Thank You, cable access

Some girl put this song on her cable access show recently, and I fell in love with it. Why can't they make movies like this anymore?

PS. I've never seen this movie or any other Christmas movie for that matter so I don't really deserve to be nostalgic about it. But it's so very catchy...

History Schmistory

This video is well-animated and informative. I'd like to make stuff like this someday...

More Holiday Fun

Here's an alternative to those obnoxious "elf-yourself" e-greetings. Takes awhile to load, but hey, it's Christmas.

(disclaimer: this is also obnoxious)

Christmas Done Right

For those who have accused me of being a Scrooge...I quite enjoy a surfer Christmas

My Friend Car...

...is in this video. She breaks, models and is just generally awesome. You can see her toward the end looking up at the Baltimore Pioneers--she's in sunglasses and her haircut is amazing.

I don't know where Stratford is, but now I want to go there

http://www.diegomaclean.com/play_on.html

A cool video

Made by my friend Woody.

Violin Man truly takes it to the next from Woods on Vimeo.

I'm not werking

Currently I'm at work, but not working. I am waiting for some others to finish a VO session, after which I will be allowed to return to my edit room and finish what I was working on. SO, thought it would be a good time to reinvigorate my blog.

I just saw Beowulf in IMAX 3D. It was pretty mind-blowing. I had very low expectations which tends to heighten the movie-going experience for me, but it was also just a fun wild ride of a movie with all the atmosphere you'd expect from a Neil Gaiman and Roger Avary combo; ie. super creepy and super violent. Peppered with moments of humor and just flat-out stunning fx. They added a lot of romance and intrigue to the rather flat storyline of the original (big time hero Beowulf fights a bunch of bad guys and--shocker--wins) and even #1 on my stinks-up-a-movie list Jolie was used to her full potential. If more casting people would realize just how much she looks like an alien, we'd see a lot more evil demon Angelina roles and be spared the Good Shepherds and Original Sins of this world.

Dad, Can I Borrow the Car? Part 1

I know I haven't posted in a long time, but I stumbled across this video and was thoroughly entertained enough to wanna share it. It was directed by Ward Kimbell who used to work for Disney in it's heyday. He also directed the Academy Award-winning "Toot, Whistle, Plunk and Boom" which is pretty much my favorite Disney short ever.

This film stars a young, squeakier-voiced Kurt Russell as the narrator. Don't forget to check out parts 2 and 3.

Back in action

Back in good ol' Spanish Harlem...nice to still hear the language everywhere; makes me feel that small world feeling. Went up to 125th st today to go to the bank and got called "snowflake."

Ahhhhhhh. It's good to be home.

Posted our pix (finally) on flickr with apologies for lack of editing and captioning, which I'll attribute to pure laziness...guess everyone can make up their own story. At least my blog entries can provide a little color. The one with the longer, lighter hair is me.

Our friend Picchu

Wish I could upload my photos and show off the adorable dog that joined us for a little hike in Macchu Picchu. but I can´t. words will have to do. We named him Picchu and he was beige and adorable...(addendum, now I can:)

But i´m getting ahead of myself. We arrived in Cusco to a wonderful Hostel with the only drawback being our room had a window that opened to the public area instead of the outside. After a 12 hr or so bus ride, who cares where you stay really, but this place was nice. Cusco is THE tourist center of Peru, the gateway to Macchu Picchu. It´s a beautiful mountain city with red tile roofs everywhere and steep hills that would have been harder to climb had we not acclimatized more in Arequipa. We stayed in San Blas, the 'artistic' center of Cusco, which as far as I could tell just meant the chachka shops were more tastefully disguised in pretty stone boutique'ish stores. But still, it´s quite lovely there. Had some great food in Cusco too, though the residual traveller´s sickness still haunted me. We went to THE nicest restaurant in Cusco, at least according to the books, but I couldn´t fully enjoy it. Good though. well worth the not-expensive-by-new-york-standards prices.

We explored Cusco a bit, I got me those new hiking boots I was crowing about, and the toe started to feel a lot better. Though the first application of toe cleaning alcohol stung like hell. I screamt. screamed. whatever the word is. Now it feels much better. the screaming has ceased.

After 2 nights in Cusco we took a rather long local bus to Urubamba and then a Combi to Ollytaytambo. Fun names, no? a combi is a just a van thats cheap and people share for transport. In Olly we explored some ruins high on a mountain... H got a bit scared of heights which would continue throughout, though he was damn brave and didn´t go running down the thousands of steps or anything. After this and more chachka shopping, (my favorite activity) we caught a train to Aguas Calientes, at the base of Macchu Picchu. The train was supposed to be 80 mins, but seemed to take days. It stopped often to let others pass, and do who knows what else. It was inhabited almost entirely by the French, who incidentally are everywhere here. The all wear Quechua gear which I've never heard of but now want to own cause they look so damn cool.

So voux arrivez pretty late in Aguas, where we luckily found a nice lady to show us our hostel, since no one was officially waiting for us. The 'town' exists only to service Macchu Picchu, thereby making it overpriced and not very interesting, save for the geography. It was hilly and framed a river with many bridges, and the weather was surprisingly tropical compared with everywhere else.

