And I like to make draw-rings!

Hello from Chicago!

Although had a frustrating delay this morning at JFK, had the most intensely productive meeting as soon as I got in and am now sitting in my purple velvet upholstered office chair at The W waiting for my little bro and his fiancee to arrive for din.  It must be nice, I think, to have siblings plural in the same town, where hanging out on a weeknight could be something that happens on the regular.

Time for a disco nap.

P.S. I love the guts of online marketing.  I love the outside too, but the little rows of data that support it … * shudder of delight * 

… and prepare to drink in the sweet, sweet scent of family.

I think I’m starting to feel itchy.

I know that step one of moving is as follows:

1. Attach vacuum of hose of infinite third parties directly to your checking account

Aside from that, I’d really like an equation for determining the cost of moving an object.  With this, I could look at an object (say, a sticky half-used bottle of Cholula) and decide, “Well, it’s going to cost an incremental thirty-five cents to move this.  The replacement cost, fully-loaded (including amortized time to replace) is blah.  Therefore I will either (a) chuck or (b) pack.”

As far as I know, this equation, and the cat-shaped UPC scanner that would necessarily accompany it, n’existe pas.

However, I would like a checklist for moving in.  Do any of y’all have a list of things for ANP to do once she arrives in her new place, eyes ablinkin’ with wonderment at the purty new paint and massive amounts of Israeli-transported corrugated cardboard?

1. Git a donut
2. Find Pixel

Advice from frequent movers (you know who you are) esp. welcome.

Once, when I was really sad about a boy, I jumped in my ratty ‘92 Crayola blue Geo Storm and 82 mph’ed it down to College Park Murrland to crash in Jamie’s basement. I drank too much, I puked all over his cousin’s Lexus, I tested Timex’s slogan, and I returned to Port Chester feeling oddly more clear-headed. There is something about reconnecting with people who knew me when my teeth were too big and I wore tapered pants with flannel shirts that makes me feel less swirly-whirly in the brain.

Spending time with folks like that, even when doing stuff as banal as eating dinner or drinkin’ beers or sittin’ in a car together yappin’, makes me feel solid and connected. Kinda like when I lie on the ground. Feels like the earth ain’t movin’ so fast from down there.

Right after my recent meltdown, I strapped myself into my car with two lovely ladies and drove it up to Cape Ann. College suitee Emmy B. had invited us all to Gloucester, and I enjoyed a jam-packed lovely weekend.

I got a lot of work done on the essay I’ve been wrestling with, had a wonderful time with three lovely ladiessss, and had a much-needed reminder that life is great wide big.

Full set of Gloucester pix here.

Thank you Emmy B.!  xoxo

Last time I moved, I thought I was going to kill myself and everyone around me.  No thank you.

Does anyone have a recommendation for movers?

A friend of mine who recently moved across town had his cleaning lady pack up and then fetched some day laborers to do the actual moving.  I’m not down with that.  For starters, I gotta keep Polish lady fresh & vigorous for the actual cleaning of my digs.  For seconders, it sounds way too manual.  (And by manual, I mean Manuel.)

Part of me was worried I’d get lonely without Vickermanski around.  But until today (she and her man are puttering around with their UHaul at the moment), I hadn’t seen her in about three or four weeks.  And I must admit, I rather liked being able to pick my nose and wear tanks without bras and do other things that even I don’t feel comfortable doing in front of other people (cry at cheesy movies on TV, for example).  And no, the lead-blanket depression that seems to be lifting wasn’t related to her not being around.  Not at all, but I’m not ready to talk about it just yet on the brog.

So I just emailed all the folks on Craigslist in Brooklyn who have free moving boxes and I’m making a list in my head of Things I Can Chuck.  Soon as I hear back from the realtor re: timing for painting and appliancing and moving …  then it’s change of address time!

I’m so excited!  I’ll be able to walk to dim sum and steam fresh lobsters every night if I want!

It’s back to school time, folks, so howzabout a li’l quiz just before the bell rings this afternoon?

Which neurotic blogger will have to search & replace “Brooklynite” with “Manhattanite” in her header come October 1?

Hello, streets where the Lower East Side smooches with Chinatown.  I hope your li’l half-breed neighborhood is ready for my hybridly vigorous self!

Yes, the turtle can come up for air when it comes to spending hundreds of dollars that I don’t have on spa-tone paints for my new cave.   But now, I need a nap.  All that exposure to daylight hath exhausted me.

This is long overdue, but here’s some “color” around the three hotels I stayed in while in Paris.

