperate exhibitionism, non-stop inebriation and casual couplings with numerous forgettable men chronicled in lascivious detail by gossip websites and magazines. We have so normalised self-destructive slutty behaviour that Spears's antics were considered the natural reaction of a young woman letting down her hair after a marriage breakdown...
In a world saturated with pornography, when women treat themselves like sluts, why would men treat them any differently? Mutual respect between the sexes, romance and a legacy of chivalry by men entranced by the feminine mystique have been trashed in the name of female equality and sexual liberation."

A Political Perspective

http://www.alternet.org/story/48278/

Matt Taibbi: Maybe We Deserve to Be Ripped Off By Bush's Billionaires
Rolling Stone and AlterNet

"I'm not one of those curmudgeons who freaks out every time that Bradgelina moves the war off the front page of the Post, or Katie Couric decides to usher in a whole new era of network news with photos of the imbecile demon-spawn of Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes. I understand that we live in a demand-based economy and that there is far more demand for brainless celebrity bullshit than there is, say, for the fine print of the Health and Human Services budget....

But that was before this week. I awoke this morning in New York City to find Britney Spears plastered all over the cover of two gigantic daily newspapers, simply because she cut her hair off over the weekend. To me, this crosses a line... Britney Spears cutting her hair off is the least-worthy front page news story in the history of humanity...

Here's the thing about the system of news coverage we have today. If the Walton family, or Lee Raymond, or the heirs to the Mars fortune actually needed the news media to work better than it does now, believe me, it would work better. But they have no such need, because the system is working just fine for them as is. The people it's failing are the rest of us, and most of the rest of us, apparently, would rather sniff Anna Nicole Smith's corpse or watch Britney Spears hump a fire hydrant than find out what our tax dollars are actually paying for."

It's interesting to note that the author of this article is a writer for Rolling Stone, which is owned by Wenner Media, which also owns Us Weekly...I write for this publication's web site...so you see, even the media is a bit confused. And we're the ones sending the messages and photos and video footage out into the world! Talk about a catch-22.

That said, I feel implicated just working where I do, even though I know realistically I (personally) have nothing to do with her family/marital woes. In fact, as a Madonna fan - particularly in my youth - I'm something of an older sister to the Britney wannabes (well, nobody wants to be her now). And as far as politics goes, Barack Obama certainly does look good in his swimming trunks! Both People & Us Weekly ran those shots. Forget Hilary Clinton -- Pam Anderson should run for president on the "SEX SELLS" ticket. Don't be shocked if/when it happens.

But don't worry, 'cause she won't win either... and perhaps that's the message we ought to be reinforcing to young, impressionable girls in classrooms across America instead.

Cupid's Choice a.k.a. Celluloid Wishes & Romantic Dreams, Part II

2007-02-15T18:43:00.000-05:00

6. Before Sunrise (1995)/Before Sunset (2004)
Isn't it fascinating how time and space and chance can conspire both for and against a pair of lovers? The best thing about this pair of films is that the second one was even made -- thus granting the audience a rare glimpse into the future. Does the couple actually live happily ever after? Jesse (Ethan Hawke) and Celine (Julie Delpy) have finally found each other, and are allowed to continue their mutually introspective, intimate journey through yet another lovely European city (first Vienna, now Paris). Even if these particular soul mates only exist on film, only exist in an old woman's dream (see Waking Life), transforming encounters with strangers and/or lost loves do happen. Ah, the fleeting nature of passionate connections... as Celine says "the answer must be in the attempt." Linklater's "bookend" films are unique, enchanting, and touching in their depiction of an eternal flame.

7. Magnolia (1999)
Most people think of raining frogs or Tom Cruise's evil womanizer, but for me, the oddball romance between Melora Walters (Claudia) and John C. Reilly (Jim) is one of the core elements of the film. Added bonus -- it's played pitch perfectly to Aimee Mann's heartbreaking score. In one of many plot lines, a kind, honest albeit dopey cop falls for a drug addicted, emotionally-wounded young woman. She knows she's bound to fuck it up, yet falls for his bumbling savior nature anyway. We should all be so lucky to find a compassionate, non-judgmental listener who just wants to be there for us, in whatever troubled state we may be. To quote Mann's song lyrics: "Do you think you could save me... from the ranks, of the freaks, who suspect, they could never love anyone?" I think that Claudia -- and myself -- could believe in a heroic prince like the Good Officer Jim, especially after all those frogs fell from the sky! (Then again, I'm pretty gullible. You wouldn't think so, but I am.)

