1.30.2005
I Could Do This For Hours
g8s took this photo when we lived in Coney Island. The Boys and I would "toilette" as we called it, for hours in front of a long line of different mirrors. Just a few blocks away, at the Coney Island Freak Show, you could walk through a maze of warped mirrors, but in #2R, the fun was had in front of mirrors reflecting a beautiful version of yourself.
I worked in the PR dept. of Lancome and pilfered thousands of dollars of make-up and skin product over a three month period. Most of the fun of going out dancing would be the preparation to leave. The Boys and I would change outfits and apply facial scrubs. We would take turns as dj and smoke cigarettes out the kitchen window.
g8r.
Eventually, toilette involved munching on tablets of ecstasy and snorting lines of coke as well. But, with our without drugs, we had impossible amounts of fun. I miss those days.
This is the beginning.
1.27.2005
Oh, Leonard
Purrrrrr. . . .a geek crush on Leonard Lopate.
1.26.2005
I Want Your Monogamy
Balls and chain.I wrote a piece in college about monogamy. I was thriving in my hypersexuality. I had wonderful casual sex and flirted with everything that moved. I still do. Flirt, that is. I blasted monogamy as a puritanical value created to extinguish female sexuality. I believed monogamy to be an unattainable and ridiculous carrot to chase.
That attitude continued for several years. And then I became monogamous. I have had sex with the same man for just over 5 years. Okay, well, there was that one girl last year, but my boyfriend was there, too, so that doesn't count.
(Miss Hag. hopes her mother doesn't read this.)
Recently, Chuck Klosterman wrote an article for the Feb.2005 issue of Esquire magazine. The article tackled the enigma of monogamy based around an interesting scenario. Here's the gist:
Let's say you have two friends named Jack and Jane. They have been romantically involved for two years, and the relationship has always been good. Then, one day, Jack calls you and sadly mutters, "Jane just broke up with me." You ask why this happened. Jack says, "She thinks I cheated on her." You ask, "Well, did you?" Jack says, "I'm not sure. Something strange happened."
This is what Jack proceeds to tell you:
"There is this woman in my apartment building who I barely know. I've seen her in the hallway a few times, and we've just sort of nodded our hellos. She is very normal looking, neither attractive nor unattractive. Last week, I came home from the bar very drunk, and I ran into her while I was getting my mail. She was drunk, too. So just to be neighborly, we decided to go to her apartment to have one more beer. But because we were intoxicated, the conversation was very loose and slightly flirtatious. And then, she suddenly tells me that she has a bizarre sexual quirk: She can only have an orgasm if a man watches her masturbate. This struck me as fascinating, so I started asking questions about why this was. And then--somehow--it just sort of happened. I never touched her and I never kissed her, but I ended up watching this woman masturbate. And then I went home and went to bed. I told Jane about this a few days later, mostly because it was all so weird. But Jane went fucking insane, and she angrily said our relationship was over. Now she won't even return my calls."
Whose side do you take? Klosterman breaks down various arguments based on conversations he posits with various people. As you might assume, most women take Jane's side, most (straight) men, Jack's. The fascinating thing is the reasoning behind people's arguments. Is it only infidelity if fluids are exchanged?
Miss Hag. urges you to bring this one up at your next cocktail gathering. It gets people talking in a most invigorating manner. One could say that although Jack didn't physically engage with the sexual miscreant neighbor, he did knowingly participate in getting her off. He could have drawn the line after her admission, depite his impaired decision making skills. But then again, he is a straight man. It's hard to account for them.
One could say that since Jack told Jane out of bewilderment, that he is innocent. Or at least forgivable.
Klosterman's article examines an interesting theory about monogamy. Some "sexperts" argue that monogamy is no longer relevant biologically. The average life span is thirty years longer than it was one century ago. Some believe that monogamy is biologically incompatible with the modern life span. Klosterman argues that we reach a point when we realize that monogamy is unreasonable. We no longer choose it. He goes on to propose that, the best way for an unattractive man to get an attractive woman, is to pursue a married one. The idea being that, the unattractive man will be made desirable simply by the fact he is not her husband.
