Just a Note

There are about 2 months in early 2005 I hardly remember at all; they're a kaleidoscope of colors and feelings.

I think a lot now about how kind people were to me. Unbelievably kind. Calling and checking up. Inviting me out for eggs. Having a drink. Listening to me rant. God knows what I must have said.

During that black hole period I received the best piece of advice ever, thanks to my friend Alex: "Just be careful -- you're very out of it -- look both ways before you cross the street."

Sometimes I find random stuff in the apartment. Who gave me that Judee Sill record? Dan was that you? It's a blur. I'm really enjoying it.

I can only hope to show the same loving kindness to others when they need it.

Thank you -- You know who you are!


Big Entrances

I love movies that start with a clever animated sequence.

"Down With Love" is my favoritest movie right now, for that and many other reasons.

"What's New Pussycat?" is another fave.



Concerning the Continuing Adventures of the Pampered Pugilist; Or, How I Learned to Take the Punches and Like It

The major development in my entanglement with boxing is that somewhere along the way I lost my fear.

I think it's probably because Maria got injured and doesn't come to sparring class anymore, so the threat of leaving with a black eye or a bruised jaw is greatly decreased. So I have started getting bold with my opponents.

At first, it was easy to keep Kora at bay; like a chipmunk, she alternately darted and halted, hungry and unfocused. I could kind of jab her around. However, Kora broke up with her boyfriend and simultaneously found her hook. When I felt that hit, I snapped to attention. Soon we will see what Kora is fully capable of inflicting onto others. She is naturally sassy and fearless, so this probably won't be pretty for me.

Mike is about six-foot-twelve, of unabashedly sweet temperament and indeterminate Scandinavian descent. When I first saw him on the bag, his arms seemed to take two full seconds to unfurl a punch, and when they made contact, the bag swung high and wild. One time, the bag spasmed, dislodged, and hit the floor.

I quickly learned that, despite Mike's enormous wingspan, you can never quite see him coming; he is a free-jazz boxer, with a rhythm all his own. So I learned to be light. He will lunge at you with a hook that could make the blind see -- using only half his power, because he is a gentleman -- and you have to sit, slip, weave, or pull your sorry ass back, and try to at least graze his chin with a right before he can fully retract his arm. And think light, light, light. After several rounds tonight, our faces were both purple-red and we were staggering. And yet I remembered: pirouette, pirouette, and mustering all my energy, I danced. That got me the hell out of that round.

Tina was there tonight. She is adorable, but every time I see her on Wednesday I have a flash thought: "Crap." She closest in line to being the second coming of Maria: tiny -- five-two tops -- and fast. And I now know for certain that fighting tiny people is far worse than fighting tall people, for when they hit, they don't hit the proverbial bull's eye on the forehead of your headgear. They hit upward toward your jaw, lip, nose. I took a few hard pops from Tina, but no bleeding or swelling resulted, so I'm grateful and high as a kite on endorphins.

And I made an appointment for a Christmas facial, courtesy of a most delightful and generous friend.

Life is sweet!


Holy Crap, It's 2007

Happy New Year. I've been sick and as of 4pm I've watched about twelve episodes of "Law and Order" back to back. I took the whole week off from work.

Random highlights of days off:

1. Painting the bathroom bright white while listening to Neko Case and Sam Phillips and singing along while pirouetting on the ladder on one foot, reaching with spongebrush to dab paint in ceiling corners.

2. Icing said foot afterward.

3. Curling up with Chinese food (steamed) and watching "Ugly Betty" marathon (but only after complaining on phone to buddies about how it was being pre-empted by Ford's funeral. "Casket, go home! We want Betty!").

4. The smell of smoke in the studio. It was just the motor on the tape machine blowing out, but still.

5. Bruce's 11th-hour determination to try loading the (intact) tape onto other machines and transferring the mix so that I could still make good on my promise to bring a song home on CD for the holidays. The other machines didn't work, but Bruce's persistence was touching.

6. Getting my first "Blowout." I had read about a place in Chinatown that gives you fantastic hair pizzazz for $15. It was fantastic and pizzazztical, and right on time for a crazy-badass haute foode lunch at Perry St.

7. My 4-year-old niece doing her impression of the Cookie Monster: "ME WANT COOOKIE! COOOKIE!!"

I'm not one for resolutions, but I do vow to strengthen my resolve, doing more of the good things and less of the bad things. You?

Hope to see you soon.