All This And More ...

Overheard on the Street - Self Medicating

2009-06-03T22:01:00.007-04:00

Guy: I've been taking so much medicine ... I've been prescribing it to myself. It's enough to rise someone from a heart attack.

Girl: How you know how to prescribe stuff?

Guy: I looked it up in my pre-med book.

Girl: What you been prescribing?

Guy: Tylenol.

Girl: Wow. I been on Claritin and Robitussin all week long.

Guy: What! You kidding me? You could die of an overdose!

Girl: Really? Oh no!

Me (under my breath): You're just jealous that she may rise someone from a heart attack.

Three Dog Night

2009-05-27T14:36:00.016-04:00

Meet Floyd. Floyd is my wonderful English Bulldog who I've had since my early 30s. Floyd is a lovable big boo boo of a dog who is a great cuddler and loves watching TV with me ... specifically old HOUSE re-runs and anything that has Alyssa Milano in it. This includes Dinotopia: Quest for the Ruby Sunstone where she does the voice of 26. Now, you may wonder how Floyd knows that an animated dinosaur and Alyssa Milano have the same voice. Yes, you may wonder. I'll tell you ... Floyd is one smart dog.

So smart that he can add items and bark out the answer. Like, if you have two tuna cans on the table and go to the cabinet and grab two cans of Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup because you're going to make Tuna Noodle Casserole that night, and you say "Floyd! How many cans of stuff does it take to make Tuna Noodle Casserole?" Floyd will bark four times. Two for the Tuna and Two for the Soup. See? Smart.

This is Molly. Quibbit brought Molly into the family, she was his dog for many years. Molly is just a luvviebump ... she can't see too well so she's always bumping into things and it's really kinda cute. When I come home from work sometimes the door whaps her right in the head, so I've learned to open the door slowly. Molly's also a little lazy.

Take that same door ... say she's standing in front of it and just thinking one of her little bull dog thoughts. If I'm coming home, I open the door slowly and then suddenly find that I'm pushing her along ... because she won't really get out of the way. Because she's busy thinking some cute bulldog thought and I've interrupted her.

Molly's not so good with math ... not even tuna noodle casserole math. Say Floyd is over there barking 4 times to show he knows 2 plus 2. Molly will join right in, but then just not stop. She will bark and bark and bark and even when you say "Molly! That's enough of that!" she will keep barking. She will usually stop if I put an old tennis ball in her mouth. When I don't have one handy I give her a jelly doughnut.

Finally, this is Butters!. Quibbit and I just got Butters! the other day. She is our first dog together. Contrary to what you might be thinking, she is not named after Butters from Southpark. Her name is also not a derogatory remark short for Butterface. For, as you can see, her face is adorable. Rather, her name is a reference to Fazekas / Butters - the people responsible for the TV show Reaper. Similarly her name is not pronounced "Butters" but rather "Butters!" with the "TT"s being soften to almost "DD"s and the whole name being forced out of your mouth in one big shout of joy. BUTTERS! Some find it as difficult to pronounce the exclamation at the end of her name as everyone but the Germans find it to pronounce umlauts.

Now, you may wonder how a bizzy gal such as myself can take care of three adorable dogs. You may also wonder how I was able to squoosh them into my tiny 500 square foot palace.

Simple.

They're pretend dogs. Duh! I don't have any dogs! Gosh, if actual people are spending actual money on these dolls that look like real babies, the least you can let me do is tell a few stories about my fake dogs, huh?

Your Cheatin' Heart

2009-04-24T16:02:00.027-04:00

There's no easy way to say this, non-registered Luvviepuffaroo Followers (all 2 of you) ... I've been cheating on you. And I will continue to ... but I'm hoping you can allow me to blog here whenever I'm in (cyber)town while I still blog regularly with my new Heart's Desire. Think of it more like Big Love than a Hank Williams song. We can all be together, right? No one needs to get jealous and dig their keys into the side of my pretty little souped up four wheel drive or carve their names into my leather seats? Right?

Seriously though, in case you were wondering why there was a 4 month gap ... I will say nothing about it. Except that I have a secret identity now and I've become a weekly contributor to a great website ... writing about what I love ... and what I know best. Between the writing, the researching, the interviewing, the planning for new columns, well ... I just didn't have the time to keep up with this blog that has an average readership of FOUR ... while the other site has a readership of FIFTEEN THOUSAND per month ... and those readers know me by my real name (In fact, if you Google my real name now, I've got presence!). So rather than toil in anonymity here, I found the pull too strong -- I needed to own my little corner of the (cyber) world where people tune in to actually READ my words as opposed to here, where people linger for 5 seconds before hitting "next blog". I see you there, itchy-fingers! What do you think is so much better down the line? Some girl in Sweden posting pictures of her lunch taken with her Hello Kitty camera phone? Well, please, don't let my musings about anything stop you. Click away!

HOWEVER, having said that, I do enjoy the Luvviepuffaroo-ness of this black and green site and Ah jess cain't quit-cha.

So, I'll do a little recap of all the posts I WOULD have written, had I been writing and not ... you know ... off CHEATING on my OWN BLOG with ANOTHER BLOG:

The Randomness of Time
2008 kicked me in the pants, no doubt. While it was one of the most fulfilling years ever (see archive) it was also one of the most devastating years ever (see archive). When 2009 arrived I was SOOOOOOOOOO ready for 2008 to be over. And yet ... does a moving digit at the end of 3 static digits mean ANYTHING? Not to be existential yet again ... but why does ANYTHING mean ANYTHING? Still ... I was sure glad to ring in the New Year, down on the promenade like every year, kissing Quibbit, and making that sound Xena, Warrior Princess used to make.

Worst. Translation. EVER ... (click here)
I'm sorry, Germany, but even little Estonia has you beat. In second place would be Sweden who's non-sequiter title is more funny than anything else. And props to France for throwing away the whole "murder" theme and going with some random title that is usually saved for dancers or decorations on mosque walls.

Random Celeb Sightings to add to The List (for list click here)
While sitting in the sixth row of American Buffalo (which starred John Leguizamo, Cedric the Entertainer and Haley Joel Osment and which opened and closed within a month) I saw Maury Povich and his wife, Connie Chung. I desperately wanted to tap him on the shoulder and say "You ARE the father ..." but then I actually didn't want to seem like I watch his show. So I just stared at him and THOUGHT the sentence at him very loudly.

While having some pre-holiday party drinks at Viceroy I spotted Baryshnikov a few tables away, wearing a jaunty beret. How very French-by-way-of-American-by-way-of-Russian of him. He looked so continental!

Frowny Martha Stewart who couldn't be less interested in performing the task came to my office and judged a cooking competition. When she was asked to give a quick note on how the two finalists' dishes compared she said "Well, one was edible and one clearly wasn't". Ouch. This was for Charity, Divine Ms. M. Guess you left your charm at home that day.

You know how some celebrities look better in person than they do on the screen and some look worse? Steve Buscemi is someone who definitely looked better. I bumped into him (literally ... face to face, tummy to tummy) in my office cafeteria and my first thought was "Wow, that guy could pass for Steve Buscemi's good looking twin brother". He must like that he looks good in person.

No to repeat myself but ...
You know how some celebrities look better in person than they do on the screen and some look worse? Jude Law looks worse. He came to my office with Jeremy Gilley to promote his Peace One Day campaign and my oh my ... he just didn't do it for me. And this is a man I drooled over in one of my top 10 favorite movies The Talented Mr. Ripley! (Then again ... we've all aged a great deal since then, eh ...?)

On the other hand ...
I saw Nigel Barker in Chelsea Market one Saturday afternoon with his little daughter and literally was speechless for around 1/2 an hour afterward. He was so amazingly gorgeous that he literally parted a crowd of people who stopped in their tracks to gawk at him. I see him on ANTM all the time and while he's relatively attractive when he's on that judging panel, in person he's literally STUNNING.

A few weeks later Jonathan Ames came to my office (Yes, it's true ... they all come here. Don't ask why ... but if you knew where I worked you'd understand why) to discuss and promote his graphic novel, "The Alcoholic". I love Jonathan Ames ...everything about him. I love his books, I love to hear him speak (I'd seen him once before at a writing seminar where he was the closing speaker) and he just really really has me at Hello. He read aloud from the book and it was so LOL funny that I immediately went out and bought a copy. The scenario that involves Monica Lewinsky (who I saw once at the performance of Sweeney Todd) was hysterical.

I was lucky enough to score 2rd row seats for "The Third Story" and got to see the amazing Charles Busch and Kathleen Turner do their thang. I've been a longtime fan of both.

Just the other morning I was heading toward the train and came upon Ana Gasteyer pushing her young son in a stroller right outside my local CVS.

And finally, I can't be 100% sure but I'm 99% sure that I caught a glimpse of recent ANTM winner McKey on the subway. She was waaaay too tall and beautiful to be NOT her.

So, that's my fill-in for now. I'll pop back in every so often to reassure you that I still love you but when you've got a weekly column that often gets quoted (!), it's kinda hard to keep doing these headstands here in this empty room. Still, you were my first, so I'll always love you best.

Hugs, Luvviepuffaroo

Dr. .... Who?

2009-04-20T16:05:00.010-04:00

I like to think I'm pretty up on things when it comes to pop-culture. Armed just with a subscription to Entertainment Weekly and a healthy curiosity about all things Hollywood I've been able to fake my way through DOZENS of conversations through the years.

I once had an 8 year old's mother (who brought her child to work on "Bring Your Child to Work Day" and then promptly parked her at my desk for the next 8 hours and asked me watch her) who was convinced that I knew all the Pokemon by heart. I did not.

I knew how to say Pikachu using one of the variants that Pikachu uses some times "Pika-pika ... CHOOOOOO" and I just happen to remember (in detail) one episode I saw when I was home sick. Armed with the names of merely three Pokemon I was able to converse with this child all afternoon. Because, really, all a child wants is to babble about their favorite thing in the hopes that you know all about it too.

So I nodded enthusiastically and when asked "Who's your favorite Pokemon?" I simply replied "Beside Pikachu? Well ... that's hard, but I'd have to say ... Charmander ... or maybe Jigglypuff." She nodded seriously and said "Yeah, they're good ... but I like ... " and then she named some little critter with a crazy name and I said "Oh! I forgot all about that one!" and so a friendship was born.

I do the same thing with other shows too. I've never seen one episode of The Office (not that I'm avoiding it ... I think I must be busy that night or something ...) but I know stats about it that I could report on for days. I know story lines, actors ... the name of the company they work for ... all because I pay attention to all the pop culture channels that criss-cross this great state of ours. So mired in pop culture am I that my dream is to be not Faulkner or Beckett but Cody. Diablo Cody. EW column, Oscar and all. (Well, not ALL ... I'm a bit over the hill to pull off the stripping thing ...)

So imagine my surprise when Quibbit starts netflixing Doctor Who and I reply ... Doctor Who? Imagine how even more startled I was to find out that EVERYONE I mention this to says "Oh!!! I LOVE Doctor Who!" ??? WHO?

Imagine my even bigger surprise when I Google "Dr. Who" and came upon a treasure trove of information that would rival the sites devoted to LOST, Babylon 5, Star Trek AND Star Wars ... COMBINED! I felt like Truman ... from The Truman Show ... the Doctor-Who-less world I'd lived in for the past (mumble) years was a FAKE UNIVERSE because Doctor Who is some sort of God that I am only finding out about now. It's like not knowing Mr. Rogers. Actually, it's worse. Because apparently Doctor Who is very, very, very cool (and Mr. Rogers is only very, very, very cool when you're still counting your age in months.) Cool enough to warrant his very own "The Weakest Link" episode!

So now I've spent the last few weeks watching (or rather, falling asleep to) the early Doctor Who episodes while Quibbit watches, enthralled. I've stayed awake just long enough to eye roll my way through the bad over-acting in the pilot episode, the horrible "special" effects, and the long, long, long, long exposition scenes. People tell me the show gets better ... I'm sure it does. Nothing that sustainable can be that bad. And because Quibbit is such a devoted fan I'm sure I'll see that arc happen right before my sleepy eyes, since he's put every Doctor Who available to man in his netflix queue. He even, for my benefit, broke chronology and got "The Five Doctors" so I could get a sense of the marvelous, amazing Doctors to come. Well, I did manage to stay awake for that one ... sorta. And I do see how it could be charmingly kitschy, hysterically campy and just good ole fashioned fun. But it turns out that my favorite part of this whole phenomenon came from the bonus materials.

For some reason, while I'm not yet aware of all the inside jokes, I could watch this first clip over and over again. It simply gets funnier and funnier every time I watch it ...

... and this clip has become my favorite simply because at least they're aware of how campy the whole thing is. And therefore NOW I LOVE THEM.

Meet you in the TARDIS ... Doc-TOR!

An Open Letter to Cirque du Soleil: I'll Start Coming To Your Shows When You Stop Naming Them After Your Pets - OR - Kooza? Seriously?

2009-04-08T14:27:00.004-04:00

I can not, as a proud adult woman, BEAR to pick up the phone and say to ANYONE "Hello, may I purchase 2 tickets to Kooza, please?" It's just so ... undignified.

But say Quibbit got them for me, because he has no trouble saying any word in any language, be it real, made up, or an amalgam of the two (which Cirque would have us believe is how they get all their names of their shows). But then one night Ant calls and asks me if I've got any plans this week.

Luvvie: We're seeing that new Cirque du Soleil show.
Ant: Oh, which one?
Luvvie: The new one.

Ant: What's the name of this one?

Luvvie: No idea. Quibbit bought the tickets.

Well, that I can fake. But then what happens AFTER?

Inquiring Friend: I want to buy tickets to Cirque due Soleil. Have you ever see one of their shows?

Luvvie: Yup.

Friend: Which one?

Luvvie: I can't remember.

Friend: Was it Wintuk?

Luvvie (cringing): Nope.
Friend: Saltimbanco?
Luvvie (cringing): Nope.
Friend: Zed? Zaia? KÀ? Zumanity? La Nouba? Quidam?
Luvvie: NO! Stop naming them all!
Friend: Which one was it? Why won't you tell me?

Luvvie: (in tears) BECAUSE I CAN'T!!! (flees room, jumps into convertible Mustang, drives madly along the Pacific Coast Highway accompanied by the swells of violins until car runs off cliff a la Thelma and Louise.)

Sounds stupid? NOT AS STUPID AS "KOOZA". So please, Cirque, start naming your shows "Twenty" or "Fred" or "Toasted Almonds and Mint". I'd even see "Gazillion Bubble Show ... with Acrobats". But I just can't go to something that sounds like a thing I sneezed out.

It Was the BUST of Times ...

2008-12-03T17:29:00.022-05:00

Around 12 years ago my old friend Won't bought me a BUST Magazine because it had a funny article on Madonna in it, and I've got some Madonna worship in me. It was their Goddess Issue, filled with wonderful tidbits and clever articles written by, and about, gals just like me circa 1996 - single, a little left of center, a lot interested in having a different perspective on things. It was the complete antithesis of Cosmopolitan, not so much in subject matter as much as viewpoint.

The pages even LOOKED like me ... filled as they were with collages of retro images in arresting black and white all coming together like a young girl's bedroom cork board. (Oh, woe ... do young girls even HAVE cork boards in their rooms anymore? Or has Facebook et al relieved young girls of the need to pin up every single thing they ever got their hands on that suddenly seemed cool ... from a ticket stub to a business card from a funky store ... to a message scrawled on a post it note? Does anyone even WRITE in pen anymore? DAMN YOU, INTERNET! cried the Blogger ...)

Anyway, I loved this magazine. It reminded me of all the cool magazines I'd get during the 80s when New York was full of new wave and androgyny and black rubber bracelets. It was edgy and a little amateurish, but in an appealing way that worked.

Plus, all the models were real live girls who looked more like me than the usual fare served up by Elle, let's say ... or Glamour. (Well, truth be told, they actually looked more like those girls in that Gardasil commercial than they looked like me ... but still, on the spectrum, I was closer to their zone than the Christy Turlington zone).

I was working at TIME at the time ... such a very very different magazine in every way imaginable. I dreamed of working at a funky magazine like BUST... roaming the creative halls and living life on MY terms --- YEAH! (Air kick w. platform boots). Instead, I trudged to my boring little job every day, wishing I could be one of the fantastic San Fran chicks who popped into the BUST offices every day regaling their co-workers with the results of the fantastic new all-organic hair care products they'd tested the night before for one of the articles. Everyone got to participate there -- even interns! Whereas the closest I got to being a part of TIME magazine editorial was keeping up "space over day-rate" spreadsheets on all the contract photographers. Yeeeee. Haaaaaaaa.

I tried to tell a few women at work about BUST, but one woman mis-remembered the title and ... well ... let's just say she that when she asked for it at her local (New Jersey Transit) Hudson News she was pointed in the direction of a very different, more bosom-related aisle than she'd bargained for. It's BUST, my dear, BUST. Not Boobs, Busty, or Tiny Tops. BUST.

Anyway throughout my late 20s and early 30s I loved BUST ... I waited eagerly for it to come out (quarterly! oh no!) and when it arrived in my mailbox I raced up the 3 flights and read it cover to cover. Sure, I was embarrassed that the mail carrier got an eyeful when (s)he delivered the issue that had a full page ad for the Rabbit on the back cover (think that episode of Sex and the City), but then again ... so what! I was a liberated woman of the 90s! (yes, the 90s). It was my right to subscribe to any grrrrrl power magazine I chose, and who cared what they advertised. (Air kick with platform boots ... AGAIN!)

Throughout the years BUST changed. Not a lot at first, but enough. And, let's face it kids ... throughout the years I changed too. Again, not a lot at first, but enough. By the time BUST was perfect bound and printed on 80lb stock, I was just randomly flipping through it for the captions.

It was rare for me to actually sit down and devour an issue with the same fervor that I'd done in those early years. Still ... I kept subscribing and each time one arrived I put it lovingly to the side. Because I really thought I'd find the time one day to sit on a Sunday afternoon, in winter, as the light streamed in through the window, and curl up with a cup of strong coffee and read to my heart's content. Never happened. We'd grown apart, me and BUST. We were just phoning it in. (Cue that sad song from Toy Story 2).

Eventually, rather than just watch them stack up, I canceled my subscription. Sure, it was tough at first, but soon enough I got used to not having BUST around. Still, I just couldn't part with those archived issues. That's why the Container Store makes those boxes. For all those people with Magazine Guilt.

Recently after the honeymoon, Quibbit and I started re-arranging my small small small apartment to simultaneous a) get his stuff situated while also b) creating more space for two grown people to exist in. This, in reality, is much like the loaves and the fishes in reverse. I mean, seriously, how in the world can you expect to keep adding things and yet still have an empty basket - devoid of bread and fish?

Easy - you basically just do that Sell, Keep, Toss thing only in my case it's Donate, Keep, Toss. It's hard, sure. And if you've lived in the same place for 15 years alone ... well then it's REALLY hard. But not only did I do it, I was the one who demanded it, so really, I can't complain.

So, there I was ... staring down boxes and piles of never-read BUSTs. Wow ... seriously. Wow. Had it come to this? Marriage or BUST? Well, of course it had to, for the punny phrasing alone. Marriage or BUST - who ever heard of such a thing? As if I'd choose a magazine over a mate? hahahahaha. But I love a good pun.

So, out went the issues ... Bye-Bye Bjork, The Donnas, Le Tigre and Amy Sedaris. Bye old standby articles like Ayun Halliday's "Mother Superior". Bye ads for Repro Depot and Babeland and Damed Dollies (yes, that's one screaming her head off over there. Rock thought I resembled a Dolly. Note: we broke up just weeks after). I'll miss you, fo' shizzle, BUST o' My Youth. But, you know, the old girl's growing up.

The BUSTs got recycled, the space got made and lo and behold ... I could now see the floor around my desk. WOW! I should have done this years ago. But really ... we both know I had to wait till it was time ... Marriage or BUST indeed. Not to say I won't pick one up on the news stand some time. I might. But all in all, my BUST days are behind me.

When You're Done Here ...

2008-11-26T11:53:00.003-05:00

Feel free to go here.

I laughed and laughed.

And laughed some more ...

I Thee Wed ...

2008-11-13T14:48:00.016-05:00

Oct 16, 2008 - Thursday
Quibbit and I have the day off, and spend it doing last minute things. At the train station we run into Danielle Ferland another one for the list; her looks and voice are unmistakable ... I'd know that Little Red Riding Hood anywhere!

"Excuse me," she says to me ... pointing toward the tracks, "Does this side go to Brooklyn?" She's got her toddler son (or possibly nephew) squirming around in her arms.

"Yes, it does ..." I say, and then, before she has a chance to move away I blurt out (so un-Luvvie-like) "Are you a star?"

Of course she laughs. "I'm not a STAR, but I am an actress ..." and I cut here off here to continue my non-Luvvie-like intrusion ... "Into the Woods?"

And she smiles ... but it's clear she's got to get back to her toddler son (nephew) and get on with her "life". She gets off at Union Street and I wonder if she's auditioning for some community theatre thing ...

Oct 17, 2008 - Friday
Blissfully happy ... that I'm not starring in my own reality show!

As Quibbit makes his way to lower Manhattan to meet his dad and sister (fresh from the airport) and pick up the tuxes, I stay at home packing up various suitcases (one for the night at my parent's house, one for the wedding night). I vacillate between joy and hysterics as one moment finds me admiring my wedding shoes, while the next moment finds me unable to find the Marriage License.

Luvvie [on phone to mother]: We can't get married! They won't marry us! I can't find the license! I lost the license! We just looked at it! (This goes on for a while, as mother calmly interjects, at appropriate intervals)

Mom: Yes you can ... yes they will ... you'll find it ... no you didn't ... it's there somewhere ... don't worry ... (repeat till Luvvie is apoplectic - I won't be calmed down!!).

Of course, the license was right where we left it.

Rehearsal night was amazing ...
Seeing GoldenBoy and MattyMoo for the first time in YEARS, having everyone gathered in the church -- friends, kids, parents, siblings, all feeling wonderful, all laughing ... joking ... catching up. Then, to the neighborhood diner ... to heck with these fancy "rehearsal dinner"s!!! Just good old fashioned tuna melts, burgers, grilled cheese sandwiches ... and cup cakes for the kids from a neighboring table. Then, to bed early and dreaming of the day to come!

Oct 18, 2008 WEDDING DAY!
I wake up at my parent's house feeling amazing. Not nervous ... just the right amount of giddy but amazingly calm and joyful. I sing "Wedding Day! Wedding Day!" to my parents as we have some breakfast together, then mom and I are off to the beauty parlor at 10:00 for our hair. It's surreal to be there, on my wedding day, but in a really fun way, just soaking in the neighborhood women who told the stories of their wedding days ... the funny parts, the amazing parts ... so many hugs at the end, and still the day is just starting!