We got up as early as we could, 5ish, to rush to the buses and be the first people at MP for sunrise. We weren´t nearly first though, as hundreds of others who were better at getting up had the same brilliant idea. Also many people made the arduous hike to the gate instead of lazily taking the bus like we did. Many of them beat us to it. There was a rather massive line to get in at 6am. We dutifully waited and after various entry fees and other payments headed in.

Pictures can´t really capture the scope or beauty of Macchu Picchu...suffice it to say it´s quite a wonder. Though not as old as either of us thought...the Incas were around 500yrs ago. But its really quite something to be there at sunrise, I think whats so striking is the surrounding scenery...huge mountains in sillouhette in the background; drastic jagged peaks directly surrounding the ruins in the foreground. We explored the ruins for quite some time and when we reached the entrance to a steep climb to the top of Huana Picchu (think thats the name) H wouldnt let me climb it because of my toe. I still felt pain from steep inclines, so he was probably right. But I have top admit I regret it cause all the guidebooks rave about the view plus I had this urgent need to prove my mountaineering skills with all these Quechua-clad french around. Peru is truly a brag-about-it kind of vacation and you are very often surrounded by people who just did something hard. So I wanted to be one of them.

We ended up doing two other demanding but not crazy hikes, and this is where we met Picchu. Sweet, sweet Picchu followed us all the way up our hike to the Sun Gate, which is the last leg of the Inca trail. It was really lovely, and that damn dog lifted my spirits. Nothing beats hiking with a dog, even a flea-bitten creature like Picchu. So got a bit of the exercise I was craving and some companionship as well. Picchu started to join us on the way down but ended up abandoning us in favor of a rather elderly group who I´m sure needed him more. It´s OK Picchu, we still love you.

Amazon-ing

Just returned from 2 nights in the Amazon lite...a posh lodge that catered to our every whim, had amazing showers, took us out to see monkeys and such and was generally awesome. tonight back to Lima and maybe I can finally write about Macchu Picchu.

Dang.

OffLine

Many stories of Macchu Picchu and Cusco to tell, all of them relatively pain-free. But H and I are headed to the Amazon for 2 nights, where there´s no electricity. So the stories will have to wait til we are back in Lima.

The monkeys and macaws and pumas and pirhanas await us...

More Goodies from Colca Canyon

After arriving back in Arequipa, we took it pretty easy, good food, a visit to the Museo Santuarios Andina to see a frozen Incan body recovered from a nearby volcano (Ahhh, ritual sacrifice!), some more good food (the food here is AMAZING) and strolling the streets. We reserved an AM bus to Cusco and headed to the hotel to turn in early, and as we checked in with the reception to pick up our tickets, H stepped on my foot.

Normally this wouldn´t cause more than a small squeal, but in this case my pre-injured toenail was no defense against a shoe and my nail tore completely off, blood flowing freely. We both overreactd a bit at the sight of it....me crouching and crying and moaning and H pacing and also moaning. Thankfully the poor guy at the front desk had more poise than either of us and called a taxi to whisk us to the clinic across town. The pain really didn´t match the queasiness and fear I felt from looking down at my toenail sticking straight up and blood covering my sandal.

Luckily, the clinic, though bare bones, was great. After arriving to "yowtch"y stares at my bloody toe and waiting on a gurney for maybe 20mins, I got treated by a Nashville trained Arequipian(yee haw) who was very gentle and thankfully anesthetised my toe before cutting the nail off and cleaning it. We did have to pay, but not much by US standards. I think it came to about 20 bucks. He prescribed an antibiotic, and some cleaning solution and now I have to unwrap, clean, and re-wrap the toe every other day. We bought some knockoff brand hiking boots to protect it and they work great. I will never ever wear those toekilling sneakers again. We left them at our hostel.

I hope someone with smaller feet finds them useful.

Thanks, Colca Canyon, for the Memories and Horrible Leg Cramps

Just returned to Arequipa after 2 nights and 3 days in Colca Canyon, about a 4hr bus ride away. We signed up with a tour company (there are several billion of them here) to take us to the canyon with a guide, where we would stay one night in a hotel, and one night at the bottom of the canyon after trekking down, then hike back up the last day. The rest of the trip is sprinkled with stops for views, historic information, meals, and staggering numbers of local people selling alpaca wool products & holding baby alpacas so you´ll take their picture and give them a Sol or two. The Sol is the currency here, btw. About 3 to a dollar.

The first day we met our fellow busmates: two very friendly, very thrifty girls from Switzerland who are travelling in S America for 8 wks, A Scotsman and his British girlfriend who made jokes like "Is this a five star hotel?" when we arrived at their hostel, an older (60s?) Italian gay couple with knee socks, an Asian pair (not sure if they were Chinese) decked out in some great camera equipment and matching ski jackets, a Spanish couple and another couple who´s country of origin I just can´t remember. Suffice it to say it added another language to the mix. Our guide was Raul and he did an excellent job of explaining everything in both Spanish (while I translated for Harris out of habit), and english. We ascended into the steep Andes and stopped along the way for the aforementioned alpaca goods, and also a look at some wild vicunas that apparently produce the most expensive wool in the world. 400 bucks for a scarf, I believe, is what Raul told told us.

