In the City Of Giant Things

My husband, Rod Schecter, has a short story in the inaugural issue of Avery Anthology. His piece, "City of Giant Things," appears alongside 18 other writers' work, including stories from National Book Award Finalist Stephen Dixon, Graywolf Press Nonfiction Prize winner Ander Monson, and Dean Bakopoulos.

I'm so proud!

Sea Pearls

I consider myself a pretty eco-friendly chick but I'm never doing this.

Even I’m skeptical

I mean, come on. Doga? Dog-Yoga?

But alas, its offered here in NYC, at East Yoga:

Their website describes the class thus:

"Doga (or “dog yoga”) is a partner class for you and your dog. Led by Kari Harendorf, who helped pioneer this hybrid practice, our doga sessions are all about bonding with your pet, and giving the dog 45 minutes of undivided attention and praise from their favorite person in the world. The dogs do sun salutations and you’ll learn specific massage techniques to calm your dog and aid both circulation and digestion processes. And don’t worry: You’ll also get a workout, using your dog to assist you in traditional and modified poses."

The Results Are In: I'm Not A Sociopath

You Are 12% Sociopath

You're empathetic, loyal, and introspective. In other words, there's no way you're a sociopath... but you can spot one pretty easily!

Are You A Sociopath?

Big Brothers

Last Saturday we went out to New Jersey to visit our friends Adam and Mew, their two year old son Luke, and newborn Wyatt.

I got to hold Wyatt all afternoon and jesus do I have to say babies at that age (two weeks) are so freaking tiny. The fingernails! The teeny nose! Broke my heart. Ahhhh. I've got babylust, I'll admit it.

Anyhow, Luke seemed to be taking it really well. I myself don't really remember when they brought Gabi home from the hospital (I was Luke's age: about 2) but I do remember the searing jealousy whenever she got a bigger toy or I thought my parents were paying more attention to her when we were in gradeschool. Still. She was the best gift I ever got: instant friend and companion; person to torment when bored--long car trips rocked: a mere poke of my finger sent her into a tizzy; and weirdly patient subject when I dreamed of becoming a hairdresser and then a schoolteacher. (Although my efforts consisted mainly of braiding her hair as tightly as I could and then forcing her to practice spelling on the mini chalkboard our grandma had given us.)

The cutest part of the whole visit on Saturday was when Luke, frustrated that Rod wasn't paying as much attention to the new game as he should (Luke was bored of the doctor charade and opted for space-ship building with gigantic legos) calmly removed Rod's stethescope and hat and said, "Roddy, Roddy, now we do this," and gently pointed my darling distracted husband in the right direction so he could concentrate. Would that I could be so patient with him.

Off The Wagon

I broke down and got a large coffee from Starbucks today.

(Before you freak, yes, I think we should all support local coffe shops and shun behemoths like starbucks but honestly, the people who work at the starbucks near us are soooo much nicer than the chichi stuck-up tazza owners (not the staff, they're cool) who work the morning shifts that sometimes I avoid going in there.) Besides, Rod was the one who ventured out to get it and he kinda hates tazza.

The weird thing is, after being away from it for about two weeks, I realized how bad coffee actually tastes and how bad it makes your mouth smell....

Bridge To Terabithia

So excited about this movie. I first read the book in Mrs. Roller's fifth grade class at Luxmanor Elementary in Rockville, Maryland and was absolutely entranced. Okay, partly because the main character's name was Jess (even though he was a boy, I still loved to see my own name in print) and partly because several years prior my own best friend Jennifer had died of leukemia. My memories of her at that point were already fragmented (her grandma drove a beat-up VW van; her dog got run over by a UPS truck; her backyard was enclosed by a chainlink fence) but I distinctly remember standing at the edge of the cul-de-sac, my sneaker slipping onto the curb and looking at her house thinking I wanted to go play with her even though I knew she wasn't there and I couldn't wrap my mind around how could someone be there one day and the next just not?

Anyhoo. I'll see the movie as soon as it comes to netflix.

Yoga Suprise

I went to my usual 7:30 vinyasa at yoga people last night and who should I run into? Our friend Craig and his sweetie (and NY times fashion photog) E. Which was weird because not one month earlier, on our weekend trip to Vermont, Craig told me this girl was trying to get him to go to yoga with her and should he go? And I'd said well yeah--a girl doesn't ask you to go to yoga with her lightly. Little did I know they'd turn up at my studio. I never run into anyone there. (My only Brooklyn friend who does yoga belongs to swanky equinox...) But it was cool and Craig did really well given that he'd never ever taken yoga before. (He even attempted to do a forearm stand!)

But this is now the second weird coincidence involving Craig.

