fourteen inches shorter.

... and three pounds lighter. Tonight I took the plunge. Vanity shots, before and after, here.

more links.

I added a few more links over yonder. Enjoy.

a hint at things to come.

I'm back in NJ.

When I dropped the top at lunchtime today and reached for an elastic band in the glove compartment, I couldn't help but think that I'm only going to get to do that maybe once or twice more. More on that later.

a hard know to think is listed on The Blog Twinning Project. Twin me! I'm an addict.

though i'd like to keep my cheeks dry today...

In a dramatic turn of events, I've made the achingly swift journey to upstate New York today in order to bury my Godmother tomorrow.

In the absence of half of my spiritual guides (though mostly just in spirit, never in religion), I arrived at the funeral home tonight and hugged my Godfather. I knelt at Mimi's casket and cried, and apologized for not coming sooner.

I was greeted like the forgotten hero who left town long ago to seek greener pastures. Oh... you're in New Jersey... that's right.

I can't pretend my pain is so great as to rival that of Mary's immediate family, but I do feel a little deserted, and like this has really just been an incredibly crappy couple of weeks on the mortality front. My great-uncle died last week, only two weeks after his wife, my great-aunt. And of course, there is the Current Situation in New York, Washington, and Pennsylvania.

At least some good came out of this day -- I was able to visit at the wake with two of my high school English teachers, in fact the two I think of most frequently, and the two that I would have chosen to see on a night like tonight, if that was a choice I ever had to make.

Mr A, who once accused me of being unable to write sans parenthetical phrases, and later retracted and apologized for trying to strip my writing bare of its detail, also sells tip sheets at the track in the summertime.

Mr M had an Icarus Contest on the last day of class, in which a frisbee is thrown and the most spectacular catch, the highest leap, the student nearest the sun, takes the frisbee and the adulation of both class and teacher. I still have the nickel he slipped me on graduation day.

They were each worth a hug, an ego boost, a nice comment about my family, and a short step back to when I was a giant. And they are charming and wonderful men. Mr M brought his lovely wife and I couldn't help but want to move home and have coffee with them occasionally.

on character judgement.

I am a notoriously bad judge of character.

What I do is, take the input I get: the words you choose, the mannerisms you incorporate, the choices you make in my presence... I take your whole package and I spin it into something to which I get to react. Sounds normal, right?

This becomes a problem when you take into account my flair for fiction and sensationalist reporting. From which I derive my current outlook on life, which is: the storyteller will always be offended. And it's true. I can dish it out, but I can't take it.

Living like this isn't too hard, usually. It's not so bad to be offended. It gives me a reason to rant. Life is spicy with conflict. But sometimes I get irrationally upset and wind up overstepping friendly boundaries and losing the battle.

A recent conversation with an old friend went something like this:
K: My brother's theatre requirements include a class called Modern Irish Drama.
M: Really. You know, I've known you for 8 years. I could teach that class.

And that about sums it up.

rock ON.

The Moldy Peaches' Who's Got the Crack? is the number 1 mp3 download on Filepile right now.

pics up.

I'm still beating around the bush on the Japanalog, but you can now see the Milwaukee photos by following the photo link at left. Enjoy... Calatrava, Chihuly, Italian greyhound lovin'.

one more thing today.

I just want to put one more somewhat hopeful message up here so I can go home and watch TV and hug my safe friends and family instead of combing all the webpages I've skirted for the last seven days, and that is this...

Peter: Lord, how often shall my brother offend against me, and I forgive him? till seven times?
Jesus: I say not to thee, till seven times; but till seventy times seven times.

I'm not a Bible thumper, and I don't really see the Catholic church in which I was raised as anything other than a den of intolerance punctuated by an occasionally touching moment of faith and/or community, but there's something so wonderfully simple and engaging about unconditional forgiveness on a day like this. May you all continue to be safe and sane.

fire.

To make donations to the NYC Fire Safety Foundation Fund, you can get the address from Lynda Barry here.

and more.

The Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island have been closed indefinitely. From Metafilter (I know, I know... so I'm a big ol' hypocrite.).

change.

The new MTA map.

you know.

I'm sure there's all kinds of sad indecisive prose being written about what ABC is calling ATTACK ON AMERICA and so I'll just put this entry here in an attempt to drive what I've written below down toward the bottom of the page. I really am quite fine, and am now currently considering whether categorical opposition to military conflict resulting in loss of innocent life counts as conscientious objection if expressed in my weblog. I mean, this weblog is as much of a journal as I'm keeping lately, and so there you go. And I'm not just saying that in case there's a draft, and it includes women, and they want women as old as me. There's no valor to enlisting just to protect the next young life on the list, and there's no glory in the systematic destruction of an already destitute nation so far from home. I've said it, and now you've all heard it. Go on, get back to Metafilter.

i am home; i am home.

