I Know This Looks Bad, But...

"It's the same old song, but with a different meaning since you've been gone." -- The Four Tops

It's been raining on and off all day -- and by "raining" I mean "walking outside feels like having buckets of water thrown on you." I was fortunate enough to get stuck outside during one of these deluges, and while I have no problems walking in the rain, my feet were sliding around in my shoes too much to make any semblance of walking possible. Thus, I conceded defeat and ducked into a drugstore to wait it out.

I checked my appearance in one of the cosmetics aisle mirrors; aside from my dripping hair and a black ring of mascara around each eye, I didn't think I looked too terrible. I wandered around, picked up a couple of items, made small talk with a couple about the deliciousness of Pop Chips. When I saw that the skies had cleared, I made my way to the register.

I greeted the cashier. He looked at my runny makeup, then he looked at the two items I was purchasing. He picked up the package of feminine products, scanned it, and placed it into a bag. He picked up the bottle of Drano, scanned it, started to place it in the bag, then hesitated. He held it up and raised an eyebrow. "You're not planning on drinking this, are you?" he asked.

I didn't look that awful. I swear.

Three Genius Moves

"You had the ability to choose what you were going to make me feel, so take responsibility for who you lose when the pain you inflict becomes real. So before I go, you should know that other human beings don't f*ck with each other unless they want to lose each other. And you just lost me." -- from Glory Days

You know those days when your most brilliant ideas tend to fail in a myriad of spectacularly embarrassing ways? Multiply it by one and you've got an unfortunate situation. Multiply it by two and you've got a bad day. Multiply it by three and you've got a pretty awesome story.

Last Thursday, near the end of my workday, I stood on a swivel chair to reach a high shelf. Genius Move #1. Yes, I know that steadying oneself on a platform that can slide AND rotate is an inherently dangerous thing to do, but my colleagues and I navigate our cabinets this way at least once every few hours without a problem.

This time, however, the chair slipped as I hopped down from it. And sent my high heel-clad right foot straight through the sleeve seam of my coworker's coat.

I apologized for my (literal) misstep, assured her that I know how to sew, and promised to come into work the following day (i.e. my day off) to repair it.

Last Friday, i.e. my day off, I decided to go for a run prior to playing tailor at work. I then realized that it would be a better use of my time to kill two birds with one stone, take a jogging route that passes my office, and pop into work to sew my coworker's coat. Genius Move #2.

I dressed in my normal running gear -- sneakers, sweatpants, a cropped sportsbra top, and a ponytail -- skipped the makeup and contact lenses, tucked a needle and thread into my pocket, and set off.

It was a warm, sunny day, so I was red-skinned and drenched by the time I arrived at work. And Lord knows what my hair looked like; my curls don't stay put in an elastic band even on a good day. I couldn't exactly walk through a waiting room full of patients looking the way I did, so I decided to take the elevator up to an office floor and take the back stairs down to where my colleague's coat was stored. Genius Move #3.

The elevator doors opened on my intended floor... and instead of its usual emptiness, the hallway was completely filled with anonymous men in suits. And a spectacular lunch buffet. And a bunch of doctors I barely know. And a PowerPoint presentation.

And, as is always the case when I arrive somewhere in a sportsbra and sneakers looking sweaty and disgusting and intending to remain unseen, the doctor standing closest to me was my clinic's Jake Ryan. Or Zach Siler. Or Finn Hudson. Or [insert the name of your favorite gorgeous popular jock with a heart of gold here]. Perfection in Scrubs was working the room, chatting animatedly with a few of the suits, until he saw me. Then he stopped in mid-sentence. And stared. And not in a good way.

I shot him a look that was part "hey" and part "holy crap." Then I hightailed it the hell out of there and down the back stairs as fast as I possibly could.

At least my coworker's sleeve seam looks fantastic.