When we reached Chivay, the gateway town to Colca, we had lunch, where I´m pretty sure I contracted some form of Montezuma´s revenge. Maybe it was one of the various delicious salads I ate (not supposed to eat salad) or the Alpaca meat in tomato sauce (yum), who knows. It proceeded to follow me all the way though our Colca adventure. I had about 5 minutes in our very lovely hotel (paid 15 bucks extra for it) to deal with this fun new ailment before raul took us for a short, very easy "hike" through some villages. Then we headed to Colca´s answer to famous eastern European bathhouses....a natural thermal hot spring that fed into several landscaped pools overlooking the Colca river. One was indoors, one out, both very crowded and rowdy, with people from every country imaginable sipping Pisco sours, splashing about and giving each other massages. H and I enjoyed the latter.

After bathing we opted out of the prearranged dinner and "local folk dance demonstration" and ate at our hotel. Or at least, picked at our food, because despite a very nice buffet offering, neither H or I were feeling very well. After dinner (we got our own local music show from a group with the residual pan flute and recorder melodies) I watched a bit of news about the earthquake on the Tv in lobby,it was a montage of all the horribleness that had happened so far...and it was more than i could take. Combined with the chills I was starting to feel from my intestinal friend, it sent me into teers and I went back to the room to sob and shake for awhile on the bed. H was extremely helpful and took care of me, giving me all the medicine and blankets I needed to finally calm down, stop shaking and fitfully sleep.

6:30 am the van picked us up, and our ragtag group headed to Cruz del Condor where hundreds of gringos gather to see the flight of the Andean Condor. Its a very large bird that lives for a long time and is not as exciting to see as one might imagine. They are magestic and graceful and beautiful, yes....but the all the hemming and hawing and struggling to get a good photo as if ones never been taken takes away a bit from the experience. In any case, we waited awhile, everyone hushed up and scanning the air above the canyon, and ended up seeing about 11 or so condors of varied ages. And even with my crappy camera, I got a decent shot. Go me. Though the reations from all the silly tourists were far more interesting, in retrospect.

Then we were rushed like crazy into the next phase of travel when Raul handed us off to our trekking guides. The group broke up, with us and the swiss girls continuing on the trek and two new pairs joining. Two canadian girls who had just graduated college and a couple who were gym teachers from Paris. The canadians were a bit cold at first, but I later learned they had had only 1 hour of sleep the night before and they turned out to be pretty awesome. we had 2 trekking guides, both women. Ours was Noami (not a spelling error). She was barking orders and having a minor breakdown as we re-boarded the bus to get to the trailhead, all of which threw mw and my diharrea-ravaged body even more out of wack and set me on edge. I had to leave my big backpack seomwhere in cabbanconde, the last town before the trail, and in all the confusion it got left at the Health Center. I found this out later, and prayed nothing would be stolen.

Finally we hit the trail, the first part of which was a rather brutal and very beautiful all-downhill path that switchbacked along the canyon wall. It was relentless on my toes, which were squeezed into not-appropriate-for-hiking sneakers. The French and the Swiss moved like mountain goats...they disappeared in front of us soon after we started and we didn´t see them again til we reached our lunch spot, a lovely little homestead with a garden and small pool. Though all I cared about was the bathroom. During the trail all the impact had shaken up my insides, and I was happy to find a nice little outhouse with a flush toilet at the lunch place where I spent about 20 minutes. I was so out of control of my bowels during the hike that I had to cut off my underwear with my leatherman knife while in there and throw them away. Sorry if this is gross, but it´s a popular subject for travellers and one I´m sure others can relate to. Or if not, just laugh at me.

The very friendly French offered me their version of immodium, and I happily accepted. By nowI was starting to realize how valuable modern medicine can be. We continued on through varied and gorgeous terrain (cacti, palms, little waterfalls) and then hit an uphill portion...at which point me, H and the Canadians started to realize just how out of shape we were. One of the girls was really struggling and came near puking a few times. I found that if I just walked slow and never stopped I could make it without wanting to die. Finally we reached a flat portion. Then another downhuill where my toes practically started to bleed, descending back to the bottom of the canyon and our "Oasis" for the night.

The oasis was a landscaped little area of bamboo huts, bathrooms (yucky ones) and a cooking room and long wooden table (nice, cozy) with stump chairs. A few horses and sheep mulled about. We met some fellow (to H anyway) post law school travellers, 2 of whom had hired mules for the hike up the next day. They were smart. I couldn´t eat much, and I continued to shake and enjoy other symtoms of food poisoning throughout the night. Really, thank god for aspirin. and advil. and immodium. and bacterol. and some french diarrea medication. Before bed the american law school dudes shared some nice cigars with us while we looked at the stars and listened to their never-leave-home-without-it ipod speakers. Our wake up call was supposed to be 3am, but Noami mercifully changed it to 4.

AM hit, and we stumbled out of our huts and onto the trail. H had broken one of our flashlights the night before, but I still had the headlamp for the start of the pitch-black hike. This was either the hardest hike of my life or i am the most out of shape I have ever been. 3 hours straight uphill switchbacks, half of it in the dark, with the wrong shoes pinching my bloody toes and diarrhea that forced me to step off the trail occassionally. Also, thank god for travel packs of wet wipes. There were frequent stops where we´d try to catch our labored breath, taking in not nearly enough oxygen in the increasingly thin moutain air. Amy, the tired Canadian from the previous day, was really suffering. She was in personal hell. And may have puked, I´m not sure. H was a rock star and barely complained. The French shot out like bullets in front of us, and the Swiss girls apparently left even eralier than we had with one of the guides. We 4 were the bad news bears of hiking.

