How I Foiled A Robbery, or You Asked For It

i suspect it's a sign that i grew up in the suburbs that my initial reaction to hearing a group of people screaming 'stop him' about a man running in my direction is to get out of the way so that i don't disturb their game; it took some serious city-life systems override willpower to accept the fact that i was, in fact, being called upon to actually stop the boy who was running towards me at full speed last night.

he was being pursued by no less than eight men and two women, because he'd kindly divested one of them of her cel phone. despite the phalanx trailing behind him, i was the only person moving towards him from the front, which meant i was the only one available to stop this kid--he was fast, and his pursuers were definitely not gaining ground. so i took a deep breath and threw myself into his path. or, tried to, anyway--as soon as i'd started making the slightest motion towards the street, he saw me moving in to head him off (truly terrifying in my mid-calf boots and diamond-print skirt), promptly threw the cel phone at me and busted on out of there; i guess the cel phone had some serious wind resistance or something, because when i picked it up and handed it back to its owner, it didn't strike me as all that heavy, at least not so heavy that it would have made a difference as to his overall speed.

which then brings me to the natural conclusion: clearly, he knew i was going to fuck him up if he stuck with this funny business. because i am JUST. THAT. FEARSOME. so he gave back the bounty in hopes i'd leave him alone. clearly.

and that's the story of how i foiled a robbery.

it's the little things, really.

yesterday, i foiled a robbery.

i also got a new chair at work.

all things considered, i shouldn't have come as close to throwing a fit on the subway this morning as i did. four times.

and no, i'm not being hyperbolic, on any count.

exercising your rights.

it was hot in new york city today, scalding hot with nary a cloud in the sky, and i have the salty footprints of sweat on my forehead to prove it, as well as the aching feet and slight case of dehydration. this discomfort, however, is offset by the fact that today i participated in Something Good, joining more than 400,000 of my fellow americans in the streets of new york to protest the regime of our city's newest visitors, the delegates of the republican national convention.

the march started at the intersection of 14th street and 7th avenue, an intersection that we were stuck at for more than an hour and a half, because they hadn't closed 14th street--which meant that the vast hordes of protesters had to wait for the light to change before we could cross, allowing only about a hundred of us to get through at each iteration.

we ultimately managed to dodge the hordes of empty buses and get through, though things didn't speed up much for a while after that. it took us another hour to get the nine blocks up to 23rd street, by which point i was on the verge of collapse from heat exhaustion and my delectable boyfriend had to drag me to shade, cold beverage and restorative nosh before i keeled over. we rejoined the fray around 28th street, where the biscuit and i finally found each other (after an entire morning spent playing phone tag) and ran into a few more of our friends (who quickly disappeared back into the ether). this is also the point where my incredibly short skirt and i hopped a police barricade to get back in the mix. good fun for all.

we finished out the protest as a group, grinning wickedly as we took what felt to me like a victory lap down fifth avenue, returning, four and a half hours later, to the beginning, exhausted and overheated, but happy. because the thing is, on a day so beautiful as today, it would have been so easy for all these people to make excuses to avoid the protest--after all, it was hot, it was uncomfortable, and it was crowded beyond belief--but they didn't. nearly half a million people flooded the streets because they believed that the time had come to stand up and be counted. because despite the government's best efforts, we retain our right to free speech, and our right to free assembly, and while nothing says 'time for change' like going out and voting, it feels fucking fantastic to exercise your rights.

so to everyone else who made it out today, i say this: thank you and congratulations, for proving that peaceful protest is possible, for standing up for what you think is right, and for reminding me so powerfully that no matter how bleak and horrible things get, there are some things about this country that are really and truly worth fighting for.

like you.

monster, or machine?

i currently have what can only be classified as a full-body headache. it sounds like a misnomer, but i swear it's true. i blame my right contact lens. i get the distinct feeling that there will be tears before bedtime when i try to take it out.

yarr.

i skipped gate night last night, the first one i'd knowingly skipped out on in a while. part of me wanted to go, but part of me was just so flipping exhausted that i simply had to go home (restraining myself from killing the intern is tiring!). so home i went for an evening of chatter and chinese food and passing out on the couch. at least, i think i passed out on the couch. i was certainly tired enough to. but i don't really remember.

