a surreal life

i just read this column by Patti Davis in the current Newsweek. i'm so glad she wrote it, for many reasons. most importantly: she's right. she's so absolutely right.

maybe i haven't lived long enough to say for sure that the whole realm of "celebrity" right now is at its crudest and most insane. but i'm saying it anyway. i love to flip through Us Weekly just as much as the next girl, but when you think about what it's perpetuating - the flat-out lies that are sold as gossip, the photos taken from all angles and at any cost, all of it giving the young-and-famous the belief that the world revolves solely around them - it sort of makes your stomach turn, right? sort of makes you never want to buy another one again, doesn't it?

Patti Davis is pissed because many of them - Lindsay Lohan currently - seem to be using rehab as Club Med. and that's unbearably wrong. Lohan was quoted earlier this year about her stay at Wonderland in January. she talked about the parquet floors and the white walls and how it was so quiet there, how she loved it. nothing about learning anything, about gaining any wisdom or insight or getting any help for her problems. she had a temporary hide-out from the relentless photographers and reporters who trail her - and then she went right back to her usual lifestyle.

the rehab thing has been on my mind lately, even before Lohan went back. i found out last week that an acquaintance of mine passed away in April, presumably from a drug overdose. she was a good friend of two friends of mine, and i was stunned to hear the news. this girl struggled with many issues in her life, but the last time i saw her she was doing great. she went to rehab, she took it seriously and did the best she could, but eventually got caught up with the wrong person and wound up dead. she was only twenty-five.

my own grandfather went to rehab when i was about 12 or 13. i visited him there on weekends, and was thrust into this environment i didn't fully understand. where he was wasn't a resort. i didn't see fancy furniture and fluffy pillows. i saw people struggling, leaning on each other, talking and talking until all the pain was gone.

my point is - there are real people in the world with real problems, in real trouble. maybe Lindsay Lohan does have serious problems with drugs and alcohol. maybe she'll actually gain something from rehab this time. i hope she does. i hope she realizes what a struggle it is to recover from an addiction, how it's a constant uphill battle, how it's a choice more than anything. and i hope somehow, by some chance, people start to realize how out of control this whole fame thing has become - and that continuing to buy into it will only make it worse.

maybe they'll read Patti Davis's column instead of "Stars - They're Just Like US!" that would be a good place to start.

mb

i never thought it would happen to me

so a week ago i left the city for a glorious long weekend in my parents' backyard, and a funny thing happened.

i realized i may be ready to head to the 'burbs.

i know, i can't really believe it either. but there i was on Thursday morning, stretched out on a chaise lounge in my bikini with a very good book in my hands, nothing to listen to but the sound of little birds chattering and the leaves rustling in the breeze, nothing to smell but the sunscreen i'd just sprayed on and the faint scent of chlorine from the pool. later on, my mother and i went to the grocery store. a place, mind you, that is bigger than my office building, with aisles so wide two carts can pass by each other with ease, and shelves stocked with more than three of everything. the next night i went out to dinner with a friend and our entire bill - drinks and appetizers included - came out to less than sixty dollars. on the drive home that night - with the windows rolled down and my music playing - i felt more at peace than i have in a while. i don't know if it was because i'd been away from work for a few days, or because the air smelled so familiar, like it had every spring during my childhood. whatever it was, it got me thinking about Leaving the City.

in the past, i have only ever thought of leaving during the months of August and February. those are the times when my patience for city living is stretched thin, when my endurance is about shot, and i just don't know if i can do it anymore. but then fall comes, or spring, and i feel rejuvenated for another round. but it's not August or February right now, and to me that means maybe this time it's real. maybe this time i'm actually serious about leaving.

i'm bewildered and relieved.

bewildered because: 1) i grew up in the suburbs, yes, but how will the transition be after living here for so long? 2) how does one afford a down payment on a house after throwing money into the rent dumpster for so long? 3) just how fat will i get when i'm not walking everywhere anymore? relieved because: 1) i really worried this day would never come and my children would grow up without a backyard, so i'm glad now that they'll have a chance to get grass stains on their knees and be able to make a real mud pie; 2) i know owning a home comes with eight bazillion headaches, but dear god, it has to be easier to sleep at night knowing your money is actually doing something; 3) did i mention the grocery stores with the mile-wide aisles and all the items you could possibly want, ever?

of course, i am in the earliest stages of pining for a suburban life. i'm sure there will be setbacks - days when i find a city street i never walked down before, mornings when i run along the promenade, marveling anew that Manhattan is glimmering at me, right there across the river, nights on a rooftop patio with friends and a few bottles of wine, feeling in my bones that life is truly fantastic. but hey - i never said it would be easy to leave. it's just more appealing to me now than ever before. go figure. i must be growing up.

mb

thank god i have a job...