How To Run A Business

"I don't need you to think of me as a person! I have women for that!" -- from Coupling

I went for a run earlier today, and on the way back to my apartment, I stopped into my new favorite coffee shop. This place hasn't been open long, but it's a double win in my book -- not only does it make the best espresso on the upper east side, but it employs a baristo who always greets me with "Hello, gorgeous," "Good morning, my love," or something similarly soul-warming.

Resplendent in sweat-drenched Under Armour, I stepped up to the counter to place my order. A barista I've never seen before was manning the register while my usual guy stood near her.

New Barista: Hello. What can I get for you today?
Me: Hi. A double americano with room, please.
New Barista: No problem. That'll be $2.71.
Me: Here you go.
New Barista: Thanks. Your americano is coming up on the right. Have a great day, beautiful.
Usual Baristo: Isn't she beautiful?! I always say that!

This, folks, is how to inspire customer loyalty.

(And please don't judge me for drinking double shots of espresso after working out.)

Memory

"Oh dear, that was a great mistake! My mind wandered from repenting to thinking it wouldn't have been a sin if [the roles were reversed]. And changing them over has made me realize more and more how I have spoilt the memory... how will I face my wretched future?" -- Dodie Smith

I didn't sleep last night and spent most of my day wandering aimlessly around the upper east side. I was lost in thought, or rather, lost in memory.

One memory in particular was at the epicenter of my thoughts. For one amazing evening, I was bold, I was uncharacteristically reckless but in complete command of every nerve ending in my body, and I enjoyed an enormous payoff for my risk. Between then and now, this memory has mentally fused with other memories -- some more melancholy than others, but all of the intense, hopeful, satisfied variety -- and the resulting web has generated a full range of associated emotions. Now, calling on any of those emotions evokes the memories and dwelling on any of the experiences recalls the feelings.

Last night, as I lay awake, a new memory became ensnared in this particular web. Its similarity to the epicenter memory guaranteed similar mental categorization, but the point-of-view shift evoked the less delicious aspects of my other related experiences. And one by one, as the minutes of the night ticked by, each memory in the web mutated. An appreciative gift became pity. Pent-up longing became boredom. The epicenter memory remained relatively pristine until mid-morning, but it inevitably turned on me too.

I walked and thought and remembered, and by the time I circled back to my own neighborhood, time had been rewritten. I have a completely new set of memories now. And unlike the ones they replaced -- those blessed moments that sustained me during some pretty dark times -- these new ones make me feel terrible. I know I won't be able to call on them to help me through a single damn thing.

Appropriately, between the time I left my apartment this morning and the time I returned this afternoon, James De La Vega had been at work in my neighborhood. De La Vega, a prolific artist who chalks words of wisdom on the streets of New York City, wrote the following message on the pavement a few blocks away from my apartment:

Many of De La Vega's messages tend to repeat -- "become your dream" and "you are your best investment" are two common ones -- but I'd never seen this one before. It's a lot less uplifting than his usual stuff too, which makes me wonder whether his muses intended it for my eyes only today.

Nice fix there, Patsy's.

Why correct a mistake when you can cover it?

Silly Love Songs

"Why can't I let you know the song my heart would sing, this beautiful rhapsody of love and youth and spring? The music is sweet, the words are true. The song is you." -- Oscar Hammerstein

A few weeks ago, Rutila tweeted a "break-up song" for each of the last five years. I liked the exercise and wanted to emulate it, but I had trouble assigning one song to each of my failures in love. (I tend to forgive, forget, and repeat mistakes, resulting in several break-up songs per man. Whoops.) I had even more trouble assigning one song to each year of my life. (I make twenty-track albums each year for that purpose.) Thus, I shelved the project.

This week, I decided to forego listening to a particular playlist or album and just left my iPod on shuffle during my daily routines. And many times during my listening, a song played that, for some reason, reminded me of a man from my past. Some songs represent the beginning of my association with these men and some represent the end, some were assigned immediately and some retroactively, some were just plain stuck in my head while we were together. Whatever the reason, they're irrevocably linked with a certain person in my mind, so much so that I could probably relabel each song with the appropriate man's name and still be able to navigate my music library with perfect ease. When my iPod shuffled to any of these songs, I'd stop whatever I was doing -- even data entry and its associated trance-like state -- and think of him after the first few notes.