i do, however, remember being awakened in the wee hours by a ghostly music that took us several minutes to identify as coming from my ipod over in the corner--which had miraculously set itself to play texas' 'guitar song' at an extremely high volume starting at whatever godawful hour it was, so that the tiny headphones might be enough to rouse us. after i'd turned it off, we determined that the 'i' in 'ipod' clearly meant 'intelligent monsters who want to eat your face. i mean, machines that want to eat your face. yeah.'

i had trouble getting back to sleep after that.

nostalgia.

the soundtrack to my sophomore year in college was stevie wonder's 'sir duke,' though not by my own doing. i lived in a house on a satellite of the campus--a conglomeration of ugly, identical houses across the street that was affectionately referred to as the 'sophomore slum.' i lived on the top floor of number nine, and my window faced those belonging to the inhabitants of number eight. specifically, the one belonging to our local rock god, who we'll call woody (on account of his frightening and uncanny resemblance to an actor of the same name). woody was a guitar player and all around good guy--and he liked to brush up on his skills by playing along to stevie wonder's greatest hits. particularly, that's right, 'sir duke.'

being in many ways a late bloomer, this is how i got into stevie wonder--a constant, everyday serenade by my neighbor really left me no choice. fortunately, both woody and his chosen rehearsal fare were great; unless i was napping, i actually enjoyed the serenade.

i haven't really thought about that in a couple years, but seated in the park today, with the lovely kate and a stevie wonder tribute band, i was almost nostalgic for those days.

and then i remembered how very much i hated college, and the reverie was over.

and i said, what about...

for all that i kvetch about new york and my general sense of wanderlust, i must say that there's nothing quite parallel to a gorgeous tuesday night in central park with sushi, wine, free popcorn, breakfast at tiffany's on the big screen (also free), and your boy.

sometimes, the city likes to remind you.

relief.

the whole twisted saga started last thursday, beginning (as these things so often do) with a phone call.

'shivery? this is doctor h. we got the results in from your test, and it detected some...abnormalities. we need you to come in for a different test, so we can figure out what's going on here.'

she had more to say, words that, had i actually been able to hear them properly, might have soothed me more; unfortunately, my brain had clocked out just after the word 'abnormalities,' spinning around in my head as my heart started racing and my eyes to tear. when i got off the phone, i had an appointment for monday, a promise to pick up more information the next day and a no hope in hell of keeping my shit together for another minute. so i called dom and choked out words that weren't really words, more guttural sobbing noises, begging him to come to my office because i needed him for reasons i didn't want to discuss in this open plan office. being the rock star that he is, he was here in a matter of minutes, ready to let me cry all over him until i calmed down enough to finish the day. and calm down i did, after about a half hour of utter hysteria, but the news had cast its shadow, and we were far from okay with the world for the next few days.

so we were quiet this weekend, frightened and chastened by the knowledge that there was a genuine possibility that something was quite wrong. by the time we found ourselves in the waiting room yesterday, it was as though we were made of clay: quiet. distracted. heavy. i gripped his hand as we waited, both of us trying very hard to keep it together for the benefit of the other person.

in the end, we needn't have worried--the second test proclaimed me thoroughly okay (well, 99%--the doc still sent something off for processing, just to be sure), and i was sent home with a clean bill of health. and for the first time in four days, the world stopped feeling like it was made of iron, and we relaxed. and while the relief was almost worth the agony we weathered in the preceding days (emphasis on 'almost'), i don't ever, ever want to do that again.

on the list of Things That Are Not Acceptable.

so, one of my bosses is telling a story to the assembled company about her nightmare nanny, whom the kids hate and who regularly shows up for work in lowrider jeans and belly shirts--'which would be okay except she's overweight, so it looks terrible!'

as she says this, guess whose head swivels and snaps around to look Right. At. Me.

asshole.

a letter.

