By Beauty Damned

Going Off

I rarely write about celebrity news, but I do read trashy magazines on a weekly basis and get my full share of news about people who I don't know and have no business reading intimate details about.

The Brad, Angelina, Aniston drama has captured my attention over the past year, ever since steamy photographs from the filming of Mr. & Mrs. Smith became public. I've kept my thoughts on the matter to myself, because after all, who really cares what I think?

There is only one thing about the entire hoopla that really, genuinely bothers me: The accusations towards Jennifer Aniston that she was selfish for not having Brad's babies post-haste and that her marriage may have survived if she had done what women are "supposed" to do, which is to give birth to a baby as soon as the man in your life snaps his fingers, OR face him leaving you for another woman.

I read this letter in People magazine this morning and it nearly blew the top right off of my cranium. If it had been the first of its kind, I would refrain from responding, but I have read several such letters to editors since Brad and Jennifer split, and I've finally had just about enough:

"I wonder why Jennifer isn't taking accountability for her part in the breakup. Had she started a family, Brad might not be in the arms of another woman. - Janis Gardner, Sun Valley, Idaho."

Dear Janis Gardner (and everyone else who shares her appalling opinion),

First of all, I want to know who gave you x-ray vision into the deeper problems that drove Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt to divorce. I want to know who you think you are to assess and judge the romantic relationships of people that you don't know beyond having seen their picture in a magazine with a blurb written by another fool who doesn't know them. I want to know where you get off telling a complete and utter stranger where they went wrong in their relationship. I want to know why you feel the need to lash out at a woman that you do not know via a small minded letter to a magazine about an issue that is as personal as what you do while you're in the bathroom.

Second of all, I would like to ask what millenium you think this is, where women are to be admonished by strangers, for choosing to have a career and to postpone childbirth until they are ready. Since when is a woman required to give birth the moment her man is ready? Have you forgotten that it is the woman who has to carry the child in her belly? Have you forgotten that it is the woman who must give birth to that child? Have you forgotten that the average father doesn't do half the caretaking of a child that the average mother does? Why should a woman be required to choose to either have a child or lose her husband to another woman? And why would you, in all your ignorance, assume that this was the reason for their breakup in the first place?

Janis, do you give your husband mind-blowing oral sex at least once a week? Probably not. I wonder who you'll have to blame when your man ends up in the arms of another woman.

My point is, who am I to make the assumption that you don't like to give head? (Though you might find it's a good way to let off some of the steam that you're unleashing on women who choose not to have children) And further, who am I to make the assumption that your man would leave you for someone who does? These are not the kinds of things that strangers are entitled to judge, and your nerve in making assumptions and accusations about Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston is astounding.

I suggest throwing back a big stiff cocktail, taking a long, hard look in the mirror and asking: "How do I live with myself?"

-Maria Carreon, Brooklyn, New York

So I have two issues here, obviously.

The first being that I have beef with those who judge the love lives of strangers and go so far as to fart out their opinion in a letter to a large publication.

The second being that IT IS THE YEAR 2005, NOT the year 1905. It is not a crime for a woman to choose to postpone having children or even to choose - GASP!!! - not to have them at all. It does not make you less of a woman.

Brad Pitt married Jennifer Aniston knowing the woman that she is. I assume they probably discussed children, etc. before marrying. He knew where she stood on those issues. (I don't, and Janis Gardner of Sun Valley Idaho certainly doesn't, but that's because it's not our fucking business.) Whether or not those issues played a role in their breakup is not our business to assess either, nor do I imagine that the public has anything resembling a true picture of what the real cause of their divorce is or was.

But it is my business to defend myself and other woman everywhere who would like to postpone having children until we have achieved our own goals, from assholes like Janis Gardner who think they have the right to play both judge and jury in the personal affairs of strangers, who think it is the man's right and the man's right alone to decide when to start a family, and further, that if the woman doesn't acquiesce immediately, then she is at fault when he lands in the arms of the nearest succubus. Where do people like Janis get off accusing another woman of being a bad wife?

