Back to ole' NYC

Hello all.

I have skipped a few days as I was away in California for the Coachella music festival.

But as some of you know, before I left my babygirldog Zoey had to be put to sleep. I'm not going to get into it as I don't want to cry at work (again) but let me just say that there was never a better dog, and being there with her right before and walking out knowing... it was one of the hardest things I will ever have to do in my life. (I hope.) My mother stayed in the room, something I will never have the courage nor impulse to do.

Its very frustrating as I don't even know what to do with the hard ball i feel in my chest every time I talk about her, and I know I know, she was just a dog.

But she was my dog, my girl.

She was not even four. I will miss her forever and always wonder if there was something I could have done differently. (ANNNND crying at work, again)

I feel like my going away simply put off the inevitable sadness that swallowed me once I came back to New York; getting into bed last night at frigging 3 am after a long delayed flight and an overnight drive I just knew I'd lose it. And I did. Nothing like a good cry though, proves that I feel feelings just like every other human being.

But now I am moving the blog onto brighter tidings because life moves on and we must move on or else be pulled down into the sad stuff that sucker punches us in the back of the head with unexpected cruelty and without regard to fair play.

(Am I bitter? Fuck yeah I am. And I have every right to be bitter. I don't understand karma or good auras and I thought I did. I thought what goes around comes around but since this new year has begun all I have seen is this weird barrage of the bad getting rewarded and the good suffering and yeah I'm fucking bitter. All I see paying off for everyone to some extent is hard work, and how can you work hard at saving something that is sick or helping something out of your control. )

ANYWAY

Coachella. Really fucking amazing.

Best bands--- (aka songs to download) as I can remember off the top of my broken head...

Justice (Genesis)

Hot Chip

Sia (Breathe me)

Cold war kids

serj tankian

Fatboy Slim

Adam Freeland

Gogol (obviously)

All in all I'd say that Bonnaroo was better; however, the dance scene couldn't ever hold a candle to Coachella. My biggest issues with Coachella were - drinking restricted to the tents, police presence, less hippies more hipsters, and some rather short sets.

But the weather was amazing and it was so nice to be at a festival without boiling in the sun. I've never been to Cali before and from what little I saw of it it seems like a place I would really enjoy.

I'd write some more but now I am back in New York, at WORK and I just don't feel like it. I JUST DON'T OKAY??!!

I promise my next entry will be riveting.

PS- And now some good luck! Tim and Spike TV

So Tim (my boyfriend) has just gotten a call back for a Spike TV commercial! This is very exciting stuff and brings a little good luck and good news into the day, so I just wanted to share it.
Sort of puts the fun back into being a starving artist.

Twos Day

SO I had this whole epic idea about what I was going to write today but I've been derailed by the status of my puppy dog.

She is still very sick, and it's really just the worst feeling. They believe she has a very very serious case of pneumonia, but there is a possibility that she may have something else that they aren't treating, but they can't tell because she is too weak to do testing. She's so helpless, you know? I just want to cure her of all that ails.

Anyway shes still in the hospital, and for those of you who know Zoey, you know that she is a tough cookie so we are hoping for the best. I don't know if it is better for me to go visit her or to just stay away. Selfishly I want to see her, but is it worse for her to think that I am coming to get her to take her home? I don't know. I know it would break my heart to see her wag her tail at me and then get taken back into whatever room they keep the dogs.

Sigh.

Anyway on a brighter note Gossip Girl was back last night and despite some ridiculousness (okay a lot of ridiculousness) it was totally rockin.

We also had our very first kickball game last night which we won! I thought I would bust my ass trying to kick/throw/get hit with the ball but I came away unscathed.

We did decide to begin drinking before-during the games though. Should liven things up a bit.

Pupp-er-oo

So I am off from work today which is really awesome. My Jewish boss forces me to take these days off, but everyone else in the office has to come in. (Besides him, of course) Not that he really has to force me; generally, when he tells me that I have to take off I respond by saying "Thats awesome! Thanks Jews!" and then I do a little dance. (I don't know how much longer I can do this without him slapping me. ) He says that since my mother is Jewish it doesn't matter that my father is a Catholic Puerto Rican, so here I sit at home at Erica's computer since mine isn't stealing any Internet right now.

 I actually have a lot to do today, but I figured that since I am going to California for 4 days on Wednesday, I should try to get in as many blogs as I could. (Yay Coachella!!)

On Saturday I had to go to Long Island for Passover. Highlights?