I thought the observation needed a playlist. Thus, I dusted off my old 8tracks account and created one this evening. The playlist contains eight songs; they're presented in chronological order, and each song represents a different person. Here's a link to play it, plus a tracklist.

1. Samson -- Regina Spektor

"You are my sweetest downfall. I loved you first. I loved you first."

2. Pirate on the Run -- Pat Monahan featuring Brandi Carlile

"I was perfect for her soul. I was perfect for his heart. And together, we are perfect apart."

3. Forever My Friend -- Ray LaMontagne

"I just think if we keep our hearts together, I just think if we build on this trust that we have for one another, maybe we can make this last a lifetime."

4. The Origin of Love -- Rufus Wainwright

"But I could tell by your expression that the pain down in your soul was the same as the pain down in mine..."

5. Follow Through -- Gavin DeGraw

"All I really want is you, for you to stick around. I'll see you every day, but you have to follow through."

6. I Can't Make You Love Me -- Bonnie Raitt

"Here in the dark, in these final hours, I will lay down my heart and I'll feel the power. But you won't. No, you won't."

7. Goodbye Philadelphia -- Peter Cincotti

"Though we may not know it now, things are never gonna be the same. Here on Second Avenue, I tip my old top hat to you. I hope you find somebody who will love you like I do."

8. Holding Out For A Hero -- Bonnie Tyler

"It's gonna take a Superman to sweep me off my feet. I need a hero!"

Happy Pi Day!

"It's like Pi... you can keep figuring it out and always be right and never be done." -- John Currin




I highly recommend Smitten Kitchen's adaptation of Nigel Slater's apple plum pie for your celebration.

Stepford Made Simple

"I think you'll love hating this." -- Rutila

Yesterday morning, Rutila sent me this Brokelyn article with the above subject line. The piece outlines an unemployed woman's tips for being a successful stay-at-home girlfriend (with success defined solely in terms of keeping her boyfriend happy) and covers illuminating advice such as "keep the place clean," "keep yourself up," and "pamper him." And no, it's not satire.

As a modern woman who (I believe) excels at being both a badass man's world fighter and an old-school domestic goddess, I was offended by the article. The author's stated mission to keep her boyfriend happy at all costs was disturbing and her "tips" offered no practical advice for living on the cheap in NYC (which, funnily enough, is Brokelyn's mission). What bothered me most, though, was her assertion that her boyfriend should be allowed to leave his dirty laundry on the floor because he's a working man and doesn't have time to pick up after himself. I joked to Rutila that I should write my own list of tips in retaliation, but I let it drop when half of the internet beat me to the punch in criticizing the article and its author.

However, as the hours passed and my thoughts marinated, the idea seemed more and more attractive. The author of the original article may have missed the point with her list of "tips," but that doesn't prohibit me from sharing what I've learned about how to be both a workaholic and a Stepford Wife. These aren't orders or demands; they're just the time-saving things I've done to keep my home neat, and hopefully they'll be useful to someone out there. Thus, I present my personal pointers for...

How to Work 10 Hours A Day and Still Have Enough Time to Cook Dinner, Groom Yourself, and Not Leave Crap on the Floor of Your Apartment


1. Keep the place clean.


There's no need to ever throw laundry on the floor. Keep a hamper with three compartments -- one for whites, one for colors, and one for delicates -- near your usual changing area. Feel free to keep the lid open if you want to lob your clothing across the room instead of walking it to the hamper. Install a hook or keep a shelf for items that can be worn again before being laundered.

Keep side towels in the kitchen and in the bathroom. Get water, crumbs, or makeup on a surface? Wipe it up with a side towel as soon as it happens and toss it in the laundry once it gets skanky.

Stash a Swiffer sweeper in a corner and run it over your floors once every few days. I'm a long-haired woman who sheds, so this is quite necessary.