Meanwhile, on the other side of Brooklyn ...
Quibbit wakes up and gets ready for his haircut ... looks in the mirror and thinks he should do something about his dark eye circles. He (the furthest thing from a metro sexual) wanders into the M.A.C. cosmetics store around the corner and charmingly says ... "It's my wedding day ... help!" The girls are happy to help him, and full of good wishes. He then makes his way to cut his hair ... and throws in a manicure for good measure. ("Everyone will be looking at our hands!" I must have said a million times ... )

He goes back to the apartment, gathers up his bags, take the garbage to throw away, and heads to my parents' house. When changing at the express stop he looks down and realizes he has taken the garbage with him ... so he throws it in the nearest receptacle at the train station. Totally Quibbit.

Back at Mom and Dad's ...
Relatives start arriving, Honor Attendants, and flowers! Everyone is happy, no one is nervous, no one snaps. Makeup is applied, hair is curled, perfume, dusting powered, stockings, earrings ...

Photographer arrives and starts taking candid shots. Quibbit arrives and we play Marco Polo ... calling to each other but avoiding seeing each other. It's all a happy blur, and somehow all our clothes come on correctly,

and we start making our way to the Church. My voluminous dress takes up much of the back seat of the limo ... my Mom and Dad take up the other available spots.

At the Church ...
Di, Dad and I stand in the back, and oddly I'm not crying buckets the way I'd imagine I'd be. I'm just filled with this great happiness that seems to take me over and make me terribly gracious. I hear Clair de Lune being played and am very happy ... we'd asked the organist to play it. It's a moon song, and Quibbit and I have a moon theme ... and no one needs to know, but we know.

Finally, the song starts to play, and Di makes her way down the aisle. Dad and I are supposed to wait for her to get all the way down there but it's so far, and I'm so eager, and so we wait till she's half way down. As we start to walk there's so much flashing before my eyes, but all of it is coated in this misty happiness, and when I start to see faces smiling at me I can't help but smile back through these eyes shining with tears ... and I see M watching me ... her face is red with tears but she's smiling, and i just have to laugh with her ... we'd been in exact opposite spots five years ago, and I knew how she was feeling.

I looked up at one point, up at the huge cathedral ceiling of the church and just took in the huge expanse of it all, stopping the moment for a bit so that I could pick it up later and remember it ... remember this amazing feeling of perfectness as I walk down the aisle toward Quibbit.

Five feet from the end I have to just break into an enormous smile because everyone has their cameras out ... there are flashbulbs in my face and I feel like a celebrity, so many eyes on me ... but me just waiting to see my love.

The people part, and there's Quibbit ... I'm amazed at how regal he looks, how stately, and how his face is full of this overwhelming love for me. I kiss my dad on the cheek, then give him a hug ... then another little kiss ... it's a happy moment but I know he's been worried about crying too much, and I want to reassure him that he did just right.

I take Quibbit's hand and the ceremony begins. One by one, the Wonderful Moments happen. GoldenBoy does the first reading and when he's done he comes and gives me a kiss ... 24 years later and here we are, sharing this wonderful moment together.

All Through The Ceremony ...
Quibbit and I stay very present, we smile at each other constantly, we hold hands throughout, and we whisper to each other. Because, of course, we can.

We get ready to say our own vows ... when Quibbit reads his I'm astonished at how lovely they are, and of course at the same time I'm not astonished at all ... Quibbit puts 100% of himself in everything he does. His words are so powerful that even the priest feels they should be acknowledged ... and encourages everyone to applaud. it's a moment that makes us laugh. I say my vows and am overcome by how much I love Quibbit ... my voice cracks a few times, but I get through it. I look at Quibbit as he listens to me and we lock eyes ... it's been like this from that first moment.

We exchange rings, and then continue on ... at some point I look over at Di and she whispers "You're married now!" "I know!" I say, in an exaggerated way, and we both smile because we're being purposely playful. "You look different!" she says, and it's both true and a parody of the truth. I love her for saying it ...

The Ceremony is Over, and We're Married!
We fly down the aisle, so happy, so elated ... ebullient ... other words that mean bouncy. We stop and kiss, but the photographer didn't get it ... she tells us to do it again ... and again ... and we do ... because it's funny ...the whole church laughs. The receiving line is a big, happy, wonderful blur ... one fabulous face after another and everyone so happy ... people saying funny things ... Ant's opening line: "So, what's new?" So fun. Then bubbles, pictures, cheers, and more pictures! Everyone is happy, everyone is smiling, and Quibbit and I feeling like the eye of the (good) storm, just enjoying it all.

Then Into the Limo ...
Just the 2 of us ... finally alone and so very happy. We break open the champagne and drink ... smiling, laughing ... we've combined our last names into a hyphenated name for both of us ... we call each other Mr. and Mrs. Quibb-a-Roo and toast, and kiss ... awash in this amazing glow. Just around the corner from our reception our limo takes us through Times Square ... tourists are everywhere and the car is surrounded ... Strangers shouting congratulations! at us, taking our picture as we laugh, a little embarrassed at all the attention but so happy to be a part of people's excitement ... as much as they want to be part of ours. Even the limo driver has to laugh ... he's never been swarmed before.

Then to the Bridal Suite ...
On top of the world! The 21st floor overlooking all of Times Square ... Floor to Ceiling windows on 2 sides of the room, flooding it with lights that seem like fireworks, like the whole world is celebrating with us. More photos, then Quibbit goes down to see the guests (and get a platter of cheese) while Di works to bustle the dress. I slip on huge Mary Jane platform shoes that I'd worn at work, every day, for seven years ... they look monstrous but they're very comfortable and I can run in them if I have to. We laugh that these are actually my "comfy shoes".

Down to the reception ...
The place looks amazing. An old theatre, now refurbished, but still filled with the Ghosts of Broadway Shows Past. People are there, enjoying themselves, and all so happy to see us. We make the rounds, and it's one happy moment after another. Everyone is excited and happy, everyone can't wait to see the room which, till now, has been closed off.

And then it's time for us to be announced ...
First parents and sisters, then Honor Attendants Di and Quimica, and then us ... Mr. and Mrs. Quibb-a-Roo ... we head for the stage amidst clapping and a standing ovation ... like winning the Tony ... but better of course. Our first dance ... Dusty Springfield cooing "What Are You Doing the Rest of Your Life?" and the world disappears .... it's Quibbit and me twirling slowly under the lights, dazzling, perfect, his eyes locked on mine and I feel more love than I ever thought existed. Then our second dance, Polyphonic Spree's "Light and Day" just like we planned... a song that started out slow so that people would dance with us, then an exuberant burst of happiness ... Quibbit and I break apart and start jumping joyfully ... we're all over the stage like maniacs, like bubbles bumping around in a glass of champagne.

People are watching us, smiling ... they circle us and start to clap but this isn't a moment for the spotlight, this is a moment for everyone to join with us and jump around too ... and I gesture ... and they do. I'm amazed at the people jumping around ... senior citizens putting us to shame with their moves ...

Riding on the whirlwind of the dance...
Our friend Ohbeeb comes forward to give us our second ceremony ... our second blessing. She speaks of our Love Tornado that was sweeping everyone in the room into a joyful celebration. She invites everyone in the room to go and continue to spread the love that we inspired that night ... to continue loving with as much power as possible.

The night continues on ...
Full of treasured moments ... wonderful speeches, amazing food and drink, and crazy dancing! There are moments that Quibbit and I share privately (like taking the stage and tangoing across it as people sat an ate ... or dancing to our own private joke "Dreams of the Everyday Housewife" ...). There are moments that we shared with our families, and moments that we shared with the whole room!

When it was over some core people lingered ... we watched as the flowers were put away and finally allowed ourselves to be tired. Still as happy as we were when the day begun, probably even happier, Quibbit and I said our final good nights and went up to our room on the top of the world. It was the end of a wonderful day ... and it was just the beginning....

For Better ... For Worse ...

2008-11-06T14:49:00.018-05:00

A quote from Ellen DeGeneres:

"Watching the returns on election night was an amazing experience. Barack Obama is our new president. Change is here. I, like millions of Americans, felt like we had taken a giant step towards equality. We were watching history.

"This morning, when it was clear that Proposition 8 had passed in California, I can’t explain the feeling I had. I was saddened beyond belief. Here we just had a giant step towards equality and then on the very next day, we took a giant step away.

"I believe one day a 'ban on gay marriage' will sound totally ridiculous. In the meantime, I will continue to speak out for equality for all of us."

FOR BETTER: On October 18th, 2008 I married my love, Quibbit.
FOR WORSE: Now, just weeks later, couples who finally got the opportunity to do the same, had the right cruelly taken away.

How in the world can someone be so bold as to insinuate their own lifestyle choices into the lives of others?

My big question for some time now has been ... what exactly does it mean to be married? Ever since Quibbit and I got engaged it's been a question I've turned over and over in my head. Why do people get married? More specifically ... why did Quibbit and I choose to get married? And then further ... why did we choose to have a wedding ... a church ceremony followed by a reception populated by our friends and family? And how would I feel if I was told that no matter how much I loved my partner, that I was simply unfit to have the same joy, the same process, the same rights, both legal and human as every other "acceptable" loving couple? All these years I thought my longstanding friendships with people who were gay gave me an insite into their struggle. But no one just took away my wedding day ... no one just undid my choice. I realize I know NOTHING of what it feels like.

When people say "I don't believe in marriage", I would like it so much more if they qualified it with "for myself" or anything else that keeps me out of their self referential loop. Further, I would ask the same for those who say "I don't believe gays should be married". Please, keep others out of your self referential loop. These are some of the same people who feel that being gay is a choice. A bad choice. What's bad is the CHOICE to be close minded. Love, in whatever form, on whatever level, abiding by whatever terms, is never wrong, never bad. And should NEVER be controlled by those who don't understand or participate in it. You simply shouldn't legislate an emotion, a belief ... a core essence of existence.

I know gay couples who have been together for years and are 100% committed without being married. I know straight couples who also aren't married but are committed. Look, I can't seem to pin down why a wedding is so much more than the components. I just know that to me it is. I KNOW that something magical happened the day Quibbit and I stood in church, bonding our lives together. I saw it in our friend's faces. I've read it in words of people who were so moved by our day that they needed to tell us how deeply they were affected. But that day was simply an outward manifestation of what we've felt for each other from the beginning.

Our love and celebration was all around us, intangible, sparkling ... amazing. And Quibbit and I, by a stroke of luck, were able to have our day because our genders are considered an appropriate pairing.

If someone came to me today and told me that my marriage was now overturned I wouldn't even know how to process that. Because, ultimately, you can't go back and undo something that's been done. It begs the question of why anything is important ... why anything matters ... why we navigate through challenges at all ... I don't know the answer. I'm just asking the questions.

When I saw Ellen and Portia's beautiful wedding photos, I'd never felt so happy for a celebrity couple. I saw love and celebration, contentment, happiness ... and above all ... a click. Two spirits who came together and found their origin in each other. Why would strangers want to overturn something so meaningful simply because they don't understand it? Once again, I repeat what I'd said MONTHS ago ... it's the fine line between understanding and appreciating. You can think you understand what a process means ... and you can even appreciate what that process means for yourself. But unless you are completely without prejudice (and talking all across the board here ... ), TRUE prejudice -- an adverse opinion or leaning formed without just grounds or before sufficient knowledge -- you simply cannot appreciate what the process means to other people. And therefore you have no right to meddle in it. I can't even imagine what it feels like to be hated by countless people for the simple expression of my love to my partner. I've been close friends with several gay people over the course of my life but until now I really didn't even slightly understand how awful it feels to be alienated by people who don't agree with how you choose to celebrate your love. I guess because it wasn't even an issue for me, I didn't understand that still, it was an issue for them.

"We don't need a piece of paper to prove our commitment" is often said. I find it odd that people even qualify that. No one needs anything to make something so. But if two people choose to get that little piece of paper ... isn't it hypocritical to demonize them for it? If you put meaning into something, then it holds meaning for you. Not to mention, it makes it legal, and give you protection under the law. So, in the most unromantic of lights, it sure does mean something.

All anyone asks for, ultimately, is understanding. And support of their decisions. And a little love along the way, instead of judgment. It's all I wanted from my friends ... and it's all I want for all my gay friends every where -- those who chose to have a ceremony, and those who didn't.

Quibbit, who's watched me cry over this, said that Proposition 8 may have some positive consequence ... becuase it forces people to re examine their feelings on this ... and brings people like myself to become even more committed to bringing about a change for equality. And he's right. While I've only stood on the sidelines for all these years, I now feel a desperate need to align myself with other like-minded thinkers and do all that I can to make sure that, as Ellen says, one day a "ban on gay marriage" will sound totally rediculous.

I just couldn't feel right about joyfully recounting my happiness without first mentioning how truly sad I am for every loving couple who was told their day didn't mean anything ... by people who had no right to say a word.

For All The Days of My Life

2008-10-13T17:09:00.010-04:00

On Saturday, October 18th, I will marry Quibbit. We will join our lives together, we will join our names together, we will join our hopes together ... we will join our journeys together. We will take the best of who we were before and strive to be even better ... for each other.

Quibbit ... you make me happier than I ever thought I could be.

You are my heart.
You are my love.
You are my home ...

He is now to be among you at the calling of your hearts.
Rest assured this troubador is acting on His part.
The union of your spirits here has caused Him to remain,
For whenever two or more of you are gathered in His name,
There is love. There is love.

Oh, a man shall leave his mother, and a woman leave her home.
They will travel on to where the two will be as one.
As it was in the beginning, is now until the end,
Woman draws her life from man
And gives it back again and there is love.
Oh, there's love.

Well then what's to be the reason for becoming man and wife?
Is it love that brings you here or love that brings you life?
For if loving is the answer then who's the giving for?
Do you believe in something that you've never seen before?
Oh, there's love. There is love.

He is now to be among you at the calling of your hearts.
Rest assured this troubador is acting on His part.
The union of your spirits here has caused Him to remain
For whenever two or more of you are gathered in His name
there is love. Oh, there is love.

THERE IS LOVE (Paul Stookey)

- Wedding Song -

Not In So Many Words ...

2008-10-09T11:08:00.008-04:00

CIRCUMLOCUTION \sir-kuhm-loh-KYOO-shuhn\, noun: The use of many words to express an idea that might be expressed by few.

I have been accused of circumlocution virtually since the day I started speaking. If you flip through the pages of my life and stop at almost any day, you'll find a conversation like this one going on:

Random Teen from the Past: Luvviepuffaroo and I are going to a party tonight. Wanna come?
GoldenBoy: I might as well ... I'm only going to have to hear all the stories about it later, and it will take less of my time I just go along now.

Flip further:
Luvviepuffaroo: Well, you know, I could just take an umbrella ... it probably won't rain but I'm thinking that at least if I have one with me, then if it rains I'll be dry, as opposed to NOT carrying it around and then being caught in the rain, WISHING I'd carried it around and thinking the whole time that if only I'd taken the umbrella I'd have a much better chance of being dry. I mean, ultimately I'd much rather do something and be on the safe side, than NOT do something and run the risk of being really upset by it later ..."
Random 20something Friend From the Past: OR, "Better safe than sorry ..."

GoldenBoy STILL delights in doing this to me on the phone ... I'm not QUITE as verbose as the paragraph above, but he still is able to distill my ramblings down to just a few words. (And points it out EVERY TIME. "I did it again! I did it again!") What can I say? I like to talk.

Nothing proved my circumlocution-ness more, however, than recently when I was putting the final touches on my Great American Novel. After thinking it was finished around 14 years ago I sent it out to literary agents with high hopes, only to get one rejection letter after another. After another. After another. (Repeat this phrase another 243 times ...) It got so I wasn't able to open my mailbox anymore without seeing the dreaded flurry of little SASEs tumbling toward me, all rejection letters from Agent X telling me they just didn't think my big book o' words was marketable. I put the manuscript away in a drawer and tried to forget about it. All 145,000 words of it.

To be clear: word count in the publishing world is like dress size in the modeling world. Same equation: lower number equals more marketable. Things would have started differently for JK Rowlings if Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone hadn't skootched by at just under 80,000 words -- 76,944 to be exact. Only when the crowd was clamoring for more could she (and her publishing house) feel confident about something that weighed in at 198,227 words (as The Deathly Hallows did). Agents balk at hefty books the way Janice Dickinson balks at hefty models. As in: Good ones exist, they just don't get through the machine as easily.

Years later I decided to give it another shot. I took my "finished" novel and presented it to my writing group. One hearty soul, the one man in the group, took the time to read the whole thing. His criticism was harsh, but fair ... great story, not so great writing. (Hey, I'd accused Stephen King of this my whole life ... ). It was salvageable, he said, it just had to be completely rewritten and heavily edited.

I decided to give it a shot. After all ... 14 years HAD gone by ... my writing had gotten better ... and I wasn't in such desperate need to prove how smart I was anymore. I cut out pages and pages of characters having long, boring existential conversations that did nothing to move the plot forward. I tightened, punched up and textured until one day last month, like a Sculptor, I knew it was finished because there was nothing else to take away.

It now weighs in at a very slimming 110,000 words. That's THIRTY FIVE THOUSAND NON-ESSENTIAL WORDS ... gone. And never missed. Amazing.

So, the question is, after all that -- is it a good book? I've had a few friends read it (or parts of it) over the years, and always got relatively good feedback. That's what friends do ... they cheerleader their way through your small successes. It's hard to know. There's one reader, though, who I choose to believe over all the others. Random Subway Chick.

Years ago, I'd given a first draft to my dad and he read it on his daily commute. One day, without him knowing it, a girl had been reading over his shoulder. When he put it away she tapped his arm ... "Excuse me," she said, "What's that your reading?"
Dad: It's a novel my daughter's written.
Random Subway Chick: Wow! Is it published? I'd love to buy it! I've been reading it over your shoulder and I can't wait to see what happens next!

I think about Random Subway Chick a lot. Because New York is FILLED with random subway chicks ... and they're my target audience. Along with any other person who's facing a long train ride, bus ride, plane ride, and wants to dig their teeth into a good story that will make the commute fly by. As well as any person who likes to stay up late into the night reading just one more chapter ... And any person who's not looking for a cookie cutter story with a happy ending. So ... if that's you ... stay tuned. I promise, you'll enjoy every single word.

You Want Lettuce and Tomato On That?

2008-10-03T14:48:00.001-04:00

Boy oh boy ... how I love a good sandwich. I know they're the worst things for you. I know they're full of bleached flour, processed meats, gloppy condiments, fats, salt and nitrates. I know that. What's your point? You are what you eat so I am a big ole sandwich. When I die you can wrap me in some wax paper, bury me in one of those little deli containers and put me on that great conveyor belt to the sky.

Quibbit likes them too, but he is the King of the Dagwood Sandwich. Early on in our relationship I'd asked him what ingredients would he combine to make his favorite burger. By way of example, I created mine for him: English Muffin bun, a big juicy burger seasoned with basil, slathered in Hellman's Mayonnaise and Frank's Red Hot Sauce ... some sauteed onions and thick cut apple smoked bacon on the top. Yum.

He responded by building his for me: bottom bun, mayonnaise, avocado and onions, honey mustard, all beef patty, cheddar cheese, ranch dressing, Doritos, sauteed lettuce and cabbage with garlic, 2nd all beef patty, Swiss cheese, ketchup, more mayonnaise, slice of lettuce and top bun.

Of course I've watch him eat things that make the above look tame. I've learned not to ask what he's jamming between two overtaxed slices of bread. If it crunches I just assume it's the Doritos. Or pretzel sticks. Or peanuts. Or saltines. Or granola. Or sunflower seeds. Or wasbi peas. One time it was trail mix.

A few years ago I caught a great documentary on PBS called Sandwiches That You Will Like (which is a little like calling your clothing line Dresses That You Will Wear). It does a great job of traveling across America and showing how the definition of a sandwich changes with the landscape. I love hearing people, full of conviction, talking about their city's sandwich and why it's the best, not like any other Blah and Blah Sandwiches from any other place in the whole US of A! It reminded me of the time my friend's cousin came back from Italy praising the corner markets and the plethora of prosciutto and provolone sandwiches. "It's so common ... like getting a ham and cheese in America". We laughed our butts off at that. Um, maybe because prosciutto and provolone IS ham and cheese.

Anyway, I love this show -- I've seen it twice and I'm thinking of buying the DVD (or accepting it as a Christmas present). What makes the show so special is not that it's a program about food ... though that's part of it. No, what makes it great is that it's a program about people and their relationship to food; it's about tradition, habits, customs, comfort. It's about folks reveling in the fact that in their little corner of the world, this is how it's done:

This is the kind of program that makes you want to grab your map, get in the car, and just drive across America seeking these places out. Luckily, I actually have been to a few of these fine establishments and when time allows, I intend to visit a few more. For now, here are the 3 I sampled:

Living in New York you can't escape the siren song of a good Pastrami Sandwich. And what better place to get one than at Katz's Delicatessen ... a New York tradition for over a hundred years. Quibbit and I just went there recently and almost died (happily) of a meat overdose. He got the Corned Beef Sandwich and I got the pastrami ... between the 2 of us I think we were able to eat 2/5th ... we had to take the rest home. And we both kept on eating corned beef, pastrami and rye bread for another two days! I repeat ... You are what you eat!

I've also been lucky enough to sample authentic Philly Cheese Steak Sandwiches when a friend of mine took me back to her home town. It was really cold the weekend we were there, and we spent a long time shivering on line waiting to order our sandwiches, staring across the street at the OTHER long line of people waiting to get THEIR sandwiches. The first day we went to Geno's, the second day to Pat's. I liked one better than the other but can't remember which ... so I guess when I go back I'll have to do another taste test. I'll have to go again with a local, because even though there were big signs everywhere explaining how to order, I still made my friend order for me because I was too intimidated. Yes ... I. Was. Too. Intimidated. Huh.

When another friend and I were kicking around in New Orleans, I was thrilled when we stumbled upon Central Grocery ...

... which I knew all about from the program. We immediately went in and purchased the most wonderful Muffuletta Sandwich I'd every had. (Truth be told, I'd only had one once before at some wannabe New Orleans bar in Manhattan where the drinks are watered down, the food is tasteless and badly fried and the Muffuletta Sandwich is lousy). But here was the real thing! We couldn't wait to dig in! We shared one ... it was that big ... and even had leftovers for later. Next to the drinking-all-day-and-night-in-the-street thing and the super hot jazz and the man who tried to take my friend and me home with him to "let nature take its course" (an offer we refused, but a story we gleefully repeated), this Muffuletta Sandwich was the best part of our trip.

So, hopefully, Quibbit and I will get around to Kentucky one day in order to sample a Hot Brown Sandwich ... and then maybe we'll take another trip to Maine and get a Lobster Roll from Red's Eats. Heck, I'd even try and get to Domilise's for a fried oyster Po'Boy. (Hey, did you even WATCH the clip up there?) But I can tell you right now ... as far as the Fried Brain Sandwich goes ... I'll let Quibbit tackle that one alone.

