signed, sealed, delivered

well, the CD is made, the packaging is cool, the bloggers have committed... the new pH mix, Warning: High Voltage, is in the mail for jenny, sam, matthieu, mendy, biscuit, and shiv. two are being held for mark and pix, and kyle, i'm still waiting on that address! and of course, one for stuart, just because.

the awesome line-up, in case you're jealous:

dance hall crashers - buried alive
the dandy warhols - get off
rhett miller - our love
ed harcourt - shanghai
death cab for cutie - sound of settling
french kicks - wrong side
ben folds five - best imitation of myself
old 97's - murder or a heart attack
promise ring - arms and danger
athlete - we got the style
nada surf - the way you wear your head
suede - beautiful ones
weezer - the good life

enjoy!

they stare because they care

n.b.: people that are overly attached to the icons of their lost childhoods and refuse to hear a single word of amusing wickedness said against things like cabbage patch dolls, smurfs, or strawberry short cake... best get out now. you've been warned.

we've all heard how the smurfs are modeled after communism. some of us have heard (but some of us steadfastly disagree) that bert and ernie were actually created to show kids that two men living together and sharing a life was normal.

but i think i may be one of the few people who got creeped out by care bears.

i mean, really, okay? care bears? they live in a land, secluded from the rest of us, where they can care and love and smile and sing all day. they sometimes "have" to come "down to earth" to surround a human who "doesn't know how to care" and stare them down with their messages of love and... you guessed it... caring.

they emit a "stare" of "care" from their stomachs, messages of hope and love and sharing and faith and listening. they literally corner people who "don't care enough" and force-feed them morality.

does this SOUND like the Religious Right to anyone else? i mean, okay, they're cute and fluffy, how could they be evil, right?

has anyone else seen ralph reed? he doesn't look like he'd exise your free will just as fast as he'd look at you. but give him some pink fur, a round belly with the word "JESUS!" written on it, and a circle of fuzzy caring compatriots...

and you've got yourself a good old fashioned brainwashing.

music to my ears, mixes to yours

gone are the long morose days of winter, whiskey, and loneliness. one of my favourite ways to greet the longer, improved days of summer is batches of fresh springy music. usually, i do this by spending too much money at some CD megastore. when i can't afford that - which is always - i just content myself with my current collection.

but the combination of my brand-new shiny mac ibook, the dinky but persistent little rio MP3 player that my parents got me, and my new lovebug being such a music-freak... well, that foot-tapping love of music has been reborn in my heart.

so here's the deal - there are a handful of CDs that i've been coveting for a while. some, my friends have them but don't have burners, and i've never gotten around to borrowing it. some, i used to have and lost. some, i have and are scratched beyond recognition.

i'm going to print the list here. you are going to read it. as savvy, hip bloggers and blogger-afficionados, you probably own some of this music. here is how this is gonna go down:

1. read list.
2. recognize personal possessions in CD collection on list.
3. email me with the CD you have to offer. include your own address.
4. if i haven't already had that particular need filled, i will reply with my address, and concurrently drop an AMAZING MIX CD* in the mail for you, full of rockin', spring goodness.

*trust me. it'll be amazing. it'll also have a cool arty cover. because i'm just that kind of girl. plus dj boyfriend will probably run an expert eye over it for any possible flaws.

interested?

Coveted CDs of 2004 are as Follows:

1. Norah Jones - Almost Home thanks jenny!
2. Norah Jones - Come Away with Me thanks shiv!
*bonus* 2a. Norah Jones with Peter Malick Group - New York thanks sam!
3. Suede - Coming Up thanks mark!
4. Ben Folds - Rockin' the Suburbs thanks kyle!
5. White Stripes - Elephant thanks mendy!
6. Shins - Chutes Too Narrow thanks kyle again!
7. Outkast - Speakerboxx/Love Below thanks anna!
8. Rufus Wainwright - Want One thanks biscuit!

and, as crap shoots since i've never heard them but people whose taste i trust like them:

9. Snow Patrol - Final Straw thanks pix!
10. Iron and Wine - The creek drank the cradle thanks matthieu!

so i'm ready for your music if you're ready for mine. BRING IT...

open the door and come on in...

come in. find a cardboard box to sit on. have a slice of pizza and grab a beer out of the fridge. sorry - they're not cold - we just plugged everything in.