But finally we reached the top, stumbled our way through some terraced farmland, back into cabbanaconde, through a quick breakfast and onto a local bus, standing room only (though not for us). I got my backpack back in one piece with nothing missing, thank god. and the rest of the trip back was a hazy, painful, blissed-out, tired etc ride back to Arequipa with several stops in local villages. My legs feel as if they are made of rusted tin and will never be oiled...but I hope in a day or two I will again be able to walk like a 27 yr old and not like the 90 yr old I appear to be now. Tonight I am going to try to end this damn travellers bug once and for all, or at least i.ll just relax and not move to much. It´s about all either of us can do.

Earthquake--apologies for typos on this spanish keyboard

Today we are in Arequipa, and everything is calm.

Our trip to Peru began fairly uneventfully. We arrived in Lima late Monday night, the airport was crowded but not overly so. Harris and I both thought we had altitude sickness, but it turns out lima´s at sea level. Even so, we were both light headed...most likely residual fogginess from the flight and grandparent overload. Within the first 15 mins at the baggage claim, H lost his phone. When i went to ask the security officers if there was a lost and found, struggling to regain what semblance of Spanish aptitude I have leftt, they laughed in my face. The phone was gone. Despite that downfall, the night went well. Amid the hundreds waiting to greet travellers outside customs, we spotted a gentleman carrying a ´Tova Goodman´sign. I was far moe excited about this than I should have been, but hey, I thought I was light headed from the altitude.

Our hotel was a lovely b and b run by Walter and his wife (she didnt show her face much). He was one of the most genteel, friendly gentlemen I have met. We had 2 fellow travellers, one from Paris and one from Barcelona (the only 2 cities Ive visited in Europe!) who were very friendly and good to chat with. Raphael, the frenchman, joined us for dinner the following night. H and explored Lima the first day, with mixed results. Its a grey city, with some beautiful old buildings and some fairly ugly new ones. Its full of deisel and honking and billboards just like any city.

The third day we took a bus to Pisco. It took roughly 4 hrs on a fairly luxurious coach, including blaring radio and dvds of Are We Done Yet and Shallow Hal. The bus drops you on the highway in Pisco where tour guides and taxi drivers attack you with their services. We found a taxi that seemed fairly priced and headed to El Chacho (as per the guide book) which was supposed to be more tranquil and pretty than Pisco. The book suggested a hotel that was at the end of a long dusty road, and we took the suggestion. When we arrived it seemed we were the only guests there. A very friendly manager/handyman greeted us and ushered us with a smile to our room.

The place was indeed desserted. But very beautiful. The back of the rooms had little porches facing the ocean, with lawn chairs and umbrellas strewn about on the grass beyond. There was one other couple there, seated on their cabana. We nodded to each other but didnt strike up any conversation. We were alone. We ate dinner alone; the waiter carefully placing each object on the table with utmost care. He reminded me of the toy cleaner from Toy Story 2. As we were the only guests, he showered us with attention and pìsco sours.

As we were finishing our meal and contemplating another drink, the ground started to shake. Neither of us was sure if it was an earthquake, a truck or maybe the generator bubbling. The waiter didn´t seem worried. Then his expression changed. I remeber H said out loud, "Is this an earthquake?" and I just ran. I ran to the doorway, like I had been told. Harris ran around the building with the waiter, or maybe it was with the handyman (wish i had gotten his name!). H started yelling my name, but for some reason was yelling it with an accent, so I thought it was someone else yelling. I didn´t answer. I was paralyzed. The shaking continued and I didn´t want to move from where I had been taught was the safest place during an earthquake. The lights went out and I couldn´t see. We had been dining outside on a pàtio next to the pool, and the pool was sloshing water all around, soaking everything. Finally, when H called my name again, I ran to the ground where he, the handyman, and the woman who worked behind the counter were down on the grass. They pushed me down and the shaking continued. The woman was very upset. She kept saying "que fuerte."

Finally the shaking stopped. The handyman laughed as if nothing had happened. "Todo tranquilo" he kept saying. The rest of us were litterally shaken. As the aftershocks continued, H and I asked for 4 beers and returned to our room in the dark, the handyman leading the way with a flashlight. I had luckily brought a headlamp and a flashlight which we used to illuminate our night filled with tremors, beer, cards and fear. I´ll post Pictures and video of the night when I can. Ar one point we heard a sound like a truck coming from the ocean, and I flipped out. Oh great, now comes the tsunami, I thought. There was a huge wave, but luckily, it didn´t reach our room. We only found out the next day that it had reached far up on shore in the adjoining area of Paracas. It had blasted widows and doors out of buildings that faced the ocean, and covered the town (little stores, restaurants etc) in a lthick layer of seaweed. I mad Harris leave the room when I thought the wave would come for us, and every sound from then on was magnified in both our minds. The other couple was nowhere to be found. We took a couple of expeditions around the hotel, one for water (con gas), one to avoid the wave I thought was coming, and a few to check out the water level when we heard the sea retreat. Another worker came and showed us how far the sea had risen....about halfway up to our room. A fitfull night of sleep with many, many tremors followed.

