Thursday, March 16, 2006

So Many Little Things

Updates on several fronts:

Finally! What a crazy mind fuck of a process! I have spent almost an entire year on LSAT prep, applications, waiting for decisions, visiting schools and evaluating offers. In three months, I'll be a 1L. After much careful deliberation, I have decided to matriculate (such a big lawyer word, huh?) at Cardozo School of Law, the law school of Yeshiva University, in NYC. It was a school I fell in love with the moment I visited and it was the school by which all of the others ended up being measured. I love that it's a young and dynamic place. Kind of like me. I love that it's in Greenwich Village. I love that the faculty is packed with young stars; I'm anxious to learn from them. I love that I'm about to start a journey so different from everything I have ever known. And I love all the things they have done to show how much they want me. Unless Columbia or UCLA come knocking, I've been waitlisted at both schools and would drop everything to attend either, you can find me at the corner of 12th St and 5th Ave for the next three years.

Time for a bit of reflection. In the past couple of weeks, I have been asking friends and myself, "So, I really have to go through with this, right?" While I find change exhilarating, it scares the hell out of me. The excitement is topped off with doubt, anxiety and fear. Now I am not a religious or particularly spiritual person, but I know that this is the right decision for me and I know that something has been plotted out for me that has led me to this place at this time. I know in my heart of hearts that this is true. That belief doesn't make this transition easier and it doesn't make the fear subside. So hear I am, hurtling towards school with no hope or time to look back. Oh, by the way, did I mention that I'm going to LAW SCHOOL. YAY!

I love the word pal. It's an endearing word implying a casualness and care free relationship. There is something informal and easy about the word, but it also includes a kind of closeness. Kids are pals. Gay boys and their straight girlfriends are pals. Two adult men in a sexual relationship, no matter how casual are not pals. Or so I have learned. There is a man in my life, someone I have known for a while. He said we were dating, I said we were pals. Synge told me that I made a faux pas, si I apologized. I will refer to him from now on as DH for reasons only he and I will ever know. I'm kind of crazy about him, so this surely means I'll be getting into school in Los Angeles anyday. Because life just loves to fuck with me like that.

Went to see Art School Confidential. If you were in any sort of fine art program, you'll recognize all of the types. But before the movie we saw the trailer for Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette. Turn your speakers on and watch it. I think the combining of the modern elements, New Order's Age of Consent, with the period French scenes is fantastic.

This documentary was turned into a very popular musical recently. The movie is legendary but was only just released on DVD. I don't know what's more frigtening, the film itself or Todd Oldham and John Bartlett talking about Little Edie as a style icon. Watching a car wreck indeed!

Friday, February 17, 2006

I was tagged (oh how I wish that meant something dirty)

Four Jobs I've Had: Associate Producer, Box Office Slut, Events Coordinator, Waiter

Four Movies I Can Watch Repeatedly: American Beauty, Vacation, The Color Purple, Longtime Companion

Four Places I've Lived: Richmond, Virginia; Astoria, New York; Glen Cove, New York; Seattle, Washington

Four TV Shows I Love: Project Runway, Law and Order SVU, America's Next Top Model, can I say Project RUnway again?

Four Places I've Vacationed: Paris, Jerusalem, Venice, Munich

Four of My Favorite Dishes: Brussels Sprouts (the French way), Salmon with spinach (the French way), Tuna Sashimi wrapped in cucumber, Spaghetti with meat sauce

Four Sites I Visit Daily: Yahoo, All That Chat, Playbill, Law School

Four Places I Would Rather Be Right Now: Central Park, Paris, in the theatre, on a rollercoaster

Four Bloggers I am TAGGING: I don't think four people read my blog. Nobody knows I'm still writing it.

Thursday, February 16, 2006

Here's a crazy thought

The next time there is a Winter Olympics, I'll be a lawyer.

The acceptances have started to role in, so barring denial of a gigantic loan, I'll be knee deep in legal studies come Fall.

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

I'm chic? I'm trendy? I thought I was just me.