1. Grandma eating dog food 

2. Cousin (also 83 years old) trying to eat the same dog food. She's not senile like my grandma, she just thought the dog food was hazel nuts.

3. Witnessing a conversation about online dating and blow jobs between my mother, my aunt and my cousin. 

4. Getting drunk with my father and listening to him ramble about terrorists. 

5. Listening to my uncle's mother talk about how bombing Hiroshima was 'an amazing decision'. 

6. Trying to read the passover prayer stuff aloud while Grandma yells at everyone "Who are you talking to? Why are you talking? Shut up all of you!"

That night I went back to my parents house to see my dog Zoey. She is that adorable creature in the picture next to my profile. My roommate's and I got Zoey while up in college after having our house broken into while we were home watching TV. While at school the dog instantly became mine and has lived with my parents since I graduated. I know that's really bad-mother-pet-owner of me and I would do anything to have her with me here in the city, but living in a tiny apartment with a roommate doesn't really give you much freedom to bring your pit bull along. Anyway, my baby girl is sick. She is only 5.

I've had dogs all my life but I have never been as attached to a creature as Zoe. She is the sweetest thing in the whole world and seeing her too weak to stand was extremely hard. We had to pound on her chest for ten minutes three times a day to try to break up some of the gook in her chest and she wasn't eating or drinking. Anyway we thought she was getting better after being in the hospital a few days ago but my mom had to take her back today. They called her condition 'guarded' and are bringing in a specialist to see her as they don't know whats wrong. I feel horrid. And so helpless. 

Its amazing what sort of unconditional love you can have for another living thing; it scares the shit out of me for how I will/would feel when/if I ever have a child. To love something so much so blindly, it's very disarming. Anyway, please keep your fingers crossed for my pup. she's a good girl.   

Today Today

So, a few things have happened today.

1. My friend (and my number one blog supporter) Marc drew a picture of me. (See left)

2. A homeless man yelled a story to the back of my head while I was reading in the park. Well actually he was yelling at a picture in my book which he seemed to believe was real. Something about Vietnam and lying store clerks who tell you that you can have anything in the store but when you go to take it they call the cops so that's why you have to kill everyone. The picture was of Katherine Hepburn holding a monkey.

3. Its beautiful outside. I think I have told this to my co-workers about ten times, yet they don't seem to care. Which leads me to believe I am annoying, they are lazy, and I ate too much today. That last one is sort of unrelated but needed to be shared nonetheless.

Black tie Madness

So I attended a black tie gala last night thanks to my friend Ashley. It was the NYU Medical Center’s Violet Ball to honor this guy who donated 200 million dollars to the hospital. That’s pretty nutty. To be able to donate 200 million dollars and not even flinch. For me, that would be equal to like 50 dollars, and even that would make me flinch a little. Anyway, these were the highlights:

- The rich old white lady singing Ray Charles in the way only a rich old white lady can.
Said old white lady telling everyone in the room to shush because she still has two more songs to go and it’s rude to talk. Yes, she said shush to millionaires and doctors and millionaire doctors. But it worked! Good for you old lady, keep on rockin’
- The opening speaker of the night whose first line was “I want to open with some sad news.”
(Insert us thinking that this must be a jokey opener and mumbling ‘oh someone died today” while guzzling wine.)
“Mr. Allen Peters died tragically today. Let’s have a moment of silence”
(Insert us spitting wine with shock of this terrible way to open a fancy happy dinner, followed by Alex asking if we are allowed to drink during the moment of silence, then more wine spewing, me laughing during silence, and finally the devil marking down another point in his tally for my soul.)
- The 62 year old Cougar that pretended she was 46, loved Ryan, and told me she was too young to have listened to Bob Dylan.
- Ashley’s genuine surprise at discovering her stockings were crotch-less.
- Deodorant on my dress = rookie mistake.
- Alex insulting millionaires from Queens.

The event also made me realize that I am not cut out to wear stiletto heels, because no matter how sexy they make me feel I know I am walking like an ostrich. I also realized that just because you have money doesn’t mean that you don’t dress like you are going to junior prom. And lastly I realized that although it is really cool to dabble in the world of endless wine and black ties, it is not a place I would want to be all the time. And that’s nice to know, since I can gather that I probably won’t be there anyway.