Taking off your shoes as soon as you enter your apartment keeps your floors cleaner AND ensures that all your shoes stay in one spot.

Keep a tray or dish on your desk, your coffee table, or any surface where small items usually accumulate. Let your small items accumulate in the tray instead of all over the surface.

If you don't have time to make your bed with meticulous precision each morning, invest in a thick comforter. It takes fifteen seconds to toss it over your bed and straighten it out immediately after you wake up each morning, and if your sheets are a little rumpled underneath, no one will be able to tell.


2. Cook dinner.


I can fill a hundred blog posts with cooking tips alone, so I'll stick to basics here. You'll save a ton of money and eat a lot healthier if you commit to cooking at least half of your meals. Learn how to steam, sautee, simmer, braise, toast, and roast. Learn how to make homemade stock. Learn how to handle a knife. Keep it simple and use fresh ingredients. Don't overseason.

Use fresh vegetables whenever possible, and buy them (and other perishables) as you need them to minimize waste. Since I'm in NYC and there's no shortage of supermarkets wherever I go, I usually make a couple of small trips each week instead of one big one. Get familiar with how long your perishables stay fresh, and if you buy a whole head of broccoli or a dozen eggs, make an effort to plan a few corresponding meals within their usable time frames to avoid having to throw anything away.

Make a habit of preparing a little more of each meal than you need so you have leftovers for a second meal (or lunch the next day). Keep a cabinet of food storage containers and portion out your leftovers for refrigerating or freezing.

Every time you buy bagels, bread, or rolls, put a few slices in the fridge for immediate use and freeze the rest. It'll last forever. Thaw in the fridge or toast directly from the freezer before eating.

Buy meat and fish in bulk. Before you freeze it, portion out the pieces into single servings and individually wrap them in plastic. On that note, almost any perishable item can be frozen for later use if you know you won't be able to use it fresh before it goes bad; just Google the best way of doing it.

Learn how to cook an entire meal using as few pots and pans as possible, and learn how to prep an entire meal with an 8'' chef's knife (tip for the small stuff, base for the large stuff). And make a habit of washing up while you're cooking... especially in terms of dirty dishes. When you're finished with an item, don't put it in the sink -- wash it out and reuse it, put it away, or place it in the dishwasher. There's no greater pleasure than to not have to deal with a sink full of dishes after dinner.

Wipe down your cooktop and counters after every single use. A little wipe goes a long way.

3. Keep yourself up.

Set aside some time on the weekend to iron all your clothes for the next week. This is what I do while I'm catching up on my week's worth of recorded TV shows.

Perfect a five-minute makeup routine. I cannot stress this enough.


4. Tackle bigger jobs on the weekend.


Set aside a few hours hours on Saturday or Sunday for things that can't be done during your daily routine. The trick is to multi-task by layering activities that require short bursts of energy over activities with lots of down-time. Throw your laundry in the washing machine (which shouldn't take long because, owing to your hamper, it's already presorted), then head back to your apartment and take half an hour to wash or vacuum your floors. Clean your bathroom while your clothes are in the dryer. Dust and make the bed while stuff is in the oven. Iron while your floors are drying and your freezer is defrosting.

5. Pamper your guests and cohabitants... but stay true to yourself.

Since keeping things clean and whipping up quick meals for yourself is a no-brainer at this point, feel free to extend the same courtesy to your houseguests. Only if you want to, though. Don't be a doormat; your houseguests shouldn't expect you to clean up after them and any blogger or article that says differently shouldn't be believed. It's not your job to cook or clean for anyone other than yourself (as long as kids aren't in the equation) unless you're happy and willing to do so. Keep a clear head, don't let anyone guilt you into pulling their weight for them, and compromise is key.

Open Up My Eager Eyes

"But it's just the price I pay. Destiny is calling me." -- The Killers

I visited my parents last weekend and, in passing, I mentioned "Mr. Brightside," the prolific rock anthem by The Killers. My mother wasn't familiar with the song, so I pulled out my iPod to play her a verse or two. She never got to hear it, though; she got bored and wandered away as I tried to find it.