Who knew that it was the year of the gay? All you had to do was look at the Golden Globes. From Brokeback Mountain to Capote to Transamerica, American cinema is gay, gay, gay. And if the movies are, by extension, a reflection of our culture, what does that say about the world we live in? Now I'm not ungrateful, I love the attention. I mean "gay" is the new "straight". But by reducing these films to the sexual orientations of their protagonists aren't we taking an enormous step backwards? What I admire about Brokeback Mountain is that it is extraordinary in its ordinariness. It is, at its core, a pure love story and one that we have seen and heard countless times. Romeo and Juliet, anyone? Capote, almost shockingly, avoids some of the more scurrilous facts of the main character's life and is quite vague about his relationship with one of the murderers he wrote about in In Cold Blood. Instead, the film focuses on the arrogance and narcissism that was such a huge destructive force in Capote's life. While I have not seen Transamerica, to equate transexuality with homosexuality implies a similarity where none exists and marginalizes two groups even further than they already have been. How far have we really come? I just don't want people to lose sight of these stories as a whole by reducing them to buzz words and sound bytes. If that continues to be the case, then surely I will go the way of gaucho pants and jelly shoes.

Thursday, November 03, 2005

The one about the wounded man

On Tuesday, I was invited to the premiere of The Dying Gaul, a film based on a play by Craig Lucas. Craig is, I think, one of those brilliant minds you hear spoken of often by academics and the like. I took Synge with me and she was very silent afterward. We both toked about the impact it made on us, but neither could really articulate what it was about. This frustrated me. I knew it affected me, but I couldn't figure out why. It hit me the next day. It is about, among other things, cruelty and compassion and how there is a very fine line that separates the two. I believe that this is true of life and it frightens me. The film also had one of the greatest lines I've heard in quite a while: "Hackers and thieves unlike screenwriters don't have to put their name all over everything." It was a fun night and I got to meet an acting legend, Marian Seldes. My few readers I'm sure don't know who she is. Google her. She is a marvel.

Also on Tuesday I got into a terrible fight with my mother. I have been feeling emotionally fragile as of late and she, as is her way, must inflict her cruelty and manipulation on me. It is a symptom of her own mental illness. I do not want to go into the details of the fight, except to say that I refuse to be emotionally abused by her anymore. Vix and her mother say that's it's a symptom of her depression. My mother's mental illness is not mine and having a relationship with her puts me in a deeply depressed state. Why would anyone inflict this on themselves. She sent me an email saying that she loved me and wanted to talk to me. I cannot and will not respond. She does not understand that her words have meaning and consequences. I know that Chanteuse may have harsh words for me, and Synge as well, but this is how I feel. I am saddened that it has come to this, but I am will not play the role of her emotional punching bag anymore. I have not been sleeping or eating for months and it is, in part, because of the anxiety she has caused me. I elect to stop it.

Finally, I found pictures of The Daft Punk online pleasuring himself. My favorite part, though, is the ad that accompanies the pictures. It says, "I'm LTR (long term relationship) oriented." Obviously. Nothing like a shot of your penis hanging out of a pair of gym shorts to say "You can bring me home to mom." For those who are interested, I'd be more than happy to forward a link.

Saturday, October 29, 2005

The one about ...

What to say? The blood of over 2,000 American soliders and tens of thousands of Iraqi civilians is on the hands of these criminals in Washington. It finally seems that this fucking haze that has settled over the country is starting to lift and we are seeing these monsters for who they truly are. Their Gestapo tactics are finally being exposed. First Libby. Next Rove. Then the fucking Chimp. Nothing really left to say. The state of the nation and the mounting body count speaks volumes.

The one about feeling and writing and forgiving

Warning: This post may be filled with much self-pity and undervaluing of one's own abilities. Proceed with caution.

I am ashamed. I promised that I would be more diligent in my blogging and I haven't written in over a week and I feel terribly guilty. I offer the following post as some sort of explanation.