Homeless man conundrum

This morning the homeless man who stands on the corner of Bleecker and Broadway asked me for some money. As I was getting coffee in Han’s deli I started to think about this homeless guy. For one, he is super tall, strong looking, and on the younger side. He looks like a bum, but mostly in the way that a guy traveling with no home would look like a bum. He has what seems to be a warm jacket on. Sure, he’s insane. I once saw him chasing a pigeon with ravenous eyes. But still, the question hit me, why is this guy asking me for money?
I don’t mean it in the way of - why is this guy asking me for money because he clearly doesn’t need any, like the guy who stands outside of Grand Central smoking cigs and wearing Nike Shocks. Or in the way Tim says “why is this guy asking me for money I don’t have any and he may be dressed better than I am.”

No, I mean it more in the way of, in real life, statistically speaking, this guy is more able to get a job and make more money than I am. I am a little girl; this man could save my life from a falling piece of wood. He could do manual labor that I couldn’t. He could probably run faster and jump further. In real life, if this guy wasn’t a bum, he would pull out my chair for me in a restaurant, open the door for me at work, buy me drinks at a bar, and reach to get something for me on the top shelf of Associated Supermarket. If this guy had some money, or even just a little leverage, he could get his degree, he would probably go further than me in the business world as a white male. He wouldn’t be hitting a glass ceiling or called ‘baby’ by random strangers. If we ever went on a date, he would insist on paying and treat me like a helpless chick when it came down to picking the wine or getting the coats. In fact, if it was cold he would give me his coat.

So okay, this isn’t the case. Instead of being a strapping man he is a bird eater. But it just makes me wonder what level you have to reach mentally in order for those barriers to be so broken down. To beg for a dollar from a 23 year old girl, something none of the men in my life would ever even consider doing. In our society it is the man who is expected to take care of things, protect his girlfriend/wife/daughter. Even independent women and dependant men still uphold some of these ideals; when a guy lets the door slam in my face, it is a shock. When you see a girl carrying something heavy and a man offers to help, it is expected and welcomed. I am not advocating a woman's rights thing or anything, I am just generally wondering when these respects are just gone for you.

What point do you have to reach where all these ideals and respects and so on are just completely gone to you? After asking me for a dollar he asked the tiny old smoker lady that lives next to me. I mean really? Her? She is old and tiny and a lady.

I guess once you have the desire to roast a pigeon and eat its sweet meat all other regular societal norms are sort of lost on you.

On the Road

I just finished Jack Kerouac’s On the Road.
So okay, I know I am way behind in reading this; most people loved this book back in high school. But I think it was just one of those books I avoided for some odd reason, maybe because it is a book that I am just expected to have read and enjoyed so I just stayed away from it. I’m a rebel baby.

Anyway I read it and I enjoyed it. Actually I loved it and want to live my life by it. What a cliché.

I read it mostly on the train, which in itself is some sort of irony, as I would read a few pages, be taken in with the traveler/beatnik/nature spirit, and then viciously elbow my way through the sea of businessmen so that I wouldn’t be late for my desk job. In a way this book made me hate my priorities and instilled a panic in me. “Why,” I thought to myself, “am I not living a life such as this?”

Obvious answers would be
a- society instills it in us that we are supposed to go to college and have a life plan
b- I like nice clothing and other such luxuries
c- I am a female, and females cant travel alone like a bum

But I want to have an experience like this in my life. The closest I’ve ever come to a rambling road trip was in New Zealand and we were all in a van so it doesn’t even count. I mean it counts, but it’s not the same. Alex has said she would go on an adventure backpacking across a cool European country with me, but again, the ‘two young girls alone in a foreign country’ is not as appealing in real life, what with the whole human trafficking thing. So it is more likely that we’d be staying in some sort of hostel. Tim has agreed that getting away from everything is an interest to him, but the idea of road tripping-wandering-adventuring doesn’t seem to be something he has taken a major shining to.

What I would like to do is drive across the US; there are so many places that I haven’t been. I would love to stop at truckers diners and eat steak and eggs even though I don’t eat steak and eggs, and I’d love to eat pie with real ice cream. And see the world’s largest ball of twine and set off legal fireworks on a beach and sleep in a crappy motel that is run by a mom and pop and go to a bar and play the jukebox and drink cheap beers.