I call bullshit on Janis. And I have a newsflash for her. I know it's going to come as a total shock, but here goes: It is actually possible to have a full, satisfying, fantastic life, without children!!! Who knew?

More Unjust Detentions

This is why I can't handle the news anymore. It infuriates me.

There is no honor in our operations in the middle east. No honor whatsoever. No democracy. No liberation. No truth. Nothing except lies and deception and violence fueled by greed and self entitlement. Nothing but fascism.

LONDON (Reuters) - Media rights groups demanded on Thursday that U.S. forces immediately release a Reuters journalist held in Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq unless they could explain why he is being held without charge.

Reporters Without Borders, a Paris-based organization that campaigns to protect journalists detained or threatened because of their work, said it had written to top U.S. Middle East commander General John Abizaid to demand the release of 36-year-old Ali Omar Abrahem al-Mashhadani.

It also accused U.S. forces of carrying out summary arrests of journalists in Iraq without providing any justification.

"We point out that the decision to arrest a journalist should only be taken on an absolutely exceptional basis," the organization said.

"Journalists, especially Iraqi journalists, are already running very great risks to go into the field. More than 60 have already lost their lives in this country in two years. It is shocking that they are also being mistreated by the U.S. army."

...

U.S. military spokesmen have refused to say why they are holding Mashhadani, 36, who has worked for Reuters for a year as a freelance cameraman and photographer in the city of Ramadi.

...

Reuters has demanded that the military release Mashhadani or provide a full account of the accusations against him.

An account from Mashhadani's family of his arrest on August 8 suggests that images found by U.S. Marines on his cameras during a general sweep in the neighborhood prompted his detention.

Relatives said that Marines conducting a routine search of the house turned hostile after viewing images stored on Mashhadani's video and stills cameras and his desktop computer.

Reuters has provided U.S. forces with footage by Mashhadani that shows scenes of conflict and gunmen operating in plain view of civilians. Nothing in his work has indicated activity incompatible with his status as an independent journalist.

U.S. military officials have responded neither to offers of further information from Reuters nor to proposals for meetings with Reuters editors to clarify Mashhadani's activities.

...Continues

Political Survivor

I'd like to see the day when American politicians are willing to do this.

MEXICO CITY (Reuters) - Four Mexican politicians completed a three-night stay in a spider- and scorpion-infested shack on Wednesday as part of a campaign to raise awareness about poverty dubbed "Vile Brother."

Most politicians in Washington wouldn't give up the slightest comfort for one day for the sake of putting themselves in the shoes of an average citizen, much less live in acute poverty and squalor for a few days in order to get a picture of how great the problem truly is.

It is the American way to assume that if people are poor it's their fault for being poor and it's their responsibility to extricate themselves from that situation. Unfortunately for those living at poverty level their situation is often more a result of given circumstances than by a lack of willingness to work. Many people in this country work more than one job at minimum wage and still cannot afford to lead a decent or even remotely comfortable lifestyle.

One of the best things I've seen recently is that show "Thirty Days" done by Morgan Spurlock, the guy who made the documentary "Supersize Me" about McDonald's. Thirty Days follows Morgan and others in experiments with living in conditions which are otherwise foreign to them. One episode that really hit on an extremely relevant subject was one where Morgan and his girlfriend move to Cleveland, Ohio to try to make it on a minimum wage job with no health benefits. (A situation millions of Americans face every day.) It was an eye-opener for them and for me, the viewer. They worked so hard, often more than one job, but still scrimped to make ends meet. They had no health insurance, so when one of them came down with a sprained wrist or a urinary tract infection they were forced to go to the emergency room, racking up outrageous bills that they could never afford to pay if they wished to eat and have a roof over their heads. They relinquished their credit cards and any other financial cushions before embarking on their experiment, so there was no fallback.

At the end of that particular episode Morgan Spurlock said something to the effect of "I advise everyone to take time out of their regular lives to try and put themselves in someone else's shoes. There is no way you will come out of it unchanged."