This was a fairly peaceful night compared to what we learned had happened to the other couple. They spent the night huddled on a hill abouve the town with the other villagers, with only one blanket between them. They just barely escaped the wave when someone in truck scooped them up. We spent a shaky breakfast of toast and tea with them (they still served us breakfast! despite the lack of electricity and running water!) and they recounted everything that had happened. They were from London and had a flight out the next day. They each told their version of the story...she with a frightened but lucid voice and he with the accent of Ozzy Ozzbourne. As we talked I was thinking we´d all be stuck and would spend the day hanging by the half-sloshed-out pool, because the couple said the road was flooded. But then the real hotel manager arrived in an SUV and offerered to take us to nearby Paracas to call home. The phone didnt work there--the lines were all down. There was seaweed over everything and walls down all over the place. At this point the manager explained that we should get out of there asap. He offered to take us and the couple to the highway for free. He was EXTREMELY helpful. He ended up taking us all to the main road, where the London couple had to find a way north, and we were headed south. The bridge outside Pisco had apparently collaspsed, so the traffic was backed up going north. Our journey wasnt too hard. The manager hugged us and refused money for the drive. we flagged down a bus to Ica and took the hour ride without incident.

Once in Ica we started to see th damage that had been done. Buildings down. No electricty. No water. Few phones. Hundreds at the bus terminal trying to get out. Many wrere casually walking around---what else was there to do? It wasnt a work day. One man said the electricity would surely be off for at least 4 more days. We saw a crushed car on one street, and people with all their belongings gathered on the streets outside what was once their homes. We waited in line at the bus terminal only to learn that those buses didnt go to Arequipa, where we needed to go next. We wandered around, trying to find a bus that did. Finally we found one that left at 7pm. We only had 7 hrs to kill in earthquake ravaged Ica til then.

We decided to take a taxi out of town, where there is a lake surrounded by dunes and hotels and mas tranquilidad. Originally we were going to stay there and sandboard down the dunes and hang with a bunch of backpackers, but there was no electricity or water there either, so we decided to spend several hours in the calm and then return for our bus. What a contrast from the dusty streets of Ica teeming with people to the lake in the middle of the dessert teeming with gringos! We hadn´t eaten (but for one piece of toast at breakfast), and this lucky spot had the one operating restaurant for miles! Put out food and the expats will come. I had the best grilled fish with garlic and rice of my life. And an avocado, tomato and cucumber salad that had me throwing all my dietary rules out the window. Delicious. We hung for a whilñe by the sand dunes inrelative quiet, watching people board down kicking up great clouds of dust. It felt wrong to do any boarding at that point, considering that state of things.

Just when I was feeling guilty for so easily escaping to paradise, we returned to Ica to spend the next 6 hours huddled in a small store/home/bus station with 30 or so Peruvians, awaiting the 7pm bus. Everyone at the station was exteremely nice, esp. considering many had lost their homes and possibly family or friends. We fell in and out of sleep, shivering as the cold desert night descended. People huddled under blankets and held their children close. The bus finally came at 12am, held up by the bridge collapse in Pisco. We staggered onto the double decker sleeper and fell into deep, if disturbed slumber. In the morning, 7am or so, we awoke to the sounds of Homer Simpson´s Spanish doppelganger and his illegally pirated ilk on DVD.

12 hours after leaving Ica, The bus rose and descnded the mountains to Arequipa, where there are articles all over the paper and red cross workers in the square...but otherwise its as placid as can be. People here have been through earthquakes as well, but even they are shocked by what those on the coast are facing. Terremoto is the word on everyones lips...and H and I will see what we can do to help, if anything. I´m glad we´ve made it out, and I shudder to complain given that I still have my health and home, and I don´t live in the dire poverty that many who suffered the earthquake do. Tomorrow we´ll head back to talk with the Peruvian Red Cross to see what we could give that would be helpful. I think canned goods and dry foods would be the best, given that most food has spolied and there may not be electricty for awhile. Meanwhile, H and I are planning a trip to Colca canyon, which will likely be considerably posh and lovely and far from tragedy. We certainly are very lucky and I´m thankful for that.

South Florida: DelRay Dunes or Boynton Shores?

How does one choose which development/golf club to live in? I've now been to 2, and besides a varied curve in the road here, a different tint of stucco there, I saw no difference.

That's South Florida for you. Which brings me to my grandfather. He chose The Fountains. Maybe he liked their exclusionary policy on Blacks. He certainly agrees with their locking the pool bathrooms to keep out the migrant workers who slave all day under 100 degree sun landscaping the place. Perhaps they should pee in the bushes? When he took me to the ATM, there was another car in the lot when we pulled up. There was a black couple in the car. "I think they're waiting for someone to take out money so they can rob them," he said. "Please," I said. "Can't trust anyone," he retorted. Got me there, Grandpa.

I shouldn't trust anyone. I should move to a gated community. I'll make sure everyone's white and Jewish. Even the help. Can we find a way to convince white Jews to clean houses and do yard work? I'll squirrel my money away so no one can touch it and spend the rest of my life complaining about the people who try. I'll cut off all relations...there, that'll show 'em! Even my family won't be able to touch my money. I'll only eat at chain restaurants so I can trust the food. I'll vote for any politicians who act as scared as I feel. I'll make comments like "why go to South America when we hear all the Spanish we need right here?" I'll live a full and if not happy, at least sated life, one provided me by Starbucks, Target, WalMart, Costco, Best Buy, Barnes and Noble, Macaroni Grill, Outback, Chili's...ok I have to go now to one of the above, in my air conditioned, american-made car. I'll be like you Grandpa, thanks for the advice.