For close to 3,000 more ways to make a sandwich, try this website.

Take Me Out to the Ball Game

2008-09-26T11:55:00.009-04:00

When I was a little girl ... five or so ... my parents took me and another little friend to a ball game. I really can't understand why -- I don't think I asked to be taken ... I don't think I showed even one ounce of interest in baseball at all at that age. I remember none of it ... except for the stories which came afterward -- stories of me spending the entire time facing the BACK of the stadium looking for the hot dog man. THAT I believe ...

When I was a bigger girl ... twenty or so ... my boyfriend Blob took me to another baseball game. (His name wasn't Blob back then ... that's just what he devolved into). I really can't understand why -- I don't think I asked to be taken. I don't think I showed even one ounce of interest in baseball at all at that age. I remember none of it ... except for the part where Blob got my under aged butt a huge bucket of beer (he was 32 at the time ...) and then embarrassed me by shelling an entire bag of peanuts and throwing the remains all over the floor. "Stop doing that!" I'd hissed ... "Everyone here does it!" he'd replied, but all I saw was a bunch of people giving him dirty looks.

When I was a bit older ... thirty something or so ... Won't, his sister Nat, and the extended group of friends were excited about the Subway Series and asked me to come watch the opening game in a bar with them. I really can't understand why -- I don't think I asked to be invited. I don't think I showed even an ounce of interest in baseball at that age ...ahhh, but wait. Here's the paradigm shift, kiddies ...

The 2000 Subway Series got me completely hooked. Hooked isn't even the word; I was completely obsessed. For the first time in my life I really understood what it meant to be a fan and root (root, root) for the home team. You have to understand that my interest in sports was so lacking that when I was a sales assistant at Sport Magazine I garnered months of ribbing after I asked my manager "Is hockey a pro sport?"

My friend from Boston, Ant, said to me one day back then, "You know, the rest of the country doesn't care about this World Series ... only New York cares." And I'd replied, "New York doesn't CARE that no one else cares. If New York had its way it would be a Subway Series every time!" I got so wrapped up in the game that I actually bought one of those little vanity magazines that listed all the players, I talked baseball with guys in the hall, I asked everyone if they were following the game, and when the final game fell on my parent's anniversary I tapped my foot nervously, wondering if I'd have enough time to finish up the play I'd taken them to (The Best Man) and still get to Won't and Nat who were in a bar down near Charles Street in time to see if we won. ("We" being the Yankees ... since that's the team my friends were rooting for. I secretly rooted for both). Can you believe it? Broadway vs. Baseball ... and Baseball actually winning? Well, the play did end in time, (and much to the glee of the entire audience, at the curtain call one of the main characters stepped out of the line to announce the score ...) and I did get to the bar, and I did scream and hollar as the Yankees won, and I did linger in that bar with Won't and Nat afterwards and bask in the glow of being a Real Sports Fan.

And then it all vanished as quickly as it came. Years went by, and I always remembered the Subway Series of 2000 fondly ... but I'd never had a desire to recreate it whatsoever.

Recently there's been a lot of talk about how Yankee Stadium is closing ... so much so that I didn't even realize that Shea Stadium (home of the Mets) was closing down as well. What I DO know is that Yankee tickets were going for hundreds of dollars these past weeks ... whereas Quibbit got some Mets tickets for free when he donated some blood a few weeks back.

I thought it was quaint that he brought them to me with the idea that we'd actually go to the game. I nodded an enthusiastic "maybe" but really ... I sincerely doubted I'd go.

But an outing is an outing and when the day finally came this week I was actually in the mood to get out there. We took the (relatively quick) subway ride out to Shea and, once there, could actually feel the excitement in the air. We got there early so that we could scope the place out and wander around ... our seats were way up high (of course) but the great thing about stadiums is the stadium seating (duh ...) and from our seats we could see everything. We sat out in the wonderful night air, taking in the sky, the crowd, the atmosphere, eating five dollar hot dogs and drinking eight dollar beverages. I was completely immersed and having a great time!

By the time the game started, I was ready. At one point I cheered loudly, my arms pumping the air, thrilled to join my voice to the thousands who were screaming too. "Did you see that?" Quibbit asked, "The blah bla blah did this bla blah bla thing and the ..." I finally just held up my hand and said "Boo ... I don't know what happened. I just scream when everyone else does". Trust me ... it's really fun to scream your head off and be joyful just for the experience of it. I doubt anyone around me could tell that I was actually completely clueless about the whole thing.

While we were sitting there, during a lull, I told Quibbit the story of a sales conference we'd had while I was at Sport Magazine. The 2 assistants (myself and another girl) tagged along to all the outings during the conference, nights at Smith and Wollensky or other places that served meat with a side of meat ... followed by drinks in various sports bars till the wee hours. The guys were accomodating and told us everything we wanted to know about the various games we watched. One guy said to me, "Here, let me teach you a phrase that will work on any guy ... if he takes you out to a game or a sports bar, and everyone is cheering, turn to him and say 'That was a particularly high percentage play!" If everyone's booing, say the opposite 'That wasn't a particularly high percentage play!" It will impress whatever guy you're with." Throughout the years I've pulled that little gem out of my bag of tricks often, and I've always been grateful to that anonymous sales guy ... because it always did get a rather good response.

Eventually as the game at Shea wore on it got really cold outside, and Quibbit and I decided to go home, even though the game was still in full swing -- we'd had a good time, and it really didn't matter to either of us who won the game (yes, blasphemous, I know). And I'm also really glad that I got to go to one ball game at Shea Stadium. Ahh, Shea, I hardly knew ye. Thanks for all the memories. Or, you know, just the one. But still ... thanks.

Would You Like A Free Transit Map? Free Map? Would You Like A Free Map? Transit Map? Did You Get Your Free Map? Would You Like One? Free Map?

2008-09-23T20:25:00.013-04:00

It's always nice to volunteer for something that takes you outside for the day, especially when the weather is as nice as it was today.

I work for a pretty big, well known company and we launched a really big feature today, so I was happy to help distribute some free wallet sized transit maps that had some of our branding on them. There were teams of us all over New York today.

I stood in front of Port Authority with 3 of my other co-workers, all of us decked out in matching t-shirts that advertised our new feature, all of us handing out these useful little transit maps. Surprisingly, people were really friendly and fun (who doesn't want a free sample of something?) and in the 3 hours that we were out there I have to say that not one person was rude, and maybe only 10 people walked by without making any eye contact at all. Even the people who weren't interested at least smiled and said something. I handed out almost 1,300 cards ... that's a lot of smiles.

I'm not an Ian McShane fan ... let me just say that right up front. In fact, I make a point out of saying so every time I see that movie trailer for Death Race. Not him again I always hiss to Quibbit in the dark as he nods for the millionth time, I can't stand him!

But there I was today, standing on the corner by Port Authority, handing out these maps, smiling brightly at each person passing by, doing my patter Free Map? Would you like a transit map? Did you get one? Can I give you a map? Free Map? Would you like a free map? ... when there he was. Ian McShane -- walking right toward me as I just kept doing my schtick to everyone ... and he actually made eye contact, flashed me a brilliant, genuine smile, said "No thanks, Darlin'" and went back to his conversation. Hmmmmm. I take it all back, Ian McShane. You are a really terrific guy. I'm happy to add you to my list.

Chocolate and Pickles? Yes. Chocolate. And. Pickles.

2008-09-16T17:12:00.000-04:00

Just a few more weeks now! Quibbit, Mom, Dad and I have been getting all the final pieces of the wedding into place -- flowers, menu, accessories ... and Quibbit and I got the marriage license this week ... amazing. But also a bit overwhelming. Go here, check this, count that, set this up, don't forget these things, have this done by Wednesday, send this contract to that address before this amount of time ... it's a lot to keep in your brain, no matter how much help you get or how much fun it is.

So I thought we all needed a break this weekend. I'd decided a few months back to give out truffles as wedding favors, but we were still deciding on which chocolatier to use. We'd gotten a few suggestions, so we decided to check out one of them: MarieBelle, a wonderful chocolate shop filled with beautiful items up front and featuring a quaint Cacao Bar / Tea Salon in the back where you can have crepes (sweet or savory) and choose from several different hot chocolates (from the relatively mild Aztec - only 63% cacao - to the mischievous Spicy - spiked with cinnamon, nutmeg and chipotle) made one of two ways (European style with water, or American style with milk).

The shop had so many things to offer, but my favorite were these Pin-Up Girls Chocolates that were really retro and kitchy. Part of me wanted to pick these as wedding favors but I didn't think it would go over well with some of the people who didn't get my 1) sense of humor and 2) love of camp. Still, there's no law saying I can't send them along as Christmas presents ...

We wound up spending around 2 hours in the salon, really just enjoying our crepes, our cocoa, and conversation. It was relatively empty when we got there at 1:00 but by 3:00 every seat was taken and people were waiting ... so I suggest getting there early if you plan on going for brunch.

It just so happens that on the VERY SAME DAY that we decided to go to MarieBelle's ON THE VERY SAME STREET (Broome Street -- but further east ... down by Orchard Street) they were holding the Eight Annual Pickle Day! And if there's one thing Quibbit loves, it's a pickle. So we took the 15 block walk to the Lower East Side (slowly ... it was pretty hot out) and when we got there the fair was in full swing. Almost TOO much of a swing ... lines were long, stalls were packed, ever inch of sidewalk was taken up by people walking left to right ... unless it was taken up by the other people walking right to left. We were able to get some pickle samples, but ultimately they were few and far between. Still, I'd grown up in New York, knowing about the pickle district and knowing that a real pickle doesn't come in a jar off a shelf any more than a real ravioli comes in a can. But Quibbit didn't grow up in this magical land, so it was good for him to see The Pickle Guys and Guss' Pickles up close and in person. I promised we'd come back again when it wasn't so ... pickley. I mean ... it was a great day, but I think we'll have more fun going back some time in winter. Just in time for the Christmas Pickle Tree.

We finished up the day by wandering over to Ludlow Street where we ducked into the cool, dark Pianos for some great Original Sin cider and chicken fingers. Hey, it can't all be chocolate and pickles all the time! At some point I got a little tipsy ... and when (in the spirit of the day) Quibbit called me a pretty smart pickle I replied "That's right! I'm a Smitty Part Pickle!" I found this uproariously funny and repeated it waaaaay too many times but again ... tipsy. I made Quibbit promise to call me a Smitty Part Pickle some unexpected time in the future. Maybe it CAN be all pickles all the time ...

Operator!

2008-09-07T16:32:00.016-04:00

Oh no! My Something Or Other from XYZ Company isn't working! I better call them right away and straighten this out!

Luvvie: [dialing] Oh, so happy there's a customer service number. This will be solved in no time!

Robot: Hello, and welcome to the XYZ Company. Our menu has changed recently so please listen carefully to all options. Para Espanol, press ZERO. To buy another Something Or Other, press or say ONE. To find out about our new and improved Something Or Other, press or say SEVEN. If you are calling from out of state, press or say TWO. To hear this menu again at any time, press pound. Wait, we're not done ... To learn the history of our company, press or say FIVE. To find the nearest store in your area, press or say THREE. To speak to a customer representative, press or say EIGHT.

Luvvie: Yay! Finally! [pressing eight] Just a few more seconds now!

Robot: [Pretending to be human] Okay. Before we begin I'll need some information from you. Press or say the fourteen digit account code so I can locate your records.

Luvvie: Wait ... I only see five numbers in my account. Where are the other eleven?

Robot: I'm sorry, I didn't understand what you said. Could you repeat the number?

Luvvie: I didn't say any number yet.

Robot: Okay, I think I'm going to need a little more information. If you're calling from your home phone, please say "yes".

Luvvie: [to herself] Ha! I can outsmart this dang computer. I'll press "0" for operator till I get a human being!

Robot: I'm sorry, I don't understand what you said. If you're calling from your home phone ...

Luvvie: [pressing frantically] zero ... zero ... zero ... [faster] zero zero zero zero zero zero zero [and faster] zerozerozerozero Dang why won't this work! Operator! Operator!!

Well, I'll tell you why it won't work. Because companies have caught on to your little operator trick and have made it difficult to get a human on the phone that easily. That's not to say that pressing zero repeatedly, faster and faster won't work for SOME companies, but for others, getting a human on the phone involves a tricky combination of numbers, pound signs and, in some cases, sneaky silence.

But how do you know what diabolical combinations will work? Hit 'em all and pray you get lucky? Nah ... never that. Now you can go here and find out all the right combinations to press, the right words to say ... basically just the quickest way of getting a real human being on the phone. Scroll down a bit on their website and find most every trick to most every company you'll ever need to call. Poor "Emily" from Bell Canada. She won't know what hit her.

Just another little helpful tip brought to you by Luvviepuffaroo. You're welcome.

When Giant Bugs Attack

2008-08-31T00:14:00.015-04:00

So tonight Quibbit and I were happily watching the first season of LOST on iTunes. We're around 3 episodes from the season finale and yes, yes, I know, that's THREE SEASONS behind everyone else but I had some problems picking it up mid-season back then (What ... as if I'm the only one?) and then just decided it was too much trouble than it was worth. Which of course is not true. Thanks to iTunes I was able to catch up, albeit slowly. I'm sure the traumas that occur during Season 1 pale in comparison to all the other stuff that happens later, but just try and remember how you felt way back in 2004. Pretty nail biting stuff ...

So there we are, engrossed, hardly able to focus on anything but the show ... Until ....

All of a sudden out of the pitch black darkness I felt what seemed to be a wad of paper thrown at me. I immediately flung it off, jumped up screaming, and scared Quibbit half to death.

We looked everywhere, but couldn't find a logical thing that it could have been.

Luvvie: You don't understand! It was like a giant spitball thrown at me!

Quibbit: Well, let's find it ...

Luvvie: Where did it come from?

Quibbit: I have no idea.

Luvvie: Do you think it was a ghost?

Quibbit: One can only hope ...

Well this went on for a bit ... we found a wadded up tissue across the room ... yeah, maybe that could have been it ... but who threw it at me? (Cue scary music ...) Could it have been that French Woman? No, dammit! Focus! This isn't the Island!

Quibbit decided to go investigate in another part of the apartment. Not that there are many "parts" to the apartment. More like different angles to the apartment.

Quibbit: Oh ... okay ... I think I see what it was.

Luvvie: A bug?

Quibbit: Yes. Quite a big one. If you don't want to get upset, don't look over there ...

So I look (of course) "over there" and I see, on the wall, the Biggest Damn Bug I've ever seen and I run to the other side of the room, but I can still see it. Like, it was THAT BIG.

Due to my enormous fear of bugs, a few years ago for Christmas Quibbit got me (among other things) this bug zapper which I always likened to having a gun in the house. As in: I felt much safer having it around but dreaded the time I'd have to actually use it.

So of course, tonight was that night.

Quibbit got the bug zapper and after a few failed attempts finally caught it in the trap, but it was SO huge that it wouldn't sink down to the zapper part and get itself fried. So the device was, at this point, just a bug TRAPPER. Which is fine, of course, unless you're me and living with an insane fear of bugs because then all you can imagine is that even though the trap door only goes one way and the bug has no way whatsoever of getting out, this bug will buck all odds, get loose, and (now mad at you) come and do what bugs do to human beings. (I don't think we fully know the extent of what that is yet. But I'm always fearful that one day we'll find out. And boy will we regret it ...)

So since it was just trapped in the little tube, Quibbit had a chance to examine it. "Do me a favor and Google Cicada" he told me ... and I did, and described the picture to him and he said that's what it was that he had, trapped in the bug zapper.

Now, I have plenty of friends who live in Florida who will tell me they see these awful creatures all the time, and that's great, Friends In Florida, I'm happy for you. And you've learned to live with them the way I've learned to watch, mildly amused, as subway rats scurry onto the subway platform (yes, folks, high above the tracks ...) as I wait for the #2 train. I mean, I wouldn't want them any closer than the 5 meters I've put between us, but I'm not exactly sobbing with fear either. However, Cicadas aren't (as far as I know) native to New York and I've never actually seen one in person before. Let alone have one into my home. They're like vampires! You don't invite them in!

Anyway, while Quibbit was waiting patiently for the Cicada to make his way down the tube into the electric chamber I had some time to further research them. So I scanned the Wikipedia entry which gave more information than I wanted to know ... as well as a little sound file which immediately gave me the creeps.

But then delving further on the topic, I also find this little gem. What? Are you kidding me? Seriously? Who in their right mind would name a restaurant after a Damn Giant Bug? I mean, why don't you just name your place Roach Infested or Rat Droppings or Closed Because of Health Code Violations? Granted, the place looks absolutely fabulous, and I'm sure many people have eaten there and had a fantastic time, but I stand by my original thought. And I would suggest that when there, no one order the Quail ... because traditionally Quail don't have the wingspan of a Beechcraft. But I know a little something that does ...

Anyway, at some point the Cicada managed to accept the unavoidable (I'd like to think with a brave look on his face) and went toward the zapper part of the tube while I hummed Taps. Quibbit waited a few more minutes before giving it a proper burial at sea. The rest of the night was spent a bit less frantic but no less nerve wracking ... I mean, there's an unopenable hatch in the middle of the jungle! I just hope it's not filled with Giant Bugs.

Not in Kansas Anymore ...

2008-08-25T13:42:00.002-04:00

Years and years ago I got the Gregory McGuire book Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West and it immediately became one of my top favorites of all time. I'm a big fan of stories that tell the other side of the story (see: Rosencrantz and Gildenstern are Dead). Moral of Wicked: Don't always believe the first story you hear, even if that story is coming from a poor little Kansas farm girl who got picked up off her fence post by a tornado and was deposited, worlds away, into a strange place where 1) citizens are diminutive and members of something called the Lollipop Guild, 2) the welcome committee is comprised of one women who arrives onto the scene via Floating Giant Bubble, 3) there's only one road you can follow to get out of the place, and 4) everything that's gone wrong is the fault of some wicked green witch who likes to transform people into tin and straw for kicks when she's not commanding a fleet of flying monkeys.

Fast forward to around 2003 when Wicked made its way to Broadway. I was working just blocks away, and couldn't help but notice the throngs of people who congregated nightly to take in this new musical. Unfortunately, by the time I thought to buy tickets there was a 3 - 4 month wait. I figured I'd hold off till the hype died down.

Fast forward again, to 2005 (hype has done the opposite of "died down") and now find me dating a guy I like to call Rock (As in I am Rock! I can not love! I am not built to be with anyone else permanently! I have no heart! Talk about a Tin Man ...). Rock wasn't a bad guy, he just wasn't the guy for me. We'd been friends for around 6 years prior to our very brief affair, and I think both of us would have been happier had we just remained friends -- it would have saved us both a lot of bother. Still ... sometimes you just have to see what's behind Door Number Three, Alex. Some times it's A BRAND NEW CAR! and some times it's just a year's supply of Rice-A-Roni. Thanks for playing!

Rock broke up with me the day after my birthday (no, no ... this does not fulfill the Birthday Curse of Luvviepuffaroo because he left me the day after) and even though it probably was inevitable that we part I think the timing took even HIM by surprise, since just the night before, for my [July 3rd] birthday, he'd gotten us tickets to see Wicked ... for the end of August. So obviously he thought he'd be around for at least 6 weeks longer.

When the night of the show rolled around I'd toyed with the idea of taking Rock with me (after all ... he HAD paid ...) but it was really hard to see him after the breakup and I didn't want to sit there in the theatre, crying (and I KNEW I would be crying because I get really overwhelmed at Broadway shows ... heck, I cried during Run, Freedom, Run! while attending a performance of Urinetown) and have him think that I was bawling over him. So I took my mom instead. Who very sweetly held my hand during all the parts she knew were striking a particularly difficult chord.

Needless to say, the show was spectacular, breathtaking ... everything I didn't think a show NOT written by Stephen Sondheim could be. When I realized that the composer, Stephen Schwartz, was the same man who did Godspell and Pippin well, then it all made sense. Has there ever been a better song of existentialism (And don't you see I want my life to be something more than "long" ... I've got to be where my spirit can run free) than Corner of the Sky? Well ... yes. Defying Gravity. But more on that later.

Unfortunately, since I'd had that pretty painful breakup just a few weeks before, a lot of the show was tainted with shades of regret. I nearly gave myself a heart attack by trying to chock back the sobs that bubbled up during "I'm Not That Girl" (Every so often we long to steal / to the land of what-might-have-been / But that doesn't soften the ache we feel / When reality sets back in ..."). I loved the show, but I hated the connection it had to the Rock breakup. For a long time I couldn't listen to the soundtrack without having odd little feelings.

Fast forward (again!) and now it's 2008, I'm engaged to Quibbit, Rock (and any memory of him ) is long gone, and Quibbit has now heard me mention "Wicked" in the area of 4,193 times. So I went ahead and got tickets last March for ... August 21st. Almost exactly 3 years (to the day) that I saw it the first time.

I love Wicked. I will always love Wicked. I loved that I was finally able to share it with my Boo. I love that it's not about good vs. evil, but rather about degrees of good versus different degrees of good. I love that it's all about subtle (and some not-so-subtle) shades of interpretation. And specifically, I love how everything you thought was evil in the Wizard of Oz is turned on it's ear because you never got the full story the first time around. I love how two girls can start off on opposite ends of the spectrum, come together, and yet eventually part because neither is built to follow the other's path.

I love Stephen Schwartz's elegant internal rhymes throughout (Take Popular: When I see depressing creatures / with un-prepossessing features / I remind them on their own behalf / To think of celebrated heads of state / Or specially great communicators / Did they have brains or knowledge? / Don't make me laugh! / They were popular! Please / It's all about popular!) I love his humor in What Is This Feeling -- A love song about hate: What is this feeling / So sudden and new? / I felt the moment I laid eyes on you / My pulse is rushing / My head is reeling / My face is flushing / What is this feeling? / Fervid as a flame / Does it have a name? / Yes! / Loathing, unadulterated loathing.

I love how No Good Deed takes Elphaba's character so perfectly from someone who always strives to be better (and to help others) to someone who just can't take it anymore and just can't continue to be misunderstood: No good deed goes unpunished / No act of charity goes unresented / No good deed goes unpunished / That's my new creed / My road of good intentions / Led where such roads always lead / No good deed / Goes unpunished! / Sure I meant well --/ Well look at what well-meant did: / All right, enough - so be it / So be it, then: / Let all Oz be agreed / I'm wicked through and through / Since I can not succeed / Fiyero, saving you / I promise no good deed / Will I attempt to do ever again ...