...and thus am not home during the day to be exposed to what's on television in between the Today show and the Yankee game. dear god, i was on Perez Hilton just now and watched a clip he posted of Rosie & Elizabeth's latest feud on The View. it was the first clip i actually watched, though i've heard (too much) about their fights, the tears, the gnashing of the teeth, etc. it was the single most grating thing i've watched on television since that two-hour Grey's Anatomy episode where Addison went to L.A. i mean, seriously - this qualifies as television? i had no idea what they were even fighting about after 15 seconds of it! i don't think they did either. how these two can claim to be "friends" is beyond me. and how the show's ratings have increased since these two started going at it is even harder to comprehend. the ironic-est part of it is that Joy started out talking about Al Gore's book and that he wrote how the O.J. Simpson trial turned out not to be an anomaly but the beginning of an incredibly (and still ongoing) dark period for television news. The View is feeding right into that now, just one more in a string of freak shows masquerading as TV programs, airing almost 10 minutes of two shrill, insecure women arguing about nothing.

you can't see me, but i'm shuddering.

mb

having it all...not

last night on my way home from writing class, i was thinking about all the things i want to do in my life, and how it's basically impossible. a sobering - even depressing - thought for sure. but maybe it's time i faced the facts. for instance, right now i'm looking now for a new, better-paying, less-mind-numbing career situation. if money were of no importance, however (if, say, it grew on trees and i owned a farm of money trees), i would skip the whole career thing altogether and be a writer. i would write all day long and maybe eventually have that novel i've been dreaming about for the last eighty-six years. as it is now, i can barely squeeze writing time in, what with my mind-numbing job that doesn't pay enough, and my 30-and-five-months-old metabolism, which requires even more gym time, and my apartment, which doesn't clean itself, and, you know, sometimes a little American Idol. and then, of course, there's my cockamamie desire to get married and buy a house and have babies. i obviously don't have babies yet, but i can't imagine they leave a lot of time for writing. or for American Idol. and it's just like - how do you fit it all in? back when i was in college (many moons ago now), i thought i had all the time in the world - i thought i would accomplish everything i wanted and then some. i saw the novel, the career, the husband and the baby, all by age twenty-eight. what a moron! but i had no way of knowing then that i would spend half my twenties drinking and the other half worrying about every goddamn stupid freaking thing in the world. i didn't have the brain power to balance my checkbook, let alone secure a book deal. so anyway, here i am now, rethinking my belief on cloning, because at least then i could maybe Xerox myself and actually do all the things i want to do - and there are soooo many. i didn't even mention all the traveling i'm itching to do, and the bakery i want to open, and don't forget about my still-unannounced 2008 presidential campaign. i mean, come on - what am i supposed to do with all this ambition? wait until i retire? fantastic. with the way things are going, i won't be able to retire 'til i'm eighty-three, but maybe by then eighty-three will be the new twenty-three and i'll be OK.

i can only hope so.

mb

can i just say? redux

i've stayed away from ranting and raving for a while - how sad. but this freezing, dreary Friday seems to be the perfect time to get the ol' big mouth going again so buckle up...

things bugging the crap out of me lately:

- Grey's Anatomy. specifically: Grey herself. why is she so stupid and annoying? and why does she have so many damn relatives floating around? also, why does Izzie find George so appealing? and why did Burke bail on the wedding? and how was it even possible for the Chief to get his ex-wife pregnant if they haven't seen each other in months? come on. i'm all for drama, but this show isn't even remotely believable anymore. the best part last night was Christina's eyebrows disappearing...temporarily.

- Paris Hilton. just stop your crying, shut your trap and go to jail already. i wish they hadn't reduced her sentence. she's rewarded for "good behavior"? i'm sorry, has she exhibited any? ever? and while we're at it, i wish someone would send Lindsay Lohan with her. she may be as amazing an actress as Jane Fonda claims she is, but who cares when she's so obnoxious off-screen?