I have not heard from The Daft Punk and I deleted all of his phone numbers and emails. I could not contact him. I wouldn't know how. I am deeply hurt by the way he treated me and ended things and I'm not sure what to do about it. I can't wallow in self-pity, but if MAH is to be true to himself, he will refuse to allow him to get off the hook so easily. How Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction ("I will not be ignored, Dan"). I want him to feel bad. I want him to know that he hurt me. I want him to be ashamed of his behavior. Look, I have been rejected by my fair share of men. That's life, right? But when you're in your 30's and you've been dating for three months, the"never calling again" tactic is not acceptable. Aside from the fact, that I did like him and thought he liked me, it is, for me, more about feeling insignificant and rejected. I have a very difficult time meeting men. I am told that I send out "not interested" vibes. So, for me to meet someone and like them and want to see them again is very rare. My friends know that I have a very strong sense of right and wrong, this is both a strength and weakness, and it is wrong for someone to treat another human being like this. I cannot respect someone who doesn't have the balls to say what they feel and what they want and I don't feel that people who behave in this manner should get a fucking pass. You don't like me? I'll get over that. But the stimg that resulted from the manner in which you made me aware of that will not heal as quickly. So I'm pissed and I'm sad. No one has ever made me feel quite like that and it sucks. I feel like my therapist thinks I should call him and tell him this. I won't. I hate men. Well accept for friend's husbands, fiancees, and boyfriends, A,J,J,Marc, and Doc Harley.

Last Friday night, the highlight of which was meeting Doc Harley, who I really adore, I came home to find my LSAT score waiting in my email inbox. I won't reveal the score here, but I'm pleased, not ecstatic, but pleased. I scored higher on the real thing than I did on any of the diagnostics I took, so I guess that's good. So I can stop freaking out about that and start freaking out about something else: The Personal Statement. HELP!!!! I know what it can't be, but that leaves me with very little wiggle room as to what it can be. Basically, in two pages, I have to make the case for why I should be picked over 2,000 other applicants. I know what I bring to the table. I know I'm capable. So why is this so difficult? I have all of these ideas swirling around like a storm. I just need them to start intertwining with each other. I need to show the admissions committees how I think as oopposed to what I've done. It shouldn't be a biography and it shouldn't be my resume in prose. That's really hard. Synge says I'm overthinking it and undervaluing my abilities. She's right. I'm just not used to self reflection and that is what this exercise is all about. Thankfully, I have friends who are smart and good writers. Beware, drafts are on the way to all of you.

Finally, Vixanne and I were in a big fight. It's not important to rehash the details here. We hadn't spoken in about two weeks. She emailed me yesterday. I called her. It was as if nothing had happened. There's a familiarity between us that is both unnerving and comfortable. I can't imagine my life without it. I hope she can't either.

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

The one about My Big Fat Greek...Reception?

I did something on Sunday that I'd never done.

I was invited to a wedding, but only attended the reception. Somehow, to me, that seemed like cheating, like some sort of lie. Did I earn the right to attend the party if I didn't attend the ceremony? In fairness, the ceremony was in the Bronx and the party was in New Rochelle- not exactly within walking distance of each other. I was told that it was not uncommon to just attend the reception and that the bride, in fact, did not except us to attend the ceremony. I figured it must be something the goyim do. Jews would never do this. For pleasure, in this case food and drink, we must endure, which means sitting through some endless service.

Greek weddings are steeped in tradition. I think even more so that Jewish weddings. There was lots of folk dancing which went on for several hours. At one point the bride's mother pulled me into the dance circle, which I thought would be fun until I looked down and realized that there were actual steps involved rather than just randomly kicking and galloping in a circle. I faked it well enough. Old men danced together in the center of the room. I bet that they had grown up together. Could they have imagined when they were young in Greece that they would end up celebrating a wedding of one of their children decades later in Westchester New York?

This was an event steeped in ritual, in history. They spoke English and Greek. They sang Don't Cry for Me Argentina, which I thought was very strange. Members of the wedding party were assigned roles unfamiliar to me. Is this what it must be like for a non-Jew to stumble into a Jewish Wedding?

I was jealous of this close, large family. I don't have that. I haven't spoken to my cousins in years. I can't even remember the names of their children. I don't speak to my brothers nearly as often as I should. Our family just wasn't like that. I often wonder whether we have placed importance on things that aren't so important at the expense of forgetting things like family. I was reminded of this while I toasted my friend's joy. I thought of the people who, should I have a wedding, I would not be able to introduce, who I would not consider inviting for no other reason than the fact that I never thought it important to maintain those ties. Those people are strangers to me. I can never get that time back.

Oh, and a word of advice. Never, ever omit place cards from your wedding reception . Your guests will have no idea where to sit.