I love Glinda's self-reflection in Thank Goodness - the message of happiness at all costs, even if you're not sure what that happiness is:

That's why I couldn't be happier / No I couldn't be happier / Though it is, I admit / The tiniest bit / Unlike I anticipated / But I couldn't be happier / Simply couldn't be happier / Well - not "simply" / Cause getting your dreams / Is strange, but it seems / A little - well - complicated. / There's a kind of a sort of ... cost / There's a couple of things get ... lost / There are bridges you cross / You didn't know you crossed / Until you've crossed / And if that joy, that thrill / Doesn't thrill like you think it will / Still ... / With this perfect finale / The cheers and the ballyhoo / Who ... / Wouldn't be happier / Because happy is what happens / When all your dreams come true. / ... Well, isn't it?

I'm also fascinated by how it's become this teen cult thing. While our seats were good (middle mezzanine) it was ruined by the fact that we were somehow smack in the middle of some bus load of teens from, I don't know, Idaho or something who couldn't refrain from calling over to each other and tossing cameras to each other (yes, before the show started, but still -- it's a little disconcerting to have things flying over your head when the show you're seeing is NOT Phantom of the Opera) and climbing all over each other during the show (I guess they couldn't see? And wanted to trade seats?) and then passing bottles of water to each other and doing that simultaneous translation thing that -- please listen to me -- DOESN'T PROVE HOW SMART YOU ARE!!! (Look! It's the wizard! He was that guy! ... Um, yeah ... we ALL got it! Now please be quiet!) I'm sure all these angsty teens can

identify with the whole "no one accepts me" thing, and have taken on Defying Gravity as their personal anthem but the whole second act only makes sense when life has knocked you around a bit and you've had to make choices a bit more difficult than whether or not to go to the college your boyfriend got accepted to just to make sure he's not cheating on you while he's away. But then again, you know, when I was 20 there was a lot going on that I figured was pretty important, and only hindsight tells me that it was ... well ... child's play. Still, it takes a more mature eye to understand the true feeling of casting off the shackles and jumping into your new life ...

Something has changed within me / Something is not the same / I'm through with playing by the rules / Of someone else's game / Too late for second-guessing / Too late to go back to sleep / It's time to trust my instincts / Close my eyes and leap ... / It's time to try Defying Gravity / I think I'll try Defying Gravity / And you can't pull me down!

All in all, the story is very satisfying, the show is spectacular, and the songs are dramatic, thoughtful, and emotional. Without a doubt, however, the watershed moment for me in the play is when Glinda and Elphaba decide that life has taken them in two different directions and they need to part in order to do the things they need to do in their own lives. The first time I heard it, in the wake of a breakup, it meant one thing, but over the years as I've listened to the soundtrack I've applied it to various people in my life who've come and gone, who's passing I regret but who's mark was deep and essential to who I am today. It's one of the most beautiful songs ever written about parting, and one I sing every time I lose someone in my life.

I've head it said that people come into our lives

For a reason bringing something we must learn

And we are lead to those who help us most to grow

If we let them, and we help them in return

Well I don't know if I believe that's true

But I know I'm who I am today because I knew you

Like a comet pulled from orbit as it passes the sun

Like a stream that meets a boulder halfway through the wood

Who can say if I've been changed for the better?

But because I knew you I have been changed for good.

It well may be that we will never meet again

In this life time ... so let me say before we part

So much of me is made of what I learned from you

And you'll be with me, like a hand print on my heart

Now whatever way our stories end

I know you have rewritten mine by being my friend

Like a ship blown from it's mooring by a wind off the sea

Like a seed dropped by a sky bird in a distant wood

Who can say if I've been changed for the better?

But because I knew you, I have been changed for good.

And just to clear the air I ask forgiveness for the things I've done you blame me for

But then I guess we know there's blame to share

And none of it seems to matter anymore

Like a comet pulled from orbit as it passes the sun

Like a stream that meets a boulder halfway through the wood

Who can say if I've been changed for the better?

Because I knew you ... I have been changed.

For Good.

How Much For Just The Ribbon?

2008-08-24T13:34:00.003-04:00

I find this very funny these days ...

Stop Calling Me!

2008-08-22T13:27:00.006-04:00

Random Caller: .... Hello, May I please speak with Level Puffle Roo?

Luvvie: You mean Luvviepuffaroo?

Random Caller: Yes, ma'am. Level Puffle Roo. My name is Jill and I'm calling you on behalf of Some Random Company. Who is currently handling your Random Company Needs?

Luvvie: Click!

Oh, how rude! Of both of us. I'm not fond of hanging up on people ... unless we've had a dramatic blow up in which case I find it very satisfying. I've unfortunately had very little chance to fight on the phone these days, so you'd think I'd be excited about a telemarketer giving me the opportunity, yet somehow hanging up on Random Caller #4 doesn't quite carry the same punch.

S0 what to do? Listen? No ... Screen all your calls? Well, sure, but that's a bother.

Instead, keep the whole dang thing from happening altogether. Get yourself on the Do Not Call list ... by just Clicking Here.

Well, that's my PSA for today. You're welcome.

You Gotta Have Heart

2008-08-03T18:40:00.025-04:00

When I was a little girl I was shocked to discover that you could check records out of the library just like you checked out books. It almost seemed like stealing ... stealing with your EARS.

Since my dad's collection of records was extensive but sadly lacking a few staples I immediately headed over to the Broadway section to see what they had. And there I found a treasure of shows I'd never even HEARD of before, all for the temporary taking. I was like a kid in a candy store. But more like just a kid. You know ... in a library.

The first record I ever checked out was Damn Yankees. I renewed it over and over again, sure that I was begrudging some other fan of their dose of Lola and Shoeless Joe but to hell with that! Of course, looking back, I bet I was probably the last person to check the record out, but if not, I can safely say I was probably the last 12 year old.

Oh, how fondly I can recall the afternoons spent in my basement pretending to be Lola -- the female lead, which was not how it always was for every show. Usually whenever I broke in a new record I chose a part for myself that reflected my strengths. So I was never the delicate ingenue but rather the funny side-kick friend. Even when I started getting real parts in school plays I was never the lead, but I did get a lot of applause for my turn as Mother Burnside in Mame and Mrs. Peterson in Bye Bye Birdie.

So back then, in the basement, it was a pretty big deal when my casting director (you know ... the one who lived in my head) actually chose me for the part of Lola and not for the part of the old lady who stays at home and waits for her husband to come back to her. (You know, the one referred to as "old gal" ... um ... yeah). Good times.

Fast forward to Spring of 2008 when I get an offer in the mail for significantly discounted tickets to a limited run of Damn Yankees starring Sean Hayes and Jane Krakowski. Three weeks only! the flyer shouted at me, and of course I was that 12 year old kid again, thinking that if I didn't call RIGHT AWAY the whole thing would be sold out in TWO MINUTES! I couldn't risk it.

I called immediately and got some really great seats for me, Quibbit, and Mom and Dad. When the day of the show finally came I was beside myself with excitement.

The show, to say the least, was outstanding. Having just seen The Wedding Singer a few weeks before with Quibbit in Atlantic City, it was nice to see the kind of show that made Broadway what it was (is? ... that's another debate). Not that the second string cast didn't perform their hearts out in Atlantic City ... but hey. It's Atlantic City. And it was ... The Wedding Singer.

I was pretty astonished at how many songs I remembered so well from all those years ago. I mean sure, I played that record till it almost wore through, but eventually I had to give it back to the library and never realized how sticky it was in my brain. With hummable songs like You've Gotta Have Heart, Who's Got the Pain when They Do the Mambo?, Whatever Lola Wants, Lola Gets and my favorite, Two Lost Souls, how could you go wrong? Yes, I admit it, a show like Damn Yankees reduced me down to that inner Broadway core, down in the very heart of me, where there's a tiny little man shaking his fist and proclaiming "Now THOSE were songs you could sing along to!" (However, that little man lives right next door to a Black-Eyed-Pea wannabe who spends her day dancing to Dum Diddly stopping only long enough to get Low Low Low Low Low Low Low Low to Flo Rida. So it all evens out, right?)

I've mentioned before the ridiculous amount of celebrities I've come across just by minding my own business and going about my day in NYC. But I omitted the entire category of celebrities I've been able to see perform on the Broadway Stage. Throughout the years I've seen (to name just a few ...) Chris Noth, Charles Durning, Spalding Gray, Elizabeth Ashley and Christine Ebersole in The Best Man, Kevin Bacon in An Almost Holy Picture, Jennifer Tilly, Kristen Johnson, Rue McClanahan, Cynthia Nixon, and Jennifer Coolidge in The Women, Nathan Lane and Mark Linn-Baker in Forum, Judith Light in Wit, Matthew Broderick (and Nathan Lane again) in The Producers, David Hyde Pierce, Hank Azaria and Tim Curry in Spamalot, John C. Reilly and Phillip Seymour Hoffman in True West. As a matter of fact I've seen Phillip Seymour Hoffman perform so often in person (True West, The Seagull, Defying Gravity and first row in a public appearance) that it's almost like we're best friends. So it's not like I was starstruck by the opportunity to see Sean Hayes and Jane Krakowski in person ... but rather I know how immeasurably talented they both are and just really couldn't pass up an opportunity to see them strut their stuff. Plus, did I mention ... Damn Yankees!

Of course the whole cast was fantastic and plenty of numbers were show stoppers in their own right, but never in my whole experience have I ever been to a performance where the entire show just completely grinds to a halt as someone's talent washes over hundreds of people at once and everyone simultaneously says "ahhhhh!" But that's exactly what happened when Sean Hayes did "Those Were the Good Old Days" and accompanied himself on the piano. The crowd was so swooney and giddy during his performance that I actually got a flash of what it might have been like to be in the Ed Sullivan audience when the Beatles performed. Here they both are, giving a pretty gracious interview to a pretty vapid interviewer.

Not since I went to see the live performance of A Mighty Wind (oh, so add to that list above: Christopher Guest, Harry Shearer, Michael McKean, Eugene Levy, Bob Balaban, Jane Lynch, Parker Posey, Jennifer Coolidge [again], and John Michael Higgins) was I so propelled to my feet for the true (read: not gratuitous) standing ovation. Woo hoo! There's nothing like those moments ... it's the closest I can come to understanding a sports fan who's team wins in the ... whatever game.

Mom, Dad, Quibbit and I had a perfectly wonderful random Saturday afternoon and then capped it off with a tremendous dinner at The Red Eye Grill which was better than I'd ever remembered it -- a little touristy but hey ... who says you can't be a tourist in your own city some times? All in all, pretty terrific. Even the part where Quibbit said "I think I liked The Wedding Singer better ..." Oh, that's okay. I guess it's true -- opposites do attract.

Science Fiction Double Feature

2008-08-02T20:58:00.035-04:00

New York City in the summer can be brutal ... hotter than hot and crammed full of people. While a lot of people spend their time doing the "Yay! Summer" chant, I spend June through September finding ways to avoid the whole thing.

These last few weeks have been in the high 80s, the low 90s, I can't remember exactly -- the heat runs it all together for me. So what better way to forget your troubles than in a darkened movie theatre?

While I've always been okay with science fiction, fantasy, and graphic novels turned into movies, it was more of a take it or leave it thing before meeting Quibbit. Had it not been for him, I'd never have seen a movie like GhostRider or Fantastic 4 or X-Men. Some I've liked more than I expected to, some I've suffered through, but all have lead to good conversations afterwards since Quibbit is such a fan of the dark vs. light concept.

On Friday night after work we were able to catch Hellboy 2 which was a movie I was definitely looking forward to, having been such a fan of the first Hellboy.

I'm not sure I've every been more attracted to a guy in makeup and yet less attracted to him out of it, as I've been to Ron Perlman who, over the years, has thrilled me with his alter egos. I was glued to the TV for every episode that ever aired of Beauty and the Beast, and if I were a 16 year old girl and torn-out magazine pictures were still acceptable wall covering, I'd have Hellboy plastered all over my room.

Hellboy - Yum! Ron - Oh Hell No! Vincent - Swoon!

Oh wait ... now that I think of it, I DID have my 16 year old walls papered with guys in makeup -- Boy George, Dustin Hoffman as Tootsie, and pictures I'd drawn of George Hearn in full drag from La Cage Aux Folles.

Yes, it's all true! All of it!

So I guess I HAVE been more attracted to guys in makeup and less attracted to them out of it before. But that's another issue altogether ...

Anyway, Quibbit and I decided to go see Hellboy 2 and sure as God made little green apples, this movie did NOT disappoint. It was like the original Hellboy, dialed up to 11 ... it was everything Pan's Labyrinth should have been but wasn't. (Just sayin' ... all the trailers for Labyrinth would have you believe that the entire movie took place in "Hey, I've got eyes in the palms of my hands" land ... when really 95% of it took place in "Hey ... my new dad's really brutal and someone's gonna get his face slashed, Joker Style" land). So Hellboy 2 finally scratched that itch that started all those years ago. The only thing more exciting that the announcement that Guillermo del Toro will be teaming with Peter Jackson for The Hobbit would be an announcement that Guillermo del Toro would be teaming with Tarsem for some outrageous, can't-even-imagine-how-great-it-would-be film extravaganza. Well, I'll continue to hope.

On our way out of the theatre we did something that we don't do very often ... ducked into another movie to commit a misdemeanor. I mean, free second movie. Look, it's not my fault they scheduled Hancock to start 5 minutes after Hellboy got out! So, in we went and settled in for a sweet science fiction double feature.

Maybe I only saw the similarities because I saw them back to back, but besides both being eponymous titles that start with "H" these films were striking most of the same chords -- granted one had a few more characters with faces made out of finials and cathedrals and men made of odd shaped rocks or men with eyes in their wings and eyes in their shoes (I would assume), but other than that there was basically a lot of similar plot points. Misunderstood main guy is just trying to do some good but everyone gangs up on him and yells at him (usually right after he's saved someone). Both grapple with their identity, think of giving it all up, then rally in the face of the woman they love. Both have, like, LITERALLY the fate of the entire world in their own hands at one point ... and both have the love of their lives choose to save them over saving the world. Oh! Movie Love at it's best!

Quibbit read a review somewhere that Hancock was a cheap knock-off of an old movie The Return of Captain Invincible. WHICH IT WAS NOT. I happen to know this because Quibbit netflixed Captain Invincible and I suffered through the first 20 minutes of it before shouting "STOP!" and hitting eject. Okay, so Hancock and Captain Invincible are both bummy guys with great powers. I'm sure they both smell a bit. And I'm sure they both have a hard time applying for a bank loan. Past that, the similarity ends. Captain Invincible made (the otherwise talented) Alan Arkin look completely foolish, not just here and there but in every scene. And I, Luvviepuffaroo, the biggest fan of the Broadway Musical Movie in the history of Broadway Musical Movies was absolutely pushed to the point of nausea when Captain Invincible proved to be not only a badly made science fiction move but also a strangely choreographed musical. It was all very weird and creepy. Quibbit, who wasn't as bothered by it as I was (and tends to see things through to the end), watched the whole thing but said it never got any better.

Anyway, both Hellboy 2 and Hancock were very satisfying movies and ultimately made the perfect double feature on a hot summer night.

Ending in OH!

2008-07-10T21:41:00.005-04:00

My friend Goldenboy will be more than happy to tell you about the Birthday Curse of Luvviepuffaroo which took place on many a July 3rd over the earlier years of my life.

We've known each other since our mid-teens (or, as he always says, "around six years now, right?") and so he's actually witnessed some of the worst of my birthdays such as my then-boyfriend having an epileptic seizure on his way to my house (20th birthday), me trying to run away from home (18th birthday) and the one where we had a huge fight down on South Street Seaport (19th birthday). But our favorite cursed birthday will always remain my 22nd birthday. Who could forget it?

Goldenboy and I had gotten all decked out and hit our favorite nightspot, The Duplex. We were regulars back then, actually hitting the place around twice a week and participating in all the shtick that went on. (I'm sure there's new shtick that goes on now, but I haven't been there in ages, sad to say.)

Some favorites over the years: The commemoration of Diana Ross' rainy 1983 concert in Central Park consisting of an all-bar sing along of Ain't No Mountain High Enough while the bartender sprayed water into the air. Amy the waitress/lead singer doing Vikki Carr's It Must Be Him, Cher's Dark Lady, and in later years, the waiter (a/k/a Straight Boy from From Jersey) doing Elton John's Levon. It was in that tiny little space that I got my first taste of doing the "doot-doo, doot-doo"s on one side of the bar, as the other side of the bar sang "I got you babe". We were all one big stage show back then.

This is also where (and when) Goldenboy and I solidified our love of Steve and Eydie (Steve and Eydie!). Yes, I admit it: we both played tapes of them in our cars for many many years. (Still do, GB?) Where else but in the Eydie Gorme catalog would you be able to find the big, blousy broad song "What Did I Have That I Don't Have?" I'd have aged myself 3o years back then just to be able to sing that song with the same tonality that can only come with life experience, large quantities of scotch and a decent amount of time in the presence of Sinatra ...

It was on the night of my 22nd birthday that Goldenboy and I stumbled out of the Duplex (more drunk on cabaret itself than on beer) at a little after 2 a.m. and decided to have a sit-down on someone's stoop to keep the momentum going. We stared up into the night sky and began singing I like New York In June ... (yes, it was July, but we were giddy) ... when we were approached by two guys who came up to us so directly that we thought they lived in the building. We skootched to the side of the stoop to let them up but were met with a "gimme your money" and the revelation of a gun under the one guy's jacket. This is when Goldenboy gave his simultaneous translation of events to me ... a line which we repeat often and (trust me) which is now delivered with a lot more mirth than it was that night: "Oh Shit ... We're Being Mugged!"

Yes, indeed, we were being mugged. We didn't struggle, there was hardly a tussle, the non-gun wielding mugger even gently removed my watch from my wrist with all the care of a mother laying her toddler down to sleep. They took Goldenboy's wallet which (naturally, he's Goldenboy) he got back the next day. (I think he'd lost the same wallet 4 times and it always found its way back to him.)

Anyway, this was the birthday that broke the camel's back and Goldenboy vowed to never spend another cursed birthday with me again. You know, in a good way ...

For a few years I bought into the curse (my 25th involving a [never-told-me-he-was] married general manager of a pharmaceuticals company ... and an elaborate plan that devolved quickly into a brief encounter and a migraine headache ... I'll leave it at that) but then at 26 I went through a "hey, I'm in charge of my own life!" type revelation and decided the only person who could make my birthday curse keep rearing its ugly head was me. I've had really really great birthdays ever since.

When this year rolled around I knew I wanted to plan something special with Quibbit. It wasn't just a milestone birthday, but one of those that ended in 0 (or, you know, OH!) so I really wanted to have a great time. After getting engaged we'd originally made plans to visit a friend who lives in Washington State, spend some time with her family, then spend the big day in Vegas. Unfortunately, when Quibbit's mom got sick we abandoned our plans, deciding to put aside time to spend with her for her birthday which was just a few days after mine. Sadly, she passed away far too quickly.

As it often happens when someone dies, there's this huge reminder to live every day fully, celebrate every milestone grandly, and look on the bright side whenever possible. (Yes, I'm humming the tune from Spamalot, aren't you?) So in a last minute decision, and with the help of my family, Quibbit and I decided to spend my birthday in Atlantic City.

I hadn't been there in years, and even then, only once, and just for the day. So I was really looking forward to having a few days there to really take in the sites. Everything, from where we were staying to what we were doing was a surprise, so every moment was another delight.

Quibbit had gotten us a room at the Courtyard by Marriott, and the room was beautiful ...

... and was right near the Resorts Casino, and the Taj Mahal, both of which we could see from our room.

My Big Birthday morning began with Quibbit waking me with a song, and not one, not two, but three cards. They'd all been set up on the bureau during the night by him, and the cutest one was the flying piggie card, set next to the piggy bank I'd brought along for the trip. (I usually save up quarters in a retro little piggy bank to spend on slot machines. Slot machines don't take quarters anymore. Still, who couldn't smile when looking at a little retro piggy bank?)

We spent the day walking along the boardwalk, visiting the different casinos, playing the penny slot machines, with a little stop at the Tiffany & Co. store in Caesar's Palace where we went ahead and purchased our wedding bands (which we'd already picked out online).

Quibbit had made lunch reservations for us at the fabulous Cuba Libre restaurant in the Tropicana Hotel (the staff even put a candle in our little dessert -- prearranged by Quibbit) and then continued making our way to the other end of Atlantic City to Harrah's Casino where we took in a performance of The Wedding Singer.

Having never seen the movie I can't vouch for how true it is to the original plot, but I will throw in that I enjoyed it more for the 80s culture than anything else. (Yes I admit, while it wasn't my scene every weekend, and I was far from being anywhere near the Michael Alig crowd, I was definitely one of those who frequented Tunnel, The Palladium, and a few others that went quickly by the wayside.) Quibbit, who's own teen years were spent in his small Michigan town (population 3000) couldn't quite picture me as one of those high haired, neon and fish netted bustier wearing gals skipping around on the dance floor. But I was! Some times it amazes me how differently we grew up.

Quibbit, ever the romantic, squeezed my hand tightly during the song "I Wanna Grow Old with You" (I wanna make you smile whenever you're sad // Carry you around when your arthritis is bad // All I wanna do is grow old with you // I'll get your medicine when your tummy aches // Build you a fire if the furnace breaks .... So let me do the dishes in our kitchen sink // Put you to bed when you've had too much to drink // Oh I could be the man who grows old with you).

We ran outside after the show to see the fireworks (which, for some reason were going off on July 3rd) but we'd missed them by around 20 minutes. So we spent the rest of the night wandering around town till we made our way back to the hotel.

July 4th was a wonderful day too ... relaxing and fun, with just enough to do, but not too much to get done. We walked around 6 miles, from our hotel to the Absecon Lighthouse, then back to the hotel and on to Caesar's Palace with the obligatory stop at Fralinger's for Salt Water Taffy, fudge and other candies for my loved ones back home.

We headed back home on the 5th, full of sun, fun, and me ... with a new OH! at the end of my age. With so much change happening this year, it was nice to spend this milestone birthday happily, and to bring home a bag full of taffy and some great memories.

Even though The Birthday Curse of Luvviepuffaroo has long since been defeated, I'm always happy when I can add another stellar celebration to the plus side.

Wedding Day - Not Just a Party and a Piece of Paper

2008-06-22T10:04:00.041-04:00

Quibbit and I went to see the Sex and the City Movie last week, and the next day I said to him "I'm sure glad I watched all the SATC episodes in syndication ... I don't think the movie would have made as much sense to me if I hadn't. You really needed the context of the series to understand the impact."

Quibbit replied, "I think the movie was understandable either way. You're not so much talking about knowledge, as you're talking about appreciation".

Wow, he'd just said a mouthful.

I think every New York woman who has ever poured out her heart onto a computer screen while living in a yes-it's-cramped-but-it's-so-centrally-located! Manhattan (or Manhattan adjacent) apartment has fancied herself a Carrie Bradshaw of sorts. Everyone, of course, except Sarah Jessica Parker herself who admits to having no sense of fashion and never wearing heels in her own life. I bet if she took the quiz she'd find herself mid-way between a Miranda and a Charlotte.