dear mister intern,

i recognize that you're new in this office, and perhaps you have yet to figure out that your cocky white-boy alpha stance isn't actually as popular as you think it is--you are fortunate in that you work in an office full of remarkably lovely and tolerant people (myself, perhaps, excluded) who put up with your shit in a friendly manner. i also recognize that you're probably new to this whole business of 'human interaction.' but i'm a people person. i believe that people can grow. so let me give you a few tips to ensure that somewhere along the line, someone doesn't completely rip your face off in outrage at being treated like your inferior.

first: do not send packages containing contest submissions to the judges ahead of schedule, particularly when the deadline has yet to lapse. don't do it. there are always last minute submissions. and they will be mighty angry if they are disqualified because you decided to call time.

second: when these last minute submissions come in, particularly if they come from people one of your colleagues knows, particularly if they're her FRIENDS and you know it, don't give in to the urge to mock the latecomers with your reedy little voice. because this is an open plan office. and i will hear you, you pathetic little fucknut. and i. will not. be happy.

i know you think you're hot shit. and i am here to tell you that you are not nearly as hot as you think. you are a diligent worker, and a great help to the colleague who is mentoring you. i respect you for that. and you're new here, so maybe you haven't figured out how to behave. hell, perhaps you're new to the notion of the workplace entirely. i have no idea. BUT. you have no concept of the basic social graces required to maintain an acceptable working relationship.

and you WILL send out a package with the final entries on monday. come hell or high water. because around here, sunshine, you don't make the rules. you, like the rest of us, like all of the contestants, get to play by them.

kisses!
shivery

and now, it's time for the breakdown.

i can't help but wonder what they thought had happened, those people walking by on 23rd st. many looked away, averted their eyes, but a handful just stared openly, gawking merrily at me as i tried to conceal the fact that i was having a complete and utter meltdown in broad daylight.

i think most of them thought that my boyfriend and i were having a 'scene,' or perhaps an 'episode,' because i was clutching his shirt and trying so hard to be mama's brave little soldier (complete with set jaw and lip quiver), because everything he said to me made me cry. what they didn't know was that the tears had nothing to do with the words he said, at least not in the way they probably assumed, that the only way he fueled this hysteria was by saying all the right things, everything a good boyfriend like him says. but as anyone who's ever had a proper industrial freakout knows, sometimes it just makes you cry harder.

perverse, isn't it? how easy it is for someone to push you over the edge by simply telling you exactly what you need to hear, and meaning it. telling you that you're not in this alone, that you'll never face anything alone again.

we had to stop talking about it after that, because i suddenly lost my ability to form sentences.

just like now.

stalled.

as you may or may not know, my workload has been awfully light this week, so inbetween stints dodging the intern (who dom has succinctly described as a boy who looks as though he includes 'enjoys: dissecting small animals' on his nerve profile) i've spent the better part of today staring at this screen, trying to come up with something witty, or insightful, or at least interesting to break the monotony. but, other than an observation that today my ipod is exceptionally fond of elastica and the pixies circa 'doolittle', i got nothin'.

sorry, kids. you'll have to go elsewhere today for your dose of existential ennui.

or whatever.

stupid.

why yes, today has been perfectly awful. thank you for asking.

hackled.

it's not exactly classified information that i prefer brooklyn to manhattan; it's also not particularly classified information that our intern sets my hackles up. so really, it's not surprising that i'm already grinding my teeth when my day started with him pontificating to me about why the social scene in brooklyn is sub-par, particularly because this is primary reason he gave: 'i just can't take the country music, man. the scene out here is, like, just for older people, married people who aren't that interested in going out.'

i can't take the country music.

you can't write that kind of ignorance. you just can't.