The key is the desire to cheat. Klosterman writes, "Motivation is everything. Wanting to cheat on someone but failing is no different from actually cheating, and the reason something happens is way more important than the act itself." He absolves Jack from cheating because he believes Jack's intentions were merely to get his mail. However, the fact that he chose to have a drink with a woman, not his girlfriend, while admittedly intoxicated and chose to pursue what was obviously a proposition from the floozy and chose not to run out in horror the second the clitoris (See below.) rubbing started proves unreasonable intentions.
It's not number 5.
Miss Hag.'s bottom line (pun intended. . . or not?) to any straight man out there who wants to stay in his monogamous relationship: The minute any woman, not your girlfriend or wife, starts to discuss her clitoris (even in a very abstract manner, but especially if it involves rubbing it in front of you), make a choice quickly. Run quickly away from the scenario, and never never tell anyone. Or, stay and watch, and never never tell anyone.
Postcards from the Edge
Wish you were here. And could read French.
Patrick sent us an update from Guadeloupe. The tomatoes and fish are fresh. The exchange rate sucks.
He is staying on La Desirade, which I learned used to be a leper colony for over 200 years (until the 1950's). Because of its remoteness from the main islands, La Desirade is the least developed and least visited parts of Guadeloupe. Patrick wrote that he hiked for three hours and never ran into a soul. He stumbled upon a pile of hermit crabs, the size of a balled up fist.
I picture him walking along an empty beach, hemmed in by warm water the color of glass, the ghosts of the shunned scuttling around the ankles of his shadow, chasing the ebbing sand towards the horizon.Strawberry Hermit Crab.
1.21.2005
'Nuff said.
There is H.O.P.E.
Note to Paris Hilton.
I learned recently of a group called H.O.P.E., Horrified Observers of Pedestrian Entertainment. They demonstrate in front of appearances by questionably talented but unreasonably famous people (e.g. Paris Hilton, Ashlee Simpson) and hold up signs like the one pictured. I saw a photo of one gentlemen at Paris' book signing holding a sign that said, "Read a Book, Don't Write One." Come on. That's some funny shit.
Want to particpate? Check out this petition to Ashlee Simpson's record company to make her stop singing. Funnily enough, some of her supporters and fans signed the petition as well, "just to get their voice heard that some people still support her talent." Just goes to show the intelligence quotient of a person who claims to support a pop star by signing a petition to stop her from singing. Huh? Yeah, why don't you read a book as well, sweetie. Books. Check 'em out.
1.19.2005
Good Manners Turn Me On
Good Manners Turn Me On.
One topic of constant concern to myself and my friends (who are now or have been in the service industry) is manners. We encounter such horrific manners on a daily basis that we have become cynical and angry people.
For instance, last week I was working on a busy Thursday night and a customer at one of the tables left the table and went around the corner to the deli. He purchased a pint of Haagen Dazs and ate it at the table nonchalantly. Like it was no big deal. When we confronted him that, no, you cannot bring outside food into a restaurant and consume it, one of his friends at the table exclaimed, "Well, someone should tell people you can't do that!"
Apparently, no one is being taught about good manners and etiquette. I have done a little web research and I see that there are books for young children about manners and there are even courses for business people on good business etiquette. However, everyday good manners are a lost art. One that desperately needs re-finding.
Some of the most basic skills I notice (and some of my pet peeves):
** Say "please" and "thank you." These phrases are invaluable, especially in restaurants. Just watch how much your service improves when you ask for something by saying, "May I please have . . ." instead of "Give me . . . " or "I want . . ." Think you don't do it? You're wrong. I see parents telling their children to say these phrases, turning around and barking at me, "Hey! Coffee!"
** If someone holds a door open for you as a courtesy, say "Thank you" and, unless they held the door for you because your hands are obviously full of packages, make a motion to grab the door in passing. Not only are you acknowledging that the kind person before you is not a doorman, you will probably pass along the kindness to the person behind you.
