the friday five
we’ve got wanderlust today, kittens, and we’ve got it bad! so:
*****
all time top five weekend escapes!
bar harbor, maine! october – the cliffs of mountain desert island, the birch forest in acadia national park. the seaside restaurants, hearing the lobster boats go out at dawn, sundowners at sunset.
savannah, georgia! late spring – walks in the town squares, cicadas singing at night, piano bars, old cemeteries, southern hospitality. they call her hard hearted hannah, the vamp of savannah!
ocracoke island, outer banks, north carolina! late summer – windswept beaches, lobster shacks, fishing boats, beachfront cottage, no phones, no computers, just you and the wind and the beach.
mad river glen, vermont! winter – all fresh snow, skiing weekend, warm fireplaces, hot toddies, the glint of sun on snow, the feeling of swishing down a slope, the ancient silence of the mountains.
my parents’ house, providence, rhode island! anytime – warm home-cooked meals, cozying up on the couch with a blanket and a cup of tea, morning sunlight streaming in through bedroom windows, the creaks of a ninety year old house, walks down hope street, night drives through downtown, walt’s famous roast beef sandwiches, and warmth, warmth, warmth!
where do you want to go?
*****
all time top five road trip songs!
johnny cash, sunday morning coming down – for those stunningly bright road-trip mornings and waking up slowly while setting yourself to the pace of the highway and sipping that first cup of convenience store coffee.
janis joplin, me and bobby mcgee – for that moment where the sun breaks through clouds for the first time in hours, and the speed limit inches up to 65, and you just zip down the highway, hand out the window, singing along at the top of your lungs.
paul simon, me and julio, down by the schoolyard – for crossing the george washington bridge on a late afternoon in spring, for looking out over gleaming concrete and glass, perched on the gleaming slow hudson, and thinking, yeah! i’m home!
billy joel, we didn’t start the fire – for those late nights when all you need is a million funny cultural references to sing aloud, laugh along to, and keep you awake.
tina turner, proud mary – for any time you need a jolt!
what are your favorite road trip songs?
****
but alas, since i won’t be going to the beach this weekend, and my roadtrip buddy isn’t here, i’m quite excited about trekking down to brooklyn tomorrow, to celebrate birthdays and summer with ful, shivery, jason, and a charming group of friends. ice cream, beer, and barbeque… here i come!
dear weathermen everywhere:
this is my letter of faith termination. i have seen through your evil shroud of wickedness. before i was just a dumb senseless sheep walking with the flock, but the events of the past week have shaken the very foundations of my faith in your capacities and in your righteousness.
you lied to me, weatherman. not in the good way, where you benevolently promised me sunshine and then scratched your head alongside me when the heavens opened and torrential rains came sheeting to earth … no. you lied in the terrible, no-good, very bad way.
on monday, you told me with dapper weatherman glee that it was going to rain all week. rain all week, you said, with your pancake makeup and your toupees and your animated maps. rain! you said, and you made little asinine jokes with the other anchors about what a terrible rainy week it would be in the tri-state area. you don’t care, weatherman! you don’t care if it rains on all the trudging little peons, scuttling to work!
and do you know what, weathermen of the world? it didn’t rain this week, nuh huh, hardly at all. it rained on monday, sure, it wasn’t too hard to predict monday rain on monday morning while it was monday raining. but you said tuesday afternoon! and you said wednesday evening! and you said, thursday into friday! there were little angry clouds, on your little animated maps! you said it would rain, and shattered my little monday spirits, and then blithely laughed about it with your fellow plastic-faced anchors.
but it didn’t rain, you lying snivelling weasels. it was sunny. it was in the seventies. sure, we had a few pansy little rain clouds on wednesday afternoon. but that was it. and lo! the curtain was pulled back on your conniving scheme, on your mass con game. you said it would rain, and it didn’t! you deliberately ruined my monday, and you were lying!
shame on you, weathermen. little peons everywhere, we trust you. i brought my umbrella until thursday, when i wised up to your foul little charade. you don’t know anything about weather! you’re all washed up soap opera stars! and this week, this revelation of epic proportions, has revealed your knavery to the world. fie, weathermen!
and so i say, fellow peons, pay no attention to the man behind the little storm clouds!
i’m so sorry i didn’t mean it please make it stop raining please please please! *sob*
that’s some set of pipes she’s got ….
tonight is exciting. tonight, the unstoppable shiverydelicious is playing tonight at 9pm at the orange bear (47 murray st. between w. broadway and church).
the fabulous shiv will be singing all my favorite songs, like ‘right mistake’ and ‘reclamation’ and ‘mark on my finger’ and she will generally amaze the audience with her catchy tunes and well-crafted smart lyrics and pretty, pretty voice.
and i’ll be there, with my flouncy 50′s housewife skirt and my slinky black heels*. and my delightful pal stephanie will be there, with our friend joe in tow, just like old times. and fulminous will be there, we hope, delightful and charming even when sick.
so you should come too! and bring your friends. and cheer very loudly for all shiv’s songs.