avoidance/procrastination/

what's rattling around my brain pan today--because heaven knows, i don't actually have any work to do today:

finding a radio edit of rachel stevens' 'some girls'; ferreting out when exactly tom waits is going to be breezing through town in support of his upcoming album; where to go to get my passport photos done; how very much i like chicken tikka masala; whether i can get to the tourneau at 34th street and get my watch repaired without getting rained on; whether it's currently raining; whether i should splash out for green contact lenses; whether the rumors that there are cookies here today are true; the fact that it's been a year since the Big Blackout Of 2003; the grand relief that the Great Domain Name Debacle Of 2004 is finally over; the sudden death of julia child AND rick james in the same week; why my calf is stiff; how the hell i'm going to fill the rest of this day; tonight's jim white show at southpaw; hoping it really, really PISSES it down tomorrow so i can, for once, enjoy a wonderful storm from the delightful coziness that is my apartment instead of from out in it and woefully underprepared; this strange craving for rice pudding (not A rice pudding, just rice pudding. preferably in chocolate); wondering how long it would take me to brush up my french if i really put my back into it; wondering why in the hell i'm feeling SO DAMN CHIRPY today.

CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP!

what's rattling around your mental machinery?

document

my favorite shot from saturday; kinda billie holiday. click to see the whole thing.

by the fantastic jason

unsettled.

our new intern gives me the heebie jeebies.

that is all.

on chewing through leather straps.

i am having one of those days where i can't for the life of me come up with a good reason to justify having gotten out of bed.

i am still waiting for something redeeming to happen, but i get the feeling that the universe isn't going to come through on this one. not today, anyway.

though a raspberry tootsie pop wouldn't go entirely amiss. curse you, flatiron district, and your total lack of sludge-colored quasi-chocolate treats! i shake my fists at you!

i saw scarlett johansson in the flesh this weekend, and that's really the least interesting part of it.

though i'm loath to count my chickens before i've checked in with my sister, i think it's fairly safe to say that that went awfully well.

this was a big weekend for a lot of reasons: i saw my mom for the first time in two years; i met her boyfriend for the first time ever; she met MY boyfriend for the first time ever; i played my first ever show with a band; i played my first ever show for my mother. i had a tattoo to hide.

but, despite a few pre-arrival flurries of nervousness, it was all good. the boyfriend and i got along well, bonding over the vagaries of 35mm photography (which i'm learning and he is very skilled in); we came close to having an argument at dinner, over (shock!) politics, but i think we slid nicely away from the precipice there and managed to pick up our politeness where we'd left off. my mother definitely likes dom--but then, really. what sensible woman wouldn't?

the show went swimmingly--though the band is still in its infant stages, i think we're on to something...though i longingly look forward to the day when we have some serious Rawk action going on, with a full screaming drum kit and a bassist. also, a name. that would be good. but it went well, and we'll be posting some samples on the site soon (hopefully). i am pretty sure that mom liked the show--her boyfriend took about eight hundred thousand pictures, so at least she has evidence. hopefully, the pictures don't have too much of the venue's proscenium, which is adorned with several life-size images of women in classic bondage gear. progressive as california is, i don't think that pictures like that are what you want to wave in the wine-tasting group's face when proclaiming what your youngest daughter is up to.

but i could be wrong.

i'm still uncertain as to whether or not she actually saw my tattoo; my suspicion is that she noticed it, but opted not to say anything--in her estimation, there is nothing i can do to my body that's as bad as smoking. she spent nearly ten years trying to get me to quit that, and now that i have...i mean, really. where's the satisfaction in picking a fight over something like a discreetly placed tattoo when the big fight has already been won?

in closing, it was a good weekend. it was great to see my mom, it was great to play the show, it was great to see the marvelous biscuit in full fabulous form in his play, twelfth night on sunday.

good times, man. good times. now if you can just do something about the fact that today is REFUSING TO END...

evidence.

misc.

1. yes, that's right. i am eighteen shades of wrong because i utterly failed yesterday to tout the fabulous art skills of the roos, who designed my tattoo. it seems i keep thinking that everyone here knows as much about my life as i do. he designed his own as well, which are also superfab, and maybe if we harass him enough he'll post some pictures.

2. country music in the hood makes girls like me happy. so does free pizza at work. rain all over my blow-dried hair and too much alcohol on a schoolnight do not. but copious amounts of glitter help. as do fabulous PWSWM*.

3. i have a show on saturday. you should all come. more details at www.shiverydelicious.com

4. my new grass green bag also makes me happy. as does the knowledge that my very favorite jeans have not, in fact, been discontinued, and are even on sale!

