post-dinner-party party

Sometimes standing in the kitchen washing 14 wineglasses by hand and talking about how much you like everyone is the best part.

the world below

Sitting at my freezing desk, looking out the second-story window at the night of the winter's first snow. The sidewalks are icing over, but the street is too traveled to be cold enough to freeze yet. There's a heightened police presence because of the inaugural stuff; a thousand motorcycles and squad cars make way for fleets of black SUVs and implacable otherworldly limos, forcing everyone else to a standstill so they can pass. Helicopters and sirens are making the windows rattle and it feels like we're under invisible attack. One day when I don't live here, I will remember that window rattle specifically, the view from this chair, the way light pools on wet streets, how there is more red than any other color.

I didn't watch any good-bad reality TV today, which may seem like a step up, but I'm weird and edgy and lonely and I can't call any of you because a potential new roommate is about to show up. I don't want a new roommate. I don't want to be waiting for something unrelated that I shouldn't even care about, and I am very much under the influence of Oh What's The Point.

restaurant weak

What do you get when you cross a psychotically lavish seafood buffet with two people who do not eat at psychotically lavish seafood buffets on a normal day?

Sickish. You get sickish. T. and I went to Cafe Promenade Friday night, and we both felt vaguely ill afterward, but somehow, five days later, she is fine and I am still sickish. Restaurant Week is a biannual event during which the unwashed masses dine at posh places on a $30 price-fixe menu -- and, as promised, the restaurant was amazing and we had the best time ever playing like people who could actually afford to eat at a restaurant like the Promenade (we're on a second-name basis with it now). Going hiking the next day in 30-degree weather didn't help. I have no regrets about any of it, but I do feel sort of bitter about the lingering sickishness... being all healthy and going to the gym and yoga should give me a pass on this kind of stuff, not cause this kind of stuff -- which is my going theory, that my body just can't handle lavish and seafood in the same sentence.

Now I'm eating toast and desperately trying to think of a headline so I can finish my freelance article and pretending I'm not watching the Real World/Road Rules Battle of the Sexes, which I will not justify with a link. I'm so watching it, though. I don't really understand the premise or why it seems like both teams have to vote people off no matter who can or cannot balance on a purple plank suspended a zillion feet above a city, but maybe if I pretend not to watch long enough, I'll figure it out. If any of you know, and are not too ashamed to admit that you know, please enlighten.

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Update: The guys are throwing the mission! They fell off the purple planks on purpose! Nuh-UH. Oh my god.

hey, look over there

Not over here, because it's not done yet, but the transition was pretty smooth. Please stand by and our operators will assist you shortly.

greener pastures

Who knew it could even get greener than leafygreen? It feels like breaking up with our website, but we're leaving the lousy hosting company. Blogspot, here we come.

Take It Easy is going to be the tester -- I'm going first and this will be my last post at this URL. From now on, my heart belongs to leafyg.blogspot.com.

leafyg.blogspot.com. Go. (Fight. Win.)

Goodbye, leafygreen.org! You were a good website (until you weren't, and that wasn't your fault) and I'll miss you.

water and earth

Just came back from a yoga class where Kim talked a lot about the tsunami and its impact on the world, about how bodies are 85 percent water and how earthquakes of any kind affect water in unimaginable ways.

I donated money to CARE today -- I didn't research extensively or anything, but if you're looking for somewhere too, I did enough checking to ensure that it's legitimate and not religiously affiliated. (It also has long-standing ties in the region, so some systems to deliver help are already in place instead of having to start from the beginning.) Funny that we/I fall back on established religion-y patterns with stuff like this, though... the only number I could think of to donate was double chai, the letter that represents life in Hebrew -- as in "l'chaim, l'chaim, to life" -- because that's what my mom always gives. Not even a tiny fraction of a drop in the metaphorical bucket, almost less than nothing, but it was the only thing I could think of to do.

It seems like a very Western thing just to throw money at problems and then demand they fix themselves, but I don't see many other options; my "skills," such as they are, wouldn't help most people in Sri Lanka even on a good day. What they do need is totally unfathomable to me, almost as unfathomable as the disaster itself. So sad.

a cup of kindness yet

Wish I was an English Muffin
About to make the most out a toaster.
I'd ease myself down, coming up brown.
I'd prefer boysenberry more than any ordinary jam.
I'm a Citizens for Boysenberry Jam fan.
-- Punky's Dilemma

It's going to be a boysenberry jam kind of year, if I have anything to say about it. I bet Maceo agrees; his "fingers on the pulse of funk" told us so last night. And today, Hefk and I made Mondo Beyondo lists. They will be in the back of my mind while the front of my mind works on my new year's intentions, in the service of which I am prepared to go above and beyondo all of my own low expectations. Full speed ahead, 2005.