Alcohol isn't a very good excuse

Last Thursday, a woman in NY hailed a Yellow Cab at 51st and 2nd Avenue to get her home to Queens. It is a pretty common occurrence throughout the city on a Thursday evening after drinks, hell, I've done it numerous times. It is the way of NYers: go out, get tipsy or fall-down drunk, hail a cab, get home. Well, last week, something happened after hailing a cab and before getting home: she was sexually assaulted. The cabbie stopped near her home, got in the backseat and sodomized the 24-year-old. It's put the fright in every woman in NY to think that heading home after a night out could lead to that. Cabs are the safe haven, the way to get home, especially if you live in the outer boroughs. And now with the increase in fares from $2 surcharge and 30¢ per fifth of a mile to $2.50 surcharge and 40¢ per fifth of a mile, people may want to reconsider whether it is feasible to take a taxi. Many cabs in other cities that do have higher rates accept credit and debit cards--not so here in NY.

This leads up to my story of catching a cab at 49th and 2nd Avenue after picking up cupcakes yesterday at 6:45pm to meet Shenan for dinner and a movie. The cabbie strikes up a conversation with me about how I didn't want to wait for a bus (really, I was running late--I like taking the bus). Then he starts up about how the fare increase is such a good thing because he's gotta eat (hey, so do I, and I haven't had a raise in years and have to freelance on occasion to supplement my income!). I express how yes, it is probably a good thing since San Francisco cabs, few and far between compared to the 1,300 Yellow Cabs in NY, are way expensive. Then I say how it wouldn't be such a burden to pay if cabs took credit and debit cards to which he showed obvious resistance. I explained, while many city cabs cost more, they accept plastic. He mumbled something. Then I told the story about the girl that got assaulted by her cabbie. He was surprised--apparently his wage doesn't afford him a newspaper to have heard about this a few days ago. I explained the details about where she got picked up and what happened to her. His response: "Was she drunk?" I was like, um, what does that have to do with her being raped? "I don't know, probably, but it doesn't matter," I say. He asks me again and I give him the same answer, rather appalled that he wants imply that she was drunk and so deserved it maybe or was asking for it. After he asks me a third time, I am a bit more forceful in saying, "It doesn't matter if she was drunk. He raped her, clear and simple. She could've been 10 sheets to the wind, that doesn't mean he can assault her." I paid the fare and got out, annoyed at this guy. He's got the gall to insinuate that she was asking for it because she was drunk while women from his part of the world are gang raped because their brother was seen with a woman in a higher cast system, or in Iraq where women live in fear from being kidnapped and raped by groups of men just because they feel like it.

Today, I read a quote from Ireland Online made by Abdel Bari Atwan, editor of Al-Quds Al-Arabi, in response to the recent torture photos of Iraqi prisoners by American soldiers: "People will be extremely angry…sexual abuse is the worst thing in that part of the world. It is shocking to all Muslims." While I think the soldiers who so idiotically documented their crimes should get 100 years in Leavenworth, this guy is totally out of touch with the crime in his own country against his own people, perpetrated by his own people. How about the more than 400 women in Iraq who are already victims and the countless others who are afraid to leave their homes because of the roaming misanthropes who want to sexually assault them? Pot, meet kettle. Kettle, meet pot. He should have modified his statement to say "sexual abuse against men is the worst thing in that part of the world." Unless it is a crime against a man, it isn't a crime apparently. A man can drink until he's pickled and if he's assaulted, he wasn't asking for it. Marie Claire and Glamour both produced articles in their March issues about women being raped and tortured and killed and the Iraqi police not giving a rat's ass. Yeah, real nice folks there; real humanists.

And now, for something completely different: I had two red velvet cupcakes from Buttercup Bake Shop. I highly recommend it--the cupcakes are better than Magnolia Bakery's as they are more moist. Yum.