8. Wet Hot American Summer (2001)
Oh Gerald Cooperberg (Michael Showalter)! How could Katie (Marguerite Moreau) resist you? Goofy, gangly, awkward yet still so charmingly endearing -- Coop, you had us from "I want you inside me." Basically, Coop has a crush on Katie and she knows it. Katie's boyfriend Andy (Paul Rudd) is a total jerk who treats her badly, thus she flirts with/turns to Coop for attention/affection. Look, I'm not saying it's right, it's just something us girls tend to do with the nice-guy-next-door types. But if you pull a few power moves (Coop's "training" montage is priceless), you might just have us eating out of your hand... until our demeaning/neglectful/cheating BF returns and unfairly sweeps us away again. Sorry! But we're sure all the brooding you do in the wake of losing us will intrigue a new, sweeter girlfriend who will appreciate you in all the ways we could not. And now, behold my favorite Katie quote:

"Listen, Coop. Last night was really great. You were incredibly romantic and heroic, no doubt about it. And that's great. But I've thought about it, and my thing is this. Andy is really hot. And don't get me wrong, you're cute too, but Andy is like, cut. From marble. He's gorgeous. He has this beautiful face and this incredible body, and I genuinely don't care that he's kinda lame. I don't even care that he cheats on me. And I like you more than I like Andy, Coop, but I'm 16. And maybe it'll be a different story when I'm ready to get married, but right now, I am entirely about sex. I just wanna get laid. I just wanna take him and grab him and fuck his brains out, ya know? So that's where my priorities are right now. Sex. Specifically with Andy and not with you."

9. Secretary (2002)
I've confessed my attraction for James Spader numerous times before on this blog, so instead I will take a moment to discuss the cool, quirky beauty of Maggie Gyllenhaal (in the title role). Leigh transforms from a shirking, shrinking wallflower into the most seductively obedient rose under new boss E. Edward Grey's tutelage. She finds an unlikely sense of self-empowerment and satisfaction through their weirdly erotic rituals, giving the audience an unusually sympathetic understanding of a sadomasochistic relationship. Then again, who hasn't mistaken pain for pleasure at some point in their romantic history? (And I'm not just talking about a good spanking, although I very well could be.) Leigh eventually goes "on strike" to prove her love. It's this act of self-punishment and depravity that Grey ultimately cannot resist. Awww.

10.Lost in Translation (2003)

Ever had an inexplicable, unspoken, undeniably intense bond with someone even though he or she didn't "fit" into your life anywhere but in that exact present moment? Charlotte (Scarlett Johansson) and Bob (Bill Murray) are two jetlagged American tourists passing through Tokyo in the night. Despite the chic, modern setting, it's a timeless tale: lost lady meets stray hang-dog guy, they secretly fall devastatingly in love and the rest is...well, a history that never quite happens beyond a quiet, mutual agreement that it did in fact exist. This kind of love is more like a terrible longing, an acceptance of the sad knowledge that what you have will never be more than it currently is -- and approaching that wisdom affectionately -- just caring for a beautiful stranger anyway, understanding someone else's peculiar sense of loneliness in the world -- then parting, maybe forever. God, now I need a tissue. *teardrop, sniffle*

And that my loyal readers (if I have loyal readers) is about as sentimental as I get, ya know, like in public. Won't you stay mine? xoxo

Cupid's Choice a.k.a. Celluloid Wishes & Romantic Dreams, Part I

2007-02-14T19:02:00.000-05:00

In honor of Valentine's Day (my second favorite manufactured holiday after Halloween) I'm posting a top ten list of my favorite cinematic love stories, couples and crushes. It was tough to narrow it down - I know I'm crass sometimes but truly I'm pretty sappy at heart - so I wanted to stay true to myself and the films that are registered in my personal romantic memory, not just say "When Harry Met Sally" because it's popular, or "Gone With The Wind" because it's a classic, or even "Amalie" because it's foreign. Those movies are great, but these movies are particular to moi. And guess who is playing Cupid today? Arrow through the heart! Purrrr...