Anyway, this isn't about the Sex and The City movie (except tangentially) (Although is it still necessary for me to say "spoiler alert?" Well ... I don't give the entire plot away ... but for the purists: Spoiler Alert). As I was saying, this isn't about SATC. This is about weddings vs. marriage, the difference between your best friend and the one who understands you best, and, as Quibbit says, the difference between understanding something vs. really appreciating it.

I haven't posted much about my upcoming wedding for a few reasons. The chief reason is that Quibbit's mom's death took up a lot of space in my heart, and made anything associated with the wedding very bittersweet. It's really difficult to plan such a joyous occasion knowing that someone you love will be missing.

The other reason is that I'm just not a Bridezilla, and since I'm an events coordinator for a living, this is really not something I need to document appointment by appointment, step by step and decision by decision. (We're having black magic roses in the bouquet! We're getting an antique Rolls Royce limo! My dress has a colored panel! Ugh, there are a thousand wedding blogs that deconstruct every dang element. If you want to hear drivel like that, please ... have at it.)

Unlike Carrie Bradshaw, I've never had this cadre of women who surrounded me -- in fact aside from a few short bursts that occurred in my mid-twenties, once I passed college I never had a group of friends at all. Or, to clarify a "group of friends". I have a lot of friends, and a solid number of friends I would put in that close circle, but we don't all hang out together the way Carrie and her gang do. Partly because for a long time I lived in a few different worlds and a lot of the women I held dear didn't really mix. Sure, they got along well when we'd gather for the milestone birthdays, but as far as a "Hey, I'm hanging out with the girls" type thing, well, that just never was my life. I'm more of a one-on-one type friend.

When I got engaged it made sense, emotionally, to ask my oldest friend to be my Maid of Honor. Not because I didn't value other friendships just as much, but more because she and I went through many watershed moments together, and there wasn't a big thing that ever happened to me that I didn't share with her. For most women, it makes sense that your sister, or (in my only-child case) your known-her-since-birth friend should automatically take that spot next to you as you stand up before everyone and declare to love one man for the rest of your life.
But it makes more sense if that woman who stands in that spot of honor not only knows the gravity of the day ... but appreciates it. As Quibbit says, it's understandable either way, but there's a difference between knowledge and appreciation.

After 4 months of being my MOH, but being more MIA than MOH, Ookanuba decided to admit that there was somewhere else she needed to be on my wedding day that took precedence. She'd been weighing the choices heavily, but ultimately -- to me -- if there was a choice at all, then there really was no choice. Her debate was succinct but heartfelt: "I've been here for the last 30 odd years, and I'll be here for the next 30 odd years ... it's really just one day."

She's right. Technically, it is just one day. Just like the day you're born is just one day, and the day your loved one dies is just one day, and the day you get a promotion is just one day. September 11th was just one day. In a very factual, clinical, scientific distillation -- these are all just days that line up one after another, and things happen as they happen.

Similarly, Shakespeare was just a man. The Sistine Chapel is just a building. The Olympics is just a game. You can reduce anything to it's basic element. But then there wouldn't be heroes, landmarks, shrines, or holidays, or dreams to aspire to. Money is just paper. Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose.

I once heard something about the concept of faith ... that for those who believe, no explanation is necessary. For those who do not -- no explanation will do. If you don't put sacredness in this one day -- there is no magic phrase I can conjure that will make you do so.

I possibly would have understood the other side of this debate better if it came as a reality check on how I'd become carried away with the day and the glitter and the shine and the distraction. Or if I realized I'd put more preparation in 10.18.08 and completely ignored the preparation for the days that follow -- the actual marriage. But I'm not 25 anymore -- I don't have it in me to be distracted by what's born itself out as the window dressing. I love a good party. But I love a good life with a good partner even more. And Quibbit and I have been preparing for Marriage, Capital M much more than wedding ... small w.

As Carrie said to Mr. Big -- "It's just us ...". While Big saw Carrie making their day into "a circus" (big dress, huge guest list, coverage in the tabloids) she just saw the joy of celebrating the thing she'd wanted for so long. Quibbit, of course, is no Mr. Big. In fact, he's always been more Aiden than Big (as evidenced by the fact that he even WENT to see the SATC movie with me) -- so he knows it's just us. We haven't gotten lost in the details. We've been reveling in them, and (when they get overwhelming or odd) discarding those that don't work for us. We're not doing anything because it's 'how it's done'. We're doing everything because it's how we want it done.

Ultimately a wedding day is not just another day but with a big party. Marriage is not just a piece of paper. We are all the architects of our own relationships, nothing says that anything needs to follow a certain routine in order for your relationship to mean something ... to have validity, and to have gravity. But if you do chose to get married, your wedding day is the moment you take a step that solidifies something important to you; your love for one person that is so strong that you vow to partner with them for all that life has to offer be it curve balls, celebrations, milestones, upheavals or just the daily grind. A lot of people have been fighting for a long time to have the choice to sign that piece of paper. Tell Ellen and Portia that it's just another day. Tell every other same sex couple who want to pledge their love for each other in front of their friends and their family that it's just a piece of paper.

Taking someone else into your world as a mate is taking on all that they are. Their failures become yours, their successes become yours, and vice versa. It's not just a big party. It's not just a random day.

But I'm the type of person who celebrates anything -- it's part of the reason I went into the events management industry. Because I love gathering people in a room and creating a joyful energy that builds and builds, that binds everyone together and that creates a magical experience. Why WOULDN'T you want everyone one you love to gather in one big room, celebrating your happiness with you -- and making it theirs too? Why DOES everyone jump up, silly as it always is, the minute those first notes of NEW YORK, NEW YORK are played, and self-deprecatingly (or often just drunkenly) release themselves over to the ritual of the faux Rockettes kick line? Because it's a ritual. Because it's a common joy. Because, for a moment, we're all in each other's paths and we're all part of something bigger than ourselves. Now, if we all do it for a 30 year old Frank Sinatra tune, why wouldn't we do it for 2 people in love? (And, for the record, NY NY is not on my "must play" list. But I begrudge NO ONE their moment).

Back to why I even want to get married: Quibbit is the one person in the world who was able to strip away the hardened, cynical, sarcastic layers that had formed around me and make it okay to be vulnerable. He made me soft enough to be able to fall, because he'd always catch me. But he also made me strong enough to catch him when he stumbled. Loving Quibbit has been the most amazing journey I've ever made, and marrying Quibbit is the most amazing road map to a lifetime of future journeys. I don't want my MOH to just know that, or to understand it, but to fully appreciate it. So, as shocking as it -- I had to realize that Ookanuba can have knowledge of what a wedding means to her -- but not the appreciation of what it means to me. Neither of us is right, and neither of us is wrong -- again, we are all the architects of our own lives with the gift of working with our own rules. However, in order to participate as an Honor Attendant in someone else's momentous day, you DO need to be on the same page about what it means. You don't need to agree about the dress, the flowers, the choice of music, the limo, the venue, the cake, the shoes, the first dance, the color scheme, the wedding favors or the seating arrangement. The truth of the matter is, I don't particularly care what anyone thinks about the choices we've made for our wedding day. I care that Quibbit and I are happy, harmonious, always striving for growth, always working to be the best people we can be individually, and the best couple we can be together. We enhance each other, but we don't substitute each other for what we've already put in place be it friends, hobbies, or interests. We don't compromise for each other, but we do cooperate with each other. We communicated, we trust, and above all -- we make life happy for each other.

I waited an awfully long time to meet the love of my life, and I'm grateful that I'm a full-blown adult going into this marriage. Our relationship is the culmination of everything I'd set in motion alone for years. Why WOULDN'T I want to celebrate something so powerful? Every couple is unique unto themselves, and only the two people involved knows what goes on between them.

I've been lucky enough to be blessed with friends who are smart and understanding. When I called up Di to ask her if she'd step in as my MOH ... she agreed wholeheartedly, completely understanding that being asked second doesn't make you second choice. She'd unwittingly been my stand in MOH for all these months anyway, and someone who is precisely the person I know respects this huge step I'm about to take. I'm actually grateful that things worked out as they did, a feeling a peace came over me the minute all the pieces fell into place.

So ultimately, our little quartet is harmonious again -- Quibbit and I standing up for each other and promising to love, honor, and support each other ... and our two Honor Attendants who believe in our love, and the commitment we're making to our love, and our life together. Two wonderful people who believe in supporting us the way we choose to do it because they don't just understand us ... but they appreciate what it means to us.

Not just a party.

Not just a piece of paper.

Not just another day.

While I Was Out -OR- On Becoming a Grown Up

2008-06-13T12:03:00.015-04:00

I knew I wasn't a baby anymore the day I could put my own socks on; I'd always had a little trouble getting them over the heel.

It was the early 70s and I was getting ready for kindergarten, sitting in the middle of my parent's bed … a song about a girl named Ruby was coming out of the tinny clock radio The shadow on the wall // Tells me the sun is going down // Oh Ruby don't take your love to town … and I was straining to get my heel into my sock. My finger was wedged, the sock was tight and cutting off circulation. I was yelling for my mom to come do it for me, come slip on that sock with that magic way she had. Then all of a sudden … POP. My foot was in. I was done. The song was still playing. I was absolutely amazed at my new powers. When mom came in to ask why I was yelling I told her about Ruby. She walked away like it was any other moment, like any other day … but it wasn't. For this one small thing, I didn't need her anymore. Some rites of passage are easy.

The other kind … the hard kind … well, that's the rite of passage I've been going through for the past few months. It's hard to write a blog that centers on frivolity when your days are centered on trying to figure out what life is all about.

Throughout my whole relationship with Quibbit I'd been distracted by how sick his mom Cindy was. She'd been diagnosed with breast cancer just a few months after we'd started dating and by the time I made it to his home town in Michigan for that first visit she greeted us in a wig – all her hair gone from radiation and chemo. Still, her smile was wide, and her eyes were bright with excitement at meeting me. Her huge heart made it easy to forget her wig ... and what having to wear one really meant.

When she went into remission it was a short victory and then it was a long un-victory as she realized she hadn't beaten this awful disease at all. She had, of course, hidden the worst from the ones she loved best, and by doing so ripped the band aid off quickly in the end, when it was too late for anyone to understand what was happening with enough time to make sense of it. Although, really, no amount of time would have ever been enough to make sense of it.

As time went on Cindy's illness was around me all the time, you couldn't take about her without thinking in terms of months or years … well, really just months. She called Quibbit one afternoon with concerns about how all TVs would have to be digital in 2009, but all I could think was ... "Will she be around long enough?" Every day, little things like that popped into my head. When setting a wedding date we chose the fall, just 8 months away ... hoping of course but still wondering Will she be around long enough?

I called Cindy optimistic to the point of delusion. I couldn’t tell if she really didn't find her illness all that daunting, or if she just recognized it and then decided to forget that she recognized it. (I think it was the latter; Cindy had been a nurse for all of her adult life. She had seen. She knew.) Whichever one … we found out about the cancer spreading to her bones and liver in an aside during a regular conversation. She might have been talking about an eye exam.

When we found out about the brain tumors we decided to go visit for Christmas. The fact that it took forever to get there was more tragic than a loss of time. For Quibbit, who saw his mom so infrequently, it was a loss of the balance of his mother's days.

Sitting with her one morning as she laughed gaily about this and that, serving up a breakfast that seemed to never end, she seemed particularly alive, in a way that only a dying person can seem. Her zest was unwavering, and she pulled out every ounce of herself in that trip, knowing that even it wasn't the last Christmas with her son, it was the next to last. How do you reconcile a visit that is saturated with the fact that this may be the last time that everything is normal?

Two months later, when Quibbit and I got engaged, Cindy was thrilled -- of all the parents, she was the happiest and the one looking most forward to having me as part of the family. When we called her on the cab ride home that night he joy leaped through the phone lines.

When my mom and dad spoke with her on the phone a few weeks later, Quibbit had high expectations of everyone getting along and laughing about things they found they had in common. He expected the conversation to go on for hours; of course I think it squeaked by at just under 5 minutes. Granted, everyone was a virtual stranger and miles away, not expecting to meet each other before the wedding, and not expecting to see much of each other after that. I think Cindy would have liked that to have been different. I think she would have liked a lot of 2008 to be different.

During the phone call my dad asked her if she was coming to the wedding. Unsaid were things like "if you're well enough to travel" … and of course anything past that.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," she said.

I wouldn't miss it for the world.

Late April Quibbit was on the phone with his sister and suddenly the truth came out; there had been doctor's visits and the news was bad. Three months, if nothing went wrong, three months for Cindy to live. If nothing went wrong.

Quibbit, always so calm and good, always the one to talk me off the ledge as I let things spin out of control, sat in his office and went numb; he never asks me for anything but that day he asked me to come get him and take him home.

We sat in a diner near my house and talked about what his sister had said; what was true, what was conjecture, what was speculation. Cindy had insisted that the news had been mis-conveyed – that three months was a worst case scenario, not a best. If someone could change anything with sheer force of will, this would have been one of those times.

There was a lot of crying. A lot of dark moments, a lot of existentialism. How do you reconcile your life when you're told you've got 3 months to live? How do you process that information? How do you admit that you're not ready? How do you say goodbye?

So much of the wedding plans were done with Cindy in mind; I wanted her to have a trip to New York that not only showed the excitement, joy, and rush of the city, but also one that reflected the life her son had created so far away from their little Michigan town. I wanted her to see how we lived. I wanted her to know.

We planned to go there for Mother's Day which fell on Quibbit's birthday this year, but then got a call. Things were bad. The liver cancer had turned Cindy jaundiced and she was being rushed to the hospital, 2 hours away. The doctor advised that if we were going to go … we should get going. We arrived on Sunday, May 4^th.

On May 8^th I sent out this note:

Last night, on May 7th, at around 9:00pm Quibbit's mother Cindy passed away. As many of you may know, she had been battling breast cancer which eventually spread to her liver, bones and brain.

Quibbit had gotten a call just 2 weeks ago that his mom's cancer was advancing very aggressively and that a new tumor had been discovered in her brain stem. The prognosis was 3 months.

Quibbit and I made plans to visit Cindy for Mother's Day, but by last weekend phone calls from his family confirmed that Mother's Day might be too late; so we arrived here on Sunday night instead.

Cindy was at Saint Mary's Cancer Treatment Hospital in Grand Rapids, just a few miles away from where Quibbit's married sister lives. The first night we got there Cindy was weak but still very engaged, and so happy to see us. We were able to show her photos from the night Quibbit proposed to me, and share some stories with her. She was tired, but happy. Still, we were told that the cancer was advancing rapidly, and we could see signs of that.

On Monday night Quibbit and I held an Intention Ceremony at Cindy's bedside; the Pastor came and did a blessing on our intention to marry, and we closed it with Cindy's blessing and a shared prayer. It broke our hearts to know that she wouldn't be able to make the trip to New York City and enjoy the wonderful party we're planning. It meant a lot to her to be able to participate in our marriage, and we were so happy to be able to do a ceremony before she began to fade even more.

On Tuesday Cindy was transported to the Faith Hospice, also in Grand Rapids. The space was beautiful, peaceful and filled with a caring, comforting staff. By the time Cindy was settled in she was only able to speak in short sentences.

The family gathered around her, sharing stories, singing her favorite hymns, sometimes being quite in the dark, and sometimes having joyful, lively conversations for her benefit since she was always so social and loved a good gathering. Even though she was now only able to indicate "yes" and "no" with some noises, she was still able to respond with laughter when I told a funny story in a broad southern accent. Hearing that laughter meant the world to me, and showed just how strong her spirit was, despite how weak her body was growing.

By yesterday it was clear that she could only hang on a few hours longer; Quibbit had sat beside his mother's bed all night long, comforting her, giving her whatever she needed and sleeping when he could. As we took turns keeping vigil it was hard to see her growing weaker and weaker ... hard to know that she herself was going through a period of transition which was frightening her. We all did what we could to make the journey easier for her.

By last night Quibbit and his sister were singing the hymns Cindy had picked out for her funeral, and she was facing them ... her breath shallow, her eyes unfocused, but her spirit finding comfort in the sound of her children's voices. It was some time during their singing that she quietly passed away. And while this happened far too quickly than any of us would have wanted, and while the end was very difficult and uncomfortable, I think that she went as gently and as peacefully as any of us could have wished.

It's been hard to get back into the swing of things since coming back home.

It's been hard for me to weigh what matters and yet of course, everything matters. I've been swaying between true sadness and loss and not wanting to plan a wedding at all -- to the other extreme of wanting to have the most joyful, celebratory, huge event of all, because that's what Cindy would have wanted. And ultimately, every day that we're here, alive, at peace, and fully engaged in everyone and everything around us is a day to celebrate.

Things like keeping up with a blog, at least in these last few months, have seemed as insignificant as putting on socks in the morning. And yet, I remember when putting on my socks alone was a huge victory. It was the first thing I remember doing without my mom. And I can't help but see this as another milestone, the tougher kind, but one nonetheless that has always been inevitable. It's meant to be this way -- you do one thing without your mom, and then another, and another, and eventually you must accept having to do everything without your mom.

So I'll put on my socks, and tomorrow I'll do it again, and so will Quibbit. And one day soon, when I walk down that aisle and see Quibbit waiting for me, I'll see his mom sitting in that first row, beaming at us, blessing us, and loving us as much as she can. She may have walked out of the room for a minute, but soon enough she'll join her heart with ours and celebrate all the wonderful gifts we've been given while we're here. And she'll be as beautiful as ever.

Let It Go -OR- A Tale of Buses and Bitches

2008-03-19T17:59:00.015-04:00

Some times you just have to let things go. But before you do, you just need to vent a little bit about it. Like on your blog. I'm not naming names ... and the reason for that will be clear by the end.

I'm an Events Planner (among other things) for a pretty large company that just got acquired by an even larger company. Pretty much the hugest, hottest company there is at the moment. My department alone has 250+ people and my job is to make sure they're happy. That can mean anything from ensuring there are bottle openers around for any one of our impromptu parties (Screw caps? On beer? Whattaya, crazy?) all the way up to planning wedding-sized meetings which include table seatings, favors, (Or, in the case swag. And yes… I prefer the old school "swag" over the bastardized schwag, though either one will do) menus, agendas, and the list goes on. I take my job very personally. I take my events very seriously. And when something goes wrong, I get pretty mad.

A few weeks ago I took over 100 people on a day trip to Hunter Mountain. I gave out great ski hats done up in our company colors with our department logo stitched on the front. I ordered generic energy drinks made up with our department logo to hand out on the bus. I stuffed (with help from volunteers) over 100 Ziploc bags with the hats and drinks, some sunglasses (also branded), and assorted snacks ranging from the healthy protein bar variety on up to the Pringles-Pop Tarts- Froot-by-the-Foot variety. I arranged everything with Hunter from the lift tickets to the rentals right up to the 3:00pm open (premium) bar and all the food we could eat. I even had some all-veggie options for the vegetarians … and provided kosher meals as well. Really, I couldn't have planned better. What could have gone wrong? Well ...

At 6:24 a.m. the morning of the trip Quibbit and I pulled up to the front of my office building where we were all to assemble, excited to start the day. I was only a touch concerned to see that there were no buses waiting for us. Showtime is usually a half hour before departure – and we weren't leaving till 7:00 so we had a cushion.

At 7:15 the first bus finally arrived. It was being driving by a "man" I will refer to as Idiot Bus Driver. This ugly, abhorrent man had actually been our bus driver last year – when I'd called a whole other bus company. Like hair club for men, Idiot Bus Driver isn't only a bus driver, he's also the president. Of this other company that just happened to be contracted out by this new company I'd called. He was like gum stuck to my shoe ... I couldn't escape him. The second I saw his face my stomach dropped. This was going to be an awful day. And we were already half an hour late. Meanwhile, the other bus was MIA.

Luvviepuffaroo: Where's the other bus?
Idiot Bus Driver: He was right behind me when I was on Canal Street. Maybe he got lost.
Luvvie: Can you call him?
IBD: No. I try. His cell phone don't work.
Luvvie: Do you guys have walkie-talkies?
IBD: Huh..? Wha..? (grunt of some sort)???
Luvvie (to Quibbit): Uh-oh.

I kept calling the bus company -- who had contracted this job out to Idiot Bus Driver … but they had no answers for me. To add insult to injury, every time I called their number I had to listen to this endless loop of "we here at XYX Bus Company promise you the BEST service … blah di blah blah". When I finally spoke with them they were as useless as Idiot Bus Driver.

Finally Idiot Bus Driver decided that he would drive to the last place he'd seen the 2nd bus. Quibbit stayed in IBD's bus (along with 50 other people) and kept in phone contact with me as I stood in front of my office building with the 50 remaining people.

Turns out the 2nd bus driver was stalled on Canal Street because he didn't know how to work the bus and had locked some mechanism some how. Um … okay. We finally all hit the road at 8:00 … and went smack into that really great Manhattan traffic everyone's always so keen on.

At 8:30 we were finally through to Jersey (and like 2 miles from where we started) when Idiot Bus Driver pulled the bus over "for gas" and proceeded to go into Dunkin Donuts for breakfast even though his damn bus had been idling outside our building for 45 minutes in clear view of a breakfast stand selling egg sandwiches, bagels, donuts and coffee. This took another ½ hour. We FINALLY hit the road 2 hours later than planned. People from my company who'd chosen to drive on their own were already at Hunter, and meanwhile we could still see the Manhattan sky line.

The day went okay, though, and everyone had a good time, but then, just to justify my Xanax prescription … On the ride home for the last hour of the trip as people were trying to sleep Idiot Bus Driver argued loudly with someone on his cell phone. At least we fared better than the poor folks on the other bus -- their driver (the guy who'd been stalled) couldn't tell the heat from the air conditioning and froze everyone on his bus. The next day people on both buses referred to the 4 hour ride home as a "nightmare".

Now, see, who do you think has to take the fall for this? I have to manage it, handle it, deal with it. While it was everyone's problem, it's really only MY responsibility. It's a terrible feeling to arrange a great day on the slopes for everyone but all you hear about the next day is how the buses were late, badly driven and "nightmarish".

I wrote a note to the bus company that listed, in detail, everything Idiot Bus Driver had done wrong. They didn't respond, but what they DID do was forward the note on to Idiot Bus Driver. Why would they do that? Because they didn't know that the President of the Bus Company they had contracted out was also the Idiot Bus Driver. I later got a nasty note from Idiot Bus Driver calling me a "maron". Um … okay.

Anyway, this thing went on and on. Way too long to explain. My days were spent fighting with the bus company while still explaining to everyone I saw in the halls that I was doing everything I could. People don't like to let things go. And there are a few kvetches here who have schadenfreude that goes on for miles.