5. i feel like hell. more sleep is in order, if it weren't for that meddling job of mine.

*that would be People Who Sleep With Men, for those of you playing along at home.

i'm not a prisoner of my skin.

let me start by saying that if anyone ever tells you that tattoos don't really hurt, they are lying. having said that, they're also really not that bad. by way of comparison: i'd rather get another tattoo than take a flight to japan (seventeen hours) unaided by a sedative. but, the endorphin rush that many people purport to feel that masks all pain simply does not kick in when your tatt only takes forty minutes to complete. so yes. it hurt. but it doesn't crack the top twenty most traumatic experiences of my life list. not even close.

of course, that might also have something to do with the fact that i absolutely adore my tattoo.
i've been wanting it for years, but always found a reason to put it off. it is much to dom's credit that he finally got me to do it. our tattooist was a swede working at bowery tattoo--his name is henrik, and he does excellent work; just ask dom, whose green man is painfully gorgeous (and painfully won, with more than two hours in henrik's chair). the only time he managed to alarm me was when he asked me to hold my breath and brace for the most painful part, which he declined to detail. so i braced myself. i waited for the feeling of the needle scraping over my spine (or something similarly distressing)...and instead of evil needle vibrations, got a slick of vitamin e ointment to soothe the aching skin and a covering to protect it from the rest of the evening.

we had a funnyman on our hands.

sleeping was interesting, as i was attempting to keep my wiggling at a minimum so as not to displace the bandage, and i couldn't take my appointed place on dom's left shoulder out of deference to the green man...but the sleep was deep and the dreams were sweet, and i woke up more certain than ever that i'd picked the right marker for my skin.

comment hell.

and we're back! comment away, liebchens!

hi kids--

kiss kiss
shiv

at long last

hey!

in about an hour's time, i'll be getting my infamous and long overdue tattoo.

don't tell my mom, okay? she'll be at the show on saturday.

ah, the soothing effect of a monday morning rant.

i will never, ever understand what the government hopes to accomplish through its vague, veiled and information-free terror warnings.

today's warning was less offensive than most to my way of thinking--at least we were given an AREA and a type of potential target to be mindful of. this is something we can work with. there is a CENTER to that kind of announcement around which we can orbit and ease our nervous hearts. no, what really steams my dumplings is the ridiculous color-coded terror level threat index. when our 'terror level' is raised to 'orange,' or any other color, we are so rarely advised anything specific to be aware OF, leaving us to be aware only of our own fear, the nameless, baseless fear that taints our daily existence and leaves us helpless, because we don't know what we're SUPPOSED TO BE AFRAID OF, only that we're supposed to be afraid. only that we're supposed to be grateful for having been warned that we should be keeping an eye out for nameless shadows doing uncertain things in unspecified areas. and we should be understanding that they can't give us details, because loose lips sink ships. so we should go happily about our daily business, even though SOMEONE IS TRYING TO KILL US. but we can't say who. so good luck trying to defend yourself our anyone else.

i mean, what good is it to tell a child that a nightmare is coming on, but then not bother telling him how to identify the boogeyman?*

i believe that despite what hail to the chimp and his minions would have you believe, the danger level on our home turf has not risen all that significantly. as a country, we've pissed enough people off in our time that the list of organizations/people/countries who'd like to knock our block off is endless, and has been ever since we appointed ourselves world policemen and used that assignation to take whatever we want from everyone else on the playground with no regard for their needs or wants. people have been working on american soil to take down the great machine for as long as you've been alive. and longer still. this is not new. what's new is that the government is using our fear of it, our vulnerability, to play us. while i don't fully advocate the previous strategy of 'don't ask, don't tell,' i CERTAINLY do not condone the tactic of 'tell, but don't explain' that is currently being employed.

sometimes i think that this country is currently in more danger from its elected officials than it could ever be from any outside threat.

just kidding. i always think that.

*and no, i'm not intimating that the american public is akin to a pack of children. though i do think that we're being treated that way.