Another Reason NOT to Read the News

I'm currently reading John Perkins' Confessions of an Economic Hitman. It's an interesting and fairly addictive tale of Mr. Perkins' role in screwing a bunch of underdeveloped countries in Latin America and the Middle East by inflating economic growth projections and saddling them with debt to American contractors (the kind of shit that made Dick Cheney rich and also made him the devil).

I dropped out of the world of Real Estate (long story), so this week I'm doing a little temp work-- it's been over seven years since I sat behind a desk with little to nothing to do, getting paid to... well, write this.

It's a great time to catch up on the news. When I'm busy, I cut to the chase and get my "news" from here, here and here (and a little "business" info here). Call me shallow if you must, but seriously. I'm angry enough at the state of the world without immersing myself in the serious truth everyday.

But I thought I'd come down off of my dreamy candy-colored cloud and catch up on the Jill Carroll story, the US Journalist who was kidnapped in Iraq. Apparently, Al-Jazeera has released a video,without sound, of her covered hair, neck and shoulders in a scarf, weeping for the release of female Iraqi prisoners.

I came across this in a little gem from MSNBC:

A senior State Department official told NBC News that “prisoner reviews are on-going; we do them every couple of days.” A senior Pentagon official said the U.S. holds “less than 5” Iraqi women now.

Don't you think they might see fit to do these "prisoner reviews", oh, I don't know... as they come in?!

And what's still topping the news? An apology to the Cheney family.

Ooh, Pretty Colors!

What are all these pretty colors, you ask?

They speak to my apparently dark soul, trust and empathy-free. That's right! It's yet another internet personality test. This one is fun, all filled with charts and graphs and such.

It tells me that I am open, confident and extroverted, slightly more masculine than feminine. I don't, apparently, trust others very much (save for a small few) and I'm not very empathetic. Oh, and this might come as a surprise, but I prefer asthetics over function. Shocker, huh?

Funny how much we like to label ourselves... According to Meyers-Briggs, I am an ESFP. Figures.

You too can take the test here.

How I Almost Set Fire to a LOT of Money

Fireplaces. Aren't they romantic?

Well, today I almost had an accident with Will's fireplace... you see, he's closing on the apartment tomorrow. That means he hands this guy his keys and the guy hands him a big fat check. Today, in a huge effort to help out, I went down to clean up the last remaining bits. I swept and whtanot, and whatever paper I came across, I just threw in the fireplace.

It's like growing up in New England-- you rake the leaves into a pile, jump in said pile a few times, and then burn it. Ease of disposal.

I thought I'd do that with the last few papers. Only snag was that the flue, unbeknownst to me, was closed.

Next thing I knew, the apartment was flooded with smoke. Thank goodness for high ceilings! I tried to continue cleaning and pretending that nothing was wrong, but the smoke started to billow and a neighbor rang the bell, asking if I smelled smoke.

"Uh, yeah. I just had a little problem with the fireplace. All under control now."

"It happens to all of us," she said. "It actually smells like my Thanksgiving Dinner." (thankfully, Will has moved out before befriending her to the extent that we'd have to spend holidays at her place!)

Thanks to the cylindricality of an old ice cream container that happened to be lying around and the fact that Will has yet to turn off the water in the place, I was able to put the bitch out without a visit from our friendly firefighters.

Not exactly romance...

See This Show!!!

Last night I saw Les Freres Corbusier's Heddatron at here. It is very VERY good, very sharp, clever and pee-in-your-pants funny.

Basically, robots capture this unhappy pregnant Midwestern mom and force her to do Ibsen's Hedda Gabler over and over again. Real "live" robots. It's good stuff. I highly recommend you see it.

You can read my nytheatre.com review here.

*a more "what Ibsen might have intended" version will play at BAM in March.

Ladies, Who's With Me?!!?

I was glancing over Gawker this morning and came across this blurb:

The perfect singles mixer: Girls meet, get wasted, bitch about dating and men. Men show up 2 hours later and are promptly torn to shreds.

The event is a wine tasting. Women arrive at 6pm and "discuss" dating while sipping wine. "Gentlemen" arrive at 8.

I seem to remember every time I end up discussing dating with my girlfriends and there is even the slightest bit of booze involved, somebody ends up crying. I can't imagine it will be a good thing for either party that these gentlemen bear witness. The men just aren't ready for it-- it's not like anything you've ever seen on TV. No, sir, it's not pretty. Ladies, I recommend waterproof mascara.

Sounds like a hot steamy pit of tension and animosity. And it just so happens that I'm free on Friday! Who's with me?

Sign up here.

BLIZZARD!!!!

This was some serious storm!














I think there are cars under there...












Apparently, if your car is very tall, vertical and expensive, it is nearly impervious to a measly snowstorm!