Cinderella doesn't live here anymore

There's no such thing as happily ever after. I've seen 13 Going On 30 twice . The first time, I went solo and came out all in self-pity. Mostly because that fairy tale ending is really a load of crap. Seriously, if they think that nice girls really get the nice boys and end up happily ever after, that's quite the contrary. If anything, I've noticed men who attach themselves to mentally or emotionally unstable women; or both. And these women must give off the most attractive pheremones on the planet because these suckers just eat it up. While it can be successfully argued that I can fall into that category on occasion, I'm fairly well-adjusted (or so I've been told by my friends) but can't seem to find a decent guy who can appreciate my quirks--while not on that Lithium level, still entertaining all the same. Either I need to find a psychiatrist to diagnose me as borderline personality or give me electro-shock therapy.

Now, the second time I saw the Garner flick, I felt a lot less self-loathing. Mostly because I didn't have to turn into a total biatch to find out that those most important in your life are the ones who stick by you. I have enough of the "Six Chix" my entire time in school when I was the ugly duck (not even a duckling). I was shunned in that really sweet way--when they find everyway they can to torture you emotionally and make you a social outcast. The only way I got to my prom was being the head of prom committee--I had to go. And being head of that committee two years in a row meant I didn't have to pay to go. It meant my date wouldn't have to fork much out moneywise. It meant I ended up going with a friend. I was turned down for the prom by this one guy who went to my school. He dated every half-breed girl at my school except for me. I'm not sure if that makes me special or if he thought I carried some kind of streptococcal infection. Doesn't matter much since, like Jenna Rink's dream boy in school, this guy peaked in high school and that was it.

Now, it is quite apparent I haven't completely grown out of being that duck in school that got picked on and tormented; that I harbor a bit of that animosity towards these folks. And honestly, I probably never will grow out of it 100%, but I think that without that unfortunate and degrading experience, I probably would have ended up morally void and cocky as all hell. (Hey, I'm not arrogant, I'm confident and self-assured! There's a difference.)

This duck has grown more saddened recently in learning that she can't get to Japan on her free ticket this summer because all award seats have been taken. No Mt. Fuji for me. And I just got my Japanese books to give myself a refresher. I have decided to go in a year for the next cherry blossom season. I'll appreciate the hot springs much more when it is a bit chilly there. It will also give me a good year to sharpen my Japanese skills and get some conversing with native speakers in NY (even if for $20/hr). It also means I'll need to decide what to do with my other ticket. I'm thinking of returning to Paris or perhaps heading to Italy (time to learn Italian) or perhaps to Costa Rica or Quito or Santiago (that means I need to learn Spanish). Once again, I'm done trying to find someone to go with me. People are busy or they suck or they lack adventure. I think they are just getting to be old fogeys without passion in their lives. Boo.

I'm going to paint my room. A lovely light shade of blue for my bedroom, maybe a bright green and dark blue for my tv room, and some muted green for my bathroom. I'll start with the bedroom first. And next week, I start rehearsals for Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. It's gonna get busy and more interesting.

Listening: The Best of Bonnie Raitt

Not just physically crippled

I am embarassed. I took my friends, Nik and Esther, to catch a production of Richard III, the crippled and conniving king, in the East Village. I should have known it was bad when two people saw us come in and asked if we were there for R3 and excitedly expressed their great joy at our arrival. 20 minutes later, we were out the door in search of beverages. What's that you say? R3 is like 3 hours long? Oh, sure, if we stayed for the whole thing it would have been, but 20 minutes was almost too long to watch the most amateurish production of any Shakespeare play (even in grade school). R3 didn't know his lines. He toted around the text of the play and swore everytime he forgot his line: "Fuck! Sorry.... Fuck it! Sorry again, I'm sorry." Damn right he was sorry. They all were. There was no real direction, no real blocking, and the staging was god awful. When R3 bares his breast for Anne to strike him, he unbuttoned his shirt... gingerly... wtf? And hey, if you're making R3 a cripple with a limp, remember which leg we're limping on. We were told in our amazement at how awsul it was that this guy was the understudy and just got the part the day before. Um, as the understudy, isn't he supposed to know the lines? Isn't that what an understudy does? If there is one thing I cannot abide, it is a group of performers trying to put on a show that obviously isn't ready for public consumption. I was always taught, if you have a paying audience, you better give them their money's worth and not waste their time. It is rude and unprofessional. And let me add, not only was R3 sad and more than enough reason to cancel that performance, but the actors backstage decided it was okay to chatter loudly while their fellow castmates were performing. Holy Jesus! STFU! So whatever you do, avoid the Gene Frankel Theatre's Richard III which is showing through the first week of May. I'm working on getting my money back.