I have "Mr. Brightside" on my iPod. Of course I do. And all of my music tracks are meticulously labeled and catalogued, making these types of searches simple. What was the problem, then? I live for well-done covers, and I have so many cover versions of "Mr. Brightside" on my iPod that the original gets lost when I try to search for it by title.

I've often joked that I could fill an entire CD with "Mr. Brightside" covers and not make it sound monotonous, so today, I've decided to share some of the best with you. It's one song made to sound like five, played in completely different styles yet seeming like it was written for each, which is the truest testament to its brilliance that I can imagine.

First, here is the original Killers track and its moving music video (starring Eric Roberts as Brandon Flowers' nemesis):

Here's an incredible piano and violin cover by musician Eric Wuest:

Here's music legend Paul Anka's big band/swing version: link to Stereogum.

Boyce Avenue kills it on acoustic guitar here:



British boy band McFly recorded this pop version for charity in 2005.



And here's my favorite version, the Los Angeles Orchestral Academy's symphonic cover. It just begs to be blasted as high as your stereo can go.

I Still Have A Doppelganger

"Oh Juliet, the dice was loaded from the start. And I bet, then you exploded in my heart. And I forget... I forget the movie song. When are you gonna realize it was just that the timing was wrong?" -- The Killers


I've written at length about my doppelganger -- the woman my colleagues mistake for me at the gym who was also spotted on the UWS by my nurse last fall. (We're ignoring the Cafe Mozart portrait model and the Notre Dame High School graduate from 1948 here, since it's unlikely that my doppelganger is anywhere near as old as either of those women.)

I bet you wondered whatever happened to the nameless chick who dares to walk around the island of Manhattan wearing my face. Well, an entire year passed with no sign of her. But apparently... she's back.

About two months ago, a security guard in my office wished me a good morning and struck up a conversation...

Guard: You're so lucky to live so close to work.
Me: I know! It's exactly one mile.
Guard: One mile? You live in the corner building above the Chinese restaurant!
Me: No, I don't...
Guard: Does your boyfriend live in the corner building, then?
Me: No, he doesn't. Why do you ask?
Guard: I've seen you come out of that building a couple of times.
Me: It wasn't me you saw.
Guard: I see you every day! I know what you look like!
Me: I'm telling you, it wasn't me!
Guard: Weird. Oh well.

About one month ago, I stopped at Gotham for coffee and the woman on line behind me smiled in my direction. She kept smiling and I kept my gaze fixed firmly in the opposite direction as I collected my coffee. She then approached me as I was adding milk.

Woman: You seem busy so I won't stay to talk long, but I just thought you should know that Winnie is still in physical therapy.
Me: I'm sorry, I don't know who Winnie is.
Woman: But...
Me: Apparently, there's a woman in this neighborhood who looks just like me. I've been mistaken for her before; perhaps she knows Winnie. I'm sorry.
Woman: Okay...

About one week ago, an elderly couple strolled into my office lobby as I was waiting for the elevator. They yelled "Michelle!" a couple of times. After the third yell, I realized that I was the only person in the lobby and turned around.

Me: I'm Ashley.
Man: Ashley? But you look just like Michelle! Doesn't she look like Michelle?
Woman: Yes! You and Michelle could be twins, dear!
Man: They absolutely could! Same height and everything!
Me: Um, thank you? I'm assuming that's a good thing, at any rate.
Woman: Of course it is. Wow, what a funny coincidence! I need to tell Michelle!

The elevator appeared and I hightailed it the hell out of there.

Finally, two days ago, my boss came to work with a stiff neck and shoulder. Why? He saw me on the street -- miles away from anywhere I actually walked that morning, of course -- and jerked around to wave at me, giving himself a muscle strain in the process. He eventually realized it couldn't be me because of the woman's location, but isn't it funny that the similarity caused him to react like that?

Yep. At what point should I start getting freaked out about all of this?