The thing that made me angriest was the lack of health insurance. The fact that these people -- who have no money and can barely eat anything more highbrow than rice and beans, who are working their blood, sweat and tears every day, who are obtaining their furniture and appliances and clothes from a shelter/donation center because they just can't afford to buy anything new -- are forced to go into extreme debt everytime they encounter an issue with their health. That infuriated me. Morgan received a bill for his sprained arm. He put it to the camera. He was charged fifty dollars for an Ace bandage. His full bill was over five hundred dollars. (I cut my finger with a knife once and had to go to the emergency room for stitches. It was over a thousand dollars and I was praising the heavens that I had health insurance. I can't imagine facing that situation and knowing that I was responsible for paying that exorbitant bill.) Even those of us who have health insurance through our employers are required to pay out of our salary for that insurance and steep co-pays for doctor's visits and prescriptions.

Poverty, hunger and a lack of health insurance are crises in our society that are going ignored while our president and politicians go on vacations, give themselves raises, enjoy unchecked power over the people and foreign affairs...

While we have billions of dollars to give to Colombia to aid them in their "war on drugs," while we have hundreds of billions to spend on weapons and wars, while we have billions to give to already incredibly rich energy corporations and investors in exchange for absolutely nothing, while we subsidize huge corporations of all kinds with tax breaks (the same ones that pay their employees shit minimum wage), we cannot do anything about our health insurance crisis or HUNGER.

It's a fucking mystery. There is only one reality show I look forward to seeing created in the near future: Survivor: Politicians Survive The Slums (must work minimum wage and live without health insurance). That's a draft they'd all be quick to dodge. Assholes.

AmsterJam-min

On Saturday Rob took me to "Amsterjam," a concert at Randall's Island, the same place where we saw Iggy Pop at Little Stevie's Underground Garage Fest last year. It was another great show. Perfect day. We got up early and managed to get a parking spot by 11:30 a.m. Rob was all worried it was going to be muddy because it had rained the night before and the sky was overcast. He looked at me like I was crazy for wearing pretty leather sandals in a potential mudpit. I assured him I wasn't worried about it and he shouldn't be either. We walked inside the arena and were greeted by, first, a great open field with one fabulously big stage and another much smaller stage on the far end from that gigantic one. There were booths with all kinds of different food, a few merchandising booths and, since it was sponsored by Heineken, plenty of beer. (Unfortunately, there were so many people there by early afternoon that the lines were looking less and less like a reasonable option.) Robert and I got there early enough that we got a couple beers and some tasty snacks before the crowds closed in. I had an excellent burrito from Moe's and I think Rob had an anonymous burger. Or as my younger sister would say, "totally miscellaneous." Haha. That just made me laugh. It also turns out that Rob is a wiley fellow (as if I didn't know) and fenagled a way for us to procure beers in a much quicker fashion. No we did not steal them. But if I say anything more about his methods he might have to bury me with the fishes.

So do you want to know who was at Amsterjam? Stop. You know you do. Most importantly, it was MC'd by BOOTSY COLLINS. Yes. I know. It's fucking incredible. The man is a legend AND the coolest son of a bitch ever to say "baba." First act was Fat Joe. Right? Pretty exciting? We all did the rockaway. I've been known to lean back occasionally and I did that day. Okay, I'm being stupid. But it was fun. Fat Joe busted out the reggaeton and some spanish rapping accomplices. It was rad. Next up I think was Garbage. I like Garbage. I like Shirley Manson. But I like her even better when she's on stage with Peaches. I like Peaches quite a lot. I think she is a crazy motherfucker and she makes the world a much more colorful place. She's kind of like a white Li'l Kim. But way more punk rock. Segue into dirty lyrics.

[Exhibit:] "Aa Xxx"

I like the innocent type
deer in the headlight
rockin me all night
flexin his might
doin it right
keepin me tight
takin a bite out of the peach tonight

yeah, whos gonna mothafuckin stop me?
hey mothafuckas step up
whos gonna mothafuckin step up?

