Homesickness

Nothing makes me miss college more than attending the kind of entertainment that was rampant on campus. You know the radical cheerleaders? We had some of those. And though the choreography of cute, earnest, androgynous adolescents never convinced anyone of anything, it was totally great to watch.

Circus Amok, the subversive clowning show which Mr. Ben and I trekked out to Coney Island to see today, reminded me a lot of them. In fact one of the performers looked SO MUCH like a thicker, butcher version of my friend and former radical cheerleader S. Kelly that I felt a pang go all the way out to Seattle, where S. Kelly is currently buttering cupcakes for the ACLU. Or something. S. Kelly, and all those other fugitive ’04ers on the west coast, come home!

More to the point: Circus Amok gathered a huge crowd, and when I say it was diverse I don’t mean that it was, like, black. I saw black families, Hispanic families, Orthodox Jewish families, Muslim families, and lots of assorted vagabond types like Mr. Ben and me. The parents in general didn’t seem to be turned off by the cheerfully political bent to the show (one of the acts is a gymnastic tribute to the lefty governments of South America) and the gender playfulness of the performers.

While the performers managed to weave a statement on immigration or health care or race relations into every one of the acts I can remember except the one wear a guy takes a wire coat hanger and works it all the way up his body and eventually over his head, none of it would have worked if the clowning and acrobatics weren’t so much fun to watch. All of the details, from the colorful ragtag costumes and the klezmer-style band, worked to the troupe’s advantage and made sure that, first and foremost, their show was entertaining.

The rest of the weekend was notable principally because I began eating adult food again. Three cheers for feta, scallion and tomato omelettes! They taste especially good when you’ve been eating nothing but noodles for DAYS. And while I participated in two social situations where I felt like I had to play hostess (ick), I also got to spend a lot of quality time with my nahvel. I will have a first draft done by Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. So help me, I will.

Boo!

An evil restaurant poisoned me almost a week ago. My recovery’s been pretty rocky. The best part is I keep getting more information as to the things I can’t eat. The list now consists of:

– caffeine
– alcohol
– fruit
– vegetables
– dairy
– anything sugary
– anything spicy
– fiber
– fat

At one point, I interrupted the nurse to tell her, “I’m a vegetarian, and I’m swiftly running out of food.” Seriously, how many meals of simple carbs can one person eat?

To the list I have to add — after some disasterous experimentation — Excedrin. I tried taking some for a headache brought on by not drinking caffeine; my stomach exploded. Apparently stomachs don’t like aspirin when they’re feeling sensitive.

Not all is lost. Though I did end up staying home today, coddling my stomach, trying to woo it back with saltines, soup, and bland pad thai, I broke the 300 barrier on my book. I am officially on page 302. At what point the head of Knopf will call me, begging to sign me to a three-book deal and a six-figure advance, I can only guess. And I’ve been reading Freakonomics, a nice follow up to The Tipping Point, which I finished last weekend. Both are pretty easily digestible, the vegetable udon of social science books. Still, I hardly read any nonfiction except for the news; doing so feels like something of an accomplishment. Take THAT, gender stereotypes!

Oh, and speaking of stereotypes — and some serious dumbquattery — did you happen to see this study showing that short people are less smart than tall people? I could actually discuss the flaws in the reasoning — like to say, for example, that the [taller than average] people running the study didn’t discuss whether, since people on average are taller than they used to be, we’re smarter than we used to be — but I’d rather just say that the findings are clearly impossible because everyone knows jews are not, on average, tall.

Dumbquat is my new favorite word, coined in honor of a fuckwit who broke my friend’s heart. But it may be applied liberally.

this birthday brought to you by O. Henry

Set up: Mr. Ben the Birthday Boy had been told by his father to hold Monday evening for a special birthday surprise. Expecting dinner at a fancy restaurant, I am in the office dressed all fancy-pants, waiting for word to trickle to me as to where to go.

Lunchtime, Mr. Ben g-chats me with the trickle.

1:24 PM Benjamin: ester! sweetie.
me: hi babydoll
Benjamin: hiya. just talked to my father.
me: hi 🙂 whassup? and? and? did i dress up for nothing?
Benjamin: he said, as i sort of feared that we’re going to mother courage tonight
1:25 PM me: are you serious??
hahahhaahaa
Benjamin: yeah!
me: that’s hilarious!
well, we did want to see it again
1:26 PM did you tell him we just saw it last night?
1:27 PM Benjamin: yes.
it’s a little ridiculous. i also told him we wanted to see it again,.
1:28 PM apparently lisa got up at 4 in the morning in order to wait in line for us.
so there are only two tickets and we get them.

