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12/11/2003
 there are times (not many, i'll grant you) when i adore barnes and noble. largely because the great corporate evil, while devouring such venues as my beloved 7th ave books for breakfast, makes a great celebrity petting zoo. it is where i once met neil gaiman, and where, last night, the biscuit and i managed to come face to face with everyones favorite john and john, the boys of they might be giants. they were there to promote their new children's book and cd, "bed bed bed," which naturally entailed a short performance on the 4th floor at union square, complete with wicked trumpet man (whose entire head turned scarlet when he hit the high notes), a trombonist and a tuba player, and a drummer whose kit included a slide whistle and a giant bongo drum. suffice it to say, it was awesome. we sat about five rows back on house left, and so were about twenty feet away from the johns as they shook and shimmied their way through 'dr. worm,' 'metal detector,' 'birdhouse in your soul,' 'particle man' (which is apparently the TMBG national anthem) and a whole bunch more. i'm fairly certain that my head did not stop bobbing the entire time, as i danced in my seat. the spectacle attracted a very diverse crowd, from the mistunderstood 15-year-olds discussing james dean behind us to the bistros and babycarriages crowd populating tmbg's own park slope (that's right. one of 'em lives in our neighborhood!). there was also a healthy smattering of NYU students and uber-geeks...in short, a healthy cross-section of my people. afterwards, we all queued up for the meet and greet; biscuit and i realized early on that we had failed to bring anything useful for the johns to sign--somehow, the prospect of them signing stuff had eluded us, and we had failed to bring any tmbg paraphernalia. so, being the resourceful little critters that we are, we just had them sign what we were carrying around in our bags: edith hamilton's mythology (biscuit) and harry potter 5, british edition (me). never let it be said that we're not delightfully obtuse at every possible opportunity. writ at 12/11/2003 11:33:13 am by shivery
12/10/2003
par avion, par excellence
one of the adornments on my cigarette case, the prized chinese air mail stamp, fell off last night.
i am terribly, terribly saddened.
writ at 12/10/2003 6:13:20 pm by shivery
if only we could blame BOB, or perhaps the one-armed man. or the log.
writ at 12/10/2003 1:50:26 pm by shivery
they say that when the student is ready, the teacher appears. then it's just a question of figuring out just what the aim of the lesson plan is.
for a few minutes, i wasn't certain which one was the teacher, and which was the student, or what i was supposed to be learning, and i'll confess i found that perplexing.
but i think i've figured it out.
and so for the first time in many weeks, i can honestly say that i'm not angry anymore.
at least, not at you.
maybe a little bit at myself.
writ at 12/10/2003 1:45:47 pm by shivery
12/9/2003
the mistletoe mafia strikes again!
writ at 12/9/2003 9:14:14 am by shivery
12/7/2003
the troika took a field trip today, braving the unbelievably frosty elements to make a pilgimage to the grey dog to satisfy some of our more sartorial cravings. en route, we passed through washington square park, deep in the heart of nyu territory. and as i do every time i pass through the area, i wondered what i would do if i ran into him.
whenever i imagine that first random encounter, my mind's eye always paints us on 7th ave, deep in the heart of tribe territory, my home turf where i am both queen and warrior. usually in front of the radio repair shop across from naidre's (still working on that one). in that situation i like to think that i would be able to play it off beautifully, i would not allow my baser emotions to get the better of me but instead greet him calmly and actually extend the hand of friendship that we spoke of, that i want so badly to present. clearly, my internal set painter is pretty certain that that particular outcome is more likely assured if i am where i feel safe, in my neighborhood.
which, incidentally, is now his neighborhood as well. seven blocks and counting. i often wonder if it ever strikes him that he has signed his soul to a tribe blast radius for the next year.
but, of course, i entertain the notion of what i would do if we made our reacquaintance in his territory, the surrounding blocks of the hallowed halls of our city's most venerated institution. would i feel exposed? would i feel guilty, as though i had violated some sacred trust by wending my way into the fabric of his day-to-day? would i even be able to speak to him, or would i have to just run away and pray he never saw me? would i feel as though i were trespassing? i thought about this a lot as we slipped and slid our way across the park.
and then my inner pragmatist piped up and reminded me: i had full access rights to this neighborhood before i met him. i had just as much right to be there as he, and i wield just as much power within that radius as i ever had; perhaps more, as each day the simple fact of my continued existence makes me more self possessed and aware. should i chance to meet him there, we will be on equal footing. if we're both lucky, we'll actually make our first awkward steps towards that friendship we promised one another as we made the distance between us official. i certainly hope so.
to paraphrase, my inner pragmatist tried to remind me that among civilized people, territorial disputes should be utterly unnecessary, no matter how jarring the break.
but, should that thought not take root, i take solace in the fact that i was here first. so really the whole damn city is my territory, if you want to play by the playground rules. and while that will never truly give me the upper hand in the inevitable encounter, while it gives me no more right to prowl the streets than he, i can always find strength in the knowledge that, no matter what the whims of another or our personal comfort zones, i belong here. everywhere i want to be. i should never feel like an alien in my own city. neither of us should.