over there, you'll find the long texts, don't they look great against that wall? and of course, we've already unpacked the archives, you'll find them in the backstory room. ooh, don't go through those doors just yet, darlings, the paint is still drying in the about and links rooms.

now where did my hunky men go? oh! there's biscuit, of course, who's just moved in down the hall and is busy sprucing his place up ... thanks for the heavy lifting, darling, those archives are so unwieldy! and here, his hands all covered in bits of code... jason! everyone be sure to compliment him on the gorgeous banner and the charming fonts and... well, the whole design. i just sat by and watched, amazed, as he threw it together. here's a beer, love.

and finally, the first of many new neighbors on our cozy little tribe server... shivery! give her the pizza now before her boy gets here and she feels bad about all the cheese.

well? what do you think? do you love it?

god save the queen

sure, it doesn't look that big. compared to the apartment building. but then you look over at the gorky, some perfectly adequate and luxurious russian ship that sailed up the hudson yesterday and is docked two slips away and you look back at the honkingly large queen mary 2 and you think to yourself and sometimes out loud,

CHRIST IN A SIDECAR, THAT IS ONE FUCKING MASSIVE BOAT.

the poor gorky has already checked itself into therapy and is having trouble performing.

tree for the forest

we were at a restaurant in rio when it happened. my brother and i had been invited to dinner with an old family friend and his kids. his son, M, and his stepson, C, were both there. the exchange that followed may have gone completely unnoticed by their family, may in fact be a common occurence, but it was rather a watershed moment for me.

C is twenty eight, rakishly good looking in the way puppy dogs are cute even when they've piddled on the sofa. he takes almost excessively good care of his sculpted body, and probably knows how endearing it is when his thick brown hair flops over his inquisitive blue eyes. C surfs, owns a hip-hop club, and thinks "smoking makes women look ugly", as he so charmlessly told me while i took a drag off my cigarette. as i watched C drink his water and wave away smoke, i tired to remember what i found so attractive about him last year.

M is four years older, with a quiet but intelligent wife and a sparkling and adored four year old girl. M has eyes like brownie batter and patchy black hair. he's tall and his muscles sit comfortably on a bigger frame. he wears the same thing nearly every day - slightly rumpled but expensive button-downs and worn jeans. he takes after his father, with a kind easy charm and a smile for everyone. even better, M lacks his father's innate but harmless womanizing.

dessert came around, and with his treasured daughter hanging off his shoulder and his wife ready with a spoon, M happily dug into the enormous ice cream sundae. C, tanned arms crossed over his smooth flat chest, looked askance at M's dessert.

"what is it, C?" M asked jovially. "want some?"

with the kind of smirk that turns a handsome face into a fleetingly grotesque one, C replied, "ah, so that's when you know you're over the hill, eh? when you eat that kind of junk? all downhill from here, M?"

only my brother and i seemed to notice how incredibly rude this was. our eyes locked with mirrored surprise. the ugly smokers comment, now this? i watched M as he ruffled his daughter's hair. he looked at her, and at his wife engaged in a conversation with his parents. then he turned back to C.

"when you can sit here, with your family, and be happy... you can eat an entire sundae, C. you'll see." he lifted another spoonful of chocolate and ice cream to his daughter's mouth and wiped her cheek.

C laughed, "ah, sure, yeah."

the conversation was probably just a joust between brothers. on all other fronts, C and M obviously get along very well. perhaps this was a routine of theirs. but the implication is heavy - what makes you happy, your trim waistline or your family?

i couldn't forget this exchange, or how devalued C's shallow good looks became in comparison to M's warmth and kindness. C actually became ugly in my eyes, while M's more natural good looks struck me for the first time. i've always believed people are only as beautiful as their personalities. so why had i even found C attractive in the first place? more to the point, how had i not seen it in M?

for so long, i chased the wrong kind of guy. my friends didn't have to tell me ... i knew i could never settle down with any of these men. i knew they'd never look at a sundae shared with me and our children as one of life's precious moments. and i knew i would. but knowing who the wrong ones are doesn't always make the right ones stand out. i couldn't always see the tree for the forest.