Ultimately I wasn't contesting the whole fee … I just wanted our tip back. I filed a claim with Amex, and then the bus company threatened to go after me (and my credit) personally. When I consulted our legal team here they told me it was true -- I could get sued. And I'd be out on my own at that point ... they couldn't do a thing to protect me.

Lawyer: Is this really worth the 272 dollars?
Luvvie: I guess not.
Lawyer: Then just pay it and don't use them again …
Luvvie: (dejected). Okay.

Now, here's where I take a little detour, but it all comes back together in the end.

Last night I went out with Hammer of Israel for cocktails, to make up for the Celebrity Autobiography night which he had to miss. We don't see each other much, but it's always fun when we do catch up.

Over a melange of cocktails at Thalia he proceeded to wow me with a bunny-boiler story that curled my toes.

I mean, in essence, it started out the same as most stories, boy meets girl (on line) boy dates girl (in person) boy gets stalked by girl (a little in person, a lot on line).

She did a number of things than involved hateful emails, then felt bad, then wrote contrite emails, then felt evil, so wrote hateful emails. (There's more, very much more, but this is not really my story to tell ... it's just tangential to my story, so that's all I'll say about it.)

Look, who among us doesn't feel like doing something evil after a breakup? Even those breakups we've initiated. While my breakup with Hammer was pretty benign I've had other breakups that weren’t. And sure I fantasized about dragging their name through the mud and ruining their good time forever. Everyone FANTASIZES about it … but past the age of 17 we don't actually do anything about it in the real world. That's what those voodoo dolls are for.

So, fast forward to today. I've got the lawyer telling me to just let this thing with the bus company go. Yes, they behaved badly. Yes, they never apologized. Yes, they threatened to attack my credit personally. Yes, all I wanted was a phone call and some resolution. Yes I was annoyed that I never got closure. But really … did it matter?

I went into our VP of Finance's office. He'd been championing my cause from the beginning – not only with this, but with every thing I face with these events. I call him Bad Cop … as in "I need to get this fixed … be my bad cop?" I explained what the Lawyer had said. I explained that right now, what with getting married and looking for a place to live I just really didn't need this strike against me. Especially when really -- this was the company's money.

Bad Cop: Okay … then let's drop it. But I think you should write one last note telling the bus company that you work for (this large corporation … Name Here) now … and you could have swung a lot of business their way but now, for 272 dollars, they're throwing all that away.

But you know what it suddenly sounded like? It sounded like a girl saying "You could have had a great thing going with me and now because you decided to be an ass you're losing it!"

I shook my head.
Luvvie: No, Bad Cop … I don't think I wanna do that.
Bad Cop: Then write to the website that lists them on their site as a reputable company, and tell them to blacklist them, and explain how badly they treated you.

But suddenly that sounded like going onto someone's social networking site page and telling everyone that this guy who broke up with you was trash. Maybe the guy is only trash where you're concerned, and fine to everyone else. And maybe this bus company is really pretty okay … he just sucked when it came to dealing with me.

Maybe it was hearing all of Hammer's stories last night ... and then hearing how juvenile I sounded every time I tried to write a note to the bus company. It all came out sounding the same. "You hurt me, and I want revenge!". So I took the high rode. Not by bus, though ... at least not by a bus driven by an Idiot Bus Driver.

You don't need to GET revenge to HAVE revenge. The cliche would have me believe that living well is the best revenge.

But you know ... it is.

I Will Collect You and Capture You

2008-03-01T17:22:00.004-05:00

If my life were a drinking game everyone would have to drink whenever I said "I'm completely obsessed with…". And my oh my, what a drunk little crowd you'd all be! I'm completely obsessed with being obsessed. (Go 'head ... drink!)

I even worn Calvin Klein's Obsession for a bit, then quickly moved on to Contradiction and have settled in to a nice relationship with Truth (Discontinued at perfume counters but still available at perfume warehouses. Always nice at Christmas. And my milestone birthday is coming up ...) with a splash of CK One and CK Be thrown in there sometimes. And I've been wearing Euphoria lately, ever since Ookanuba came to my house smelling like the best smell I ever smelled. It doesn't smell like that on me. Damn her and her conductive body chemistry! So I'm also obsessed with Calvin Klein perfumes.

Being an only child and then a single woman who (up until 2.5 years ago) never had a man around for more than 2 days consecutively gave me a lot of time to give into these things. Here's a short list of things I have been obsessed with in the last 30 or so years … Trust me, there's a redeeming ending to the blather so enjoy the ride till the Public Service Announcement kicks in.

This commercial and this one, and this parody which spawned a 20 year loop between me and Goldenboy that's in no signs of stopping.

Mae West (which started at the age of 4 and resurges every few years when her movies get transferred to DVD or another book gets published about her).

Random Movies

I watched All That Jazz so many times in a row that I actually broke the VCR tape. I watched Truth or Dare so many times that I could repeat every unscripted line that was uttered and had long discussions with my friends about whether or not Madonna showered that one time after she got off stage or if she just had her makeup reapplied. And whether she every REALLY got that letter from her friend asking Madonna to be godmother to her unplanned child.

Books

John Irving's Cider House Rules, Pearl S. Buck's Pavilion of Women , Sheila Ballantyne's Imaginary Crimes, Shirley Jackson's The Haunting of Hill House, Nancy Winters' The Girl on the Coca Cola Tray, Margaret Mitchell's Gone with the Wind, Gore Vidal's Myra Breckenridge … all read at least 4 times each, in some cases started over again right after I read the last page ...

Stephen Sondheim
See Sweeney Todd post ... and every other post. He's in there. Like the way spinach is in a brownie baked by Jessica Seinfeld. I may not have mentioned him by name, but he's the puree baked into every bite of Luvviepuffaroo's food. He's the main ingredient. He's the whole freakin' souffle!

Salad Toppins

I created the ultimate sandwich recipe based on my love of them. It is as follows:

take some bread (your choice – I don't care)
take some filling (your choice – still don't care)
spread on some type of condiment (your choice – just choose something)
sprinkle liberally with Salad Toppins
top off with Frank's Red Hot Sauce

I have done this with every combination of bread, meat and condiment I could think of so far and trust me … it's a hit every time. EVERY TIME.

I have been obsessed with lists:

Names I'd never NEVER name my child: Abigail, Blanche, Cora, Deidre, Ernabelle

Movies Titles that are just first and last names: Annie Hall, Barton Fink, Dolores Claiborne, Erin Brockovitch, Mary Reilly, Donnie Brasco, Ed Wood, Stella Dallas, Michael Clayton

Movie Titles that are only first names: Anastasia, Carrie, Harvey, Rebecca, Marny, Marty, Rocky, Rambo, Christine

Funny Names that sound like phrases: Helen Back, Paige Turner, Ben Dover, Wendy Winblows

But my most useful obsession (what … these aren't useful?) is recycling.

I'll recycle anything. If it's glass, paper, plastic, or aluminum I'll wash it out and put it in the little waiting room I've designed for it (what your people call "a bag") before it goes on to that great Recycling Train in the sky (um ... garbage truck). Little glass bottle filled with foundation? Recycle! Trial sized shampoo bottle? Recycle! Magazine blow-in cards? RECYCLE! The ritual I have for paper alone is enough to take up a whole Saturday morning.

But I'll also recycle other things ---

I donate, I pass along, I leave outside, and I swap. Just recently I help organize an afternoon at the New York Cares warehouse where I and 12 of my co-workers sorted some of the hundreds of thousands of donated coats that were waiting to be distributed to needy New Yorkers.

But wait! There's more ... If you know nothing about it I highly recommend you check out Swap-O-Rama-Rama which is probably the coolest way to get new clothes and clean out your closet at the same time. People are surprisingly generous with their quality items too … Everything isn't so much old or out dated as much as something the owner outgrew or got bored of. I was a sorter at the one in Williamsburg where one man came with a huge amount of stuff his father had bought before he died … great shirts and ties and even socks, all unused and all in Quibbit's size (very fortuitous … my baby is a tall man!) SCORE! Quibbit got an entire work wardrobe that day and I got a fuzzy warm feeling in my closet.

Probably the best part of all of it is that whatever is left over is donated to local shelters so nothing goes to waste. There's always a swap happening somewhere near you, so watch the skies and wait to see when that Swap-O-Rama-Rama bird flies over a warehouse near you! You'll be glad you did!

In the meantime, pardon me while I go recycle some coffee cans ...

People of the World!

2008-02-19T22:06:00.006-05:00

It was around 1996 or so, and I was out of work and kicking around Boston, MA – Andover to be exact. My childhood friend M (of M+M) was living there and had gotten into a car accident that left her pretty injured. She was home, convalescing and in need of some company. Having just been laid off from my job at Sport Magazine I thought it would be good to go hang out with M and nurse her back to health … or at least just make sure her mail didn't collect by the door.

M had a little 8 year old nephew who tossed out barbs like a half pint Truman Capote, arched brow, bitchy inflection and all. He was more than just precocious – he was flat out spooky. Yet when he wasn't commenting on your appearance or explaining why you were wrong about whatever it was you were talking about, he was cute as hell -- a lot like that kid that makes up the "half" in Two and a Half Men, but with a biting sharp tongue that could cut you down in one syllable. I loved him. My favorite exchange with him occurred the afternoon I was deciding to get a set of fake nails applied. (I was bored and unemployed, and this was the 90s).

Luvviepuffaroo: Should I get regular length nails or really long ones?

Half: Get long ones. And when you have them, wave your hands around a lot. Point to things. You DO want to get a man, don't you?

Oh yes, Half ... I sure did. So I got really long claws -- almost unrealistically long. And I got them painted a dark shimmery blue ... like the finish on a car. Hey, this was the mid-nineties. It was actually pretty cool. For the mid-nineties.

That afternoon Half and I took a walk around downtown Andover, and I decided to try out my nails on unsuspecting men. We went into a record store and I saw a rather cute man (not a kid … no a fully grown MAN) behind the counter.

"Oh look," I said, pointing, "you have that new Spice Girls song. I can't get it out of my head!"

Man (Smiling, and handing it to me): Is this what you want … what you really really want?"

Luvviepuffaroo: No … tell me what I want, what I really really want … (wink, smile, laugh until ...)

Half (shouting): You HATE that song! Why are you buying it! You're an idiot! You said you'd NEVER buy that song!

I glared at Half, tried to smile at the guy again … but the moment was gone. I sheepishly paid for my very own copy of Wannabe, then dragged Half outside. Once we were out of the store's sight line, I started screaming.

Luvvie: Don't interrupt adults when they're flirting! People don't always say everything they mean! YOU TOLD ME TO GET A MAN!

Half: If you were flirting, why didn't you POINT to things so I would know!!!

Luvvie: I did point to things! I pointed at the Spice Girls cassette single!!!

Half: But you hate that song!

Luvvie: I know! But it was the first thing I saw! And I could point to it! And I had a funny comeback for his joke!

Half immediately turned into the little boy he actually was, and his little eyes filled with tears, and I hugged him and brought him to Starbucks to buy him a special hot chocolate.

And that was the last time I remember even thinking about the Spice Girls who quickly fell off of my (and most everyone else's) radar. The only memorable thing about them is that I coined my most favorite line ever when Won't and I were discussing Gerri "Ginger Spice" Halliwell's decision to break out on her own.

"I predict a very long career for her," I told Won't, "... a very Shelley Long career."

The other memorable thing is all the tabloid fodder lately what with Scary Spice doing the whole "you my baby daddy" thing with Eddie Murphy and Posh Spice doing the whole "not gonna smile, not gonna smile" thing with everyone else.

So imagine my surprise when a co-worker told me she had an extra ticket to the Spice Girls reunion show at Madison Square Garden! More: Imagine my surprise when I shocked myself by agreeing to go. I'll be honest, the only reason I went was curiosity. HOW did they look? HOW would they sound? WHO would be in the audience? WHERE were we sitting? WHAT the hell?

From the very opening notes of Spice Up Your Life last night I was on my feet and screaming. So were about a million 15 year old girls who'd taken the train in from Long Island and were dressed for a party -- that took place in 1985. I never saw so many gold belts, high hair and glitter in one spot. Who'da thunk it -- Spice Girls have a rabid following among the young and badly dressed.

The concert was oddly energizing and fun -- yes I stood up for most of it -- yes I wiggled around as much as the high haired badly dressed teen next to me.

I was all "Girl Power!" and "Spice up your Life" and "Yeah! Posh!" for almost 2 hours. I learned 2 things -- 1) If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends and 2) that sentiment doesn't mean as much once you're past your teens.

The really funny thing was, I couldn't help remembering so many years back when I was walking around with 2 inch long dark blue shiny nails, pointing to things, hoping to attract a man. And now, so many years later, I stood waving my hands about, pointing to the sky, my dark blue sapphire and diamond engagement ring sparkling for all the world to see -- or at least all of Madison Square Garden.

The Spice Girls were now Spice Women, they almost all had children ... and I finally had my man (she says, as she points to the right ... there he is!)

Happy Valentine's Day!

2008-02-14T13:53:00.006-05:00

I never hid the fact that when Quibbit and I met he was making 10K a year and living in the spare room of the writer he was working for as a personal assistant dash personal slave. I didn't care about his net worth when I started dating him. I only saw his amazing eyes, his beautiful smile, his enormous capacity for love (and loving me) and I saw how no one on the planet understood me the way Quibbit did. He noticed things about me that I thought were deep and buried … but he saw them as if they were shining right out at him.

We'd been dating around 3 months for our first Valentine's Day. Having no money doesn't mean you can't be romantic and Quibbit proved that. On our first Valentine's Day my sweetheart picked me up from work with a rose and a bag full of thoughtful presents and a home made card.

Luvviepuffaroo: Did you paint this yourself?
Quibbit: Yes.
Luvviepuffaroo: And this thing here… um … did you draw a MONSTER in the middle of the heart?
Quibbit: That's the sun.
Luvvie: Cuz it looks like a monster.
Quibbit: It's the sun.
Luvvie: Really? I mean it honestly …
Quibbit: The sun.
Luvvie: Why is the sun in the middle of the heart?
Quibbit: Because my love for you is as big as the sun, and it fills up my heart ...
Luvvie: I'll shut up now.

He then walked me across the Brooklyn Bridge and we watched the sun go down from the top of the world. When other women talked about the flowers and cards they got, I replied, "My Boo gave me the sunset …". And, you know, they were all a little jealous.

By the next Valentine's Day he'd broken free of WriterGuy and was working at a large publishing company. Ever thoughtful, Quibbit gave me a beautiful present from my favorite sudsy store (LUSH), a wonderful dinner, and got me tickets to Company because he knew that it was my first Stephen Sondheim album and best-loved Stephen Sondheim soundtrack. He sat in the audience that Valentine's night with me, holding my hand tightly as I tried not to make it obvious that I was crying profusely all through "Being Alive". Has a truer love song every been written?

Someone to hold you too close // Someone to hurt you too deep
Someone to sit in your chair // And ruin your sleep // And make you aware
of Being Alive
Someone to need you too much // Someone to know you too well
Someone to pull you up short // And put you through hell
And give you support for being alive - being alive

Make me alive, make me confused
Mock me with praise, let me be used
Vary my days, but alone is alone, not alive.

Somebody hold me too close // Somebody force me to care
Somebody make me come through // I'll always be there
As frightened as you of being alive
Being alive, being alive

Someone you have to let in // Someone whose feelings you spare
Someone who, like it or not // Will want you to share a little, a lot of
Being Alive ...

Make me alive, make me confused
Mock me with praise, let me be used
Vary my days, but alone is alone, not alive

Somebody crowd me with love // Somebody force me to care
Somebody make me come through // I'll always be there
As frightened as you to help us survive
Being alive, being alive,
Being alive, being alive.

The first time I heard Being Alive I was 13 years old and madly in love with Dustin Hoffman's Benjamin Braddock because he was the closest thing I had to a boyfriend. All my notions of love came from Broadway or movies but at least Sondheim was giving me a warts-and-all manual for what I was to expect. I knew that someday, someone would sit in my chair and ruin my sleep and take over my apartment (not to mention my life) and would annoy the hell out of me but not half as much as he loved the hell out of me. I started dreaming about him at 13 but it took another 25 year until he was sitting with me in the dark, in that theatre, letting me crush his hand as everything in my life came full circle.

Quibbit knew, as he had always known, as he knows still, that he makes me aware of Being Alive, and that that is the biggest gift any one person can give.

So it just makes sense that this Valentine's Day, 2008, during dessert, Quibbit got down on one knee in the Beekman Towers restaurant, overlooking all of Manhattan, and told me that he would love me forever. And then he put a ring on my finger and asked me to marry him. And it would only make sense that as much as I'd always known that Quibbit was The One, and as beautifully as we fit together, so perfectly that there was never any room for doubt, and as much as none of this came as a complete shock, I still couldn't stop crying, or hugging him, or kissing him. Because now I KNEW. And being able to KNOW is just an amazing feeling.

We laughed and laughed and kissed and kissed and finished dinner in a rush, desperately excited to jump out into the world. We went out onto the roof top of the Beekman and looked out over all of Manhattan, and all its lights glittered and shone below us, but none so brightly as my sapphire and diamond engagement ring.

As soon as we could we left and got ourselves to Central Park where we got into a horse drawn carriage and took the ride around the park, and even though it was cold and I needed to huddle under the blanket I also really needed to see my ring in every kind of light and so held it up for the whole ride so that I could look at it.

We called our parents and cabbed it home, and everything was giddy and joyful and almost painted, with every line of everything jumping out at me and vibrantly alive, moving and shimmering and more dimensional than it had ever been. And I almost couldn’t understand that it could be this different, or this breathtaking, or this wonderful, or this true. But it was, and it is.

And it will always be …

Another Fave Five brought to you by Luvvie's Zagat's

2008-02-08T11:41:00.001-05:00

Steakhouse Edition

Early on in my parents' marriage my dad celebrated Valentine's Day by gifting my mom with a huge heart filled with sausages and deli meats --and she was in seventh heaven. I came across the home-made heart in my parents' basement as a child and (after being told what it had been filled with) had suggested Dad go out and fill it again ... this time for me. He'd laughed, and I'd stared at that empty container longingly, envisioning the cuts of meat that had filled that heart shaped box, all those years ago. You see, I inherited my mom's un-sweet tooth, or as I like to call it - the Meat Tooth. And the Meat Tooth is relentless.

My dad's a true Italian and for him no dinner is complete without that primo piatto of pasta. In fact, after he's polished off the traditional Christmas lasagna my dad often pushes back from the table and announces that the dinner is pretty much done for him. Sure, he'll pick at the honey-glazed ham, or the stuffed turkey, or the crown of lamb (for which I made such stunning little white hats) or whatever my mom has whipped up in her kitchen, but really, he's done and we all know it.

On the other hand, my mom loves to tell the story of when, early on in their courtship, she would often join my dad and his mother for a home cooked steak dinner. Her future mother-in-law was thrilled to watch the way my mom attacked her meal, polishing the bones with vacuum cleaner like gusto. "My parents always said I should have married a butcher" mom would joke to her future (accountant) husband. Years later a good friend of hers actually DID marry a butcher who worked for Schaller & Weber and brought boxes filled with assorted liverwurst, gelbwurst, bauernwurst, knackwurst, leberkaese, westphalian ham, and landjaeger every time he was invited to the house. He was like our crack dealer, and he kept us well supplied for years.

Mother's Day became a hunt for a Meat, Meat and More Meat dinner to assuage the Meat Tooth. We'd spent more than one mid afternoon dinner in a less than full steakhouse while the waiter invariably remarked "huh ... we're more of a Father's Day place ..."

It's worked out great for my parents who are going on 45 years of wedded bliss; they've developed a Jack-Sprat type relationship and between the two of them there's always a clean plate.

I have vegetarian friends, and I even have hardcore vegan friends, and I love them all dearly. They love me too. And we all just avoid the issue of how enslaved I am by the Meat Tooth, as I share a meal with them at one of the many vegan restaurants which pepper Manhattan and which I do, indeed, frequent. I'll enjoy my seitan meal -- who wouldn't? But, like Richard Burton and Liz Taylor ... or Tommy Lee and Pamela Anderson, Meat and I are powerless to keep away from each other. Though I do get the sinking feeling that I love Meat a little more than Meat loves me.

So my 2nd installment of Luvvie's Zagat's Fave Five is devoted to Steakhouses who serve that meal which will always be in my heart, even when my heart is stuttering its last beat as I die from an overdose of my beloved Meat.

Ben Benson's
123 W 52nd Street

New York, NY 10019

Cross Street(s): 6th + 7th Avenue

212-581-8888

Neighborhood: West 50s

Cuisine: Steakhouse

Luvvie's Zagat's Review: Most Masculine of those I've been to, which is saying a lot * Standard fare, nothing shocking

Luvvie's Partner in Crime: Mom + Dad

Luvvie's been there: A Handful of Times

Ruth's Chris Steakhouse

148 W 51st Street

New York, NY 10019
Cross Street(s): 6th + 7th Avenue
212-245-9600
Neighborhood: West 50s
Cuisine: Steakhouse
Luvvie's Zagat's Review: Don’t bother saying "So and So from the radio show" sent you * They just go "Yeah, yeah, So and So … we know ..." * It's not like they give you a "You mentioned So and So!" Discount * They don't
Luvvie's Partner in Crime: Mom + Dad
Luvvie's been there: Once

Smith & Wollensky

797 3rd Avenue

New York, NY 10022

Cross Street(s): 49th Street

212-753-1530

Neighborhood: East 40s

Cuisine: Steakhouse

Luvvie's Zagat's Review: Big boys with their big steaks * Lots of testosterone here * Supposedly THE place, but they all think that * Size matters eh?

Luvvie's Partner in Crime: MEN

Luvvie's been there: A Handful of Times

The Palm

837 2nd Avenue
New York, NY 10017
Cross Street(s): 44th + 45th Streets
212-687-2953

Neighborhood: East 40s
Cuisine: Steakhouse
Luvvie's Zagat's Review: Dang, could there be yet another place to get meat in this city? * Really old, really good, but the best part is the ambiance * You come here to eat steak, so eat STEAK * But for dessert have The BEST VERY VERY BEST chocolate cake in the universe* It tastes like a 1950s housewife is making chocolate cake in the back room

Luvvie's Partner in Crime: Gallucio Family
Luvvie's been there: Once

Old Homestead

56 9th Avenue

New York, NY 10011

Cross Street(s): 14th + 15th Streets

212-242-9040
Neighborhood: Chelsea

Cuisine: Steakhouse

Luvvie's Zagat's Review: I always order the rib-eye * Taking a knife to this huge succulent slab of love is like slicing through to another place and time * You literally can imagine yourself shrunk down and living inside this steak for the rest of your life
Luvvie's Partner in Crime: Mom + Dad

Luvvie's been there: A Thousand Times

So go now, grab your bib and your steak knives and your big pants and Go Get Some MEAT!