I want to go here

http://www.lightningfield.org/

Walter De Maria: The lightning Field

The Lightning Field, 1977, by the American sculptor Walter De Maria, is a work of Land Art situated in a remote area of the high desert of western New Mexico. It is comprised of 400 polished stainless steel poles installed in a grid array measuring one mile by one kilometer. The poles—two inches in diameter and averaging 20 feet and 7½ inches in height—are spaced 220 feet apart and have solid pointed tips that define a horizontal plane. A sculpture to be walked in as well as viewed, The Lightning Field is intended to be experienced over an extended period of time. A full experience of The Lightning Field does not depend upon the occurrence of lightning, and visitors are encouraged to spend as much time as possible in the field, especially during sunset and sunrise.

A heartwarming story to share with the group

We left for the music festival in Tennessee on a Wednesday night at around 8pm. Ali and I had taken a short power nap which had mainly consisted of snuggling with the dogs, so my mother, being the charitable and insightful woman she is, filled us massive thermoses of hot coffee to take along. Jack arrived around 7:30pm just in time to throw his small bag into the already packed car trunk and leave his Vespa keys with my father in case my family needed to move it further into the driveway. We hardly knew Jack at that time since he had just started dating our friend Laura and we had only just met him at one of her parties but he had asked to come along at the last minute and we had gladly agreed as we needed someone else to help with the driving. But Jack was just a few weeks off the plane from Austria and kept talking about all the times he had driven on the Autobahn while visiting his cousins in Germany so we decided to handle most of the diving on our own anyway. The trip was set to take about fifteen hours, and we were going to ride it straight through the night so we could arrive the next day.
The first few states had flown by swiftly and we had only stopped in Pennsylvania for more coffees and a short bathroom break. In Maryland we got more gas and some snacks. At each rest stop we ran into other travelers on their way to the festival, and these encounters each proved to be small power boosts in themselves. Barefooted hippies and semi drunk frat boys wandered in and out of gas station Seven Elevens, everyone greeting one another because we all had this one goal in common above all else.
But now we were approaching West Virginia and all the cars with ‘Tennessee or bust’ scribbled on their windows seemed to have dropped back or picked up speed and disappeared. After driving for so long the urge to sleep hits you like a slap in the face and you can’t even try to fight it. We weren’t even aware that the CD had finished and we were all sitting in silence. It took a near accident to wake us all up enough to realize that something was needed to keep our senses sharp. So Jack pulled out a large bag of cocaine and began taking bumps off of a key.
“You better watch it!” warned Ali, “You don’t want to be an immigrant thrown in a West Virginia jail.”
None of us really knew whether or not immigrants were treated badly in West Virginia jails but it sounded like a real threat so Jack moved the bag down out of sight. We passed the state line into Virginia and this seemed to put Jack more at ease and he passed the bag forward to me. After taking a few bumps I moved it over to Ali who was driving. I missed her hand entirely and instead poured the stuff down between the seats. The word devastation had a whole new meaning.
“We must stop!” cried Jack in his Schwarzenegger accent that I had yet to learn to take seriously.
Ali and I agreed; this was the time to stop and figure out what we had lost and what was to be done. We stopped at the first gas station we could find and pulled over to the side of the pumps. I had an idea.
“I have an idea!” I cried, racing into the Seven Eleven and grabbing three straws. My idea was clear once I came jetting out the mechanical doors, and the three of us got down to business. By sticking the straws between the seats we were able to begin snorting up what I had dropped. At one point I snorted up a clump of dust and I turned away from the action to spit. I realized I was face to face with a chubby female store clerk.
“Now that’s a fancy car!” she whistled, swaying slightly. She was drinking something out of a big gulp cup.
I nodded and turned my head to Ali’s lime green Saturn Ion. “She likes the car, Ali,” I said pointedly.
Ali raised her head and pulled the straw from her nose. “Thanks.” She hit Jack on his back and he too stuck his head up and wiped his nose.
“That’s like a future car, ya know?” the lady asked me, sipping her drink.
“It’s a Saturn Ion,” I said.
“Never heard of it. You know, I see a lot of cars come through here but yours is the most futuristic I’ve ever seen,” she concluded.
“Maybe it’s the green color,” I suggested, wondering if this woman was crazy or just drinking on the job.
“It’s got three doors!” she began to chuckle. “Ya’ll ain’t from around here that’s for sure.”
I shook my head and fingered the straw in my hand. The lady continued to wobble in front of me, and Ali and Jack deemed her harmless enough to continue the snorting. They turned their backs to us and bent over again.
“We’re headed to the festival in Tennessee,” I continued, “I’m sure others have passed through here too.”
“Shoot, I don’t know. I’ve been in there all night and no one came to say hello!” the lady laughed again.
“Do you work here all night?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me and cocaine seizing control over my mouth. “Do you get many customers at this time of night? Do you live around here?”
I heard Ali laughing behind me as she made her way into the Seven Eleven for some cigarettes.
“Well,” the lady drawled, “I live over the freeway, so I walk here every night. It’s quiet. I get to eat the hot dogs. It’s a good job.”
We stared at one another, her eyes clouded with booze and lunacy, mine clear with drugs and surprise.
Ali broke the spell. “Hey I left you some money on the counter alright? I took these.” She held up a box of cigarettes.
The lady nodded and smiled. “Alright sugar, you rich, I trust you. Rich crazy car.”
Ali and I watched as the lady laughed and laughed. “Well we gotta go.”
The lady nodded and took one more look at the car, ignoring the large figure of Jack bent over between the seats.
We climbed into the car and I waved at her wobbling figure as we drove back onto the dark highway and continued our trip into the South.
“I took some candy. And some coffee. What a nutty broad, she was creepy.” Ali said, reaching into her sweatshirt pockets and pulling out cans of iced coffee and a few York Peppermint Patties.
None of us were hungry though, and I was suddenly hit with a wave of panic and sadness and the idea of stealing from that poor lady. I opened a can of iced coffee and took a deep sip. Sure she may have been drunk or crazy, but she may still be held accountable for the missing inventory. I ground my teeth together and tried to think about something else as Jack began to talk about his first motorcycle accident and Ali laid her hand out the window to feel the warm night air rushing past. Without saying it aloud we agreed to keep going the rest of the way into Tennessee and not stop at any more gas stations.