Apparently no Mother Courage is too much Mother Courage. Considering it was one of the most technically proficient, beautifully acted, emotionally searing theatrical productions I’ve ever seen (and for free!), I guess that’s all right. Especially because, despite having torn up the asphalt to get back to NYC from Philly in order to make it to the show, Mr. Ben the Birthday Boy and I were thwarted by the subway weekend wackiness and missed the first half hour.

Still, two nights in a row of 3+ hours of Brecht might leave me a little loopy. If I come into work tomorrow tearing my cheeks with my fingernails while screaming in German about the bitter unfairness of the world, you’ll know why.

ex-cult members. there’s no reasoning with them.

R: So my annoying co-worker, the ex-cult member, asked if she could ask me something. I should have run screaming. Instead I said okay. And she said, “You’re Israeli, right?” I tried to explain, “I’m an American Jew.” And she said, “Same thing. So, as an Israeli …” I stopped her: “I’m a Jew, but I’m not an Israeli. It’s not the same thing. I don’t agree with a lot of Israel’s policies, and neither do most of my friends; we have a conflicted relationship with the country.” She said, “Uh-huh, uh-huh. Okay, so as an Israeli, don’t you get annoyed at all the horrible things your country does?”

Me: No!

R: Yeah! I shouldn’t have even bothered but I tried to explain again, you know, cuz maybe third time’s the charm. I said that historically a lot of people haven’t been able to make the distinction and it’s sort of dangerous. I told her I haven’t even BEEN to Israel.

Me: Boy. You’re a really bad Israeli.

It’s been a busy week and there must be a hole in my pocket or something because I’ve been leaking money. Since Mr. Ben returned from Allemande, we’ve had a very full social calendar. It’s actually been super fun. Courtesy of WNYC, I scored us two free tickets to an advance screening of The Illusionist. It turned out to be a middle-brow brew of middle-browness that falls apart the closer you look at it. However it’s enjoyable enough in the during AND it provided me with a much-needed dose of my personal heartthrob, Edward Norton.

The next night, courtesy of my friend Erin, I scored us two free tickets to The Fantasticks, possibly the silliest, most middle-brow musical I’ve ever seen but also enjoyable enough in the during. Especially the first act, before it gets all Wizard of Oz on you, wagging its finger in your face for DARING to think that happiness might be found outside your own backyard. My friend Erin, of course, was awesome.

To compensate for these intellectually passive activities, I’ve also been doing the NYT crossword every day. I even managed to finish yesterday’s (Thursday!!) with help from co-workers. Today’s I couldn’t dent. But life is long. I’m going to be ambitious and consistent about this. Just watch me. But first I’m going to Philly for a party weekend to sacrifice a few brain cells for the greater birthday good.

best perks

My corner of the company celebrated a 25th anniversary, in honor of which it decreed every employee would receive a gift. Having worked at offices before, I was not about to hold my breath over said “gift.” My first office gave me a thermos with a packet of hot chocolate and $30 for Christmas; my second office gave me a pink slip. So my standards were pretty low.

This office? Gave me an iPod.

Me. iPod. It’s even an ester-sized iPod, being a Nano. I don’t want know what to call it, except maybe, “Exceeds expectations.” And that’s a pretty lousy name for something that could get stolen on the subway. I’ll keep thinking.

Better still, this week all the bosses have been away at a conference. As per the tradition among the assistants during this annual event, a few of us took a long lunch break and went to see a movie. The new Woody Allen, which answers the question, What does Woody Allen hate more than women? The British!

Seriously, what is with his obsession with those suave, handsome, rich fellows across the pond? Are they the most anti-Woody Allen thing he could think of?

That aside, the movie was cute and enjoyable. I prefer his comedies, when they’re funny anyway. And Scarlett Johannsen, though she seems really awkward at first, is mystifyingly sexy — not so surprising, you might think, considering she has the body of Marilyn Monroe, BUT costume designers always drape her in unflattering clothing. She has to look great in these movies despite her clothing, and I admire that she’s up for the challenge.

The movie more or less fried me for the rest of the day, productivity-wise. But it was fun.

somewhat un-PC question

Aren’t these “opt out” men of recent NYT fame the new Welfare Queens? Except possibly worse, since at least the so-called welfare queens were usually raising children?

Part of me sympathizes with these fellows. Their skill sets having gone obsolete, they don’t feel compelled to work simply for the sake of working. Certainly not having them clogging the pool of job applicants helps more motivated other folks. And they’re not hanging out on street corners with 40s, or playing game after game of Grand Theft Auto; they’re playing pianos, writing bad novels, having a grand old time.

I enjoyed being unemployed. Far be it from me to begrudge anyone else their early retirement.