1. Sixteen Candles (1984)
Samantha Baker (Molly Ringwald) has a severe sophomore girl crush on perfect senior hunk Jake Ryan (Michael Shoeffling - where did you go? come back!), and she's convinced he does not even know she exists. What girl hasn't had a fantasy crush like this? The miraculous part of this silly teen confection is that Jake eventually becomes aware of Samantha, and begins to nervously crush on her back. After a series of failed attempts at communication, the pair end up celebrating her birthday together - to the sweet, new wave stylings of "If You Were Here" by the Thompson Twins. Check out one the most girlie, sigh-inducing fairy tale endings of all time:

2. Some Kind of Wonderful (1987)
I'm a sucker for John Hughes movies. And Mary Stuart Masterson just wins my heart here, way more than Molly Ringwald ever did. I can totally relate to the unrequited "best friend" crush. Tough-talking tomboy Watts (MSM) secretly pines for the outcast, sensitive artist boy next door Keith (Eric Stoltz). But stupid Keith - along with every other guy in school - has the hots for head cheerleader-type Amanda Jones (Lea Thompson). I'll give it to Miss Jones, as far as popular girls go, she's one of the kindest, least stereotypical portrayals out there - and yet the prize diamond earrings end up on pixie-drummer Watts. (Watch it, you'll see.) Kissing lessons is one of my all-time favorite love scenes - the tune is "She Loves Me" by Stephen Duffy, and yes, I own the soundtrack. pffffft!

3. Peggy Sue Got Married (1986)

What if you could go back to a romantic fork in the road of your past and do it all over again, but differently? Talk about wish fulfillment fantasies! Kathleen Turner stars as the title character, Peggy Sue, in this lesser known time travel sub-genre film by Francis Ford Coppola (Sofia Coppola has a cameo, as do a young Jim Carrey and Joan Allen). When Peggy Sue passes out at her 25 year high school reunion, she wakes up in 1960, with the choice to remain attached to her then-sweetheart/now-philandering husband Charlie (Nicolas Cage - so adorable singing Dion & The Belmonts!):

Or to pursue a romance with mysterious, sexy English Lit. class beatnik Michael Fitzsimmons:

The themes behind this film get me every time. In the end Peggy Sue accepts her bittersweet romantic destiny, but gets to have that one special starry night too. Was it all a dream? Doesn't matter. In the magical words of Disney: A dream is a wish your heart makes.

4. Sex, Lies, and Videotape (1989)

I seriously dig this movie not only for James Spader (my all-time fave "older man" crush), but for the concept of finding love through the act/art of confession. The dynamics between straight-laced Anne (Andie MacDowell) and the enigmatic Graham (Spader) set the stage for a sexy and edgy, yet surprisingly sympathetic and sensitive portrayal of two opposite but equally lost souls who strangely bring out the best in one another. Spader's camera finds and frees the sexual being inside of MacDowell, and in return she manages to restore both his humanity and his manhood. Less shocking, more sweet than you'd expect.

5. Heathers (1989)

If you've ever fallen for a sociopath...ummmm...you'll empathize with Veronica (Winona Ryder)and her criminally intense attraction for JD (Christian Slater, at his teenage Jack Nicholson finest). It's an age old story: Bad boy encourages rebellious spirit in good girl, good girl gets caught up in bad boy's malevolent schemes. JD slurpies ("Coke or Cherry? Cherry!") his way into Veronica's life, leaving a trail of dead, popular bitches and jerks in their wake. One of my all-time favorite movie lines: "Are we going to prom, or are we going to hell?"

***Tune in tomorrow for Cupid's Choice, Part II where I further discuss my obsession with James Spader and wax poetic about the absurdist summer camp comedy Wet Hot American Summer once again!