Top five women I wanted to be when I grew up:

1. Jessica Rabbit

Yes she was with Roger Rabbit who was totally like three leagues below her, but clearly she had depth because she loved him for his good heart. That and no cartoon was more sexy in a grown up movie; even the real humans wanted to bang her. I used to walk around the house and wave my 'hips' and say "Honey" and "Baby" all sexy-like to my dogs.

2. Rogue

Again I managed to choose a very busty cartoon to emulate; however, she was kick ass. Not only did she have a sweet accent, insane strength, and a skin tight costume, BUT she was capable of draining men of all their powers. That's amazing. Plus she loved Gambit and so did I.

3. Jennifer Connelly in Labyrinth

It was my dream to find a world much more romantic and mystical than my own, plus she was just bratty enough for me to identify with. And the whole time she gets to hang out with trolls, monsters, Bluto, and David Bowie's giant bulge.

4. The Queen of Hearts

Oh what power.

5. Catwoman

Black leather, whip, ability to kick ass in giant heels. Okay so I had a child-like interest in S&M, but come on the woman oozed kinky sex which is something you can sense when you are 9 but can't figure out why you are attracted to it. Catwoman was also the only woman to really have a hold of batman's heart. I loved tortured souls when I was a kid and she was the sexiest one.

(Brrrrrrrrrrr) What happened to that boy

This morning on the train there was this guy standing in front of me wearing headphones. Now, the 6 train is very quiet in the morning as everyone is miserable and tired and aware of the fact that we are being herded like cattle into the open glistening mouth of cubicle hell, so it is always easy to hear what people are listening to regardless of headphone density. So this dude was listening to some repetitive rap beat which, every few minutes, would be punctured by the sound of firing guns. Yes. Firing guns.
And at first I was worried. What sort of person listens to the sounds of war in the morning? And, I thought, if he is listening to this song in the morning, what does he listen to at night? It could only get worse. What sort of effect does this have on a person?

But then I thought about this song that Lindsay and I used to listen to in college.
Birdman (baby?)- ‘What happened to that boy?’
Okay, well really it was just me who listened to it, and I did it to make her laugh, but somewhere beyond this façade of comic relief lay a genuine affection for the song. I liked the beat, and sometimes they’d play it at the Post.
Anyway….
Not only is the Birdman song unforgivably stupid (he coos like a pigeon during most of it) but it starts with a loud gun shot. I actually think there is more than one gunshot throughout the song as well. So what I would do during college is turn my speakers up really loud and then put that song on, pretending to duck when the gun shot rang out across the whole room. Then Linz and I would laugh and laugh while listening to the rest of the song and attempting to make the bird noises.

So what does this mean? Why would I laugh when I heard a gun shot? Am I just as bad as the skinny dude with a bad moustache who was listening to the machine gun diddy this morning?