and to be perfectly honest, i wouldn't want the upper hand in that situation, anyway; if we're really going to be friends, we have to be equals first.
writ at 12/7/2003 11:40:12 pm by shivery
it's
very
cold.
writ at 12/7/2003 8:48:53 pm by shivery
12/6/2003
let the holiday season begin!
t-minus three hours until the official start of the mistletoe mafia's winter soiree. it's been snowing for nigh on 36 hours, and the streets of new york are still in that marvelous and short-lived state of pristine beauty--the snow has yet to be reduced to the dingy slush that typically marks the holiday season out here. of course, the peace it brings to the streets, the hush, is deceptive; as we learned earlier today, the snow is a harsh, harsh mistress! close your eyes a moment and picture, your three intrepid heroines, bundled up and braving the snow, the harsh ice crystals in the eyes and the biting wind throwing us into oncoming traffic, all in the name of holiday festivity. there was nog to be procured and we were going to let nothing stand in our way!
and now, the fairy lights are glowing softly, my apartment has been scrubbed and bleached and swept within an inch of its life. the mistletoe-substitute is being strategically placed (ask us later), and the final preparations being made. shortly, the preening will begin, and we will transform ourselves from the no-nonsense ladies of infinite competence (we cook, we clean, we kick your ass) to dangerous and delightful sirens of the evening (don't fret, there will be photos). trust us, it will be a typically fabulous troika production; if our guests let a little thing like twelve inches of snow keep them from our doorstep, much regret all around, n'est-ce pas?
the troika gives good party. and don't you forget it.
(don't worry, we'll save you some nog.)
writ at 12/6/2003 5:17:37 pm by shivery
12/4/2003
shivery's guide to new york #5: 7th avenue books
 it seems that i have an expensive habit (beyond the smokin' and the boozin' and the whorin'): books. in a world where i spend a minimum of two hours a day in passive transit, books have become a necessity. like many new yorkers, i devour a minimum of one book a week. now, given that literature has become exorbitantly expensive, the habit adds up ($15 a week x 52 weeks=more money than i want to think about in the christmas season), thereby putting a bit of a damper on the whims of this underpaid young professional. given that i'm not going to stop reading on the subway, i am essentially left with two options: ransack my friends' prodigious lending libraries or go used. still being essentially a cheapskate, i try and stick with the former option as much as i can. but, sometimes i covet a volume that i can't source in the library network. and when that happens, i go to 7th ave. books. located (appropriately) at 300 7th avenue in the heart of park slope, 7th ave books is housed in what used to be a video store; the mystery paperbacks live where the pornos used to go. it's a veritable treasure trove of secondhand wonders--well-preserved books from private collections, reviewer's copies, discounted first-run books and more. it's inexpensive (i have yet to see a paperback clock in at more than $7, and most are $5 or less), friendly and full of esoterica you won't find anywhere else. two blocks from the F, i recommend it highly to any impoverished commuter who doesn't look forward to opening a vein for barnes and noble. check back often--they're constantly getting in new shipments of fabulosity. be sure to check out... the "just in" trolleys; the pantheon of brooklyn-themed literature near the till; the bulletin board behind the door; its sister store, 7th ave kids, just down the block; the new releases shelf, in case you JUST CAN"T WAIT for the used paperback to touch down. writ at 12/4/2003 11:34:04 am by shivery
scenes from purgatory's bathroom
my long-misplaced boss of infinite evil (she of the maternity leave) is returning next week to sit in on our 'weekly meeting,' so that she might prepare herself to give an accurate assessment of our job performance in the last three months. while she's been on maternity leave. suffice it to say, while we are all sharpening our claws and preparing ourselves to reveal to her in the most tactful way possible exactly where she can stick her annual reviews, we are also secretly dashing about in a mad frenzy so that we might satisfy her more arbitrary whims, the ones we've been assiduously ignoring in her absence in favor of projects that are actually relevant. because, naturally, the arbitrary ones are going to be the ones she rails on us about. they always are. thus, the flavor of my day is going to be heavily perfumed with a detailed trawl through our company websites, finding places to put more pictures and pull quotes. for the sake of having more pictures. not because we have such glorious points that they require the thousand-word thunderbolt of an image to appropriately convey their gravity, but because the brass said -- and i quote -- "we want more pictures. all that text is boring." all that text is boring. all that text is boring.while i'm not disputing that fact, i still feel rather emasculated (so to speak) that my job of late has been reduced to finding holes where i can paste irrelevant pictures because my employers have grown bored with their own product. well, that and writing about swaziland. but mostly cutting and pasting. in other, news the troika is once again complete! after a month-long eternity, the glorious kate is back among us! WOO-HA! writ at 12/4/2003 10:04:08 am by shivery
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