watching M delight in his friends and family, watching the kind of wisdom i cherished fall so easily from his lips, made me realize that my radar had finally kicked in. i finally knew the good ones. after years of chasing the C's and wondering where all the M's were, i could spot them a mile away. both kinds.

so it's not surprising to me that i love stuart. it's not remotely surprising that i see him for exactly what he is - a brilliant, kind, beautiful person - and that i love him for it. it's not surprising that i fell like a metric ton of bricks at his charm, his warmth, his compassion for everyone around him, his intelligence and his charisma. it's not surprising i'm irresistibly attracted to him, that i feel both strong and delicate in his arms. it might come as a shock to the girl from a few years ago, who barked up the wrong trees and knew it. but this girl has been waiting for him.

thursday, march eighteenth...

was exactly four weeks ago. and exactly four weeks ago, i returned from brasil and met stuart at shiv's apartment. the week that followed was simply the most magical week of my entire life. it went too quickly, and now time drags on as i count down the days until i see him again [current count: 42 a-g-o-n-i-z-i-n-g-l-y long days]. but in honor of this tiny little milestone, here's an excerpt from the long, beautiful story of that week that i've been writing since he left. here's the spark that started it all.

...there is always a telltale moment in the dance of attraction between two people, be it physical or emotional. a toss of hair, crossing your legs in their direction, an unecessary touch on the elbow when walking through a crowded area. i fully admit to being a master of these subtle directives and am usually fully aware of when i’m beguiling someone with charm. but this was the exception to the rule. here's how it was: we sat down in the living room, you on the couch and me on the adjacent armchair. dom had arrived and we were chitchatting aimlessly. i had kicked off my boots hours earlier, and in the act of lighting a cigarette and settling into the armchair, i tucked one foot under and extended the other, letting it rest on the corner of your knee.

i will swear to my grave that prior coquetterie aside, i did this completely without pretense. i was getting comfortable, my foot needed someplace to rest, and there was your jean-clad knee. you, whom i'd immediately warmed to. whose very first smile thrilled me. the moment my foot pressed your knee, as natural as that action was, alarms went off in my head. you, someone i’d so instantly liked and admired, might think i was hitting on you so blatantly! an unfamiliar element of prudishness took over. i didn't want to flirt with you like a cat with some new plaything. the way i flirted with countless other men, often to pass the time at parties. i actually liked you.

in the instant your eyes met mine, not two seconds after making contact, i withdrew the forward foot, feeling almost ashamed that you’d think it was a crude advance. the look on your face was too quick for me to read. it was a small smile, with a touch of surprise to the eyes. on the subway ride home, i tried to decipher that sphinxian look. i berated myself for my thoughtless foot. but it'd felt so simple, and there'd been such a strangely familiar chemistry passing from foot to knee. i hadn't meant to do it. and yet, i couldn't stop thinking about it.

days later, our arms and legs were comfortably entwined as we rode the subway, kissing and smiling every three minutes as we did all week. you looked at me, were quiet for a minute, and said, "you're going to think this is really strange, but i know the exact moment."

i was already fluent in our language. so i knew what kind of moment you meant. "when?" i asked. and i thought, wouldn't it be funny, but no - no one notices that kind of stuff but me - still -

"your foot -", you started to explain further, but i was laughing by then.

"me too!" and then we rushed over each other's words, only to find we were saying the same thing. the same feeling of ease, the same pleasant surprise of the foot, the same moment of shock as i withdrew it... the same.

and then we kissed.

i love you stuart. and my foot loved your knee even before that. here's to four more weeks, a million times over.

Out of Memory, Please Back Up Important Information

have you ever had a piece of information fall out of your head? you're walking along and plop, something you swear up and down you used to be completely sure of... is gone. what remains is simply the empty slot in your brain where the information used to live. so you have a memory of information. just not the information itself.

this happened to my best friend once. she couldn't remember a word. she knew the meaning of the word she was looking for, and then she couldn't remember it. we spent an entire weekend trying to remember the word, asking everyone we knew if they could remember it. the funny thing is, now i can't remember it either. see? and i haven't even done enough drugs for this to be blamed on the inevitable short-term memory-loss.

but yesterday i lost something of my own. something fell out of my ear. something i've known for years. it's the force-quit command for macs.