*and i was informed today that “when you put on something slinky, you can charm the white out of glue”, so be careful. i’m so charming i’m dangerous to harmless school supply products.
a horse, a horse, my kingdom for a … wait, i ain’t got no kingdom!
sea and i were chatting, as usual, and we started daydreaming about lottery winnings, and all the silly things we’d do with the money. and i mentioned that i’d go to montana and spend a few months around horses. and sea, one of the people who knows me best in the world, said, ‘huh, never figured you for the horsey type.’
i rode for six years. when we lived in africa, i was at the stables at least 3 times a week, for years. my mother first put me on a horse when i was three. she hoisted me up onto a regal arabian and i sat there with her, studiously holding the reins and grinning. i was hooked. from 5 or 6 until i was thirteen, i was always taking lessons, promenading through the neighboring plantations, scrubbing down the horses, and attaching myself to different mares. i was never much of a jumper – i still balk at the thought of driving a horse to a fence and giving him no option but to jump. i believe in the bond between human and rider, and i think there’s only so far it should be tested. jumping for sport has always seemed to be overstepping the bounds of a horse’s loyalties and training.
i was instead, quite good at dressage, which essentially is training with the horse to be able to coordinate its movements down to the very slightest command – it used to be use to better equip riders in battle, but now is mainly an aesthetic training of guidance and subtlety. it’s quite beautiful, and for a ten year old, i was quite good at it.
i gave up when i got to houston because i’d become accustomed to feisty, regal arabians in africa, and the horses in houston were obedient nags that didn’t spark my creative excitement at all. so i gave up.
talking to seastreet about it, explaining how much i’d loved it – makes me miss riding. it happens a couple times a year or so. i get this impetuous urge to be on horseback again, to see a field of grass stretching out before me. and lean forward. the minute i lift my seat up, when the horse feels that forward pitch, the horse’s muscles send ripples through me, because he knows what’s coming. and with a well trained horse, that’s all i have to do to break into a gallop. from the awkward, controlled gait of a trot, into the full blown forward hurtle of a canter… there’s nothing like it in the entire world. suddenly the ground just droppps away and there’s only one thing in the universe – the back of that horse. and the more i lean forward, the more i urge him onwards.
so don’t be surprised if i’m gone for a few days. it means i flew to montana, rented a car, drove as far out into the wildnerness as i could still find farms, and drove up to one of these farms. i said to the guy, here’s 200 bucks. can i borrow a horse for the day? and then i saddled up the horse, swung on, yelled ‘hi-yahh!’, clicked my tongue, dug in my heels, and cantered off into an endless field of green and sky. and i laughed, really loud, into the wind.
some people think this blog is a narcissistic vanity mirror attended to by simpering dittohead sycophants. to those people i say, ppppffhhhhh.
when i was fourteen i broke my pelvis. no, i didn’t break it having sex. i was fourteen, you sick fuck, get your mind out of the gutter.
being the spoiled little princess i was, my mom used to throw parties at our house in houston for all my friends. so we were at my valentine’s day party. i was wearing a pretty pink skirt and espadrille sandals. my friends were all there – except erin. i don’t think erin liked me very much at the time. so there we were, all dancing and having a good time, listening to the counting crows or something very similar, perhaps gin blossoms, and i since i was getting revved to join the drill team*, some friends and i were practicing our moves. by practicing moves i mean, dancing around like barbie-doll idiot-heads.
i decided to show off my jump splits. i decided to do this in socks. on a hardwood floor. without warming up. so there. i did them. i did my jump splits.
and when i landed, i couldn’t get up. when i finally was hoisted out of this incredibly ignoble position and laid out on the couch, i realized i couldn’t really walk, either. the back of my left leg, the front leg, was in ripping, searing pain. so i walked up and down the room a couple times, leaning on friends, being very dramatic indeed. i was, in my defense, in quite a lot of pain. i couldn’t put any weight on my left leg at all. my mother was clucking and frantic, wanting to take me to the hospital. feeling like i’d made pretty much enough of a fool of myself over a pulled hamstring, i refused, and spent the rest of the night on the couch, attending to by the reigning brainless simpering boyfriend du jour, whoever he was.
two months later, i persisted in refusing any kind of medical evaluation, even though i was still somewhat limping. i was convinced it was a pulled hamstring. my friends started calling me a drama queen, which, while usually pretty accurate, didn’t apply in this case. i was still limping because it still hurt to stretch my leg at all.