** For God's sake, cover your mouth when you sneeze or cough. Do I have to explain WHY?
** If you bump into someone on the sidewalk or in a store (or anywhere, really), say, "Pardon me," or "Excuse me." Some people will even say, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bump into you." It is understandable that bumping happens. But if you do not acknowledge that it may be an annoyance to the bumpee, then you are rude.
For further research, Miss Hag. recommends Rudebusters, Grabbing a Bite, and American Table Manners. See also The Ten Commandments Of Good Manners and Emily Post. Even handbagger, Kate Spade, has a manners guide.
Finally, keep this in mind from John Wanamaker; "Courtesy is the one coin you can never have too much of or be stingy with." Spend freely, my friends.
Wandering and Babbling
Wandering and babbling.
1.18.2005
Ode to Dennis From Dorothy Parker
Razors pain you; Rivers are damp;Acids stain you; And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful; Nooses give;
Gas smells awful; You might as well live.
Dennis, in all her glory.
Dorothy in all hers.
Racism vs. Prejudice on MLK Jr. Day
The Boondocks
IN CASE YOU CAN'T READ IT, HUEY'S SAYING, "WHITE PEOPLE."
It has long been my belief that all social beings are racist. By racist, I mean that we all have racial associations and that these associations have some grounding in reality. Most nail salon workers I have encountered are Korean, though you will often find Koreans owning corner delis. Most of the kitchens in Manhattan are staffed with Mexicans, no matter the cuisine of the establishment. Out of all the cabbies I have had in the past six years, a majority are Haitian, Pakistani or Indian. My garbagemen are Italian. The doormen I know are black and extremely tall.
Is all of this true all of the time? No. Are all of these things true some of the time? Yes. Therefore, is it reasonable to assume these things to be true at any time? Yes.
Regardless of the reason that these things are true, they have proven true a majority of the time that I have lived in New York City, the perfect petri dish for cultural observations. Do I believe that Koreans are inherently better at eyebrow waxing and cuticle removal? Not necessarily, but I have encountered excellent examples of both being true. Do I believe that recent immigrants will occupy similar jobs and neighborhoods as the people they know or are related to who have most recently successfully established themselves in the U.S.? Yes. That is a matter of convenience and survival.
Why is this on my mind tonight? Tonight, I went to the movies. It is a Monday night and, according to weather.com, it is 17 degrees Fahrenheit and it feels like 3. It is also MLK Jr. Day and the movie we chose to see has been in theatres long enough that there was little chance of the place to be crowded. (We saw Ocean's 12, a franchise I can't get enough of.) We were all through the trailers and the movie was beginning. I got my favorite seat in the theatre (last row, middle) and the closest people to our seats were at least two rows away. It was ideal.
And then they walked in.
A group of four young boys in puffy black winter coats, one of them chatting on his cell phone which rang three times during the movie. His ringtone was Drop It Like It's Hot by Snoop. They took their shoes off and propped their socked feet on the back of the chairs in front of them. Of course, they had fully audible conversations and didn't respond to the chorus of shushing around them.
Guess their racial background.
Here's the thing. Here's my take on racism vs. prejudice. Everyone is racist because everyone has ideas about people based on the color of their skin or their nationality. It's like looking at a red delicious apple and knowing it will taste differently then a granny smith. If you choose not to eat the red delicious because you prefer a tarter flavor, you have a prejudice. That is, a pre-judgment. [Middle English, from Old French, from Latin praeidicium : prae-, pre- + idicium, judgment (from idex, idic-, judge. See deik- in Indo-European Roots).] That is not necessarily a bad thing. It means you have a judgment based on past experience. If you erupt into a rage and smash everything in sight at the mere thought of a red delicious apple . . .well, first you have some serious issues. Secondly, the connotation of your prejudice is, in fact, negative and stems from some sort of ignorance.
Whether or not you choose to treat someone differently based on their race or gender or sexual preference, etc. defines the connotation of your bias. If you beat someone up because they are Latino and you hate all Latinos, you are probably an asshole. If you assume when you walk into a salon that the girl about to administer your pedicure will be Korean but have a nametag that says, "Jennifer" then you also have a prejudice. However, if you are just as kind to Jennifer as any other person, then the connotation of your prejudice is a personal observation that does not necessarily affect your environment.