- the Subway Series. this is honestly the first time ever that i'm dreading it. i'm praying for a rainout. hell, i'm praying for it to rain the next three weeks straight. by then Roger Clemens will be back, and maybe someone will be able to find Bernie Williams, too. i'm really starting to think all the Yankee woes are some kind of bad karma for how they treated #51. anyway, my point is, in case you haven't caught on in my last several posts - baseball is bringing me down. (and, jeez, i wish Joe Torre would take a page from Lou Pinella's book and start acting angry. he's still talking about gaining confidence and getting in a groove. for god's sake, man, throw a few chairs! you're a baseball manager, not a life coach!)

things making me happy lately:

- The Office. the entire episode last night was hilarious, but the ending was perfect. such a nice, sweet, but-not-too-much payoff for those of us who've endured the Jim-Karen debacle all season. of course there will be wrenches thrown into the Jim-Pam love bubble next season, but the warm fuzzies from last night's send-off will linger for a while, i'm sure. (ps: i could not love Steve Carrell an ounce more. completely impossible. he's just that awesome.)

- my family. my parents and i visited my Gram in her rehab/nursing home last Sunday for Mother's Day. i brought her a plate of brownies, which she dove into like nobody's business and which warmed my heart enough. then my Uncle Mark showed up, followed a few minutes later by my Uncle Bill, who lives in California now, and whom i haven't seen since last summer. my Gram's face when he walked in - it was a surprise visit - was priceless. six of us were crammed into her side of the room for a few hours, but it was the best few hours i've spent in a while. afterward, we (minus Gram) went to my Uncle Mark's for dinner, so i got to hang with Aunt Val and my two favorite boys Scott and Henry, too. sometimes i forget how much i love my family - which sounds weird, i realize, but i really don't see them all that often, and sometimes it's just nice to be together. nice to be around people who have to love you, because you share the same DNA (and really bizarre quirks).

- springtime. OK, so today it feels like November (or Antarctica, in my office), but lately it's been so lovely outside and i can't speak for the entire human population, but i feel so much happier when it's warm out. i could care less if the bottoms of my feet turn black every time i wear flip-flops - i'll take the grime over a coat and scarf any day. last Friday when i got to PA, i breathed such a huge sigh of relief. i lounged on a chaise in the backyard with a book and a glass of red wine, and slowly my shoulders sunk back to where they belonged (ie, not up by my ears) and i reveled in watching the trees sway in the balmy breeze. what more does a girl need in life?

happy weekend, friends.

mb

greetings from nine games back...

otherwise known as: the depths of despair. the Yankees just played a pathetic game against the White Sox - another game in which they failed to score more than one run - and lost, lost so hard, putting them NINE GAMES BEHIND THE RED SOX. damn you Yankees! don't you realize it's MAY now!? in fact, May is more than halfway over. this is when you should start, you know, umm, ohh, what's that word...? WINNING!

argh. i know it's not healthy, the impact one stupid sports team has on my mental health, but i was apparently born this way. just as i will always have freckles and less-than-slender ankles, i will always have stomach pains when the Yankees play like poo.

bastards!

mb

you know it's bad when you wonder how Rory's doing at her new job...

way back in college, i had my own (ahem, award-winning) column in the campus newspaper. it was called - you'll love this - The Tube Boob. i came up with the name all on my own. and that's exactly what i feel like this week. a big boob who needs a break from TV.

it started Tuesday night when i watched Brothers & Sisters on DVR and sobbed my way through it. i'm sorry - there's just no way i couldn't. premature twin babies? one a healthy girl, the other a teeny boy needing a kidney? how in god's name can you expect parents to make that decision? and then they went and named the little girl Elizabeth! my eyes were all red and puffy by the time the Gilmore Girls finale came on, and the water works started again - as soon as Rory announced she was taking off in three days, as soon as they all realized it was their last Friday night dinner together. i felt like i was the one leaving home for good! and then - ohh - the Luke and Lorelai scene was perfect. i didn't even watch the show consistently, but already i feel its absence. (i also am hoping that Liza Weil - aka Paris Gellar - gets more work after GG. she probably wouldn't know me from a hole in the wall anymore, but we were in acting camp together a hundred years ago. truth be told, i thought she was snotty at the time, but i really was probably just jealous because she was so good and i was so, well, chubby and metal-mouthed and really not all that graceful on stage.)