Un Viaje Mysterioso + Deathly Hallows SPOILER ALERT

Finished Harry Potter, and if I weren't too busy packing to go to Peru, I'd be all over the blogs to find out what the experts had to say. I thought it ended satisfyingly, if a little too neatly. She brought H back just to keep the kiddies happy, but I think he could have also been very happy in the afterlife with his loved ones, while his still-living cohorts (Neville at the helm!) finished off the mission. In any case, I was still devouring every word with ferver, so thanks, JK. When I have a bit more time, if I have a bit more time, I could go into more detail. Not that the series really warrants an in-depth analysis; it's mostly just good fun. Mmmm...Butterbeer.

I will be in Peru until September 1st, and will try to keep up writing there, depending on computer access. I assume it will be plentiful. Keep up those comments! They are my lifeblood...the Horcruxes to my Voldemort. Oy.

Peed myself

Maybe everyone and their mom and grandmother has seen this already, but if you haven't then get ready to laugh yourself to a nice new set of abs...

Last day at work/cringe

I wont be digitizing or rendering for quite some time. If all goes smoothly, that is. I can now concentrate on Harry Potter, travel reading, buying things for my trip (which I think is super fun) and maybe a trip or two to the beach.

A couple nights ago I read some old diary entries at Cringe night. It was pretty sweet to get up in front of the crowd alone and embarass myself. I'd like to do it again. After the readings I even had people coming up to me to say how good I was. To which I wanted to reply, "thank the 16-year-old me," but didn't. Never thought I'd be thanking her for much of anything. Actually would have traded being more well-adjusted and happy for some of those humorous entries...

I'm leaving for Peru on the 10th. Stay tuned!

peter pan BONANZA

I will no longer take the bus.

This past weekend I planned a getaway to Martha's Vineyard that I expected to be perfectly relaxing. The bus from NYC to Woods Hole (where the ferry to the Vineyard departs) was scheduled to leave from Port Authority at 7:30 am. I rushed my little ass to get there with maybe a minute to spare. But alas, when I arrived at the mile-long line there was no sign of movement, nor would there be for another 30 mins. Instead, a cheery morning-shift Port Authority employee bellowed at my fellow travellers and I to move up, because we were most likely waiting in the wrong line. We weren't. So we all formed a gelatinous mob instead of a line, and began an undercurrent of displeased muttering that would continue for most of the day.

The bus finally got underway, and we continued on to Providence with only a few stops (including Fall River and the Lizzie Borden condo complex!) to detain us. Providence and its brown cinder-block bus station with perpetually understocked Dunkin Donuts came and went. I skipped the bathroom there, not wanting to wait in line. Fortunately, our next stop was a well-stocked Tadeschis at the Bourne bridge rotary. Unfortunately, they had only a Sanican to piss in, but I'm no princess.

Relieved, I was ready to make our transfer for the final leg of the journey. The first bus pulled away, and our diligent little cluster of 15 patiently waited for our white horse to arrive in the form of a Peter-Pan/Bonanza combo. This last section of road was only 20 miles, but the sun-bleached parking lot of Tadeschi's overlooking a run-down motel, crowded rotary and overpriced lobster hut was a far cry from sun-bleached parking lots of Woods Hole...where at least we could overlook the water. My travelling companion, Lily, wanted to eat, but her willpower kept her from going into Tadeschi's lest she miss the savior bus.

After 15 mins, I plopped down on the concrete to read my Vogue. After 30, Lily relented and bought an apple and some string cheese. After 45, I followed suit with some string cheese of my own. After an hour, we had missed the ferry we were planning to take. The woman standing next to me placed an irate phone call to Peter Pan Headquarters. Finally, a bus appeared on the horizon. We breathed a collective sigh of relief, but the driver's shaking head should have been an indication that we wouldn't be getting off that square of cement so soon.

His brakes practically screeching, the driver leapt from the door.

"I have one seat left! Anyone elderly or ailing?!" He croaked.

"Ha, ha," we all mumbled and started to gather our things.

"Oh, please," the irate woman intoned.

"Lady, if you think I just sat in an hour of traffic to come here and make jokes with you people, you are sorely mistaken," the driver articulated. "I have one seat. Who's getting on?"

"This is bullshit--" Irate began.

"Look I don't have to take any harassment from you!" Asserted the driver. "Is anyone getting on this bus?!"

None of us made much fuss when Irate stepped forward. We were either in shock, or happy to see her and her bitchiness ascend the steps, or a little of both.

"But we paid for tickets to Woods Hole!" A final protest from the male half of a New-Yorky couple.

"We don't guarantee transfers. Says right on the ticket. Another bus'll be here in a half hour or so. Can't guarantee he'll have seats either." With that the driver returned to his shock absorbent seat, bid us good-riddance, and drove away. We were left staring at one another, open-mouthed and feeling the bittersweet sting of mutual aggravation.