so finally my mother dragged me to the doctor. they did an x-ray. and this is how the conversation went:
doctor: you have a fractured pelvis.
mother: i knew it!
me: a what?
doctor: your pelvis. when you fell, the part of your pelvis that the hamstring is attached to, well, you pulled that muscle so hard you fractured the pelvis bone. there’s a fissure split there, where a 2 inch piece dislodged.
me: a what?
mother: i knew it!
doctor: well, it healed back.
me: see? no harm, no foul.
doctor: but it healed back wrong.
mother: i knew it!
doctor: it’s just – it’s just not exactly in the right place. your hamstring is slightly twisted as a result.
mother: i knew it!
me: so what?
doctor: *shrugs* so nothing. nothing you can do now.
mother: i knew it!
that’s how i fractured my pelvis. what’s your most embarassing injury?
* i was on drill team. more on this later. there will be pictures, however. generally, the uniforms looked like this. seriously, folks. i’m laying it all out on the table here. the white lycra outfits, the stupid tiny skirts, the sequins, the red lipstick, the bouncing ponytail, the conformism, the fascist drill director, the shrieking hysterical girls … i’m not saying i liked it all that much, but i was on drill team.
iwenttotexasthisweekendanditwentsomethinglikethisandisaid .. wheeeeee!
basically, the entire weekend can be summed up by this:
squirrel goes weeee!
other highlights included:
* a giant rainstorm on saturday night with streaky lightning and crackling thunder.
* the rain storm starting the exact minute we closed our car doors after leaving the club.
* mexican food.
* my brother.
* erin.
* raychul.
* raychul’s matt.
* hearing more adventures of chuckles, raychul’s wayward yet charming little brother.
* my brother’s apartment and his cats and his generosity and his all-around best-brother-ness.
* meeting the talented and funny jon floyd.
* staying up until 8 am watching the rain storm ebb and the sun rise with jon floyd.
* the Great Quiche-Off.
* J-Master E in the hizzouse.
* lounging around the pool.
* everything, everything, everything.
in summary?
i-went-to-dallas-and-saw-some-pretty-freaking-amazing-people-and-there-was-a-rainstorm-
but-we-were-all-cool-and-we-smoked-and-drank-and-ate-and-laughed-and-also-there-was-quiche-and-
it-totally-made-me-go… WHEEEEEE!
i’ve got my mouth full of cookie-dough, but here’s a distraction
i’m having a hard time thinking of things to say to you guys. if i had it in me, i would tell you to pull up a chair, offer you a cup of tea, and tell you all about what’s going on lately. but right now i’m too wrapped up in the living of my life, in the biting-off-more-than-i-can-chew parts, so any explanation of what’s been occupying my brain, well, i’d have to stop chewing, wouldn’t i? i could clear my throat and tell you how terrified i am of the lsats, how i’m afraid i won’t get into nyu law and i’ll have to kiss these beloved streets – faces – moments – life goodbye, and go somewhere else. how very much the idea of not being in new york for the next four years, with the people i crave sharing life with, how very much this idea makes me weep.
i could tell you about my heart, and how it feels ready to burst with happiness these days, pushing my typical doubts and fears into a neglected corner. i could tell you how amazing it feels to have blood rushing through that organ again, to finally trust it to do its job right. i could talk about love, and how it means that someone is in your brain as well as your heart, and how effing cool that is. i could tell you that for the first time in my whole, carefully planned life, i really don’t give a shit if i’m right or wrong, but only that i totally love the ride.
i could talk about my family, and tell you how i worry about my father, i worry about his will to hold on, i worry about how he’s lonely, i worry about how my mother is tired, i worry about my brother letting life pass him by sometimes.
i could talk about my job, and how stifling it feels, and the weight my feet suddenly gain when they trudge closer and closer to this office. about how every morning i have to remind myself it’s just another year, c’mon, krissa, you can do this. i could complain to you that this isn’t what i was meant to do, that i know in my bursting soul that i’m capable of so much more.
i truly love you guys. but i don’t want to pour my heart out like this. so instead, i’m going to tell you to do something. go to shiverydelicious, and listen to those two songs. not just because they’re beautiful. but also because it’s nice to hear someone put it into words. so that i don’t have to explain it.
puttin’ on the glitz!
this little owl doesn’t like winter. notatall. but tra la! what does she see around the corner? spring and summer’s joyous siren songs, calling her out of her little nest and giving her cause to shake out her tailfeathers and pop around the corner for some fun!
this weekend, for instance, was the colorful spring cleaning, aided by the faithful lioncub fulminous, where the walls were painted bright cheery colors. this chirpy marigold for the dining room, lovely minty pistachio green for the hallways, and calming new england ocean blue for the bedroom.
le petit hiboux’s spring/summer.03 must-have collection!