But. This article strikes a very interesting tone, in my opinion, staying verrrrry carefully this side of judgement. Is that because the subjects are generally middle-of-the-road white men, men who put the I Am in American? Why isn’t the government passing legislation intended to get them from welfare to work? And their poor wives! Where are they in this tale of sloth? While I don’t agree with this Huff Poster’s cry of sexism, I do think the piece is subtly trying to incite hysteria of a specific kind. White men! In America! Aren’t being productive!

Only Laguna Beach type women can get away with being entirely self-indulgent. The vast majority of women work, either outside their homes or inside them or both. Now, an article about WOMEN that showed large numbers of them drifting out of the capitalist system not to have babies or to be wives but to cultivate deadend artistic ambitions and lie around — what would that look like?

Can you spell ‘Schadenfreude’?

M-E-L G-I-B-S-O-N.

The rest of the news of the past week has been so grim, the revelation that when Gibson was arrested for speeding under the influence, he cursed out his captors, called one officer “sugar tits,” attempted to piss himself, attempted to run away, and, most notably, finally abandoned all pretense of not being an anti-semitic asshat. “Fucking Jews,” he ranted to the cops, and that’s just the beginning — please help yourself to the police report, linked above.

In short, he took the mask off and put the white hood on.

Abe Foxman condemned him, of course; more interestingly, so did Ari Emanuel, the power-agent represented by Jeremy Piven on Entourage. This leads the cognoscenti to ask, when they’re done chuckling: will Hollywood abandon him to his shame, despite Mel’s recent mega-success? Or will studio heads, regardless of their personal religious affiliation, choose the allure of the bottom line over the demands of their conscience?

My money’s on the money winning out, of course. But it will be fun to watch Mel spend some time eating (kosher) crow. What do you think he’ll do to try to convince people he’s changed his fuckhead ways? Perhaps he’ll be prescribed the Hollywood version of penance: make three miniseries about the Holocaust and one documentary about sexual harrassment.

It’s been a hard week in Lake Woebegone for the chosen people. With Israeli airstrikes killing Lebanese civilians at a frightening rate and no end to the violence in sight, Al Qaeda demanding worldwide retaliation against Jews wherever you find them, and one man in Seattle having proven himself eager to do his part, how can you not want to hide under the bed? At least the prospect of mocking Mel in company gives me a reason to leave the apartment.

your face = your life

This MyHeritage site is better than the best web site ever because in addition to being frivolous, entertaining, and a first-class time sucker (all of which any contender for “better than best web site ever” would have to be) it also answers the vital question we face throughout our lives: what celebrity do you most resemble?

Depending on the picture, I resemble: both Olsen twins, Scarlett Johannsen, Heidi Klum, Bobby Fisher, Alexis Bledel, Cristina Ricci, Oscar Wilde, Rachel Corrie, Michelle Rodriguez, The Rock, Reese Witherspoon, Sally Field, Billy Bob Thorton, Kris Kristofferson, Claudia Schiffer, David Carradine, AND Colin Firth. ReMARKable! Did you even know those people looked alike? Me neither! Imagine what it would be like to get them all in a room together. (Just squint hard at my face and I’ll assume that’s what you’re doing.)

I burst out laughing when it delivered “Rachel Corrie” as a result. I feel kinda bad about that. A friend of mine at work tried it and got that she resembled YASSIR ARAFAT. He was in among the movie starlets and Hollywood nymphs. Hilarious! My friend found it disturbing. More soothingly, but incredibly, in the very same picture she also looked like Meryl Streep.

Sad that in no picture do I resemble Kate Winslet. Deep in my heart of hearts, that’s what I kinda wanted. Still, Heidi Klum and Billy Bob Thornton. I should consider myself lucky.

but my heart, maria! but my heart!

I may have physically left the Entertainment industry, yet sometimes my fingers still clutch at the air where a copy of Variety should be and I thirst for utterly irrelevant information about movies. For example: we seem to have been inundated with “blockbusters” this summer, even worse than usual. As I haven’t ventured out to spend $11 for Death By Superhero IV every weekend, from my perspective it’s all been kind of a blur. Today I wondered, How have they been doing? Clearly none has tanked, or we’d know about it; which succeeded, though, and which were the kind of disappointments that get you fired while you’re in the maternity ward?

In case you’re as weirdly interested in these things as I am, I gathered the data. No, no, don’t thank me. I’m increasing your dork quotient by .45 every minute you spend reading this.

#1) Surprisingly, despite its mediocre reviews and what I had thought was a lukewarm reception here in America, the record holder for 2006 is The Da Vinci Code. Closer examination of the numbers explains it: the stupid Catholic conspiracy movie that ended up pulling its punches only made $214 million at home. Its standing in the charts comes from the whopping $740 million it made from the Akiva Goldsman-loving hordes of people worldwide who were desperate to have their beloved religion challenged — except not too much.

