Saturday, November 22, 2003
the Answer the Question project
we're getting dodderingly repetitive or community-buildingly interesting here at pH, depending on your perspective. every friday, the following five questions will be posted as different bloggers from the blogiverse answer them in their own unique ways. what i'm hoping, dear bloggers, is that you will read the questions and my introductory responses to them and decide to email me your five answers as well as a small picture of yourself to use as a blurb photo. you will do this because of three reasons:
1. you like me and you don't want my little experiment to fail.
2. you're a blogger and thus naturally self-revelatory and hopefully you find my questions interesting.
3. you secretly like having pictures of yourself on the internet, because you're all beautiful people.
in turn, i will promise to:
1. print your answers completely unedited [please keep them at comparable lengths to mine, dan, mark, i'm looking at you.]
2. read your blog if i don't already.
3. link to you both on the day of your post and in the sidebar referring to the ATQ project.
aren't those good reasons? now read my answers and start thinking about your own. without further ado?
ATQ project - subject #1 - krissa cavouras, of petit hiboux:
1. What’s an embarrassing story that your family or friends could tell about you?
there are so many, it’s frightening. most of them could be told by my best friend erin, since they mostly happened in eighth grade. the one that’s her absolute favorite, however, that she never fails to tell newcomers to my life, is that in eighth grade, when my then-boyfriend david endelman went away to vail for a measly six days, I actually broke his answering machine by leaving so many messages. that’s like four hours of tape. jesus, was I lame.
2. Tell me about a time where you cried so hard you thought you were coming apart at the seams.
well, I cry a lot. but the time that stands out in recent memory as being the absolute worst crying fit I’ve had was when I was lying in my bed, talking to my mother with intense stomach cramps, and she told me to get myself to an emergency room because it sounded like appendicitis. there I was, alone with my carefully-guarded independent life, and suddenly there was no one to take me to the hospital, make sure I didn’t fall down the stairs, rub my back, or hold my hand. for ten minutes, I couldn’t do anything by lie in bed, clutch my tummy and wail like a starving hiccuping newborn. it was one of the loneliest moments of my life.
3. What or where is the most inappropriate situation or place you’ve ever been turned on? Extra points if it involves famous people or religious institutions!
This actually happens to me quite a bit – unfortunately. I get singularly turned on when I’m having an intellectual debate with someone and they’re actually trampling my logic with a 2x4. assuming they’re male and straight, of course. as egotistical as this sounds, even when I’m wrong I can usually run rhetorical circles around a lot of people, so when I meet someone that knows how to argue better than I do, it’s seriously turns me on. this doesn’t bode well for my future as a trial lawyer.
4. Tell me about your relationship with your parents or parent figures.
They say you can hurt the hardest those you know the best – that certainly holds true with my parents. but since I got over my spoiled bullheadedness of adolescence and college and realized my parents are and always will be my first and last line of defense in this world, and accepted them for the flawed but wonderful human beings they are, I’ve struck a fair balance with them. when I was a little girl, my mother was a shining goddess and my father was affectionate but often absent. now they’re both my best friends.
5. Recall a moment in your past that you remember as being absolutely perfect harmony in your life.
in may, I went to dallas to visit my brother. after a long delicious sunday brunch, my brother was doing some dishes in the kitchen. erin and I were having a smoke on the balcony, while raychul was sitting with her husband matt and chatting with us about how the three of us – erin, raychul and I – are all going to law school in sept 04. I caught my brother’s eye in the kitchen and he winked at me. I looked at the two friends I’ve had the longest – raychul’s harmonious marriage and erin’s growth into a woman I can be proud to call my best friend, and luiz’s amazing constancy as a brother. I remembered all my friends back in new york, too and I thought, friends and family really are nature’s antidote to the ills of the world. I smiled and joined back into the conversation. it was perfect.