And I came to a conclusion. No I am not. I’m funny and he’s a retard.

Older and Wiser

Today I was thinking about how as we grow older our ideals and preconceived notions sort of come into this real and depressing focus. Well maybe depressing is too harsh of a word. More like, different.
For example:
As a child I believed cheating in a relationship was wrong. Scandalously so! I swore up and down I would never cheat.

(I also swore I would never drink coffee or go to bed early and I think you all know where I am headed with this.)

Yes I cheated. And yes it came easier than I had thought it would. The guilt was there but the instant gratification was there too and instant gratification is one hell of a lure. Cheating also involved lying which was another thing I swore I’d never do. The line was crossed with no real connection to the severity with which I was straying from my old beliefs, and it all just snowballed from there.
But when I would sit down and bemoan the situation I had gotten myself into and anticipate the barrage of accusations and lectures my friends would give me, I was surprised to be greeted by their understanding and empathy. What was even more insane was that as time progressed I realized that most of the other people around me were cheating/had cheated.

I would even venture to say that more than half of my friends and acquaintances have strayed during a relationship and several others are chronic strayers with no thought of stopping.

And so the thought occurred to me one day as I sat in the mess I had created; maybe I wasn’t pure evil as I had previously thought. Maybe I was just growing up and losing my values as I went. And maybe this is just what happens.
Now I am not writing off my actions, no way no sir. What I did was horrible and wrong and if anyone ever did it to me I can’t image how I would feel. (Double standard?) I made my bed and I lay in it when everything came to a head. And I have come out a different person and am now lucky enough to be in a wonderful and committed relationship.
But what I was thinking about today and what I am suggesting to you right now is that maybe this is just something that happens. That we just inevitably lose something that we had. We lose a conviction.

What I can’t figure out is if we were more correct then or more correct now.
As a child was I just naive and that’s why I was able to really believe such an unwavering ideal?
OR
Am I just so corrupted now that those same ideals seem silly and unimportant?

Do we see more clearly now or then? Are we capable of making a real genuine moral judgment as a blank slate? Or are we more qualified now, after a life of exposure? After all coffee is bad for you and staying up late is like totally cool. Was I a better judgement-maker at 5 then I am now at 23?

The other weekend I was at the Spotted Pig with Erica (roommate) and some of her old work friends. They were all in their thirties and most were married with kids. Several of those married men hit on us. One even went so far as to tell me that his wife and kids had died in a fire and that’s why he was ready to take me home. And I was caught up in a sudden wave of that same childlike blanket feeling; I would never cheat on my husband/these men cannot possibly represent the majority.
Thus the question continues. Who is wrong, me or them? Who is wiser?

(By the way that picture on the top left is of those married guys. Perfect ain't it?)

My first Blog Ever, Ever!

Hi. So my name is Gabrielle Sierra. I am 23 years old and I live in Greenwich Village NYC. Pretty exciting, I know.
I have a hard time validating this type of stuff; I feel as if I am asking everyone to take a specific interest in my life, and why should my life be any more important or exciting than your own?
Well it is. Just kidding it isn’t. Maybe it is, I don’t know. Anyway.
Maybe if I explain my motives to you (and validate them to myself) I can feel more comfortable starting this blog. Lets make a short list.

A. I feel that I am an identifiable character. I am a girl in her twenties, living in a teeny tiny apartment with a loft bed. I have friends, a dog, a boyfriend, and I am working a job that makes me want to dig my eyeballs out. This allows me to tell stories/debate issues/ ask questions that everyone could relate to at one angle or another, and it’s always nice to find someone with similar stuff going on. Plus I go out, I go to restaurants, I drink too much, I go to concerts and museums and galleries. I can tell you what I think rocks and what I think sucks and you can agree or hate me for it.

B. I want to be/am a (struggling) writer. New York City (and Greenwich Village) is filled with people just like me, trying to figure out how to make it by being an artist type, and figuring out how long to keep going. Blogging seems to go hand in hand with wanting to make it in writing. And you can have a front row seat to my failure, or success, or selling out. And who doesn’t enjoy a little voyeurism?

C. I don’t keep a diary. My handwriting sucks, and I’m incredibly antsy all the time so this will now be my diary. And who wouldn’t want to snoop around in someone else’s diary?

That’s my list. My plan is to keep track of stuff in my life; don’t worry I am not Julia Allison, nor will I pretend/try to be.

So okay then. Gabrielle will cure all that ails ya.