Que Sera Sera


Sometimes you set out to make a Pro/Con list to make a decision and doing the cons first makes you not even want to do the pros. Is that unfair, or is that your answer?



We have eight guests coming for Thanksgiving this year, and Megan is in charge of the turkey. About two hours ago Megan called and said she was sick in bed, could I go buy the turkey for her and put it in our fridge? I said sure, go back to bed, drink lots of water, I’m on it, don’t worry, so of course right now I’m still in my pajamas, unshowered, and trying to eat everything on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator to make room for this turkey that I do not yet own. That’s not going so well. I don’t know whose pizza that was but I took a bullet for you.

Aside from not buying the turkey yet, I’m on pie detail (your mom, etc). I’m making pecan pie, which is the only kind of pie I really love aside from key lime. I am not a cook, but I do prefer my pecan pie over all other pecan pies, except maybe the one at Cowgirl in the West Village. I use my great-grandma Kennedy’s recipe. My great-grandma Kennedy was married in a covered wagon at age 14 because she was too shy to come outside, so the preacher climbed inside the wagon and married them there. This was in 1905, two years before Oklahoma became a state. They had six children who lived to adulthood, the third of which was my grandma, who met my grandpa while picking cotton. They moved to California during the Dust Bowl to pick fruit. My dad was born in Alameda, CA, in 1945, and they moved back to Oklahoma before he started kindergarten. I really feel that all of this comes through in the pie and makes it what it is, which is fucking amazing. Much better than Chocolate Final Solution.

Oh you know what really hits the spot is a piece of pecan pie with Cool Whip and a Pepsi at about 11:30 on Thanksgiving night oh maaaaaan am I from Oklahoma or what I don’t care it’s so good.

Anyway, I’m excited to have another Brooklyn Widows and Orphans Thanksgiving, although minus the truth serum healthtinis and impromptu BJ symposium this time because Alicia’s mom will be here. Unless she’s into that.

I have to go puke now but I feel like I should say I’m thankful for 2008, the absolute best year of my life so far, for so many reasons.

Summer is ready when you are (take two)

Walking down the street in your puffy coat with the hood up, watching the first snowflakes of the year float down while listening to “Saints” by the Breeders is about as confusing to your brain as if someone held up a giant sign with the word BLUE written in red.

I wrote this in the past

FOR ONE WEEK, I allow myself to think about how, while we were having coffee, when you leaned over to look at the newspaper, I could see the tag on the inside of your T-shirt, under your sweater, against your neck. I could read the brand name. The detail was so paralyzing that I forgot how to swallow for a moment, and lost my place in the conversation. I tried to imagine you going into a store and picking out a sweater, choosing red over blue. I couldn’t. It didn’t fit anything I knew about you.

Remembering it that night in bed made me feel dizzy again even though I was lying down. D rolled over and turned off the light and I lay there not seeing the ceiling and thinking about your sweater tag, even though I also had stored the turn of that one piece of hair over your ear, and that slight smooth fingertip touch at the end of your nose, but it was the hidden tag behind your neck that kept me awake long after D’s breathing went deep and even. It was like hearing a song, and the minute the song was over, I’d pick up the needle and start the memory over again, even though it was only ten seconds long.

In the morning, I woke to the sound of the shower running and rolled over onto D’s abandoned pillow, stretching out and telling myself I could think of your sweater tag only until D got out of the shower, then no more. It was getting decadent.

I closed my eyes and picked up the needle, and at that moment the water shut off.


, originally uploaded by two cups of tea.

Do you like this face Zan caught me making last night at Megan’s open studio? Am I practicing my demure bride face, eyes downcast, lashes fluttering? Or maybe thinking about the choices I’ve made in life thus far? Am I remembering lost loves while being painted by a new one? Or maybe just being painted by Andrew Wyeth? If you photoshop a little black veil, perhaps it’s my solemn, knowing nun face, Sister Serene Bernadine, the novice with a secret past and the vow of silence?

No. I am thinking about pigs in blankets.

I can guarantee this to be the case 90% of the time.

I hope this won’t dissuade you from photoshopping the veil, though.

O my Brooklyn

Various foodstuffs the shy and retiring men in my neighborhood have expressed interest in consuming together, perhaps as a metaphor for lovemaking; I’m not entirely sure, they’re so vague sometimes:

Apparently nothing about my body inspires anything that Gwyneth Paltrow would consider feeding her children, or anything that they’d make on Posh Nosh.

Can I touch them?

I realize this is sort of a cop out for a real update, but I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve watched this now.

No I said no I won't No

Woke up at 3:48 am, bathed in sweat, interrupting a dream where James Joyce was seducing me in the most robotic manner possible. I guess that’s what I get for reading his dirty love letters.

In possibly related news, I can’t tell you how many times yesterday it was relevant for me to mention the Sani-Taco.


My trip was pretty great. Possibly the best trip ever. Dublin was a lot of fun, and very good for the self esteem: I could navigate the city after one day, and I’ve never been hit on more in my life. I saw the bog men and shared a silent moment with a stranger in the Yeats exhibit and bought a ridiculous sexy secretary sweater and took a hot bath in water the color of Mountain Dew. Cringe was a lot of fun, although short two readers, and then in the cab back to the hotel my cab driver asked what I’d been up to and I started to tell him and he said, “Ah, wait. I heard you on the radio yesterday.”

Then I went to London and spent a week in Antonia’s living room and learned a hundred new slang/curse words, as well as a newfound love for Marmite, Yorkshire tea, and a certain Roberta Flack song. They taught me about the Profanisaurus, and I taught them about The Hills. London Cringe was possibly one of the funniest Cringes in the history of Cringe. I’m really looking forward to reading the submissions for the UK version of the book (which you can send in here). I had such a good time I even forgot about Halloween. Granted, I spent most of the day prone and hungover. I didn’t end up flying back that day anyway, because Nick called the airline to move my flight and told them I had “fallen ill” and needed to “stay indefinitely.” Nick is now my new travel agent, as well as the reason I didn’t end up in trouble with Homeland Security.

But I had to come home, and not just because I was running out of underwear, but because that whole voting thing was figuring pretty big. At first it was nice not to be checking websites with colored maps every few minutes, but then I felt guilty for not thinking about the election for a few days. Everywhere we went in Dublin, people heard the American accent and said, “Have you voted yet? Are you going to vote for Obama? Will you be home in time to vote?", like that had not been a consideration when booking travel. It was really refreshing to see how the foreign newspapers were so slanted towards Obama, and not just on their editorial pages. I was kind of nervous that we’d need Ireland and England to vote to get him in there, but we seemed to do it just fine ourselves. Yesterday, after voting, I was walking down the streets of my neighborhood in the best mood, all smiling at strangers and saying hello like I was in the opening scene of a fucking musical. I swung around lampposts and little birds helped me put on my sweater and a baby deer carried my groceries home. Then we all lowered the lights and listened to Billie Holiday and I’ve said too much already but it was so lovely.

Anyway, good job, America. I want to kiss you all during a ticker tape parade while wearing a nurse’s uniform. Dip me.

New York Cringe: Wednesday, November 5

Cringe is back in the US, so come on out to Freddy’s Wednesday night. Either way Tuesday goes, we’ll be getting drunk.

I have to be honest with you: London Cringe is going to be a tough act to follow, so look sharp. I have faith in you.

Cringe Reading Night
Wednesday, November 5, 8:30 pm
Freddy’s Bar & Backroom
485 Dean Street (6th Ave. & Dean), Brooklyn
2/3 to Bergen, any train to Atlantic/Pacific
More directions

Cost: as always, free dollars

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