I'm off to Boston to see Sierra, Kelly, Jen, and my Friendster, Neil. I'm dying to see the BMFA exhibit on dragons, specifically Asian art with dragons as the main theme. I'm Year of the Dragon and strangely obsessed with them. Tonight, a party at Pravda with the HBS admits. Beantown, here I come!

Reading: Bringing Down the House by Ben Mezrich

It's like calling a 900 number

Today, I went to the doctor after I coughed so hard, my left eye protruded 5 inches out of its socket and caused a bad headache. I thought it was asthma. No, apparently my lungs are just fine... except for that cough which is the result of a virus. I got lots of cough suppressant related meds which make operating things like a forklift or controlling air traffic very dangerous. I napped both before and after my appointment and made jook (or congee) for dinner. Thing is, I'm still coughing. Not as violently as before, but now it is much drier. I've had so much water, New York is on drought advisory for the summer. Even so, still, very dry cough. This, as I've learned over the years, leads to the development of a very raspy voice. I usually replace answering machine and voicemail messages when I get my Kathleen Turner voice. Why? Because I can. Many of my friends call this my "900 number voice." I assume that my normal nasally drone is not as attractive as my laryngitis-like rasp. I'll have to remember to change my cell phone message tomorrow. I'm hoping I feel better enough to head to work. I know, that's a weird request, but I do. Mostly because it means I've stopped coughing enough to keep my eyes in my head and not have a throbbing headache. I've been popping 800mg of ibuprofen to fend the throbbing which has now been so kind to envelope the right side of my head.

On a tangent, I'm trying to plan my trip to Japan for this summer I'm hoping so I can climb up Mt. Fuji. It is a strange desire, I know, but I'd like to do something exciting with my free ticket--send mail from the post station at the summit, eat saimin with other climbers, walk around the crater, get my walking stick engraved, take breath taking photos. It is supposed to be a very moderate climb due to a very well-defined trail--nearly 200,000 people climb Mt. Fuji in July and August. The downside is I haven't been able to find a soul to come with me. Most of my friends are saving for weddings or have a family or boyfriend to spend that week with or don't have the funds. So now I'm thinking of going solo which is a pretty scary and sad thought. Scary because I'm going to a country that speaks a different language than I do at breakneck speeds as a lone woman and sad because it is kinda pathetic to have to go to the top of Mt. Fuji at sunrise with no one but yourself and having to ask strangers to take pictures of you or to a hot spring in Japan or to the many ancient castles and dining on kobe beef... alone. This is kinda a plea to my friends to come out and be adventurous and come with me to Asia. Skoshi nihongo o hanashimasu. Okay, maybe a little more than a little. I can ask for the toilet, the library, tea, and say 'shit' and 'damn' and call dirty men 'pervert' in Japanese. That's probably more than you reading this! Unless you're Japanese of course. *sigh* I will persevere on to find someone to climb the tallest peak in Japan... or at least sit in the hot springs with me between visiting the great castles. Else, it may be a spring trip for next year to see the cherry blossoms, but then I can't climb Mt. Fuji. Kusa!

Remaking Hollywood Classics

Hollywood must be in need of new writers because a slew of classics have been remade recently: Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1973) as Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2003), Romero's Dawn of the Dead as novice director Zack Snyder's Dawn of the Dead, Big as 13 Going on 30 and my recent view, Risky Business as The Girl Next Door. I have to say, The Girl Next Door was a really good movie. Funny and fresh. You'll even catch some of the soundtrack from Risky Business in this flick. Not to mention the train scene remade in a limo. But this begs, why remake? Risky Business was such a Tom Cruise launch pad to Top Gun, his rocket to stardom. It had classic lines like "Sometimes you just have to say, 'what the fuck?'" He drives his dad's porshce, he gets it on with a prostitute, he runs a prostitution ring, makes mad cash and ends up getting into Princeton with his pathetic SAT scores. Well, probably to appease the next generation, give them contemporaries they can relate. Most kids can't relate to Tom Hanks and probably only know him as Forrest Gump or that Castaway guy. So, let's deliver Jennifer Garner of Alias fame who is, yes, mighty hot, and someone the kids see on a regular basis. Plus, we can joke about boobs in this one. Probably would've been really awkward joking about Tom Hanks's member throughout Big.