anyway. last night things only got worse. as soon as Ryan told Jordin she was safe, i was sure that meant Blake was going home. then he called Melinda forward and regurgitated all the raves the judges gave her Tuesday night. he mentioned again that eighteen hundred billion people had voted...and that she was going home. WHAT? WHAAAT??? such crap! i know it doesn't matter...Melinda will be just fine and probably have a longer, more lucrative career than Blake or Jordin, but argh! i wasn't ready to not hear her sing again!

i couldn't fall asleep right away last night, and one of the things floating through my muddled mind was the end of Melinda. and that's when i know that i probably need a break from TV. it's springtime. i should be spending the evening hours outdoors, taking walks, planting things, interacting with real people. so i'm going to start doing that. but not until after tonight. i need to see what happens to Betty's father (i think he might die!) who gets the corporate job at Dunder-Mifflin (please be Karen), and if Christina actually marries Burke (god i hope not).

what? what do you want from me? once a Tube Boob, always a Tube Boob.

mb

what goes up, must come, well, you know...

lately i've been thinking about how life is a lot like baseball. i was pondering A-Rod's return to greatness so far this year (knock on wood), and Doug Mientkiewicz's awful April - which has turned into a super-hot May - and Mo's so-ridiculous-it-can't-be-true ERA. in baseball, you're slumping, slumping, slumping and then with one hit, confidence is restored and nothing can stop you. or: you're riding high - a hitting streak, a brilliant cutter, injury-free - and just like that it can end. in the blink of an eye you strike out, you lose your location, you step off the mound funny and wham! you're on your ass, metaphorically speaking.

that's pretty much where i am today - on my metaphorical ass. yesterday morning i had an interview at a prestigious agency that specializes in finding jobs for creative people. i was really excited about the appointment, because i'd already had a phone interview and had reason to believe this was finally going to be my break - the catalyst to get my career in gear. i was taking a chance on myself after playing it safe for so long, and i found it a little thrilling. it was a beautiful morning yesterday, and even though some woman on Park Avenue body slammed me on the corner of 46th street, nearly knocking me out of my heels, i was in great spirits and feeling very optimistic. i suppose the fact that i got on the wrong elevator - twice - should have set off alarms in my mind, but i chalked it up to me being a dunderhead. (which, on occasion, i am.)

the interview itself went extremely well. i liked what they had to say, they liked what i had to say, and they filled my head with enough positive feedback that i found myself fantasizing a little about giving notice at my current job. i was thinking about the greener pastures i would find, the challenges i would encounter, the chances i would have to really prove myself. i was looking forward to flying without a net for a change. and i felt great. in fact, i hadn't felt so invigorated in a long time.

then, around four-thirty yesterday afternoon, that invigoration evaporated with a single phone call. it turns out the agency couldn't really help me after all. everything they'd said that morning was now being taken back, in a very diplomatic (but really very awkward) manner. they had done a complete 180 - for reasons they weren't telling me - and just like that, my hitting streak had come to an end. my eight-hour hitting streak - poof! - over.

i really should have known better. any time i feel "too" happy about things, too excited, too optimistic, somewhere in the back of my mind i'm waiting for it to end. i don't think that's pessimistic or even defeatist. it's just how life goes. no matter where you are, there's only ever one way to go. so maybe i should be glad to be so down right now. i can focus on my next trip up instead of anticipating when i might be on my ass again.

or maybe i'll just focus on baseball.

mb

fierce

i read an article this morning about Roger Clemens. in case you live under a rock (or go by the nickname Big Papi) the bionic pitcher is once again a Yankee. i was watching the game on TV on Sunday afternoon when he appeared in Steinbrenner's luxury box with a microphone in his hand and announced to the Bronx that he was coming back. i was wearing rubber gloves and mopping the floor rather arduously at the time, and did what was quite possibly the most embarrassing, ridiculous happy dance ever. i sort of blocked it out of my memory, but i do believe it involved a lot of squealing, bouncing and ripping-off of rubber gloves so i could dial the phone and pass along the news to my father. anyway. of course it's all Roger news all the time this week, and today i read an article that said he does 800 sit-ups a day. my mouth actually literally fell open when i read that. i think we do about 80 in Total Body Conditioning on Saturday mornings, and let me tell you - i never think i'm gonna make it. i can't imagine adding a zero to that number - and doing them every day. he can't be real. he can't! he's almost 45 years old! all i can say is that if he gets hurt (god forbid, knock on wood, pleasepleaseno) now that he's a Yankee pitcher again, it'll mean there's definitely a new curse in baseball.

mb

a british invasion

oh dear. i've been such a neglectful blogger. i think it's the new office. it's a time-sucking sort of place, where important things get shoved to the back of the line to make room for all the pointless, mind-numbing things. at any rate, i meant to write on Monday and now all of a sudden it's Friday - and it's May - and i'm finally getting around to updating this thing.

