and we’re back

back to normal stupid crap life.

You don’t call you don’t write

You know, every day I get smackfactor fan mail asking why I don’t post anymore. Not really. I don’t get any, and that’s fine. I come home from work, sometimes at 1AM, sometimes 11PM, but never at 6PM to stay.  And I look at the computer and think about writing… and then I think about the 5-600 words I have to write the next day, not including clever captions (it’s hard to be even remotely clever on a daily basis), and even more clever captions in a flickr set. Then I think “oh, I’ll edit those Ohio photos!” and then I think about the sometimes hundreds of photos I need to sift through, edit out, and then edit and caption in a less than 24 hour turn around time period.

And then I don’t complain. I just don’t post. I don’t edit photos for pleasure. But I have my dream job.

I don’t really have much to say anyway without sounding like some pretentious buttass blathering about this terrace and that rooftop and this mag party and that site relaunch. I could post about that funny thing that Factor said or did if I actually got to spend quality time with him that doesn’t include me

• reminding him to pick up garbage
• asking him to move shit around
• asking for compliments
• arguing about nothing much
• being drunk and stupid

Yeah. This is the good life.

shut up, head

Here I am, 3:47AM EST and I’m up.  I woke up because my brain is too loud.   Seriously.  I got home from a work thing a bit before 10:00PM and went straight to bed (after the customary minor snipe fest with Factor).   Suddenly, my eyes popped open.  I have this Daft Punk song in my head that won’t go away.  and headlines.  And variations on head lines.   And captions, and variations on captions.  And things I want to remember from today (yesterday) so I can write about them tomorrow (today).  And how I’m going to survive this week.  And trying not to forget my nephews birthday.  And follow up notes I need to write to people I’ve met at events.  And vacation in Red Bank.  It’s all just a sick loud mess in my brain and it’s keeping me from falling back to sleep.

I closed my eyes and tried, I really did, but it felt like I was falling backwards through a tunnel with the walls flying past either side of my head.  I got dizzy and all I could hear was this damn Daft Punk tune.

I WISH I was going out of my head.  Then it would be quiet.

A true journalist never becomes part of the story

Ah yes, always reporting the story, not becoming the story. well cross your fingers that no one in rows 12 and 14 had their video cameras or camera phones on, or any possible recording device as I made my way home from Vegas to NYC, rounding out 36 hours of hardcore free as a bird partying. I was so proud of myself as I woke up Saturday morning without a hangover for drinking only water the last hour or so of my evening. wow, such control. Such responsibility. Sigh. I was so proud that, before I left for the big party at Bare, I had scheduled a wake up call, packed, and consolidated my stuff back into one bag. I headed out to Bare feeling pretty sassy in satin “King Richard” poofy short sleeve tangerine/burnt sun shorty shorty dress. Of course, I dropped my lip gloss near my hooha so it looked like something might be trying to escape, but whatever.

The setting was glam, the people were self important, the hosts were fantastic, the food was deplorable. The afterparty was a who’s who of douchetown and the mayor had the clipboard. But let’s talk about the flight home, because that’s where it gets good. I got to the airport two hours before boarding so i could write, have a bloody mary, and just get close to “away from Vegas” as possible. I think it’s a crap town. I hate it to be honest. It’s depressing, it’s trying to be something it’s not (like, um, if you want to stay in a hotel that looks like the buildings of New York, hows about spend your hard earned money on a trip to the REAL city instead of a depressing poor man’s version?) I think that’s really the theme of Vegas: low class aiming for a self imposed importance… that fails. It’s all about loss and how willful a marketing pawn you are. Sometimes I hate being older - it’s too much awareness.

Anyway. Bloody Mary in full effect, I wandered over to the gate and saw all the poor hungover schmucks from the night before. I assumed it would be a quiet flight. I figured no one would be talking, just a lot of napping. I assumed wrong. Free vodka and beer AGAIN, and new seat partners for me because I switched at check in for a window. Turns out my seatmates were fans of ordering a bloody mary and Dos Equis at the same time. We had 4 rounds of each within a 3-4 hour time window. just in time to hit gut flopping turbulence. just enough time to really really regret my choice as we were forced to land in Rochester in order to refuel and wait out the violence. And Rochester? just enough time for me to fill four barfbags full of honk - to be relayed to the main garbage and back by my saintly seatmates (two gruff and funny guys from “the Suffolk). just enough time to have an annoucement made … certainly not beacuse of me, noooo,

“If anyone is feeling ill, which we’ve had reports of, please move to the front or back of the plane so you can reach the bathroom more quickly” - this was after major turbulence, but yeah, that’s not why I honked.