It is a subtle science.
Going back to the boys in the theatre, I was reminded of my own prejudice today. Because I have had this experience more than once and because, each time, the offensive people in question have been of the same racial background, I have a prejudgment. If I had gone up to these boys tonight and said, "You shouldn't be allowed in movie theatres," then they would have said I was racist. They would be correct. However, the guilt in this situation lies in both parties. I would be guilty of having an unreasonable prejudice and they would be guilty of fulfilling a stereotype.
That is my caveat to anyone who does not want to be mistreated based on their race. Do not fulfill the stereotype if you do not want to be accused of its implications. I know in my mind that not every black person in the world is loud and rude during movies. (Though, I might venture to say that most teenagers are annoying anywhere they happen to be grouped.) However, I have heard the stereotype joked about by Chris Rock and other racially self-effacing comedians. Also, I have seen it for myself.
All it means is simply this. Anyone who claims to not be racist is a liar. If you have racial associations based on multiple experiences but do not choose to treat anyone exclusively, then you are like most people. If you have racial associations based on information you have gleaned from watching television and you hate all people of a certain characteristic "just because", then you might just be an ignorant asshole. Furthermore, anyone who displays negative behaviors that are commonly indicative of their race and constantly cry "racism" when confronted with said behaviors is ill-mannered and equally ignorant. Either way, more often than not, you reap what you sow.
1.16.2005
Guadeloupe
Patrick is on his way to Guadeloupe in the Eastern Caribbean for six weeks. Self imposed artist retreat. It was a bitch to get him to the airport. Plane leaves at 7 a.m. and he stumbles into Florent with Dennis at 5 a.m. for goodbye shots.I will be joining him in a few weeks. Using it as a writing expedition.
sailing, takes me away. . .
1.15.2005
Betsey in Maldives
Maldives Island shallows.
Betsey got sent to Maldives Islands by the U.N. to assess damages from the tsunami. She works for UNFPA who work primarily with reproductive health issues internationally.
Part of her work there is to insure that the women and girls (who are hardest hit in crises like this) are given proper health assistance, etc., especially pregnant women who need sterile birth environments. UNFPA is constantly attacked by pro-life groups as being abortionists and this horrible website called ProLifeAmerica.com (Miss Hag. refuses to link it to her blog) implied that that is what Betsey and UNFPA are doing in Maldives. Aborting fetuses and handing out flavored condoms as door prizes.
Bullshit.
And shame on you, ProLifers, for taking a devastating human tragedy and turning it into a platform for your maniacally perverse indoctrination. How dare you sit on your shiny white pulpits all the way across the ocean from the people suffering this tragedy and point your bony fingers at the workers actually doing something to assist those in need. For shame.
This is what I see before the cab takes me home to go to bed.
http://www.restaurantflorent.com
The Woodsman. My thoughts.
Jsun and I went on a traditional date this evening. Sushi and a movie. We saw The Woodsman with Kevin Bacon, Kyra Sedgwick and Mos Def. Damon Dash is one of the producers, hence the excellent soundtrack.This is my thought on the importance of such a film being in the national dialogue.
Everyone is guilty of some sort of sexual perversion. Humans are sexual creatures, and unfortunately, we have not learned how to express and explore sexuality in a healthy manner. Bacon's character in the film, Walter, had a sexual awakening early in life. Having no healthy means to try to understand his fetish, he got stuck in that moment of time forever. It turned into a sexual perversion and ending up being something that banished him from normal society.
I have to say, of course, that I am not condoning incest or molestation of minors. And certainly, I believe that there are people who are mentally unfit and who molest because of innate evilness within their souls. However, it is clear to me that most adults have pondered the gamut of sexual forays. We are just never encouraged to understand our secret desires.
Sure, if what turns you on fits within the realm of what is considered "normal" then you are safe. You know that story. Boy and girl meet. They have innocent explorations at a reasonable age. They get married and have missionary style sex once in a while. They procreate beings to do the same. Nature's balance restored, blah blah blah . . .