Then began a Survivor-esque formation of alliances, foes and general tribal behavior. Lily took a Chieftess role and started to look into taxi options. Taxis were expensive, and only took 4. There were a very limited number available. None of us believed the next bus would have enough seats. I knew we'd better make alliances now or risk spending the night at Tadeschi's, peeing in a Sanican and becoming fat on Cheetos. I began forming an alliance with the New Yorky couple and planned to split a cab once we had found one. A group of surly stubborn passengers sat around a picnic table and did nothing. A girl in overly-pointy shoes became a lawless savage, calling a cab without checking with anyone, and then grabbing anyone she could to join her plan with no regard to how many might fit.

The Tadeschi's workers "helped" us by suggesting we take the one dollar van that came every hour on the hour. Turns out it didn't go to Woods Hole. Lily finally found us a cab, just as New York Couple switched their allegiance and agreed to join Pointy-shoes. No cabs had even arrived yet, and we'd already missed the subsequent 2nd and 3rd ferry options. Things looked bleak. Suddenly, two older women who had stayed on the periphery of the tribe bid us all farewell and started loading their bags in to a minivan. One of them had a friend in Falmouth who had come to rescue them.

I pounced on the opportunity. "Are there any more seats?" I gasped.

"I could squeeze in two," the kindly and slightly crusty driver offered.

Without thinking, Lily and I abandoned our fellow passengers and jumped into the van. In the wild, one must fend for herself. Our alliances melted away as quickly as they had formed.

"Do you think it was wrong of us to leave without saying anything?" Lily asked.

"No way," I said. "They would have done the same."

They could take us only as far as Falmouth, but it turned out there was a ferry from there too. We figured anything was better than the parking lot at Tadeschi's. Along the way, the driver regaled us with tales of hitchhikers and women with broke-down cars who had met their maker on the Cape, being naive enough to believe strangers really would offer a helping hand. He also said he didn't trust hitchhikers one bit, and never picked them up. It was comforting to know he had such high moral standards. Seeing as we were finally on our way to paradise, both Lily and I smiled and nodded with our mouths shut.

As the icing on the road-weary cake, we arrived at the waterfront in Falmouth just in time to see the Island Queen literally uncouple from the dock and push off. The next ferry wasn't for an hour and half, but with the island in sight the time melted away. Lily and I split a lobster roll at a combo Italian/seafood joint up the road, and then enjoyed the sweetest sun-soaked ferry ride of our lives, followed by a wonderful sojourn on the Vineyard.

Mr. Peter Pan and Barry G. Bonanza will be hearing from my lawyer. Or at least my angry typing finger.

Socially awkward

Why are people so fickle about social networking sites? Now I have to get a dern facebook account, just so I can look at photos that are only posted on facebook. And so I can relate to people who only talk about facebook now. I've already fired friendster, myspace is becoming obsolete, I signed up for LinkedIn and dodgeball and have long forgotten them, flixster is breaking down my door and meetup.com won't friggin leave me alone. I'm sure there's a whole host of other sites I don't even know about that are chock full of profiles and personal manifestos just waiting for me to link to them.

What's coming next? Vinnie, any thoughts? It better be worth switching to cause I'm kinda sick of filling out my favortie artists, books and movies.

The Great Yogurt War part II: Yolato

I should mention that I have been on a ceaseless quest to find good frozen confections in NYC. Tasti-D doesn't count. It turns into water and chemicals when it melts. Coldstone definitely doesn't count. It's far too rich; like eating a stick of butter with a heath bar mixed in. Blech. Plus they claim to have pioneered smooshing in toppings, when clearly it was Steve Herrell who did that. Or maybe the McFlurry (does that exist?).

Prior to trying Pinkberry I half fell in love with a new discovery that I believe exists only in NYC. It's called Yolato (yogurt+gelato, duh) and it's super-duper yummy. I say "half" fell in love because I only like two flavors: blackberry and hazelnut. Many of the others that I've been willing to try are actually quite disgusting (they have a "corn" flavor, but I didn't try it). Here's what Yolato definitely has over Pinkberry:

No lines. Slightly cheaper. More flavors. Better flavors (the good ones anyway). Better name. Less market saturation, meaning more franchising and investment opportunities! Influenced by the Italians.

But still, can't New York have just one stand out Ice-Creamery that comes close to matching the likes of Herrells, J.P. Licks (both in Boston), Barts (Northampton) or Mad Marthas (Martha's Vineyard)? Maybe the sunglass-wearing I-banker from Worcester doesn't appreciate Massachusetts, but nowhere I know of can compare when it comes to ice cream. Hands down.

The Great Yogurt War: Pinkberry In-query

I tried PinkBerry yesterday. Maybe you haven't heard of this phenomenon. According to the website, "Pinkberry is SWIRLY GOODNESS. It's honest food, without preservatives, additives or excess sugar. It is DESSERT REINVENTED." Also, it's very expensive.

People go batshit crazy over this stuff. They line up around the block for it. They take out mortgages. Kill their own mothers. Start blogs.

I decided to see what the fuss is all about, because I walked by a Pinkberry when there was [gasp] almost no line outside. It only comes in 2 flavors: plain and green tea. If you ask what the flavor of plain is they will tell you "it tastes just like plain yogurt."