*skirts, skirts, skirts! flouncy flowered in bold colors for cocktail parties, dainty black slim for work, lacy white cotton for brunches, and flowing linen for tromping around the park.
*big glammy sunglasses, and spoiled-rotten clutch purses, tucked under the arm just so for graceful hailing-of-cabs.
*pink, pink, pink! lipstick, flower-pins, ribbons, shoes!
*daddy’s little girl gold earrings.
*forget the belts! tie a colorful sash around your waist, swivel your hips comme ca.. tres boheme, n’est ce pas?
*lavender sparkly eye shadow … smudge a little into the corner of your eye, highlighting your usual browns or charcoals, and the come-hither look just got a little saucier!
*did i mention pink?
*dainty little shoes … baby-heels, open-toed sling backs, beachy slides.
*all things striped and polka dotted … so very retro-chic, doll!
*bobs! tousled and curly, a la parisien, or sleek and femme fatale, a la cabaret dancer, or flippy and flounced, a la sunshine california girl.
*short nails, in light pinks. squeaky-clean, no fuss, and how well they look with your tans!
*thin gold chains with eye-catching little charms.
*your absolute brightest smile.
but le petit hiboux’s favorite spring/summer.03 must-have? well, brooklyn’s two finest, most devilishiously, rakishly handsome lads … one on each arm!
so now you’re armed and ready. so bring it, summer!
cacklephony
i think i was privy to some pretty important goings-on last night. as i lay in bed, trying to go to sleep, the details of a heated meeting reached my ears through my breezy open window. birds. birds were talking. perhaps they were plotting the downfall of the odious new york pigeon contingency, a rebel army of rag-tag bird relatives shunned by respectable bird communities everywhere. perhaps it was a meeting of the city’s bird environmentalists, expressing concern on subjects as varied as appropriate waste-disposal facilities and tree-branch conservation projects. or maybe it was the Queens Bird City Council. perhaps, it was a local PTA meeting, where the bird-teachers reminded area parents of the importance of nest safety and at-home enforcement of their flying classes. whatever it was, it was loud.
and as i listened in, a silent observer in a meeting of seemingly tantamount importance and endless discussion, i started to notice some patterns. perhaps the bird-members sat in a circle, and the order of discussion was clockwise in nature. perhaps there was an esoteric seniority system – older birds took the ‘floor’, followed by their younger, sprightlier counterparts. perhaps bird-society is heavily male-chauvinistic, and women-birds haven’t earned the right to vote or engage in community discussions. or perhaps, bird-communities even follow Robert’s Rules of Parliamentary Procedure. isn’t that a nice thought? i wonder what they use for a gavel. maybe a twig?
i started to identify some of the different heated voices. there was the grumpy octegenarian – hoooot hooooot caw caw, he mumbled in response to his birdfellows. there was the shrill, adrianna-huffington woman, you know the one, who always elaborates on her points as if the enemy was breaking down the back door tree. she was always interjecting too, with no respect for order – keeeee kee kee kee! keeeeee kee kee kee!. she was probably an incredibly over-protective mother and always shrill with her husband. i discerned the moderate, calm academic type, who probably wore spectacle-markings around his eyes, and expressed discomfort by becoming incredibly flustered – cawwwwww cawwwwwwww *cough* cawwwwww. him and the shrill mother rarely saw beak to beak.
and in every community gathering, there’s always the loonybird. you know the type, incredibly chattery, always standing up and ruffling her feathers and talking a mile a minute about frivolous nonsense while her birdfellows roll their beady eyes at each other and cluck their beaks. there she went last night – meep meep meep peeeeeeeep! meep meep! – and i could almost hear the mocking silence from the bird-gatherings. you could tell some of them used her chatterboxing to mentally take stock of their pantries and plan their hunting routes for the following morning. who was the somber, lawyer-type that managed to silence the rowdy feathered crowds with his long trilling words, and what was he expounding on? did he command such respect in the bird-community, or did they simply not understand all the college-educated words he’d learned when perched at the most prestigious branch in the country – Harvard?
what were they discussing, i wondered, with such heated passions? was it a secret society to promote the annihilation of the pigeon community, a sort of aviary ethnic cleansing? perhaps. so late at night, for birds to be convening and discussing, let me to believe there was ill-intent afoot. and seriously. what did they use as a gavel?
but alas. my illtrained ears were useless at fully understanding the purpose of such a strange and varied gathering. i contented myself with silently mocking the chatterbox and wondering if the birds knew i’d been eavesdropping. and should i warn the pigeons?
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