We all know the success rate of that scenario.
Take the character of Walter. From the reactions of my fellow moviegoers this evening, I would venture to say that everyone ends up rooting for him. We all want him to not fall into the trap of sexual predator. We are cheering for the molester. It may make some uncomfortable to realize.
But imagine if there was some way Walter could have talked to someone when he was six. Honestly. Expressed, "Hey, it makes me kinda tingly down there when I smell my younger sister's hair. What should I do?"
Imagine a world where parents would know inherently how to help their son with such a issue so that young Walter is able to grow up, meet someone and have an adult relationship that involves her sitting on his lap while he smells her hair. Imagine a world where young boys and girls are able to explore non-heterosexual tendencies without fear of mental or physical punishment. Violent homophobia and other ignorances towards sexuality often are the product of repressed, unexplored emotions.
Not everyone will necessarily be gay or transgendered or a pedophile or a leather daddy. Like following a career that you know is not right for you or choosing a lover that you realize you don't love, eventually who you are refuses to be hidden.
1.14.2005
Cliche vs. Tradition
Friday night.For many (most, more than fewer), Friday night has a connotation of abandon and freedom. The world unbuckles it's restrictive dress and breathes freely. The knots of ties become loose and wide, almost stylish.
Drinking happens on Fridays. There is a restaurant chain based on the concept of thanking a diety that it is, Friday. They boast, it can be Friday every day. A day to be celebrated with colorful drink in large-belled glasses.
Fridays at 52nd Street and 9th Avenue in Manhattan are festive below. Well-groomed groups of men headed for Therapy. Less fashionable workers from the nondescript Midtown offices sew themselves into the fabric of Coppersmith's and eatery. I can hear their jovial conversations punctuate the steady swoosh of cabs, lights out, unavailable.
Fridays are my Sunday. My workweek begins. My stomach restricts with the unease of knowing that, for the next few days, my life belongs to the masses. For all the drinks poured, there is a hand pouring.
As I scoff at the revelers, I fear I am guilty of the same blind stumbling, the same predictable rut. Even deviant behavior seems to follow a pattern. That is why I am readying myself for the shift. The ground below has proven itself unstable, and I curl my feet under, poised for the leap.
Stripped
you're beginning to float free
up through the smoke of bushfires
and incinerators
the unleafed branches won't hold you
nor the radar aerials
You're what the autumn knew would happen
after the last collapse
of primary colour
once the last absolutes were torn to pieces
you could begin
How you broke open, what sheathed you
until this moment
I know nothing about it
my ignorance of you amazes me
now that I watch you
starting to give yourself
away to the wind
-- Adrienne Rich
Just another Tuesday night with The Boys.
Here we go . . .
I am tired.I woke up to find tire treads and footprints embedded in the length of my body, as though run over many times at a swap meet. It is a manifestation of my fatigue with the world. My innate fear of being trampled by the masses, all surging towards an infinitely better life that they will never attain because it is an illusion.
I am fighting the urge to dive into the world's largest dirty martini.
This is my olive branch, cruel world. Will you accept?
My soul mate.
Me and my best biologically female friend.
This is how I see the end of my life.
I’m drinkin' again / Thinking of when you loved me / Having a few /
Wishing that you were here.
I’m making the rounds / Buying a round for total strangers.
I’m just being a fool / 'cause I keep hoping, hoping, hoping you'll appear.
Sure I, can borrow a smoke / I can sit here all night and tell these jokers some jokes,
but who wants to laugh / who's gonna laugh at my broken heart?
Oh, my heart is aching / I swear it's breaking.
And I'm drinking again / Thinking of when you loved me /And I'm tryin' to get home
with nothing, nothing but a memory.
Yes, I'm dying to get home / dying to get home / And I got nothin' but a bottle of Seagrams and just my memory . . .
By Doris Tauber and Johnny Mercer
Name:Miss Marisol
Location:Manhattan, New York, United States
"As only New Yorkers know, If you can get through the twilight, You'll live through the night." -- Dorothy Parker
(And by "queer," I mean different, though some are, in fact "queer." But not in the pejorative sense.)
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