So needless to say, that was a good time. The woman talks dirtier than some of the spam I get. Next up was Wyclef Jean. He brought out P. Diddy for a brief appearance. I guess I'm supposed to drop the P, but it just doesn't seem right. If he says it gets in the way of him and his fans, I suppose that's just a relief to me. Because I don't feel like it gets in the way. Guess I can't be a fan. Wyclef was pretty awesome, but you might detect an otherwise imperceptible yawn in there if you put your ear to the screen. Just a tiny one. He played a couple of Fugees tunes, which was exciting, but sort of just made me miss Lauryn Hill. He said a few good things for peace too and belted out No Woman No Cry as beautifully as ever. Anyway, who was up next? Gosh. I don't even remember. What the hell am I talking about? I remember! It was 311. Can I just say one thing really quickly? I never knew that the lead singer was....SO GODDAMN SEXY. Hot damn. That's all I'm gonna say. Hot damn. I've been listening to them since I was seventeen, but somehow I never recognized this glaring fact... They were full of raw energy and welcome familiarity. And hotness. Okay. I'll stop. *groan*

Rob (yes I still remember his name after that shameless display) and I laid down a sheet and lounged on the grass, enjoying the music and the blessed overcast weather. If it had been really sunny I think we would have wilted like weed[head]s. It was nearly ninety degrees and humid as all getout, but entirely bearable compared to what it could have been if the clouds had not been there to shield us. Finally, after much anticipation, Snoop D-O Double-G came onto the stage! The crowd went wild!!! Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay Snoop! Who doesn't love Snoop? No really, who, because I'll put my foot in their arse.

He is an awesome performer. So much fun to watch. The sound was perfect. He had a diamond encrusted microphone. Seriously, that thing was so fucking tight. He was so fucking tight. There is no other way to describe it. Plus I know you already know. Because how could you not? He is so good at getting the crowd hyped. And we were definitely hyped. But we were also heading toward exhaustion. We'd been standing or sitting on the ground or walking or dancing all day and our legs and backs were getting tired.

We laughed that we are old now and we should leave and take the funny Mexican-couple-who-looked-crazily-out-of-place with us. Robert brought them to my attention when we were sharing a sausage under the shade of an awning(sounds freudian, I know, but it wasn't) He said "pssst. Don't those people look like they were on their way from church and they got lost and ended up here?" They certainly did. The woman stood out most because she was wearing beautiful off-white, satin "churchy" sandals. (Although I'm not sure the rolled up jean shorts were church appropriate...) But she looked happy standing there in them so I guess that's all that matters. We had a laugh about how out of place they looked, but it was all in good natured fun. We saw a few people who looked like odd ducks, but I guess that's how it always is at concerts where there's so many different acts. And hey, we were the odd ducks at Ozzfest, so there. But I'm not gonna lie and say I minded.

We wasted time after Snoop left the stage until on came THE Red Hot Chili Peppers. Robert and I once met Anthony Kiedis briefly at a party and I've spotted other band members before at the old "Creed of the Seed" shows in California, but I had never seen them perform live. It was weird. I felt like I knew them. (Unfortunately we don't or else would have been sittin pretty backstage.) I guess it felt that way because I've only been listening to them since I was 13 years old. They were everything you would expect. Anthony Kiedis doesn't have the same ability to woo the audience with chatter and hollering the way that, say, Snoop Dogg or Iggy Pop do (their names both have double g's - coincidence???), but he has all the charisma of a seasoned rockstar. Flea was the one who really talked to the crowd and connected. Love Flea. Incredible bass player. Fascinating person. It was a day filled with fascinating people. At the end of the Chili Peppers' set, Snoop came back on stage, Bootsy Collins picked up his bass, and they mashed it up 'til we could literally stand on our feet no longer. It was beautiful. And over. And so we trudged back to our car with heavy lids and satisfied smiles. And guess what? Our shoes weren't even muddy. See, you knew I was retarded, and you read it anyway. It's on you.

We drove back to Brooklyn and slept like babies. And so it becomes like a sweet dream.

We Are The Bad Guys

I haven't been able to bring myself to write about anything real that's going on in the world. Fantasy is so much easier to bear.