The first being:

Last weekend we all went to a place called Camp here in Brooklyn. (Fireplace; smores; board games and a log cabin motif.) Craig gave Rod and I a ride home and I dropped my cell phone in the back without knowing it. Flash forward a week, past frantic calls to all the places I'd been and finally resigning myself to the fact that the cell phone was lost to the void. We're visiting our West Village friends Deb and Dave and as I'm telling them how upset I am about the phone because I've lost all my #s and some photos I'd snapped but never downloaded--ie burning man, last days in charlottesville etc etc--Craig texts Rod to say he has my phone. I mean he texts the exact second the words "...I'm just so pissed about that phone" come out of my mouth.

If you want to get rid of your baby girl.

India's newest plan.

Last night R and I, along with his (now our) long-time friend T went to see Slayer at the Hammerstein ballroom in NYC.

Now, I was never really a metal chick back in the 80s--more of a punk-wannabe, really--but my sister was into Slayer, Megadeath, Metallica and their ilk big time, so I spent many an afternoon and evening listening to the pounding tracks send our bedroom walls reeling.

Still.

Last night was truly awesome.

Not quite as cool as The Sword and Stinking Lizaveta Williamsburg show of December 30, but still worth treking out into snow-beleagured Manhattan.

Because here's the thing: those fast-paced violent beats send vibrations all through your body. Just as much as a physical experience as an auditory one.

Happy Happy

I know its a made-up Hallmark holiday, but I love Valentine's Day sheerly for the excuse to eat sweets. Tonight's treat: a piece of Tazza carrot cake for R and one for me. Topped with M&Ms.

Mmmmmmmmmm.

A Kind of Love

Last Friday we went to the One Story reading at the Lower East Side's Pianos bar. And truth is, I've fallen a little in love with One Story and their premise: every three weeks they publish one story, in chapbook-like format. A perfect little read, uncluttered by poems and reviews and other stories. Also a perfect read for: before bed; subway ride, etc. And the booklet's so small it fits right into your coat pocket.

Next month's reader is Margo Rabb and so I did a little googling to familiarize myself with her work before the reading itself. (Hey, I'm nothing without my geekiness.)

One of her stories, How To Tell A Story, which won the Zoetrope contest a few years back, spooofs MFA programs. (Chillingly real, let me tell you.)

Anyway, towards the end there's a passage that's the truest description of how I'm feeling about this unending drive to write...

I think now that my writing is as dear to me as a family would be, and crazy as that sounds, I think writing requires the same kind of attention, of commitment, of love, that people do. To be faithful to a story even when it fails me, to come back to it again and again when I worry that I may never make it work, that it may always disappoint me, that everything I've put into it could be lost--to know this, yet still keep writing--what could that be, if not love?

Because, really, folks: anyone with half a brain would give up and go back to law school, don't you think?

The Biggest News Ever

I quit coffee.

Those of you who know me in real-time will understand how massive a statement this really is... Me with my five cup-a-day habit, my caffeine-withdrawl headaches, my redeyes (coffee + espresso shot!).

But yeah.

Another vice bites the dust.

If You'd Told Me...

ten years ago that I'd earn more money writing website content about how to repaint your NYC apartment than I would writing for a glossie yoga magazine, I'd have thought you were nuts.

But here I am.

(Although, the most money I've made yet was for the sex/travel column R & I wrote for playgir last yearl--under a pseudonym, bien sure. $1/word!)

The best part? I'm sitting in my living room and whenever I want to take a break, I flip back over to that short story I'm working on, the one about the bridal shower on the UES.

(Truth be told, I got stalled a bit on that one. Two other pieces just emerged out of nowhere each time I sat down to write--a short meta tale and a flash piece.)

Labyrinthitis

That's what I've got. Basically, an inner ear infection, as I thought.

Wikipedia tells us that "Recovery from acute labyrinthine inflammation generally takes from one to six weeks; however, it is not uncommon for residual symptoms (dysequilibrium and/or dizziness) to last for many months or even years (Bronstein, 2002) if permanent damage occurs."

Did you read that? One to six weeks! God.

They gave me an antinausea/antivertigo med but basically it is just a matter of time before I heal by myself...

In the meantime, dizziness abounds.

And I have to admit, I find a teensy weensy bit of satisfaction in the fact that the ailment's called labyrinthitis, given my love of Borges.

Inner Ear Infection Woes

It started friday night. I felt kinda sick so when R went out with his friend T I decided to stay home and relax. About an hour after he left, I felt this weird headrush thing and there was all this pressure in my right ear. Then? The most intense stomach-wrenching case of vertigo/dizziness I've EVER felt in my life. I mean, turning my head on the pillow made me feel seasick.

It was worse on Saturday when I woke up. I mean. I felt like I was dying. I couldn't eat. Couldn't drink: a glass of cranberry juice turned out to be a VERY bad idea and so I was too scared to drink anything but the tea the rest of the day. All weekend I coasted on ginger tea and benadryl while I tried very hard not to move my head even just a little bit.

And today? My stupid doctor isn't seeing patients until tomorrow morning between 8 and 11.

Bacon Of The Month Club

I met a woman last night who gave this to her husband for Xmas.

Sweet!