(note: currently workmen are drilling holes into my head. well, into the wall behind me, but i swear i can feel it in my skull. but i'll try my best to focus.)

i was extremely tired yesterday, and slightly cranky. i thought i'd head to the gym after work for a cardio kickboxing class with my favorite sadistic instructor, David. it's my belief that sweat cures everything (and removes the guilt that comes with gorging on chocolate later). but then my old friend Sarah invited me for a beer at Peter McManus (which, if you remember, is the place i met the charming and adorable John "Jim from the Office" Krasinski last fall). she really had to twist my arm before i agreed to forgo sweating for lite beer and French fries.

anyway, lovely time. we sat at a table and chatted about life and bathroom tile and onions. a few drinks in, Sarah got up to go to the bathroom. out of nowhere, an elderly man with white hair approached the table. "i must pay a compliment to your friend," he said, leaning in toward me. he had an English accent, which reminded me of Simon Cowell, and i love Simon Cowell, which is why i didn't immediately tell Richard Attenborough to buzz off. the accent is intoxicating, on anyone. i asked him what the compliment was and he said, "the way her bottom waddles is wonderful." now, with his accent, it sounded more like, "buttum wuddles" and i burst out laughing. i couldn't believe an old man was watching my friend's rear end, and i couldn't believe he was telling me about it!

he introduced himself as "William" and asked my name. when i told him he said, "oh, that's a Welsh name." i replied, "i'm Irish." and he said, "you're Anglo-Irish." and i said, "i'm New Jersey Irish." anyway, he asked me where he might have a good meal with the company of a beautiful woman. i should have told him to consult the Yellow Pages, say, under "massage" but i started to feel the ick coming on and stalled until Sarah returned. after he told her about the waddle of her bottom (and she and i exchanged is-this-really-happening looks), he went on to tell us that he spends half the year in the United States, living mostly in Naples, Florida, with his wife (Margaret) but he loves to come to New York because, as he put it, Naples is so "well-behaved" (and there he reminded me of Austin Powers).

he came to the city this time without his wife (of course) - "she lets me off the leash," he told us, at which point my stomach started to churn. and, because he felt so guilty about leaving her by the pool at their posh condo complex in Naples, he decided to stay in a hostel instead of a hotel. "it's exciting!" he told us, describing how he had to rent a locker in which to keep his passport. we all waxed poetic about New York for a while, and talked about Florida, and William's 39-year old daughter, who also happened to be named Sarah. then the conversation returned to his having dinner with a beautiful woman. "i want a very good meal with a very beautiful woman in the greatest city in the world," he said, looking at us ever-so-creepily. i asked him what poor Margaret would think about him pursuing such an endeavor. his reply? "she knows i'm naughty."

ohhhhh-kay. that was it. show's over. i put on my jacket and Sarah and i finished our drinks and William got the hint. "you're rushing off to go home to your wonderful boyfriends?" he asked. he thanked us for our company, said it was a pleasure, and eventually wandered out of the bar. the people sitting behind us turned around with priceless expressions. "i feel like i need to just go home and shower after that," one of them said. we sat there for five or ten more minutes laughing about the whole thing before getting up to actually leave. as soon as i stood up, i spotted William loitering outside.

"oh my god," i said to Sarah. "he's still there!" i pointed as his balding white head went bobbing by the window. the guy at the next table asked if we needed him to walk us to a cab and we declined. "i think we can take him," Sarah said. we left the bar and walked quickly in the opposite direction as William, cracking up and shaking off the ick. "only us!" i said. and it's true - every time we go to McManus, something crazy happens. i much prefer meeting celebrities to being hit on by dirty old men, but, hey. it's New York. the greatest city in the world.

mb