i've been dealing with fidgety, dodgy macs for five years. mostly in college, where i ran the newspaper on that plasticky-bit-on-the-end-of-a-shoestring budget (is there even a word for that plasticky bit? have i forgotten that too?). the temperamental macs that pissed everyone off at the computer lab? those were handed down to us, cinderella-style. our computers here at work, too, are cranky old apples. so i'm quite used to force-quitting a program in order to keep work-flow moving.

and then yesterday, IE freaked out on me like it does on a daily basis, and i forgot how to force-quit. i spent all day willing my fingers to naturally gloss back over those beloved and useful keys to execute to ship-saving prompt. nothing. i've psyched myself out. i can't remember.

database out of memory space. please help.

joey the wiseguy meets carrie bradshaw, here i come

friends and enemies alike have long been aware of my oft-repeated threat to defend and/or deface them with my particular weapon of choice. the sentence usually goes something like this:
"i will SO TOTALLY smack you/her/him/them about the head/knees with my Pink Baseball Bat."

see, because it's a baseball bat. so it's good for the smashy-smashy. but it's also pink. which matches my smashing-outfit. which is probably some sort of pink vinyl catsuit. the Awesome Pink Baseball Bat of Style and Doom, however, has long been nothing more than a metaphor for my powers as charm-goddess and feared enemy combined. not so anymore.

as if i needed further proof that stuart is the new walking definition of the Perfectest Man Alive, i present you with his first real gift to me in his new capacity of Beloved:

seriously, people, the owl is now armed. and dangerous. and stylish to the hilt.

a promise or a threat

"people may refuse our love, but they are defenseless against our prayers."

- written on the billboard of the baptist church on hope street, providence, RI.

well, happy easter to each and every one of us. even the godless heathens.

tele-kin-love-pathy what is it

tele-kin-love-pathy

what is it about being in love that throws in a new dimension to time? ever since stuart left new york, my brain has added an extra set of hands to its clock. i'm sitting on the couch in the morning, eating my english muffin and listening to katie couric's inane chatter? it's also right after lunchtime and he's sitting down at his desk, trying to work. i'm hitting my three pm slump and suddenly getting a craving for chocolate? he's at home, cooking up dinner or reading on his sofa. i'm emerging from under the river into the sunny steel jungle-gym that is the queens above-ground? he's pulling the covers his head [and starting the heart-wrenchingly adorable twitch/tiny-snore/REM-whimper that is the first ten minutes of falling asleep for him]. my day exists in two time zones.

it could be because we talk at least twice a day. because he's my alarm clock and my afternoon smoke break, and countless emails in between, making sure to fill each other in on the smallest mundanities of our days. because he knows how i stupidly volunteered my spreadsheet skills for a massive project and i know what page he's on with kavalier and clay.

or it could be because we're swimmingly in love, and love has a funny way of making you psychic. i can be working on a project, talking on the phone to friends, or riding the subway, but there's a babbling creek of thought running under everything i do. and it's the thought of him.

so tonight, when i emerged from three hours of greek easter service, i was not ten paces from the front doors when my phone rang. and i knew where he was before he told me - on the bus returning from newport to ventnor after a night out with dave. a route, mind you, that i've already seen on maps and in his stories. a route i feel i've traveled countless times.

perhaps the hyper-awareness i have of his world, the depths to which i crave his presence even if only in particles sent via satellite, fine-tunes my mind to his movements. this could just be the marvel of modern communications that makes me so connected to his cherished body and its place in the physical world.

or it could be the sheer mass of grey matter he's happily taken over in my brain, that little voice sitting in a corner of my mind, humming his name to itself over and over again and doing little dances.

hell, it could be as simple as the fact that our watches are set to each other's time zones, an action done independently of each other. just going to show where our hearts are.

or it could be what scientists call telepathy but is referred to in the vernacular as "grinning idiots in love".

Things People Have Asked

Things People Have Asked About Stuart and Myself That Annoy The Crap Out of Me*:

* please don't take my insults personally if you've asked me any of these questions. but also don't take it personally when you fall ass backwards in love and i hurl these annoying questions right back at you.