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Friday, November 21, 2003
i feel bad for men sometimes. no matter how uber-sensitive, ultra-feminist a man can be thanks to social conditioning, i still see command center in a man's brain as essentially believing itself to be engaged in friendly daily warfare with women, and they're losing.
i mean, think about it.
scene - int., living room, evening.
Woman: "I'm thinking of cutting my hair - do you like it short?"
flash to Man's brain command center:
scene - int., command room, flashy lights and LED screens everywhere, guys in ties and coffee stains on their shirts wandering about aimlessly
operator grunt [may resemble screetch]: did you hear that, guys? HEY! snap to! we were asked about the HAIR!
general mayhem ensues
commander [may resemble ed begley jr.]: where is that FILE? where is our STANDARD RESPONSE? quick, we're faltering! she suspects misfiring in the command station! HURRY, men, DAMNIT, bring me that FILE!
rebellious field officer [may resemble bruce willis] runs over, in grease-soaked undershirt: calm down, man, it's right here. don't blow a gasket. cooly lights cigarette. several rooms explode in the distance.
Man: "Hey, honey, your hair looks great no matter what you do to it."
Woman suspicious of rabid-blinking 10-seconds of hesitation, lets it slide: "Thanks. You always know what to say."
but as all good Man brain operatives know, that's just skirmish compared to the big guns. observe:
Woman: "Why didn't you kiss me hello in front of your mother and why didn't you even introduce me to your roommates?"
Man Brain Command Center -
suddenly computers are starting to spontaneously combust. telegrams from various experts and talking heads and self-help books are feeding in through the monitors, spewing bits of information onto the cluttered floor of command center.
commander: HELP! i'm bleeding profusely from the arm! what is the appropriate response here? we've taken a direct hit, i repeat, direct hit!
gruntling: sir, perhaps the correct answer is "because i'm afraid of letting my mother know she's being usurped as the main woman in my life, and my roommates think i'm a pussy for settling down with one girl!"
commander: GET IT TOGETHER MAN, you want to tell her the TRUTH? GO BACK TO TRAINING, son, there's a rule around these questions - gasps as arm falls off - always give the STANDARD RESPONSE.
gruntling passes out from shock.
commander: field op! field op! my men are dying! the mission is failing, i repeat, FAILING, can you save us? nose falls off
flash to Man/Woman exterior -
Woman: "Honey, why is your head twitching? Honey? Hello?"
back in Command Center -
bruce willis character of field op comes wading through the carnage and fritzing computer systems, yelling. things explode behind him, as always.
field op: damnit, you scum-sucking beaurocratic asshole, don't you ever LEARN the drill? follow my lead, you vile bag of catshit, and tell the girl that your roommates are jerky neandrathals who don't know how to treat a woman and that your mother is so excited about the girlfriend that if she sees them kissing, she'll want to plan the entire wedding and she'll make it all pink. SEE? it's not HARD, motherfucker. lights cigarette as commander delivers last message and passes out from blood loss.
Woman: "oh, honey, i'm so glad you can be honest with me. you're right, a pink wedding run by your mother would be a disaster. and oh.... does this dress make me look fat?"
massive explosions ensue.
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Thursday, November 20, 2003
support your local crooners!
in addition to the brand-spanking-new web-outfit, petit hiboux has made a brand-spanking-new friend... one benjamin wagner. stopping by his swell apartment last night to listen to music and meet his friends was one of my more enjoyable total-stranger experiences in a long time. two qualifiers in my new person lexicon are firm handshake and cool friends - wagner's got both.
and now he's heading out to croon for the masses, and possibly coming to a town near you. check out the tour page and if he's playing in a town near you, do as he says and don't be a stranger. thus spake petit hiboux!
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owls at work changed in record time
don't mind us... we're doing a quick dress change! now quit looking at our knickers and go away.
welcome to the autumn pH. we thought that sassy dog could teach you a lesson or two. his name is cornelius but we all call him dr. death so be nice to him. that is all.