The Girl Next Door replaces Tom Cruise with Emile Hirsch, Rebecca De Mornay with Elisha Cuthbert, Curtis "Booger" Armstrong of Revenge of the Nerds fame with Chris Marquette, Joe Pantoliano's pimp with Timothy Olyphant. The changes were rather refreshing to the whole story, and (no I won't give it away) the ending had a nice little twist to it. Go watch it--probably put you in a better mood than The Passion.

But should all classics be remade? Uh, hell no. Are we going to see Damascus instead of Casablanca? There is only one Wonderful Life. In 20 years, I hope they don't remake Donnie Darko. That's a great film that could be sorely ruined by someone trying to inject something into it. Some movies just make that mark that cannot be added to or changed. Risky Business isn't like Casablanca by any means, and it really was addressing the issues of pressure and how to deal with them, throwing out what you think is right and replacing them with what is realistically going to get you what you want. Easy to transplant that as opposed to Hitler's Nazi regime and the flawless Ingrid Bergman.

Tonight, I'm at the theatre to catch Caroline, or Change. I'm not a fan of musicals, but I like Tony Kushner's work. This one is quite a departure from Angels in America as it is set in the south in the 1930s. If my cough persists, perhaps the music will be kind enough to disguise it. Lots of water to watch this two and a half hour show!

April Showers

Yuck yuck yuck. And not in that Three Stooges way. It is raining, terribly so. My asthmatic cough has manifested in such a violent way, I'm waiting to expectorate my bronchioles. It has left me fairly lethargic since Sunday. I got the least amount of rest last night in a while due to said cough. Aurora looked concerned at varying times. She sat with me last night while I tried to sleep between my coughing fits and she occasionally attacked the mist from my humidifier (which needs to be replaced as it seems defective). I'm taking hits off my inhaler a few times a day now and keep my office door closed so I do not disturb my fellow co-workers who also give me that very concerned look. I'm drinking lots of fluids, but I apparently need lots more.

As I was saying, it is yucky and raining and that isn't helping my cough. Cold and wet is conducive to hacking... as is the new flowers that are out (I hate those pollen filled flowers... lilies, tulips, dandelions... v. bad!) which is agravating my asthma further. The summer cannot come quickly enough.

I'm hoping that if my asthma clears up enough, I'm going to make it out to Boston next weekend to visit old college friends. From my freshman roommate to a fellow theatre producer. Fanueil Hall and Harvard Sqaure and all those Bostonian men. I love that movie Boondock Saints with Sean Patrick Flanery and Norman Reedus as fraternal Irish twins who become vigilantes in Boston and Willem Dafoe as a very gay FBI detective with a penchant for opera. And who doesn't want to catch a movie with Ron Jeremy? What a gem! It's got a great soundtrack too. Now, while I won't be in any meatpacking plants in Boston, I'm sure I'll be able to find a few local pubs to have a ball in. That's next weekend--hopefully sunnier and warm.

Speaking of movies, I caught Hellboy while it rained last night. A long movie, but lots of fun--Ron Perlman is superb as Red. He definitely steals the show. More could've been done with Liz Sherman's character development. Well, a great little action movie that could cover my hacking cough with explosions and action sequences. Damn cough! Too bad there isn't a relic that would keep it away.


Reading: The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho
At the Movies: The Girl Next Door with Emile Hirsch and Elisha Cuthbert

Even men need relationship advice

A couple years ago, I stumbled upon a website AskMen.com which offered all types of dating and love advice, pictures and rankings of celebrity women, and something called "The System;" a surefire way to get any woman you want--almost. It's been my source of entertaining read and procrastination since that time. With all the women's mags out there about how to get Mr. Right... or Right-Now, there wasn't really a mag marketed for men in this way. This site covered the Maxim/Details/Cosmo type topics for men in one place. Why am I writing about this?