Didn't sound that appealing to me, but it turns out it tastes pretty darn good. I ordered the toppings you see above, raspberry and coconut. The yogurt had a unique, pleasing flavor that you wont find at other yogurtariums. The raspberries were fresh. I am pretty sure that sweetened coconut adds quite a few calories, but there's no mention of this nutritional info on the website. Anyway, thumbs up for flavor.

But thumbs down for charging 3 bucks for plain, and a dollar for each added topping. And for a name that seems more appropriate on a cute anime character than a yogurt chain. And for the ridiculous "queue." Also for giving me horrible stomach cramps afterwards.

OVERHEARD

Overheard yesterday on the street:

"I'm from Masachusetts. Trust me. I know how shitty it is."

I just want to set the record straight, guy in suit, sneakers and sunglasses at 7pm. YOU, sir, are the shitty one. The great state of Massachusetts may be missing a few things (White Castle, diversity), and may have some embarassing legacies (Catholics, Mitt Romney) but I believe it to be one of the finest states in the Union. If not the finest.

You needn't shun your home state just because you now live in the Big Apple. It's not like New York is perfect. It has guys like you. Guys who go around loudly proclaimly how feces-filled the home of Sam Adams, e. e. cummings, Dr. Suess and Ben Affleck is. Guys who talk too loud in public. Guys who wear suits.

OK, the Bay State has guys in suits too. Lots of them. Probly lots of loud talkers too. And guys who wear sunglasses at twilight. But I gotta ask....can New York claim to be home to any poets whose names can't be capitalized? BOOM.

What I do at My Job

Because I am an editor, you might think I would 'edit'. However, a large portion of my job involves digitzing and rendering; two activities with no creative value whatsoever. Any video that's going to be cut on a computer needs to be "digitized," meaning converted from a magnetic tape into a bunch of 1s and 0s so i can mess with it. Often, an assistant editor does this tedious work at night, or some time the editor isn't working, but becuase of various restrictions (money/time/number of computers available) I have taken on a lot of it myself for this particular show.

Any time I apply effects to a piece of video (dissolves, glows, resizes, you name it), they have to be "rendered," meaning written to the computer as a new file, one that marries the effect to the video clip. If you are editing a show "offline," which is generally the way it's done, the whole process is sped up because you digitize the clips at a much lower resolution (less pixels), and the computer has less trouble reading and writing these simpler files. We don't edit offline.

Both of these things take too long. Digitizing must be done in real time, and rendering depends on the speed of your computer.

This computer is slow.

The upshot of all this is that I spend an inoordinate amount of time sitting at my computer with no actual "work" to do per se, but without the freedom to leave. Digitzing must be monitored, the tapes taken in and out of the machine (yes, I know a robot could do this). Rendering doesn't take long enough to warrent leaving the room, but takes too long for someone like me (read: impatient) to sit patiently and watch.

So instead I do other things. Read blogs, play solitaire, write blogs (just started) and continually check my finances. Sometimes I read a book or a magazine. Ocassionally i'll get a phone call out of the way. Often I snack. I can visit co-workers for brief periods. Or go back and forth to the bathroom. Or annoy my boss.

It makes me wonder...how much of work is actually work? Do other people spend this much time wasting time? Why can't I come up with a better diversion, one that somehow contributes to the world at large?

Ooop, the render's done....

BEWARE-SPRAY

Saw Hairspray last night b/c I wanted to see a movie. I can't say I was expecting genius. Can't even say I was expecting great. Or good. Or decent. What I got was a a strong desire to see the stage show, and a very dissapointing movie.

If you can get past John Travolta hunching around in the awful lumpy female fatsuit, pursing his lips while delivering all his lines with some sort of mutated Minnesota accent, you have to put up with lackluster editing, jokes that fall flat, and an inelegant treatment of racial issues. I KNOW that the time period and subject matter call for a lot of jokes about integration, but pair it with a trimphant Queen Latifah marching through a fakey set with an unimpressive number of others holding cliched picket signs and throw in a cross-dissolve every other second and you get schlock, not biting commentary.

I can't claim to be a devotee of all things Hairspray, so I won't talk about John Waters' original intentions for the first film, but I do know enough to say it was supposed to be campy, like everything he makes. The tone of this version was completely mismatched with lines like "I wish every day was Negro day!" It was too earnest, too typical, too Disnified. There were some funny standouts, namely all of Allison Janney's lines, but overall, I wasn't laughing.

The music was great though, and like I said, whet my appetite for the stage show, which I feel I could could grant more leeway to tone-wise. Live theater is already suffused with a certain degree of camp, and from what I was told the play is funnier. Given the varied arsenal of movie tricks availble, the film fell totally flat. I've been given shit for this before, but I really think Chicago is a perfect movie adaptation. It wasn't the play on film, it was a film with the same plot and songs as the play. You felt Fosse in it, but Rob Marshall did away with the all-black sparseness of the costumes and set and added what only film can add....namely, close-ups, great editing and some depth.

Call me a hater, but I'm just callin' em like I see 'em. I did no research and am aware that Hairspray is mainly a popcorn flick for kids anyway.

I am now official

I now exist in the blogosphere. I have a diversion when I'm bored and need attention. I can join all my friends and pseudofriends who have virtual selves that are much cooler than their real selves.

And now, when I go on a trip or do something real neat, I can make everyone and their mother (including mine) read about it. Hey, they do it to me.

YAY. validation.