From the appointment of that douchebag to the U.N. to Bush's fabulous new energy legislation that gives billions in tax cuts and subsidies to already filthy rich companies like Exxon while doing nothing to actually solve the oil crisis or in any way benefit the environment, it is all too painful. From the 102 miners facing certain death in China to other Chinese facing certain torture and death by their own government. From war in Iraq, not to mention the rest of the middle east, to the suppression of photos of Abu Ghraib, to the detainments at Guantanamo Bay. From the poor and sick and uneducated in our own country to the poor, sick and uneducated all over the earth. It's all so vast. How can you really get a handle on the meaning of it or the solution to it? All I can say about world news right now is that it makes me very reluctant to the idea of ever reproducing and subjecting someone else to the guilt that goes with knowing that the world is completely fucked up and there's only so much you can do about it.

About those photographs. I think it's incredible that our "leaders," in order to keep them under wraps, are using the excuse that the photos will inflame anti-American sentiment in the middle east. Yet, for some reason, it has never bothered those same "leaders" to inflame anti-Arab sentiment and demonize them all for the actions of a few, or to send our soldiers off to kill Arabs and die themselves. It doesn't make sense. The truth is the truth, is it not? Why are we being deprived of the whole truth about Abu Ghraib (not to mention all the other detainment camps that we're not being told about), regardless of the effect it might have? Those who are truly responsible are not going to be held accountable, most definitely as long as those photographs remain hidden by those responsible. How painfully ironic... We are not any better than those we condemn. The bad deeds of our government run in a vicious cycle.

And what do the republicans have to say about all this? Who gives a shit? *Achoo*!assholes*...I've given up having hope for them. They're totally going to hell.

Unabashed Banality

Overdid it with the socializing, not eating right and consuming a tad too much alcohol this weekend and didn't feel so great today. I tried to remedy the situation with a bagel in the morning and a green tea blended creme from Starbucks for lunch. I rarely go to Starbucks because I think it's a goddamn crime what those people charge for coffee, but I know of no other place where I can get a frosty green tea milkshake that tastes like heaven. Do you? It's way overpriced like everything else there, at five dollars a pop, but I'm telling you, once in awhile, and especially if you're feeling mildly hungover and stuck at work, it's worth it to shell out the cash.

I assume Starbucks came from the west coast, since that seems to be where the really hardcore gourmet coffee trends started, but I think it's pretty much taken over Manhattan at this point. Thank god, because they're the only place other than McDonalds where you can go to the bathroom without buying anything. But I still can't get over how much they charge for a regular cup of coffee. (Oh wait! They don't have a regular cup of coffee! All they have is those frickin Americanos that are not in any way the same thing. What is the deal with that?) The first time I sent Robert (who had never been to a Starbucks before, having been raised drinking 75¢ coffee from bodegas like most everyone else in New York did before Starbucks arrived) he came back with two mochas looking mighty confused. He said "I don't understand. I ordered two coffees and I gave the girl a ten dollar bill and she gave me back fifty cents." It really is highway robbery. But strangely enough, sometimes it's actually worth it. Like today. That green tea thingy perked me right up.

Seemed like a few people in the office had an extra serving of krazyflakes this morning. There was a bit of hair-on-fire syndrome going on. So yeah, it was a pretty typical Monday at the firm. Luckily, I have Anya, who makes me laugh until I cry even when I think I couldn't possibly be more ready to stick a pencil in my eye. Accidental ryhyming also cheers me up. Anyway, Happy Birthday to Anya who celebrated this weekend with an amazing Indian dinner with friends and a couple martinis to boot. It was great times.

So when I got home tonight I laid down and contemplated a nap, but my stomach was grumbling so fiercely that I got up and made fried eggplant with mozzerella and marinara for dinner (yum!) and a goat cheese torte for later, the recipe for which I found online and am super excited about. It's currently in the chilling stage in the fridge. I had something like it at my dad's 4th of July party and had to learn to make it. Spread that on some garlicky toasties and go straight to the moon.

Why does food excite me so?