I don't think enough guys read or learn about how to deal with relationships and could really benefit from reading these articles. This week's Doc Love Advice column answers a woman's letter about what women DON'T want: a wet rag. While women want to share their feelings, fears, obstacles they are facing, they don't want to do it on the first date. Not even the fifth sometimes. While everyone has problems, women don't want to be the ones to solve it for some weepy, mopey boy (i.e. "I used to be so alone and sad, but now that you're here, my life is complete and I live for you alone!" *footsteps running in opposite direction, growing quiter, door opens, door slams shut, man groans .... alone*). Women want a whole, already complete, no assembly or serious therapy required man to date. Clingy and needy men are such turn-offs. Why not just say you're a eunuch when you meet a girl and save her some time and trouble? Men don't like clingy women, what makes them think women love a clingy guy? Yeach! Blech! Women want men; real, flesh and blood, confident, together, okay-when-I'm-out-with-my-girlfriends-at-bars, intelligent, self-fulfilled men. If we wanted clingy and needy, we'd have children. I blame upbringing for clingy and needy boys--too much mothering. I think it leads boys to seek out a woman to treat them much in the same way. But what 20-something wants to mother a 30-something?

If a woman is really worth it, if she's together and fulfilled and confident, don't expect her to solve your problems. She won't do it and she wouldn't want to. She has a job already. If she wants to date you, she wants to do it because it is fun and it doesn't involve her using her analytical skills she's salaried to use on a daily basis. You'd think evolution helped man gain a spine, but obviously, there are some mutations that prove the spineless still exist--like people with all their wisdom teeth--you're evolutionary challenged!

Lessons I learned this weekend

(1) Blind dates are unnatural
Singledom is a wonderful thing--no one to answer to or check with, no schedule to stick to but your own, and no guilt. The one unfortunate thing is the blind dates. I had my first blind date when I was 17. There was an obnoxious 26 year old Harvard grad who still lived with his parents and was prematurely balding who wielded a musket at me. That was sign enough that the only "blind dates" I would go on would be with the blind.

(2) $10 per person for dim sum is the best deal you can get in the city
Chinatown in Manhattan is filled with many dim sum places. And while most treat me like a pariah because I don't speak Cantonese, the food is great. My favorite is Chicken Feet with Black Bean Sauce. Jano just watched me eat them. I think it grosses him out.

(3) Pam Ann is excellent
Airline humor is back with a vengeance. Check out Pam Ann, a UK import in NYC thru April 25. Might I add, the male dancers strip down to their unmentionables. It was joyous, all so joyous and beautiful.

(4) Irish construction workers can't read signals
At Puck Fair, Jano and I met 3 Irish construction workers from the Bronx--one closeted, one retarded, and one just a little too shy. In an effort to hit on the closeted one, because I only date gay men, remember, Jano scabbed a cigarette and I spoke to said boy. His accent wasn't so harsh I couldn't understand him, and I learned exactly what Puck Fair means. A puck is a male goat. In Ireland, they hold a fair for a week called Puck Fair in celebration of this male goat. There's a beauty queen too. Very amusing. Anyway, Jano and I got bored with the weirdness and said goodbye. Closet boy waved, the other two gave me hugs, Jano handshakes.

(5) No amount of acid in your eyes can remove the images of men getting it on in a gay club burned into your mind
The Cock. Herds of gay horny men. Strange going ons in the corner. Lacuna Mind Erasure will be unable to clear those images from my head. Tried acid in eyes, very painful. But my vision is back to 20/20; go figure.

(6) 12 eggs and Chinese sausage is a good snack
Sunday, Jano and I went to Mee's on 53rd and 9th Avenue and I had tender steamed egg with Chinese sausage and a dish of steamed choy sum with oyster sauce. Mmmmmmmmm. So good. Jano thinks it odd that I don't like breakfast eggs (egg yolks in particular), but I'll sit and eat a dozen steamed eggs in one sitting? It is like people who like ketchup but not tomatoes. I only like them a certain way--plus it reminds me of mom and home cooking.

(7) Shaolin Soccer is the best import this year
If you haven't but you can, go watch Shaolin Soccer! One of the funniest and most amazing Hong Kong imports I've seen. Written by the star, Stephen Chow, and well made. Special effects, while not Matrix quality, are still awesome and funny as all hell. Cantonese with English subtitles.