Celebrity Autobiographies: The Good, The Bad, and The Ones You Mine For Comic Effect

2008-02-05T11:43:00.001-05:00

When I worked at TIME Magazine the best perk was the free magazines. All You, Cottage Living, Entertainment Weekly, FORTUNE, InStyle, People, Real Simple, Sports Illustrated, This Old House and TIME to name a few. Every day, grabbing all the magazines you'd care to have ... it was like raiding the corner newsstand.

Every Friday morning when the PEOPLEs came in it was like feeding time in the shark tank, and often times if you weren't quick enough you didn't get your weekly fix because some greedy monster had culled a whole stack of issues for their friends. Time Inc. actually had to resort to putting members of the security staff next to the kiosks to watch over us.

I was reading one of these free PEOPLE Magazines one day on a flight to see my friends, GoldenBoy and Mattymoo in Florida. PEOPLE had done an excerpt of Celine Dion's autobiography and it had me virtually LOLing all the way to Ft. Lauderdale. Unable to keep this gem of a story to myself, I proceeded to do a dramatic reading of it in the voice of Celine herself for my hosts that night, replete with odd French Canadian accent and sweeping arm gestures.

My favorite parts to read aloud were the ones that involved Celine's deep deep deep love for her old old old husband. The first passage was about how, as a young teen, she used to keep a picture of Rene under her pillow and rub it all over her face, smothering it with kisses till the picture was worn through. Then one day OH NO! The picture was gone! Her mother had found it and taken it! Girlish Crush: Exposed! Nightly Ritual: Discovered! Forbidden Love: No Longer Hidden! The next day her mother replaced the picture without saying a word. Crisis: Averted! Mom knew which side the bread was buttered on.

The second howl-out-loud section dealt with Celine's wishes to conceive a child with her old old old husband. After a painfully earnest set up she ends the section with how her doctors chose to tell her and Methuselah the good news. They gathered them into a room and announced (over speaker phone) the itchy squirmy phrase: CONGRATULATIONS LOVERS!!!

Needless to say, at GoldenBoy and Mattymoo's house in the balmy night that evening in Ft. Lauderdale with a glass of wine in one hand and the other arm flung, Statue of Liberty-eque, to the adoring fans, my channeling of La Celine made "Congratulations Luv-ahrs" the most memorable catchphrase from the evening. Mattymoo tells me that hardly a week goes by when he doesn't repeat this line. Oh, Celine, what continuous joy you bring!

Similarly, I was quite fond of reading passages from Nancy Cartwright's "My Life As a 10-Year-Old Boy" out loud with my old friend Won*t. I'll let this one speak for itself. Here's the first few paragraphs of the book:

It is a Saturday morning in 1986. I am in my bed, in my jammies, eating a big bowl of Cap'n Crunch. My dogs are wining because they wish they were on my bed and they love Cap'n Crunch too. But this is "my time" and I don't want to be distracted. After all, three of my favorite shows are on: Galaxy High, My Little Pony and Friends and The Snorks. Oh, I forgot to mention, they are all cartoons. Uh-oh, I doubly forgot to mention, I am in all of them. Double uh-oh, I am single. This is my life! It didn't occur to me until right now that maybe that was why I was single.
Flash forward, a Sunday evening in 2000. I am in the den with my son on my left and my daughter on my right. Hubby is reaching for the Cap'n Crunch … some things never change! The dogs, cats and birds are settled in for the evening. This is ''family time" and we don't want to be distracted. After all, The Simpsons is on.

Nancy Cartwright is divorced as of this writing, so I'd dare to write a third paragraph of her introduction that goes something like this:

Flash forward again, now to a Tuesday afternoon in 2008. I am in the grips of a "midlife crisis". Hubby is late with his "child support payment". Again! Cap'n Crunch is scattered all over the living room floor and embedded in the carpet. Some things never change! The dogs, cats and birds, along with a few goldfish and a hamster, are dead. This is "miller time" and I don't want to be distracted. After all, I gotta get my drink on!

In her book, Nancy Cartwright proved to be as 2 dimensional in real life as her alter ego Bart Simpson (who is, in fact, a drawing and expected to be 2 dimensional). Her book highlights her desperation to be as famous as her voice has made this 10 year old boy ... It's a don't you know who I am? tantrum but with less diva bravura and more plaintive knitted brow. Don't you? Really? Don't you know who I am?

Peek behind Nancy's plethora of exclamation points, randomly quoted words, awkward phrasing, and odd little jokes and you find an insecure mass of self-doubt, all tied up neatly in a Tina Yothers package. (Tina Yothers circa Family Ties, not Tina Yothers of Celebrity Fit Club Fame. Or rather, as Nancy Cartwright would write, Celebrity Fit Club "Fame".) Nancy uses the book as a means to rail at her inability to find work as a REAL actress (Oh, poor sweetheart, the world could barely provide a career for the actual Tina Yothers, why would we want a lookalike minus the nostalgic factor and plus the weird little voice factor?), and even lets the cat out of the bag that her co-stars don't seem to like her (or each other) enough to hang out after the line readings and grab some drinks. In fact, judging by the photo, they're not even comfortable standing next to one another at the Simpsons Movie Premiere.

PHOTOGRAPHER: Hey, Hank, can you skootch a bit closer to Nancy?

HANK AZARIA: Who?

Imagine my joy then other day when, while scrolling through my otherwise boring in box, I came across an offer for discount tickets to see a limited engagement of Celebrity Autobiography! I was thrilled to see that my secret passion for dramatizing bad writing to comic effect had jumped, 100th Monkey-like, into the minds of actual comedians who could actually get strangers to come watch them do this stuff. And I could be one of those strangers for the low low price of 25 bucks!

I knew I had to go but ... um … who was I supposed to go with? Mattymoo and GoldenBoy would have been the perfect choices, but they were in Florida. Won't would have been a perfect choice too ... but we hadn't spoken in 7 years. My Boo, Quibbit? Hmmm ...

Having a guy like Quibbit in my life has enriched me in many ways. He's a wonderful man, he's a great companion in every situation, he's a good soul, and he's the one I want by my side for everything I got to (and go through) in life. HOWEVER …

On my first date with Quibbit I mentioned a pretty well known celebrity and he replied … who? … then went on to explain he could identify only possibly 12 celebrities (one was "the girl who played Buffy the Vampire Slayer") and the rest were a blur. At first I thought he was joking, but as time went on I saw that he was completely clueless when it came to who's who in Who's Who. In fact, Entertainment Weekly articles which contain the cliché "Unless you've been living under a rock for the past year …" should continue "or unless you're Quibbit".
Luvviepuffaroo (watching Brothers and Sisters one night): Boo, do you recognize that woman?
Quibbit: No.
Luvviepuffaroo: We just saw her yesterday in Sybil.
Quibbit: Oh. Was she the psychiatrist?
Luvvie: No.
Quibbit: The mother?
Luvvie: No.
Quibbit: Oh, who was she?
Luvvie: SHE WAS SYBIL!!!!! IT'S SALLY FIELD!!! SHE WAS SYBIL DAMN IT!!! HOW CAN YOU NOT RECOGNIZE HER?

You can imagine how my "You like me … You really like me!" reference goes unappreciated.

If you know me at all you know I can talk pop culture like a pro, and if you're a yellow-blue-green-orange-brown pie champion in Trivial Pursuit, pick me as your partner and I'll get that pink pie for you in one shot, Alex. So it was really unbelievable that I'd find such blissful joy with someone like Quibbit. With him, I actually find other things to talk about … like, um … well … other things? Like how Britney … no. I mean what a shame about Heath … uhgh. That a year ago Anna Nicole ... Aw, heck. Other things!!!

I decided to invite a guy I dated a while back, a guy I affectionately refer to as Hammer of Israel, who I knew would totally get it as much as I did. Hammer holds the record for being the ONLY guy I ever remained friends with after a breakup, as usually I'm not all that interested in someone after they're out of my life. (You don't GET to know me anymore!! I've been heard to scream at more than one retreating man.) While Hammer and I don't exactly socialize, he's definitely one of my favorite people to email back and forth with ... and one of the first people who told me I should have a blog becuase I was so much fun to read. Right back atcha, H of I.

Quibbit was fine with it ... he understood I wanted to sit next to someone who got the joke viscerally, not someone who just was willing to acknowledge that a joke had been made.

Quibbit: Just for context, can you explain what kind of stuff they'd be doing at Celebrity Autobiography?

Luvvie: Well ... the flyer says that at one point they take "the infamous memoirs of Elizabeth Taylor, Eddie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds, which are edited together to create a Rashomon-esque playlet in the participants' own words." Do you know what that means?
Quibbit: A little.
Luvvie: What's Rashomon?
Quibbit: A Japanese Choreographer.
Luvvie: It's a movie. Who's Eddie Fisher?
Quibbit: A comedian.
Luvvie: No. Who's Elizabeth Taylor?
Quibbit: I know her. She's an actress.
Luvvie: From what?
Quibbit: Wait a sec … wasn't she on Designing Women? She played Blair, right?

Luvvie: (making frustrated little fist shaking motions in the air) Do you have any idea how wrong that statement was?
Quibbit: (smiling adorably and shaking his head like a bobble-head puppy) No.

Of course I had to hug him then, because he's so damn cute.

Unfortunately H of I had to cancel ... which in a way left me very sad, but in a way made me happy too ... because Quibbit does have a sense of humor, after all ... and he's always fun to rehash things with. I knew I'd probably be quoting lines from the show long after it was over, and then at least he'd get the context.

Monday night Quibbit and I made our way to the Upper West Side and shoehorned our way into the nosebleed seats at the Triad, which has an odd little second level that is a bit disorienting (there are cabaret chairs lined up along tiny shelves in front of you, the better to rest your 2 drink minimum on, my dear). Still the view was decent, and when the show started I was giddy.

(Disclaimer: all quotes below are as I remember them, not lifted directly from the books ... unfortunately. Becuase those were funnier).

Rachel Dratch opened with a reading from Good Morning, I'm Joan Lunden that painfully detailed each step of her EARLY morning ("I like to lay out my clothes for the next day in the order I'll put them on. That is, panties on top ..." "I'm a fantaic about not waking my family up when I leave, so I oil the door hinges every night"). Kristen Wiig did the early poetry of Suzanne Sommers ("My Two Week Love" -- "So, while I can't quite remember your name, or even your face, I'll always remember my two-week-love" and "Extra Love" --"So please, if you have even a heartbeat of love to give away, don't waste it on a dog").

Richard Kind showed us the bubbling font of knowlege that is Vanna White. ("While my job turning letters may not require much thought, how many jobs do? And it is hard work. I've lost fingernails, I've stumbled ..."). Marilu Henner's book gave a glimpse into her odd little thing for Danny DeVito ("I'd take Danny over Robert Redford any day!" she coos), and Tommy Lee's Tommyland left me gasping for breath. ("The trouble with threesomes is, someone is always feeling left out. My solution is ... foursomes! This way everyone's being taken care of and in the middle you can switch!") Tommyland was read in between Stallone's Sly Moves which centers around his muscles, his fitness routine, and his strict diet. As Sly prattles on about what's in his refridgerator, it was extra funny to hear Tommy exclaim "That thing about tracing the alphabet with your tongue really works! Of course, you have to know the alphabet which I DO!"

Unfortunately, Quibbit's phone could only capture faceless blobs, but that's Rachel Dratch reading Joan Lunden on the left, and Richard Kind reading Vanna White on the right.

The evening ended with, as promised, readings from Debbie Reynold's autobiography, juxtaposed with Liz Taylor's and Eddie Fisher's. It lived up to they hype and was, indeed, Rashomon-esque. See faceless blobs below:

Happily, you actually didn't need to know the celebrities to find their inane thoughts comical, and the actors who interpreted the material had perfect comic timing and dead pan delivery. So, Quibbit actually had a great time and enjoyed the evening more than I thought he would. While I don't expect him to come away from Monday night remembering who Joan Lunden is, at least now next time we see Sally Field I can lean over and say "That's the one Burt Reynolds quoted as saying "What do you mean I wasn't nominated for Sybil! I played 17 freakin' people!"

Although I already know, Quibbit will smile back at me and say ... "Oh. That's Elizabeth Taylor, right?"

Where Has Sarah Brightman Gone?

2008-01-27T03:04:00.003-05:00

Seriously? Where the hell is she?

Don't get me wrong, I'm not asking as a fan. I'm not saying "The world needs more Sarah Brightman so, DAMN IT! I want to see her represented more in mainstream pop culture!"

I'm also not asking where she's gone on her travels as of late.

And I'm not asking where she's gone spiritually.

No, I'm asking where pie-faced, mooney eyed, matronly little chunk of a Brit, Sarah Brightman has gone. This Sheryl Crowbot in her place that writhes in come-hither fashion and even manages to sex up the Ave Maria is NOT the Sarah Brightman I've known and (not) loved for the past 20 years.

See for yourself.

Sarah Brightman before:

Sarah Brightman after:

The only thing even slightly similar is that this is a chick who gets in front of the camera and always plays to her best side.

Photographer: Can we get a full-on shot of your face, Ms. Brightman?

Sarah: No! No you may not! It's a two-quarter turn to the right or it's nothing! Now get to clicking!

You know, it could just be that all this was documented diligently in the media, with as much furor as the incredible shrinking Star Jones story was a few years ago. Could be. I doubt it ... but still, it's a possibility. But I wouldn't know because I pretty much can't stand Sarah Brightman and wouldn't particularly gravitate toward any article written about her, scandalous or otherwise. I mean ... we've got a Britney Pandemic going on ... those oops-I-did-it-again antics of hers don't leave room in the shallow part of my brain for much else.

Sarah Brightman can't take all the credit for why I don't like her. It didn't start with her. It started with her warty little hobgoblin of a (now ex-) husband, Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber. I am not an Andrew Lloyd Webber fan. That's not to say Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat doesn't have it's moments ... and my Evita obsession roiled large, but that was a Madonna thing. I like to think that I like some of his music despite Andrew Lloyd Webber, not because of him.

A number of years ago I found out that Music of the Night was actually written as a stand alone piece and dropped into Phantom later -- written by Webber expressly for Brightman on the night they met. Imagining trollish little Andy cooing this pleading melody to Sarah as he tried to entice her into his lonely little midget bed left me feeling disgusting and rather voyeuristic. No matter who's crooning the lyrics, all I can envision is that creepy scene playing out in my head ...Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind, in this darkness which you know you cannot fight - the darkness of the music of the night . . . this odd little man with his odd little euphemism for sex. Floating, falling, sweet intoxication! Touch me, trust me savor each sensation! This kind of stuff is the exact OPPOSITE of an erotic siren song. And still, it must have done the trick cuz the broad not only touched him, trusted him, and savored each sensation ... she married him. With a shovel in her hand in place of a bouquet, the quicker to start the gold diggin' with.

So anyway, all this made it very hard for me to like Sarah Brightman, or to even care enough to follow her career. The next time I even noticed her was when she was inappropriately pawing her way through Time to Say Goodbye.

Yes, I get it. Andrea Bocelli is blind. He can't see you staring at him adoringly. So you've gotta drape your damn self across him like a drunken hooker. You know darn well that Andrea's thinking the whole time of extending the title to "Time to Say Goodbye, So Get Off of My Stage and Don't Call Me Because I've Changed My Phone Number. And You Can Just Forget About Coming With Me to Zurich on the 31st".

Oh, and just a little critical advice, if I may? If you're gonna sing a song in Italian, please get a dialect coach so I don't have to hear a romance language butchered by your stilted British affectation.

Any whoo, just wondering where Sarah Brightman's gone, and who's taken over her Kathy Griffin-esque celebrity status. So, if anyone's got any dirt on Ms. Brightman vis-à-vis plastic surgery, abduction, or a soul sold to the Devil, please let me know. It's been a slow-ish Britney week ...

One Two Tree Fo' ... This Is Rock and Roll!

2008-01-12T13:05:00.000-05:00

Paved With Good Intentions -or- Quibbit Takes Luvvie Home For The Holidays

2008-01-02T23:44:00.001-05:00

Planning to Travel to Michigan The Day After Christmas (In Theory):

Quibbit starts looking up flights on Expedia in early November
Quibbit books late afternoon non-stop direct flight for 2 from LaGuardia to Grand Rapids
On day of flight Quibbit and Luvvie leisurely pack and call cab in plenty of time to make 6:00pm flight
Quibbit and Luvvie go to airport, board plane, arrive in Grand Rapids 3 hours later, commence celebrating with Quibbit's family for Second Christmas

Traveling to Michigan The Day After Christmas (Reality):

Spend Christmas day without Quibbit because he's come down with a 24 hour stomach virus
Have Quibbit oversleep on December 26th well past the time he is supposed to be at apartment to pack
... the same day his cell phone experiences a glitch and doesn't work
Frantically dial Quibbit for 2 hours hoping he didn't get sicker from 24 hour stomach virus and is laying helpless on the floor of his apartment
Eventually dial Mom and ask her to investigate
Pace maniacally, dialing Mom's cell every 10 minutes
Listen as Mom speaks with roommate who confirms Quibbit is not laying dead on the floor
Feel relief as Quibbit comes bounding through door of apartment armed with things to pack and stories of oversleeping and ill-timed, non-working phone

Pack clothes and presents with less time than planned, forgetting essential items like Doc Marten boots
Leave for airport in plenty of time
Get to LaGuardia and find out direct Northwest Airlines flight to Grand Rapids has been cancelled
Knit brow quizzically as ticket agent explains he's booked you both on a Delta flight to Cincinnati with connecting flight to Grand Rapids
Hustle like hell when told that new flight leaves 45 minutes earlier
Check all luggage -- so as not to be weighed down by carry-on bags

Get stopped at security check point and get told you've been put on the Alarm List
Go through a detailed security check while other people look at you and wonder if you're a terrorist
Try not to look suspicious as you get patted down
Get to gate just as flight is boarding
Get to Cincinnati and make connecting flight easily, with enough time to sit in restaurant and have dinner
Get to gate, board tiny plane, and take out current issue of Vanity Fair
Finish up article about Angie Dickinson
Proceed to read story about a glamorous New York Couple who become paranoid and convinced that the Scientologists are out to get them and subsequently commit suicide
Show article to Quibbit and explain how the couple are very much like the Glamorous New York Couple Quibbit and Luvvie except for the paranoia and the suicide
Laugh when stewardess gets on PA and tells full plane that the flight is delayed because "we can't find the pilot"
Laugh again when, 1/2 hour later, same stewardess gets on PA and repeats first announcement
Knit brow quizzically 1 hour later as same stewardess admits passengers must de-plane until replacement pilot is found
Do STAR Magazine crossword puzzle with Quibbit to pass time at Gate 67 waiting for more information
Watch as departure time is moved from 9:40pm to 10:20pm to 11:00pm to 11:40pm
Find out at 11:15pm that flight has been cancelled due to "lack of staffing"
Wiggle impatiently as Quibbit joins line to find out what's to become of we intrepid travelers
Exclaim excitedly when told that passengers are being put up in local area hotels (Whee! An adventure!)
Take shuttle to Hilton Hotel and use up 7 dollar "dinner" voucher on Sugar Corn Pops, cranberry juice and yogurt
Remark to Quibbit that this is like your own personal version of The Amazing Race
Watch I love New York 2 while brushing teeth with flimsy hotel toothbrush
Sleep less than 5 hours and awake groggy
Attempt to make in-room coffee with ice chips instead of water (see "awake groggy")
Realize this is a fast and effective way to break in-room coffee maker
Skip coffee and hope cost of coffee maker doesn't get charged back to you
Arrive at airport bright and early, excited to get to Grand Rapids!
Knit brow quizzically as ticket agent explains that yes, you've got a boarding pass and yes, you've got a seat assignment, and yes, everything LOOKS in order but no --- you are not actually booked on the flight
Purse lips and glower as ticket agent explains that you can fly into Detroit instead and then take ground transportation -- a 3 hour drive -- to Grand Rapids
Shake head "NO" several times throughout entire exchange but let Quibbit do the talking so as not to let your Brooklyn show
Wait as ticket agent explains that you could also fly into South Bend, Indiana and get ground transportation to Grand Rapids -- only a 1.5 hour drive
Marvel as Quibbit, who has flown only 5 times in his life, is level headed enough to express the need to be compensated with a free flight voucher for all of our trouble
Give Quibbit a huge hug for being so cute
Get ticketed for the South Bend flight which leaves in half an hour
Run for gate to make plane
Get flagged again and put on Alarm List when going through security
Find no comfort in the fact that this time the Alarm List line contains a family with 3 young girls from 8 to 12 who all have to go through the same scrutiny
Watch as guard goes through purse and takes an unusually long time flipping the pages of BITCH Magazine in an effort to extract whatever contraband must be contained within the pages of such a subversive periodical
Ignore raised eyebrow of guard and try to appear innocent till process is finished
Put shoes and belt back on while racing to gate
Get on short flight to South Bend which is anti-climactic in it's uneventfulness
De-plane
Knit brow quizzically as ticket agent in South Bend explains that your luggage is en route to Grand Rapids without you
Get in a stinky van that smells like cigarettes and settle in for a long drive to Grand Rapids with a driver who "thinks" she knows the way there
Arrive at the Grand Rapids airport 2 hours later
Knit brow quizzically as ticket agent explains that your luggage is sitting in the South Bend airport despite what they told you in Indiana
Give Best Western address to ticket agent for when luggage DOES arrive
Check into Best Western and ask for flimsy hotel toothbrush in case luggage doesn't make it
Get luggage six hours later
Start vacation 24 hours after departing LaGuardia

Of course, once the vacation got officially underway it was filled with Second Christmas joy --

Little boys rolling around on the floor amid wrapping paper, dressed in their new presents, while playing with other presents ...

Loads of pictures being taken as each gift is given, opened, and exclaimed over ...

Snowstorms and freezing walks to the nearest coffee house to load up on espresso drinks ...

Church service in a parish so small that Quibbit and I get a shout out from the pulpit ...

Long drives to sisters and back again ...

Discovering what a Ponderosa is ...

And the bittersweet moment that you hug everyone good bye and get back on that facakta plane ...

Giving your street in Brooklyn to the LaGuardia cab driver sans directions, safe in the knowledge that OF COURSE the driver knows your block ...

Getting a baloney sandwich from the 24 hour bagel place around the corner at 11:00pm, and then huddling close to your Boo on the Promenade waiting for midnight ...

Counting down to 2008 with other intrepid Brooklynites while watching the fireworks across the river ...

Walking home and watching Netflix till dawn ...

It's good to be back home.