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Wednesday, November 19, 2003
in completely shallow news...
the good part: i finally found my dream boots for half the price.
the bad part: i've discovered blisters i never knew were anatomically possible. ouch.
i've wanted to own these boots for longer than i can remember. my old roommate had a pair that used to be her mother's, and i would borrow them every other day. they were the kind of boots that you pull on, swish your hair, and know you look like a million bucks. the way they clomped lazily along, the way i carried my body when i wore them, made me feel invincible. they were my sexy boots.
when my roommate left town, she took them with her, sentimentally attached to them even though she never wore them. for months, i looked and looked to find a pair for myself, before winter. but the $200 price tag was daunting. until two weeks ago, the day of a sad breakup, i was trudging down eighth avenue in the blistering cold and i saw them, in the window of an army/navy surplus store - factory seconds for $69.
all seemed right with the world again. i've got them on, and blisters be damned, watch out world -
MOMMA'S GOT A BRAND NEW PAIR OF SHOES.
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i have this compulsion to lie in tiny, tiny ways. this may make me a horrible person. on the upshot, i may get my comeuppance one day. let me clarify what i mean when say "lie in tiny, tiny ways". here are two examples.
#1 lie like it's going out of style to the person sitting next to me on a plane/train that has the audacity to interrupt my agressively private book-reading: this is an amusing way to lie, and i recommend it for anyone trying to pass the time on a boring flight. i don't actively create the lies in advance, but rather answer their every question with a new, off-the-cuff lie. for instance:
person with audacity to talk to me: so, what is it you do, in new york?
me: i work with diamonds.
p.w.a: really! what does that mean?
me: well, diamonds are usually bought and sold wholesale in a building or buildings separate from the actual jewelry store - it's heavily guarded and controlled. that's where i work, selling unset gems.
see how easy that is? other memorable lies were that - my father works for NASA (while flying to houston), i'm trained as a classical pianist from julliard but i'm currently working at a hip hop club, and i'm married with a one year old daughter named Judy.
the reason i do this is mainly boredom. i like the internal laugh factor of earnestly lying to complete strangers whom i'll never meet again. don't condemn me - if you were sitting next to me on the plane, would you prefer that i rabidly ignore you and glare down any attempt at conversation, or i cheerily lie in your face without you knowing the difference?
#2 fake accents to store clerks: i really don't know why i do this one, or when it posesses me to do so. i do a fairly passable french accent [it's harder than you think] a decent posh british accent [it probably contains traces of east-africa-raised english, too] and a killer brasilian accent. it's really done for my own personal amusement, because accents in new york are as common as lox on schmear.
i bring this up because last night, i had a dream that may curb my lying-as-amusement habit forever. i dreamt i went into a prada store [god knows why] and decided to put on my french accent for kicks. but the bookishly handsome store clerk started showing me adorable childrens' clothes for my niece and essentially we fell in love with each other on the spot and by the end of the dream, we were talking about the kids we'd have and where we'd live and i realized, oh my god i'm going to have to fake this french accent for the rest of my natural life.
while waking up rudely jolted me into the realization that i was no longer exchanging smoldering glances with my beautiful future husband over prada cribs and onesies, it did make me take another look at my accent-faking and my plane-lies. what if during one of these inside-jokes i pull, i meet the man i'll eventually marry? will i have to be a diamond-trader forever? speak in a stilted english accent for the rest of my life?
how terrifying. perhaps its time to put down the childish game of blithely told lies. well, maybe just one more. at the prada store. for kicks.
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Monday, November 17, 2003
let me direct you to my dear shivlet and her masterful snippets of this grand city we call home:
naidre's - cute little coffee shop in brooklyn, right around the corner from the biscuit pad.
the grey dog's coffee - i discovered this place when i was seventeen and thought i was the coolest chick alive, lost in the village but sipping coffee with the literati. now i KNOW i'm the coolest chick alive, sipping coffee with my own circle of geniuses.
manhattan bridge - any water-traversing device that drops you smack in front of junior's has GOT to be a good thing, n'est ce pas?
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