#2) Pirates of the Caribbean II, starring Keira Knightley’s ribcage, Mr. Squidface, a translucent Orlando Bloom, and some promising young unknown fellow who’s wearing a lot of makeup for some reason, has drawn a whopping $326 million so far domestically and HALF A BILLION DOLLARS worldwide. Some studio should really sign that newbie playing the pirate — I think he’s going places.

#3) X-Men: The Last Stand $232 mil here, $439 out there.

#4) Mission Impossible III: $133 domestically, $373 worldwide.

#5) Superman Returns: $179 domestically, $289 worldwide.

While these movies aren’t done running yet, it’s fair to say though that their momentums are set. Superman Returns is probably not going to stage a sudden, violent comeback to challenge Ron Howard’s work of surpreme nonsense for first place, for example. To know more deeply who’s a winner, who’s a loser, though, you need more info. Making $200-some million dollars is a huge achievement, UNLESS you cost that much to make. Let’s check budgets.

#1) Production budget: $125 million. That doesn’t even include advertising which, as we all know, essentially rented out Times Square as its bitch/billboard for two weeks prior. Let’s assume, oh, $40 million for that. That takes the budget up to $165, which means that domestically the film only eked out $49 million in profit. If not for those Frenchmen and Ghanains who needed their faith not so much shaken as lightly stirred, Tom Hanks would never work in this town again.

#2) Production budget: $225 million. Wow. Can we stop and think about that for a second? Wow. I’ve never heard of a movie costing that much to make. That’s how much Catherine the Great would spend, maybe — except, instead of the Winter Palace, you end up with 2.5 hours of celluloid pirate shenanigans. They’ve spent on advertising, too, but not as much as the Da Vince folks. Let’s assume $25 million. That puts the domestic profit at $76 million.

#3) Budget: $210 million. Jesus! Those are still Marie Antoinette levels, and we saw what happened to her. Assuming $25 million for advertising, it actually LOST $3 million and was saved only by the grace of those spend-happy audiences abroad.

#4) Budget: $150. It only made $133 here! That means, even before you factor in advertising, MI:3 was in the red by a significant amount. Shameful.

#5) Budget: $260. Excuse me, I have to wipe off the monitor — my head just exploded. Who decided to bet the farm on this dutiful, mediocre remake of what’s considered a classic in the genre? Even factoring in worldwide grosses, this one has only barely broken even. Oops, wait — factoring in advertising, it probably hasn’t broken even at all. Astounding.

The last movie I saw in theaters, by the way, hasn’t done too shabbily by itself even with competition from these monsters. Inside Man made $88.5 domestically and $185 worldwide, but only cost $45. Let’s assume $10 for advertising. That comes out to a respectable $33.5 in domestic profit. AND it was good.

There’s a moral to this story somewhere, kiddies. Let me know if you find it (and if you discover the name of that delightful up-and-coming swashbuckler! Let’s just hope he doesn’t get typecast as fey. Then he’ll never get work, poor kid.)

a holman in my heart

Seemingly another run-of-the-mill summer flick, Aniston and Vaugn’s The Break-up actually holds a box-office record. Spokespeople claim that it has the highest three-day opening ever in the United States for a romantic comedy that was released in June.

In other news, I hold the record for being the only person who has sat in my room with the lights off watching Simpsons dvds and eating Choco Tacos during the month of June.

The reclusive Eva is back, just in time for summer! Enjoy this limited time offer while supplies last.

So, I turned 24. One of my coworkers draped a shiny metallic birthday sign on the wall by my desk to give everyone who walked by a clue what to say to me instead of just pretending they don’t see me checking gmail. Another dropped by to tell me that my birthday was nothing compared to hers, which this year fell on 6/6/06 — she was so preoccupied with potential apocalypse she ended up celebrating by watching An Inconvenient Truth. By herself.

As I had a more run-of-the-mill sort of day, we decided to take a totally normal two hour lunch and go to Tabla. We brought one of the fellows from this site to help bolster our hoity-toity NYC restaurant cred.

When the chips were down though he failed us: he didn’t know what “cru” was either. For a while we played the menu version of Balderdash, all offering our wackiest guesses. Short for “crudite”? Short for “cru d’etat”? A miniature chocolate rowing team (served on a boat, of course!)? Jay-Z’s posse? To relieve the confusion, I ordered it in my haughtiest tone of voice and was relieved to discover: cru is hip for delicious. Saying any more would spoil the surprise.

The food was amazing, very Iron Chef (which I’m kinda hooked on), and since it’s restaurant week, 3 courses only cost $24.07. Then I hung out with friends, but would the almighty Ruth Reichl describe my friends as “impressively offbeat” and “so powerful, original and unexpected that they evoke intense emotions”? Case closed.