Merry Christmas

2007-12-25T23:24:00.000-05:00

Swing Your Razor Wide, Sweeney

2007-12-22T09:15:00.003-05:00

I was half-convinced I'd waken.
Satisfied enough to dream you,
happily I was mistaken ....
-- "Johanna" / Sweeney Todd

In Dueling Evitas I touched very briefly on a night that I went to see Sweeney Todd done live and in concert where the whole magical evening was dampened a bit by La LuPone's incessant braying. What I didn't go into was how my obsession with Sweeney Todd (in every form imaginable) has been going on for close to 25 years now ... trumped only by my obsession with the wondrous Stephen Sondheim himself which started when I was barely 13.

I can still remember that moment that froze me, made me stand still in the middle of that black and white checkered floor in my parent's basement, where I'd lip-synced my way through the Rogers and Hammerstein canon. I'd just gotten the album "Hooked on Broadway" (Part of the successful "Hooked On ..." series) and was listening to it for the first time. There was a Sondheim/Gershwin tribute and I was a Gershwin fan ever since I heard Rhapsody in Blue so was paying particular attention. Who this Sondheim fella was, I hadn't a clue. Oh, but I was about to find out ... and nothing would ever be the same again.

In the middle of the medley, a phrase rang out - two notes, really, but two notes in the middle of a phrase that was already so lush - and I just couldn't believe that music could sound like that, that this unexpected note could pop up and suddenly give the whole phrase an undertone of darkness. That something so heavy with beauty could turn ugly in just two notes and then rebound to the glorious fullness from where it came -- this was a concept that was astonishing to me. I had come from the old school world of musical theatre; dissonance had never played a part in any of my favorites before. The liner notes of the album told me that the two notes were from the song "Johanna" ... the musical was Sweeney Todd. The phrase was the one I quoted above.

Once I found out about Sondheim, I couldn't stop. I collected everything I could lay my hands on.

Company, Sweeney Todd, A Little Night Music, Follies, A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, Merrily We Roll Along, Anyone Can Whistle … like someone who can tell Coke from Pepsi blindfolded and in one sip, I could spot a Sondheim internal rhyme with both hands tied behind my back by the time I was 14. I became a purist and a completist … I own records of works of his that never were produced, retrospectives, tributes. I could name that tune in 2 notes.

I even gave up my starry-eyed notion of love so instilled in me by Rogers and Hammerstein for the more jaded (realistic) attitude of Sondheim. And years later, when I took pen to paper to write the Great American Novel, it was a tragedy only partially less grim than Sweeney Todd. Tragic death, mistaken guilt, a lifetime of revenge, pawns who suffer needlessly and never understand why; yes, it was all there.

I was in high school when PBS started airing the live version starring George Hearn and Angela Lansbury and I became so obsessed that it made all my previous obsessions look like casual dabblings. I taped it off the TV and raced home from school every day to watch it and memorize it so that, when called upon, I could play Mrs. Lovitt at a moment's notice. When I wasn't watching it, I was singing it over and over again to myself. When I wasn't singing it, I was dragging friends over to my house to watch it. When I wasn't dragging friends over to watch it, I was listening to the album, making mental notes of who was the better Sweeney. (Album = Len Cariou, PBS = George Hearn. George won, hands down.) I taught Sweeney Todd 101 to anyone who ventured over our doorstep, devoting an entire evening to the

differences between each actor's interpretation of "at last my arm is complete again!"

Eventually I weaned myself from Sweeney since I really had to ... it was wean or be a complete social outcast. Still, he was never far from my heart.

Fast forward to present day, and see me and Quibbit last night at the City Cinemas Village East Theatre, packed in like sardines and holding our breath as the new Sweeney Todd flickered on the screen before us.

Sweeney Todd, the movie, could have gone horribly wrong in so many ways. But it didn't. No, every breathtaking moment of Sweeney Todd was done so remarkably right that it did the impossible -- it eclipsed the PBS version I had held as the Holy Grail for over half my life.

Of course I'd heard the buzz long before I'd seen even one preview -- and I couldn't quite tell if I was ready to embrace it or dismiss it. Although, from the onset it was genius. Who but Tim Burton could direct this Gothic tale of madness, revenge and obsession? And, while I'd never before thought of Johnny Depp as Sweeney Todd, when Sweeney raises his razor and speaks "at last ... my arm is complete again" ... it was like Edward Scissorhands embracing his shining silver blades in a moment that had come full circle.

Cinematography was dark, brooding, spectacular, perfect.
Music was perfectly chosen, artfully executed, breathtaking, shockingly layered.
Casting was brilliant. Aside from Johnny Depp's ability to play absolutely anything and anyone, there was Alan Rickman oozing out of Judge Turpin's skin with all the evil of Severus Snape coupled with a perversion that no Harry Potter film would ever allow him to expose.
And Sacha Baron Cohen seemed a bit of stunt casting until he actually delivered the goods and (I'm sure, if Friday's audience was any indication) brought in a whole slew of Borat fans who hadn't really heard of Sondheim or cared about this musical enough to see it otherwise.

Helena Bonham-Carter is, of course, sleeping with the director (and spittin' out progeny pretty regularly) but she does have that thing going on that makes her

a pretty good Mrs. Lovitt in the "I'm a bit daft myself and therefore have no problem being in love with a mad man who bears no resemblance to the Benjamin Barker I loved 15 years ago" way. I do love the was she can pull off those corpse-bride eye circles. And I will say that she brought something totally unexpected and therefore enjoyable to the role. So, reedy voice and all, she gets my thumbs up. Of course, having been preparing for the role since 16 I was a little disturbed that "The Worst Pies In London" wasn't a half step faster (the way it was meant to be done) since one of my most enviable talents is being able to sing every word of Sondheim's lyrics as quickly as he wrote them to be sung. My "Not Getting Married Today" from Company blurs right past you. Anyway, it all was fine in the end.
Favorite unexpected joy: "By the Sea" which I didn't see coming and which left me with a wide smile and tears of joy and a heart that beat a mile a minute.
Oh, and that little boy who played Toby was outstanding.

Every single thing about this movie is flawless and the only complaint that I have is that it came out so close to Christmas -- so I won't be able to get back to the theater as soon as I'd like for a second, third, forth and possibly fifth viewing. Then, of course, it's the first thing I plan to play on the wide screen TV which I will have bought for the express purpose of viewing this magnificent movie over and over again. Oh, Quibbit, hang on tight --- It's going to be a very Sweeney few years.

It's a Small, Small World

2007-12-16T17:27:00.001-05:00

I've been in love with Disney World since I was a little 6 year old in a mini-skirt and earth shoes, posing with Mickey in front of the chocolate-covered Frozen Banana stand. I loved Disney World when all there was was a Magic Kingdom with a Howard Johnson's nearby. I loved Disney World when "having breakfast with a character" meant going to the all you can eat buffet and having a gum-chewing 60 year old waitress with a bee-hive call you Sugar Pie as she re-filled your amber colored plastic juice glass with chocolate milk. I loved Disney World back when an E-Ticket had nothing to do with the electronic ticket that spits out at you from the Delta kiosk at JFK after you insert you credit card at least 3 times before getting it in facing the right way.

Some time in the 1970s I went to Disney for the first time with my Dad and he did all the dad-on-vacation-alone-with-no-mom-there things that dads do … like putting my hair in 2 pony tails that verged on child abuse (too tight, uneven, hair all knotty). To make up for it he bought me anything that had Minnie Mouse on it – feeding an addiction I'd had no inkling of before setting foot in Orlando, but an addiction I couldn't shake and one I fell prey to every time we passed a gift shop.

We went back the following year with my Mom. For me it meant better hair this time, but less presents as my mom (or "bad cop") put her foot down against "all that nonsense". And rightly so, because once I had gotten home from my trip with dad, all my Minnie items promptly were lost, discarded, broken or traded away.

Then there was this long lull that involved no trips to Disney. When friends of mine went and came back with gushing tales of Epcot I looked at them quizzically. Ep-what? Did it sell Frozen Bananas too?

And so the years dragged on, Disney-less, until some time when I was in my mid 20s and my childhood friend, M (first half of M+M) invited me to join her family for a few days in the parks. In SUMMER ... So my first foray back to Disney brought with it lines that funneled through every available crowd-management tool invented. A good line meant only a 1 hour wait. ("Let's get on this one while it's still short!") Even FastPass (though a good idea in theory) becomes nothing but a funny little notion during those kid-chocked months. Still, I loved every minute of it and couldn't wait to go back. At a different time of year of course ... and with my Boo.

Quibbit and I decided to go in mid-December which is a bad time to leave, but a great time to go. Okay, so it meant writing the Christmas cards in November, but it was worth it.

We Stayed At Disney's Caribbean Beach Resort
I'm not a beach person. You'll never find me spending money on a Caribbean vacation. So, there's only one explanation as to why I decided to stay at the Caribbean Beach Resort: the other mid-priced resorts were full. But surprise surprise -- turns out Quibbit and I really did enjoy the benefits of the beach; we spent two or three nights rocking in the hammock there after a long day in the park, looking up at the stars through the palm tree fronds and enjoying the sound of the fireworks exploding over Epcot.

We Saw Fireworks Every Night
I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy, do or die. I was born on the 3rd of July (aka Independence Day Eve) so I've been imprinted strongly with a love of fireworks. If someone's shooting them off, I'm watching them.

It Was Quibbit's First Time
This meant I got to be tour guide, but also got to be shown a few things myself. I wanted this to be a great vacation for him, so we focused on whatever he wanted to do.

:: Disney-MGM Studios ::
The Disney MGM park is a nice way to start your vacation; really manageable and nicely walkable, which is why it made sense to start there the afternoon we arrived. Nothing like being in a theme park just 4 hours after leaving JFK!

Half-a-Star
The Great Movie Ride
The outside looks like Grauman's Chinese Theatre, and the inside has great costumes from movies (like the fur coats from the Chronicles of Narnia), and even the wait is fun, as you watch scenes from old movies play out in front of you on a huge screen. But after that the slow pace of the ride, the guide's incessant (scripted) chatter which often is spoken over the animatrons' dialogue, and the lack of anything new makes it a big yawn.

Always Fun
Star Tours
Muppet Vision 3-D
Tower of Terror
I get scared just in the lobby! The idea of plunging down the elevator shaft is terrifying and thrilling and gets to me the minute I see that dusty tableau at the entrance of the tower. I'm usually halfway chickened out by the time I get to the "boiler room" but then I look around and see a bunch of 12 year olds. 'nuff said.

First Time On
Rock 'n' Rollercoaster Oh MAN! What the hell! Whoooo! I'd never had the courage to go on it before, but this time I figured if I was going to die at least Quibbit would be by my side. I am NOT kidding when I tell you that after the 2 minute ride (or less?) our insides were so shocked that we hobbled like senior citizens to the nearest bench and then used the excuse that "we need protein" to get a smoked turkey leg.

Favorite Thing About MGM This Trip

The Osborne Family Christmas Lights Display
While I admit it's a little surreal to travel from an ACTUAL NYC street that is ACTUALLY cold all the way to an MGM façade of a NYC street in Florida that just "looks like" NYC and is sprinkled with fake snow that shimmers down on you Edward Scissorhands style, there's a bit of magic in the whole thing. When that switch was flipped and those billions of lights came on, there was nothing more beautiful to me.

:: Epcot ::

When you see the original plans for Epcot it's sad to see how far it got away from it's original concept. I would have loved to see the bullet train ride that was slated for Japan, or the other countries that never made it to the world showcase. Still, Epcot as it is now is a great deal of fun and for Quibbit, who is all brainy and stuff, it was a good place to soak in a lot of information in one day.

Half-a-Star
The Seas w. Nemo and Friends

Last time I was at Disney World this ride was just called The Seas and had a whole different feel to it. Not so ... um ... Nemo-ish? The movie was heartwarming and great ... but I liked the old ride better. Is it possible to resent the Disneyfying of Disney? More on that later ...

Also – Spaceship Earth was closed which sucks since you're taunted from all over the park by that huge geodesic dome.

Always Fun
Ellen's Energy Adventure
Test Track

First Time On
Mission Space (We took the option of being on the "Green Team" – the milder version of the ride - since Quibbit was getting a little green himself!)

Favorite Thing About Epcot This Trip / Future World

Soarin'

Favorite Epcot Country - Germany

Their beer garden is so authentic -- it's the next best thing to being in Germany during Oktoberfest. Plus, it's really nice to drink beer in the middle of the day.

Bavaria's in my blood, and when you can't get all the way to Muenchen, this will work just fine.

:: Magic Kingdom ::

Magic Kingdom ... the park that started it all. Like a whole little world unto itself. I always save it for the 2nd or 3rd day, because I'm too excited to see it the first day -- I need to ease into Disney Mode before walking down Main Street. But once I'm there ...

Half-a-Star
Stitch's Great Escape!
If you came looking for the old ride that was ridiculously scary (not simply ridiculous) then it's a little disappointing to see it replaced with this ride. If I wanted to see Stitch bounce mischievously around a room, burping chili hot dogs, I'd get up early on a Saturday morning and watch the Disney Channel. It was Nemo all over again.

Always Fun
Big Thunder Mountain
Buzz Lightyear's Space Ranger Spin (one of Quibbit's favorites)
The Haunted Mansion

Pirates of the Caribbean
Space Mountain

First Time On
Jungle Cruise

Hall of Presidents

Mickey's PhilharMagic
Snow Whites Scary Adventures
Splash Mountain - yes hard to believe I'd never been before ... but the lines were always too long.

Favorite Thing About Magic Kingdom This Trip
Being there with Quibbit. Magic Kingdom is one of those leave-your-grown-up- self-at-the-door kinda places ... more than any other place in WDW. And Quibbit is the most open, uninhibited, unguarded person I've ever known. He is completely joyful and was 100% immersed in everything we did, even "WWWOOOO!!!!"-ing on the Winnie the Pooh ride. He is a total treasure, and seeing the most Magical Place on Earth through his eyes was the most freeing experience I've had. Plus, you know, I just love the guy.

:: Animal Kingdom ::

Some time last summer Quibbit and I had taken a day and gone to the Bronx Zoo. Seeing how much he enjoyed all the animals made me know that Animal Kingdom would probably be a great place to be with him. It was as great way to end our vacation so we spent a nice leisurely last day there.

Half-a-Star

Rafiki's Planet Watch is, I'm sure, a whole boatload of fun if you're 3 years old or a tired family who's looking to get away from the crowds, or ... I don't know. I don't know what would make this place fun. To me, it's just some crowd control tool, which probably works well enough. But if this hadn't been Quibbit's first time, and if I hadn't made a deal that I'd see all the things he asked about, then this would have been one I'd have skipped.

Always Fun

It's Tough To Be A Bug

Kilimanjaro Safaris

Dinosaur
Primeval Whirl

First Time On

Kali River Rapids

Expedition Everest

Favorite Thing About Animal Kingdom This Trip
Going on all the new thrill rides were amazing; and hands down my most favorite memory of Animal Kingdom was seeing the photos that get taken automatically (and are for sale) after Everest and Dinosaur -- the look of sheer terror on Quibbit's face had me laughing for days every time I recalled it.

Wrap Up
I've said for years that when you're an adult and you don't have a child, your inner child becomes your child. And I could think of no better way to herald in the Christmas season than to take little Luvviepuffaroo and little Quibbit to the place where dreams come true. Cue music ...

Put in Context

2007-12-04T15:46:00.001-05:00

The other night I went to go hear Ross Robertson (editor for What Is Enlightenment? magazine) give a talk at the EnlightenNext Center about his article in the latest issue entitled: A Brighter Shade of Green: Rebooting Environmentalism for the Twenty-First Century. It was a good talk about the old guard environmentalists versus the new.

In his presentation, Ross talked a lot about Buckminster Fuller which made me think back to the Summer of Somehow …

Two and a half years ago I did the Luvviepuffaroo Re-Invention Tour (having successfully completed the Luvviepuffaroo Who's That Girl Tour but yet to conceive of the Luvviepuffaroo Confessions Tour). The Re-Invention Tour involved quitting my job and thumbing my nose at a career that I had stumbled into backwards which then grew faster than Audrey II, sucking up pretty much the same amount of blood. It was an ill conceived career in ... Finance. (insert vile retching sound here).

In a procedure that was much like a no-fault divorce (they called it a "Mutual Agreement Package") my management team, my Human Resources department and I all sat down and discussed terms, shook hands, and decided that after seven years we'd gotten all we could out of the partnership. "You go your way, we'll go ours, sign here". I signed. How easy it all was -- something I though could never be done.

I definitely lost a lot … stability, routine, my whole infrastructure of friends, a steady income, a feeling of security, a reason to shower in the morning. Having once laughed from behind my desk as I watched Odd Todd animations, I now envied how Todd at least was able to fit a walk into his grand daily plan. For the first 5 months, as I lived off my severance package (sorry ... Mutual Agreement Package) I never got much beyond getting out of bed and sitting on the couch.

And some of the things I gained weren't that useful: panic attacks, crazy mad computer game skills, a talent for reciting the entire TV lineup starting from the moment I tossed and turned and finally vaulted out of bed at 10:00 or 10:30 a.m. (The Maury Show -- Tyrell, you ARE the father!) all the way to Fear Factor at 2:00 a.m. Yes, I said Fear Factor. I can't even explain that one.

Though, in solidarity, I did cultivate a pretty large addiction to Starting Over (and ... I'll admit it ... Starting Over message boards).

However, I had two things going for me
1) a real desire to change my life and
2) Ookanuba, my love-her-like-a-sister-never-knew-a-day-without-her-in-
my-life friend who, despite being vastly different from me, was always eerily similar to me too.

I often said that Ookanuba and I had a relationship that was like the earth. On the outside shallow layer, The Crust, we had a lot of similarities. (Love for the Simpsons, Love/Hate for Madonna, passion for writing, quirky sense of humor, that born-in-Brooklyn toughness, an affinity for dropping the F-Bomb into casual conversation). The kind of thing that, if we met today at a party and had a conversation, would leave us saying, "Hey, that was one cool chick!"

Then, there was this whole layer, The Mantle, that didn't match up at all. Ookanuba can spend a week at Burning Man sleeping in the desert, decorating her boobs with a hand-sewn bra and peeing in a porta potty. Me ... not so much. I marked my first anniversary with Quibbit at The Four Seasons dressed in an impeccable black and white ensemble in matching 4 inch heels. Her ... not so much. Not saying I can't go without make up and she can't look exquisite. We can (and often do). We just gravitate more towards our own polarities. Basically it all falls under lifestyle choices. It's the stuff a lot of other people can't get past, especially in a new friendship. That whole layer contains all the deal-breakers for some. But I guess knowing someone your whole life makes you search deeper than these choices, till you get down to the core.

And it is down there, in our Core, where Ookanuba and I match up again. Because in the center of who we are we are exactly alike. Inquisitive. Always striving to find out WHY. Making sure we give ourselves (and each other) the bad news so that we can grow stronger and better. We create together. We bounce things off each other. We're each other's reality check. We're each other's best critic and loudest cheerleader.

So, while it's an amazing coincidence that Ookanuba was taking stock of her life that year at just the same time and had come to the same conclusion as me … it wasn't shocking. Just like the time we hadn't spoken for months and found that both of us were watching Madonna's Truth or Dare over and over and over again. That's just how we are. And so, it made sense that together we would create the Summer of Somehow.

The concept was simple: Empty your life completely. Then layer back in the things that are important to you. In between, allow for anything to happen, and believe that it all will work out – somehow.

This concept was based in part on a quote Ookanuba read to me from a Buckminster Fuller book -- where he explained that he found that when he gave fully of himself to others and found himself depleted and in most need of something, then … somehow … the thing he needed most came from the spot he least expected. An extraordinary and divine gift.

The Summer of Somehow yielded a lot … by Fall I was not only dating but completely in love with my Boo, Quibbit, who had literally (okay, figuratively) dropped out of the sky from the most unlikeliest of places. I'll write that story another time, because I want to do it justice and if I'm going to commit it to a spot for posterity it better be perfect. But even more amazing than finding this exquisite and perfect love, was to find this human being who understood what the Summer of Somehow, and the whole dang shebang that came after, really was all about. Someone who, in fact, had been practicing it in much the same way on his own long before he met me.

The Summer of Somehow didn't cure all, however, and lead quickly into what I called The Winter of "What now?" There were a lot of lulls, a lot of false starts and a lot of questioning why I wasn't just giving in. In all, the Summer of Somehow lasted 17 months ... and that's one heck of a summer.

So here's where everything dove tails …
Watching the Brighter Shade of Green presentation the other night I thought of that Buckminster Fuller quote (which I can't seem to find now), and I looked at the Fuller quote Ross Robinson had projected in front of me on the screen from I Seem to be a Verb, and I thought about all the passages in people's writing that gets quoted … and how all the words surrounding the brilliant quotes go unattributed, and yet they provide the context.

And I thought about the Winter of What Now, when nothing much was happening, but how, when I look back, it provided context for why my life is so great right now. The highs aren't high without the lows, eh?

And then I looked at my life right now (and by "right now" I mean this very month) which is filled with certain difficult situations that I don't want to list here, and these difficult situations are triggering entire paradigm shifts, Luvvie-digm shifts really, and how these difficult situations are overwhelming me, keeping me in a holding pattern, a mental dog paddle.

And how these things have been keeping me from creating and contributing, and how I can't write blog entries because of it, and then, in a flash, it just all made sense that right now I'm living the context, I'm living the pause. The ellipse. And soon enough (because there's always a "soon enough") there will be a shake up for better or for worse, but as mundane as all these "right now" days seem to be, there's no denying they're filling in the paragraphs between the quotes that I'll lift later and refer to. And that, my dear, is just as important.

Side by Side by Luvviepuffaroo ... Episode 1

2007-10-06T11:14:00.001-04:00

I never understood those who justify their whole poo-poohing of American Musical theatre with the tired cliché that "no one in real life ever spontaneously bursts into song". I've never heard anyone dismissing the ballet using the argument that "no one in real life ever spontaneously bursts into a grand jeté". Yet do they? I've never seen it. Come to think of it, no one in real life ever spontaneously swings on a web through the city or holds up a taxi with one finger or has 12 inch spikes spring out from their knuckles either, eh? Right little boy? So come on ... quit with the Musical bashing already. If there were no Stephen Sondheim there would be no Luvviepuffaroo because he literally soundtracked my life.

Git'cher self on over to my house on any weekend and you'll find me singing about washing the dishes or painting a wall or just walking down the stairs (with Quibbit joining in merrily, and at full voice). We've got a song for everything. Songs are fun.

Basically, I'm a big fan of any movie that sticks a musical interlude into the normal course of a conversation. This is why I've always been completely tickled by this scene from Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy.

However, in the tradition of "animate it and make it funnier" (well, I exclude A Scanner Darkly in this tradition) Steve Falzone brings it to a whole new level with this masterpiece:

By the time Legos get involved, it's sheer brilliance:

If this kinda spontaneous burst of song happened around my workplace I'd be so happy I'd probably do a grand jeté.