You know what else excites me? Trio. Anything called Trio. Seriously. Rob recently purchased a Trio handheld. It's extraordinary if you ask me. (But this is coming from a person who renounced the whole concept of having a cellphone after just two years of owning one). Trio, the band, excites me too. Even though they're an old, mostly forgotten group, I still can't get enough of listening to them. And Trio, the television channel...now that is some quality entertainment. Trio is running vintage reruns of the Dave Letterman Show. You need to watch. Forget about Bobby Brown and the Surreal Life. Tonight I saw a Letterman episode from like 1986 or something. Elvis Costello was the musical act. Elvis Costello is a fucking genius. I love him and it gave me chills to watch that dacades old live performance and see him be interviewed afterwards. He's just as brilliant when he speaks as when he's playing his guitar and singing and screaming like a banshee into the microphone. I was eight when that episode first aired and we didn't have a television, so I missed it on the first run. Glad I have DVR now and never have to miss it again.

After Letterman were some weirdo music videos on Trio. The first was by a group called The Brazilian Girls. Maybe cool hipsters know who they are, but I've never heard of them and their video was bizarro. A lot of dudes wearing funny little hats like the ones in the Life In Hell cartoons. The music wasn't bad though. Sort of Dido-ish. After that came this video called "Papercuts" by Gym Class Heroes. I like these guys. And of course they have a myspace page where you can also listen to their songs and be one of their thousands of "friends." Their video was nice. If you picture gritty tattoos and fighting with your girlfriend as "nice." I thought it was pretty inspired.

As Good As It Gets

Man, I feel like complaining about work. My shoulders are aching like crazy. I'm exhausted. The crankiness has subsided a bit, as I've been home for about a half hour trying to unwind from this weary day, but I am drained. I guess the last thing I should be doing is sitting down at my computer and typing. I've been typing for eight hours straight already today. Somebody call me a waaaaambulance.

I had a great weekend with Rob and Kathleen and Charles, but it left me pretty tired this morning. I slept through my alarm, didn't have time to shower, didn't have coffee, couldn't find a blouse or the right shoes to go with a nice new pair of pants, got a grumpy attitude with Rob (it's actually a bad idea to try and talk to me within the first half hour of me waking up). Those things combined made it a rough morning. When I got to work I had a lot to do. And more and more and more. I did all my work. I put on my headphones and listened to music while I typed days and weeks worth of my boss's time entries. I put documents in the copier on my way to the bathroom and picked them up on my way back. I ate a little lunch while tracking a lost fedex package and simultaneously meeting with another secretary to help her with her boss's time entries. I assembled twelve packages to be sent for next day delivery. I sent bills to accounting to be paid. I pushed through. The funny thing about those days at work where you really just bust your butt and give it everything you have, is that just beneath the aching shoulders and exasperation is a sense of accomplishment and self worth. I've always felt that way about work. If you do it and do it right, even if you're spent at the end of the day, you feel like you've earned your spot on this planet. Of course, I could earn this same sense of self worth through other things that I perhaps would prefer instead of the practice of law, but so far it is what I do, I've been doing it for a long time, and I have pride in my own diligence and efficiency. So I ain't too mad about it. Just relieved now that the day is done.

Like I said, the weekend was great. We packed up the car and Kathleen and Charles and drove to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania on Friday night. We arrived at the Holiday Inn around 2 a.m. The rooms were fine, but some strange things occurred. First of all was the annoying tapping sounds in the wall that Robert maintains were definitely mice. Then there was the fact that someone came into our room in the middle of the night, turned on a lamp near the door, and then left. No joke.

I was sleeping like a log. Rob woke in the middle of the night to the sound of the door of our hotel room closing. He said the lamp was on. He thought I'd gone outside and come back in. I hadn't. I have no idea how someone got into our room, but someone definitely did. The room was pitch black when we fell asleep and I've never been known to sleepwalk. When we told Kathleen and Charles in the morning, Kathleen told me that someone had come and yanked on their door really hard in the middle of the night and shouted "fucking let me in! Let me in the room!" She was terrified. Charles thought she'd dreamed it because he was asleep like a log too. But when they heard my story they were sure it wasn't a dream. Kathleen told us a story about when she was a little kid in a hotel room in Chicago with her dad and the same thing happened except that the person got their entire arm into the door and was demanding they open up. Scary. But in our case I think it may have just been some drunk person who ended up in the wrong rooom, though I'm still mystified about how that person got in the room at all...