My Parisian holiday started at the Hotel Lenox Saint-Germain, 9 rue de l’Universite, 75007 Paris France. +33 14 296 1095. As recommended by Hewitt, whose taste in all manner of things stylish is impeccable:

Can’t beat the location… Steps to St. Germain, the Musee d’Orsay and the Louvre.

I paid 426E ($595) for the two nights I stayed there. I was able to grip some free wireless internet from the neighborhood, and took a nice tub in my bathroom (which was located atop the cutest, and least disability-friendly set of stairs within my attic room). This is the room that made me want to buy a writing desk (which I’ve since done), and the neighborhood this was in encouraged me to move to a more walking-friendly neighborhood.

Highly recommended if you like charming spaces with front desk peeps who will say things like, “Your French is terrible, yes?”

• Picture #2
• View #1
• View #2
• View #3
• In the elevator
  
• The windowsill

After my business meeting in London, I came back and stayed at the modern Oceania Paris Porte de Versaille, 52 rue d’Oradour sur Glane. I found it through Skoosh.com as found by Mobissimo. If I recall, this room was closer to $150 for the night I stayed there. There was a fabulous breakfast buffet — no Aruba Westin, mind you — and a great indoor pool. I definitely enjoyed a nice long steam and a relaxing swim the next morning.

It was this hotel room that made me want to consider a more dramatic headboard solution for my bedroom, which I have since begun with a few of the DWR Cubitec kits.

I would definitely stay here again, but only during warm months. It’s in the middle of nowhere. (Free wireless, though!)

• Desk
• The non-tub
• The energy-saving keycard thing

My final accommodation in Paris was at Le Meridien Montparnasse, 19 Rue du Commandant Mouchotte, 75014, +33 1 4436 4436.

I found Le Meridien through my Starwood card. My Starwood card has quickly become my top-of-wallet piece o’ plastic. Low annual fee ($35), rockstar American Express customer service, and very low redemption thresholds. I barely used my card last year and had enough points (1,000) to redeem for a free night at Le Meridien (retail value: $400). I’ve since shifted “share” away from my PremierPass (whose bills kept getting lost in the mail, resulting in late fees and finance charges — yukkers).

Anyhoo, Le Meridien let me check in as soon as I arrived (three or four hours before check-in time), had my name on the television screen wishing me hello, had a nice tub and great bed, but was a high rise hotel requiring lots of walking before getting anywhere interesting. That said, if I was a baller with a car or a driver or a lover who made money and had a subscription to Car & Driver, I wouldn’t mind staying here again. It was LMM that made me appreciate why someone would want to live a high-rise overlooking the City. Who knows, maybe that’ll be me someday.

In the meantime, I’ll visit places like that for free thanks to points-earning credit cards. If you, too, want to get your mitts on the AmEx Starwood Card, go here. Enter Unique ID 3071645420 and I’ll get a few thousand Starpoints too. Who knows, maybe I’ll let you be my hotel guest.

Every year, Y’Ole comma Aaron invites his people up to his Maine homestead. Now, for a girl like me, it’s like a visit back to Indianny. For these city slickers, it’s a quaint chance to visit places that have things like stock car racetracks.

Of course, Aaron’s place takes it to the next level, what with being off the grid & all. Solar panels, a windmill, and a composting toilet? Par for the course. With one exception effective Summer 2007 …

Can’t wait until next year. Full set of pics here.

It’s August?!?!

What the fuck!!!

Data point #I-don’t-know-what proving time is not linear.

I’m putting this post under “travel”.  Take that, Doc Brown.  Where I’m going, I don’t need roads.

The night I stayed at The Oceania, I ate at Restaurant Ugarit in the 15th. I’d wanted to eat at Restaurant l’Oasis around the corner, but they were booked and Ugarit accepted AmEx. I had their fixed price tastiness for 18 euros / $25.

A snippet from the journal while I sat there:

And what of this young boy at the next table, reading his colorful book about Sparta and Greeks!  He must be 7 or 8, about the same age of my little brother when he had a crush on Jeanine the babysitter.  I wonder if he looks at me — else why the bashful smile into his hands, and then the peek back spilling into a grin?  What do these experiences shape — a future preference for dark-eyed girls?  I read articles about early experiences informing entire careers — a memory of a movie encouraging someone to be a linguist — and what of these indelible footprints that we leave on tomorrow?  What role am I playing in the tomorrow of the young ones I come in contact with?

See also:  we are all cells in the brain of God, the universe is super-duper connected, something about (evil) butterflies flapping their wings in Beijing, yaddi yadz