I'm a fighter, not a lover.

Monday, November 28, 2005


Back at work fresh (it's opposite day) from a whole lot of driving and family visiting and eating and settling seasonal rental errands.

Seasonal rental errands:
Although I haven't been on the snow yet this year (sigh), I was at Mount Snow yesterday to make arrangements for Adam and I to crash on the weekends in lovely Wilmington, Vermont. As of this weekend, I will become a New York ghost, only visible mid-week.

The house is chock full of wood paneling, bunk beds, plaid couches and random sports trophies from the early 1980s.

A perfect place to haunt.

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

Let's all cross our fingers for DMo

Or, rather, for Jess.

Tomorrow night, after traveling a couple hundred miles and dropping off some friends in southern Massachusetts for the holiday, she and I will roll into my grandparents' house, 12 or 16 hours before everyone else does.

Thursday is reckoning day. It's a big house, but it will be full of 20 or so large, boisterous Irish-Italian-Americans, split over three generations and 60- or 70-odd years.

Children will be running, kicking, yelling and begging us to join them in the toy closet full of antiquated board games -- each depicting an entirely too-well-behaved boy and girl having the time of their lives, circa 1962.

Various adults will be silently feuding, sometimes glaring from across the room, other times pretending they didn't hear something that was stated quite clearly.

My grandmother will work hard in the kitchen, refusing the insincerely offered help of others, save that of my Uncle Joe. Having arrived earlier than everyone else, he'll jump into peeling a pile of potatoes, ignoring her response, and will be sweating through his shirt within minutes.

Cousins will take turns on the piano, creating new chords with each forceful touch, oblivious to the fact that the instrument hasn't been tuned since before I was born.

Later, dinner will be served. The dining room is old and perfect, salvaged from time just for days like these: push-button light switches, wallpaper so hideous that it's beautiful, the good silver set atop darkly stained wood. The kids will sit just outside, including perhaps, Jess and I, but not my younger sister and her boyfriend. Various jokes will be made about my hairline, occupation, and where I choose to live. I'll roll with them. Various other jokes will then be pointed at my sister, who won't do so well.

At some point later, my grandfather will opt to take off his polo shirt and rock just the V-neck white undershirt, standing half-outdoors and half-in, alternately smoking and spitting the tobacco specks his unfiltered Paul Malls leave behind. Later, he'll fall asleep in his leather chair while various cousins climb atop him.

Finally, we'll have pie. The youngest of cousins too far gone to enjoy the sweets on their own, and instead take them from Mom or Dad's lap, while the grade school kids swallow yawns and pretend that they could sprint up and down the stairs all night.

I've explained all this to Jess. She seems up to the task.

Monday, November 21, 2005

The new HP

Saw the new Harry Potter film yesterday.

I like this whole idea of new filmmakers for each go, especially given that the first two movies were rubbish. I really liked the third one (and really liked the third book), and I think it remains my favorite.

The newest is good and remains dark, instead of trying to dumb things down and make everything warmer (like the aforementioned Chris Columbus crap) for a younger audience. What's most interesting about it, I think, is that this film really assumes that the audience has read the fourth installment; several things are never explained, but rather, sort of passed over.

Excuses, begging, etc.

I needed some time off. Documenting things via web humiliation is fun and all, but sometimes you just need a break. Now though (I think), I am ready to remount the proverbial horse and aim for a more dedicated attempt at updates from here in NY.

I'll let you in on a little secret: in Salt Lake, well, there isn't that much to divert your attention from "blogging." And, it's even kind of cool.

Here, everyone and his dog has a blog (less cool) and my days bring me from one diversion to the next: a night I have sworn to be dedicated to dishes and reading turns into several beers on the wrong side of the East River; a quick trip to the neighborhood pizzeria takes me far from my neighborhood; agreeing to have "one drink" at a friend-of-a-friend's birthday party puts me to bed after four; etc.

It's fantastic, but costly. It weighs heavily on both my time and wallet.

Thursday, November 17, 2005

Not dead

Just busy and lazy... Driving to Massachusetts to one weekend, flying to Florida the next. Wiring the apartment. Checking out shows (heading to Willie Nelson and Ryan Adams tonight!). Preparing for ski season -- during which time I'll really become invisible as Adam and I may have pulled it off and found a house in Southern Vermont.

Hope everyone is spectacular.