Aside from that weird shit, I was excited about the hotel pool. It was nine feet deep and I dove in several times. I am so sick of pools that are only four feet deep. Fucking kiddie pools. Even the olympic size pool we were in last weekend was four feet deep all the way across. Total bullshit. Since when were pools designed for people who can't fucking swim? So the pool at the Holiday Inn had me at hello. I was the only one who made time to go in and I cherished every minute.

We had a demo to do around there at a skateshop called Fishbone. They had a fun setup outside the shop in the parking lot with hotdogs and snowcones and cold drinks. The local radio station came and set up a booth and Dickies (the clothing company, not the band (that would have been so awesome!)) showed up with some racecar driver that they sponsor. There was a dunk tank and some other games. Kathleen and I decided to volunteer for the dunk tank. I went first. Rob came and bought three balls and hit the nail on the head all three times, dunking me over and over again. He was clearly enjoying watching me in my bathing suit get dumped into a tank and drenched repeatedly. It was a hot day so the dunk tank was a wonderful salvation from the heat, though it left Kathleen and I with a few nasty bruises.

After that demo we went to Philly. We checked into the Marriott which was a far cry from the Holiday Inn. We were much happier there. The service was excellent and the rooms were nice and there were no creatures in the walls or maniacs trying to break into our rooms. We went swimmng when we got there and then got ready to go out on the town. We had dinner plus huge margaritas. We were so full afterwards that we tossed around the idea of going back to our rooms and passing out. But we didn't. We gathered our youthful spirits about us and got our asses down to where shit was happening. We checked out a few bars and clubs before settling on a "billiards lounge." It was the best place ever. The decor was awesome, the billiards were well taken care of and the drinks were good. We stayed and got tipsy over a few games of pool.

When we left there Kathleen and I were the drunker out of the four of us. We swaggered side by side, doing silly voices and laughing crazy. I really liked laughing in the big hearty Santa Claus laugh and she really liked her high pitched Wicked Witch of the West laugh and the boys didn't like any of them. They just kept saying "you guys are drunk." Yeah. I thought that was the point of paying all that money for drinks. If we hadn't been drunk I would have been demanding a refund and no one would have been laughing then.

Robert busted his ass on Heelys across from the Liberty Bell. Friends don't let friends drink and Heely. I've learned my lesson about that one. Kathleen and I stood on the wall in front of the big cracked bell for a picture and got yelled at by the police. We laughed it off and continued on our merry way. The last of the night's drunk in public antics came when I rode the luggage cart like a skateboard through the Marriott Hotel lobby. I was not going very fast, but I was having a wonderful time. Until I heard "ma'am. Ma'am. I'm sorry. You can't do that." I apologized and saw that he was not mad at me. In fact, he was smiling. I chalked it up to him having a boring job. Drunk hotel patrons are probably one of the only entertaining things that happens in that lobby at that hour.

I know I know. Robert already said it. When will I grow up?

NEVER. If I'm lucky. Even when I'm seventy, I still think it will be fun to ride a luggage cart like a skateboard along the marble floors of a hotel lobby. So long as I don't break a hip.

In the morning we ordered room service, which is my ritual if I'm in a hotel on a Sunday morning. Eggs and bacon and hashbrowns and danishes and fresh fruit and yogurt and orange juice and coffee. There are few things in life that are more enjoyable than having that delivered to you in bed in the morning. I think it's pretty much tops.

We did our demo at Nordstrom on Sunday (working shopping working shopping it's hard to prioritize) and then drove back to New York last night. It felt good to get home, but the weekend lived up to all my expectations. I had such a great time with Kathleen. Everything is so much more fun when she's around. (Boys are smelly and not as much fun as girls. It's a fact).

Now it is back to everything else that resembles reality. :o)