"so, you met on the internet?" this is usually said by non-bloggers. people who think that all web-writers ever do is have anonymous careless sex with each other and/or psychotic murderers they meet in chat-rooms. what bothers me about the question isn't the yes or no answer. yes, in fact, the internet was the medium through which stuart and i got to know each other. no, without the internet, we may not have met. but neither of us blog for the express purpose of dating and/or screwing other people. blogging, contrary to how many blog-based couples there are out there, is not nerve.com. so yes, we met on the internet and no, it's not like that. and oh, if you don't surgically remove the derision from your voice this instant, i will smack you about the head with my trusty pink baseball bat.

"you were only with each other a WEEK?!" yes. we were. and yes. we fell in love. and no, i don't care if you think that's logistically possible. luckily for everyone involved, you're not me OR stuart. so bugger off.

"how are you going to handle being separated until he moves here?" thanks. now you made me cry. how about this? i'll wipe my tears on a massive pile of crisp hundred dollar bills you just gave me, and then buy weekly round trip tickets with them.

"are you worried you'll get tired of waiting?" i don't know, are you worried we might prove your cynic derision WRONG? back off with the negative vibes, dude.

"what if you meet someone else?" THWACK THUMP MOAN THUD. in case you couldn't tell, this is the point in the conversation where i start bludgeoning you to death with my pink baseball bat.

"can i have a fry?" i realize this is completely unrelated to stuart, but i'm telling you right now, he's the only person that is allowed to eat french fries off my plate. otherwise i will bring out the you-know-who and you-know-what you about the head. i'm an only child. back off.

Things About Stuart that Make Answering Stupid Annoying Questions Completely Worthwhile*:

* this is positively dripping with sugar. read on at your own risk and don't complain to me in the comment box that you've got cavities.

my wake-up call every morning. the phone rings, playing frank sinatra's "New York, New York" and i wake up with a massive grin, grab the phone, snuggle back under the covers, and hear "i love you" first thing in the morning.

the way his eyes crinkle up when he smiles. every single thing about his eyes.

the way he's the only man who can call me 'baby' without my wrath.

how we promised each other not to cry, at the airport, and stuck to it. until we were 10 feet apart and distancing with every step. and then i sobbed uncontrollably. but still, we smiled our goodbyes.

how my mother loves him already.

the way he shakes his head a little when just getting into an exciting topic, as if to shake the words free from his mind.

the day we stayed in bed until four, eating milano cookies and telling stories.

the look of utter delight on his face as we stepped out onto the balcony of the ferry and watched new york sliding towards us, across the water. and how it's now our town.

his smile, the very first minute we met. and every minute after that.

the bestest kiss [thanks

the bestest kiss

[thanks to jason for being there with the camera. and to stuart. for like, being.]

the cat *meeeeowwww* is

the cat *meeeeowwww* is outta the bag

i have a greek-bred superstition about broadcasting good news before it's set in stone or already happened. but since my shiny new publisher-man has decided to publish the list of bloggers included in cyan's first book, let me just take this opportunity to say:

wheeeeeeeeeee.

i wonder if people ever get used to the words, "hi, we'd like to publish you". does salman put down the phone, rub his wrinkly forehead and sigh with boredom? do any of the many johns groan inwardly at the words "bestseller!" and "brilliant!"? does james patterson, at this point, hate the sight of his name in gaudy raised letters at airport bookstores? on second thought, he should. james patterson, stop writing. seriously.

i have always wanted to be a writer. as a child, i made little daily books for my family, writing down carefully the day's events and copying them meticulously before stapling together the various pages and illustrating it. then i'd have a hugely successful wide-release throughout the house and celebrate with skittles. my mother looked at me with sarcasm when i told her, in my teens, "i think i want to be a writer." she sighed exasperatedly and said, "you've always been a writer. that's what you're going to do."

and here, this little blog that i started so off-the-cuffedly, is bringing me to a path i had almost given up on. thanks, guys. thanks, josh. thanks, brain. and here i go. step one, how are you doing today?

a small poem "Among

a small poem

"Among the men and women, the multitude,  
I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs,  
Acknowledging none else—not parent, wife, husband, brother, child, any nearer than I am;  
Some are baffled—But that one is not—that one knows me.  
  
Ah, lover and perfect equal!          
I meant that you should discover me so, by my faint indirections;  
And I, when I meet you, mean to discover you by the like in you."
- Walt Whitman

i read that poem for the first time at sixteen. a week ago, i read it to you in bed. and i meant every word.