I arrived in New York, slipping out of the Broadway/Lafeyette stop, at 2:00am. Home just before 2:30, showered, and in bed. Today all I could think of was how that honking situation could have been so much worse. Those guys could have been horrible assholes. They rallied all the seats around us and got every single barfbag in a 12 seat radius. They saved me.

so yeah. I guess time will tell if anyone kept a record of that. I made it through Vegas without barfing, just in time to hork in Rochester, NY.

I don’t usually do this

But raccoons, the verb burgle, and the word burglar in general give me hysterics.

oh yeah. I read that blog. I guess I’m admitting something to you with this post also.

It’s not always about size

Met this guy last night.  I was feeling really inferior with my little XTi snapping away with no addons, just me.  this guy had some magical flash rounder outer, a huge battery pack, and a honkin lens.   We looked at each other, did the ole camera nod (its like a gentle lifting of the cameras at each other, like we’re letting our dogs sniff each others’ butts), and he came over.  He told me that the rounder outer thing is magic.  Totally blows away peoples flaws without blowing out their retinas.  I watched him in action and really did feel impotent the rest of the night.  I was afraid to look at my “roll” of crappy blurred out crappy crap.  I really had anxiety about it, I’m not going to lie.

But you know what?  I got some really decent shots given the low light (again!)  and irritable subjects (I got rejected for the first time.. by the first group of gals I met.  Your shit stinks just like the rest of us, snatchbags)

Anyway, here’s the guy - one of my favorite shots of the night:

you can find his stuff at www.azikiwephoto.com

so, i’ve been plurking

and you know what, I guess I’m just a sucker for cute. I love cute odd things. The colors, the design, and I guess the word plurk finally snagged me. I made fun at first. But now, now I think I might just like to Plurk. Oh, and ps. You can insert html. Can’t do that in twitter now can you? Like this guy, who will always make me chuckle:

Meet me at Habana Outpost

You must go.  Beautiful bright colors, tasty delicious corn and plantains.  Eco Eatery style joint that not only fills you with good food, but aims to minimize waste and energy consumption.

Oh yeah, and I just found out - they have burlesque on Mondays.  hells yeah.

Listing

You know, just a couple things, that I thought as I got out of bed

• I think I’ve got some severe pms working.  I’m cranky about many many things.
• the party I had to cover last night SUCKED.  I guess because I used to plan events I am always disappointed when there isn’t a clear path and cruise director.  I mean, the PR rep that pulled all the guests together wasn’t even there.  To me that’s poor.  Plus, the drinks were TERRIBLE and you couldn’t get an alternative to the sponsored beverage.  I thought I might die.
• I ate pizza last night and I’m feeling major major guilt and anger about it.  I blame the party last night.
• My friends Quail and Hamster will never like each others’ love interests.  When they stop making fun of each other’s bangers, that is when they’ll totally score
• I plan to go to the gym after work and before this black tie event.   I feel the pizza rolling around in my fat belly and frankly, I don’t want to keep shelling out money for the gym to NOT go.  Sheesh.
• Bowling for Columbine made me depressed, scared, really angry at gun laws, that stupid ass Charlton HEston, and occasionally Michael Moore.   Michael Moore because if you’re stupid enough to blindly follow instead of challenging and questioning, you miss the point.  I hate people that hate michael moore because he’s a dramatic pompous ballhound.   But he’s doing it on purpose people.  Question where you are or you’re just an apathetic ass farm.
• I want a puppy, bad.  I’m going to do some research to see if I could potentially bring a dog to work so that he wouldn’t be neglected.   I’m beginning my research today so I can better propose the situation to Factor.

Must shower now.

daily photo (set): carnivorous me

clammy guy

ribeye!

factor likes meat