Wednesday, July 28, 2004


Signs of getting older can pop up when you least expect it.
Perhaps it happens when you are leaving the house and think
to yourself, 'Wow. I really should go back and get my raincoat..'
which is strange because for most of your life you never wore
a raincoat and seemed to be just fine. Or perhaps getting
older pops up in other ways. Maybe you are on the subway
platform on your way to work. You are reading the paper.
You are sipping a coffee and hoping you didn't leave your
cell phone at home. You see a cute pack of teenage girls
on the platform each dressed in their various forms of
rebellion. You are particularly struck by the girl no older
than fourteen wearing a micro mini skirt, a tiny tank top
and blue suede spike heeled boots at eight in the morning
and while the inner you wants to say,'wow-cool. I wonder
where she got her boots.' the inner older now person in
you wants to scream out, 'young lady-you get back in
this house and change your clothes!' Now.


I am reminded of something that happened to me once.
My senior year of high school I was granted a writing
scholarship for college. The scholarship was to be
given to a young woman that wanted to study writing
in college and that was raised on Long Island. The
scholarship was funded by two parents that had lost
their daughter in a terrible car accident. My
application and writing submission reminded them
most of their daughter.

My friends and I made plans to go to a concert in
the city. I got dressed for the night and put on a
mini that barely covered my ass, fishnet stockings
and combat boots. I had a green streak in my hair
and wore about 10,000 bracelets. There was a knock
at the front door to my parent's house. No one was
home but me. I ran downstairs thinking my friends
had come to pick me up early but no. Standing at
the door were the 'anonymous' donors of my
scholarship resembling Thurston and Mrs. Howell
on their way to the Hamptons.

Monday, July 26, 2004


One man's plea to his wife-please
stop reading US Weekly Magazine

Sunday, July 25, 2004

Friday, July 23, 2004


Do you have neighbors that border on the TMI
(too much information) clothesline? Not in a
yeah-so what-everyone wears underwear kinda
way but rather because of the particular contents
of their clothesline you know that they are THOSE
KIND of people that wear THAT KIND of particular
underwear even though they look like they might
never in a million years wear THAT KIND of
underwear or wear that BIG PADDED bra and
now when you say hello to them on the street it
takes all your power not to stare at her chest and
at his pants thinking they wear THAT KIND of


Do you think Lance Armstrong wishes Sheryl Crow
would stop embarassing him in front of the other
Tour de France dudes by meeting him with stuffed
animals and giant bouquets of yellow flowers at
each and every major, stressful turning point in
the race? I do.

Thursday, July 15, 2004


I've been thinking a lot about Prince
lately. In the past three days I've
gotten emails regarding extra tickets
to some of his concerts. This reminds
me of my favorite Prince story from
when I was a kid.

I once wrote a fan letter to Prince.
It read, 'Dear Prince, perhaps you
know my father....John Williams
That was my opening line. My 'hook'.
I was hoping Prince would think my
dad John Williams from Long Island
was actually THE John Williams-
composer of Star Wars fame.

I figured out of all the MILLIONS
and MILLIONS of fan letters Prince
received, when he got mine he would
think to himself, 'No WAY!!! Could
composer of STAR WARS FAME???!!!'
And he would call over all his back
up dancers and they would shriek
and pass my letter around the
dressing room and then Prince would
have his 'people' contact my parents
and give my best friend Sharon and I
two tickets to his next concert
at Jones Beach.

Instead I never heard from Prince.
And to make it worse, my dad found
a rough draft of my note in the
garbage. To this day I've never
lived it down.

Tuesday, July 13, 2004



Well, do I have a story for you!

How did I know this day would finally come? If
you have a similar story to the one I am about
to tell please let me know via my comments

I live in NYC. It is a big place. For months more
like years, I’ve taken photos of total strangers
that often don’t know I am shooting them. Many,
MANY people have asked me how I do it? Am I
ok with that? Do I think it’s wrong or right?
What if I get found out? What would I do?

I take photos but I am also a writer. I see
people around me as characters. The people I am
drawn to photograph, snap me out of the mundane
routine of life as if to say, Hey you! Look
over here! Get out of your head. Are you
getting this? Remember. Life isn't all about

I am not a calloused bitch with no concern of
other people's privacy. The truth is however,
the drive to capture this person, to photograph
them in that exact moment doing that exact
thing is a force more powerful than worrying
if I might get caught.

Until today.

Was it an innocent photo I posted of an elderly,
non-internet savvy woman walking her dog
that got me in trouble?

Oh no. It was rather a tough looking
Tattooed Woman that did me in.

In my inbox today I got this:

"Hi - I saw a photo of one of my best friends on
your fotolog and recently showed it to her and
posted a story about it on my site today. I think
you might find it interesting. it would be awesome
if you could check it out and let me know what you

best regards,

Go to C’s link and read what she says about all
this. Not only is she a good writer (and I say
that not only so her tattooed friend doesn’t beat
me up-ha) but she brings up a lot of points
about blogs and privacy today.

Better yet-tell me what do you think?

Monday, July 12, 2004


Yesterday-Sunday-was fantastic. There was a
hipster Bastille Day celebration in our cool
little Brooklyn neighborhood. The streets
were filled with all kinds of Ricard drinking
people and vespas and they blocked off a
couple streets and filled them with sand
for games of Petanque -French Bocce. People
took it VERY seriously while the rest of us
drank in the sun and ate french fries and
listened to old French music. Here are some
pictures from the day:

Sunday, July 11, 2004


Have you ever been to Applebee's? It sucks. We decided
to stop there on a recent road trip because it was the
only thing around that seemed like it might actually
serve a salad.

Here are my deep thoughts on Appplebee's:

-Why is it Applebee's-apostrophe? Who does it belong to?

-Why the tag line 'the neighborhood favorites you've grown
to love'. Grown? As in were repulsed by the food before
but now somehow manage to force something down.

-Portions-why is everything on the menu you order enough
to feed a family of four? And when you take my order for
a small drink and call it 'super sized'-this confuses me.
Even more so, when you ask if I want my super sized drink
(small) upgraded to a 'grande' what could this possibly
mean? Something with an undertow?

-Why ask me when I order my salad if I want 'bacon, cheese
and egg on that'? I didn't order an Egg McMuffin.

-And lastly-the secret is out people. We figured out the
'wild' ingredients of your 'mexi-ranch' dressing. It is
salsa and ranch dressing. Back to the food lab for you.

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