The sky on this coast is a wholly reassuring blanket of color tonight.
Philadelphia stands now one bookend alone.
I drop the top and let the sticky cool rebaptize me.
This is the sky of childhood.
This is the road home.

After hours of travel with
no blades
no sharps
have two forms picture ID ready
stand here
line up there

passengers ready to turn on each other
noticing the pilot door peephole for the first time
imagining the lanky flight attendant bound and cut
feeling every turbulent bounce as start of plunge

I am home; I am home.
Safe, sound, afraid, exhausted.

A sign on I-95, just north of town, reads
IN NEW YORK CITY ALL OF LOWER MANHATTAN BELOW CANAL ST CLOSED

There is a sickening sense of patiotism
driving flags north at 80 miles per hour
blocking lanes with candlelight vigil
ours is a forgiving God, emblazoned on billboard
MTV shows videos and Gideon Yago wears a tie

We rush toward adolescence
with marathons of Grease and Footloose
Mrs. Doubtfire and Gimme A Break

I can't begin to be a voice.

and finally, tears.

The first tears came when I heard Marc's harrowing tale of returning to the Bronx Tuesday afternoon, when it dawned on me that despite several close calls, everyone I know is miraculously safe and accounted for. And the latest, when I saw this, from bwg.

I'm stuck in Milwaukee, though luckily with family, and I don't know for how long I'll be here. I feel like I might as well be on another planet. TV coverage is like watching a movie, and I'm so tired of Peter Jennings. I've managed to worry myself sick. I want to be in New York; I want to be home.

Please, everyone, stay safe and stay sane.

completely overwhelmed.

I don't really have anything to say.

Please, I just want it to be over so I can go to sleep.

I'm fine, really really far from home, but fine. And I'll probably be here for a while.

hey, guess what!? looking for a place to live still sucks.

So, there's a little keybox on my door, and a little hole in my heart. Today I'm thinking of moving closer to Trenton, because things look cheaper there. Or, I'll quit my job and move back to New York. Yes, I am serious.

Evil Realtor came to visit at 12:20 today (late but not obnoxious) and informed me that she's pretty sure she can sell the apartment by next week. Oh, goody! The first interested party is coming by at 7 tonight. I would write a complete ACT II of i don't think that will be a problem but really, it is just too depressing. Plus I may have overreacted just a bit to something ridiculous that she said. Before I knew it I was chasing her out. Anyway, let me give you the abridged version:

i don't think that will be a problem

ACT 2 (abridged)

[we join KATE, sitting cross-legged on couch, watching yesterday's Entertainment Tonight, eating cheese sandwich and looking annoyed. There is a knock at the door. KATE untangles her legs and goes to the door. It is EVIL REALTOR.]

Evil Realtor: Hi!
Kate: Hi, Marlene.
ER: something stupid.
Kate: Yeah, I know.
ER: something kind of insidiously mean.
Kate: What do you mean?
ER: something that doesn't really excuse the last thing she said.
Kate: I don't think so, Marlene.
ER: something non-apologetic.
Kate: Look, why don't you just finish so I can get back to work.
ER: [notices plastic turtle on bookshelf.] Oh, you like turtles?
Kate: No, not particularly.
ER: My daughter loves turtles.
Kate: Great.
ER: She's a turtle person. Is that your mirror?
Kate: Yes.
ER: You'll have to take it down, and fill in the holes you made.
Kate: Sure.
ER: And paint the door.
Kate: I'm not going to paint.
ER: We'll see. Maybe you won't have to.
Kate: Sure.
ER: You know, Kate, moving out won't be so bad.
Kate: I know.
ER: I can help you find an apartment.
Kate: Sure.
ER: You have plenty of time.
Kate: Yup.
ER: An investor might buy this apartment. Then you could stay! See, you'll be fine.
Kate: Yes, that is one possibility among many.
ER: something equally silly and non-conclusive but presented as a positive conclusion.
Kate: Maybe.
ER: something vaguely insensitive.
Kate: I guess.
ER: something farewellish.
Kate: Okay, I think that's a good idea.
ER: Here's my card.
Kate: Great.
ER: a statement of intent to sell the apartment in less than a week.
Kate: Wow, this is a great way to make money, isn't it?
ER: Uh, yes. I enjoy helping people.
Kate: Right. Helping them right out the door. Well, thanks for coming by, I guess I'll be hearing from you.
ER: OK! You have my card! Call me if you need anything!
Kate: [eyes rolling in despair] Right.
ER: So nice to see you Kate!
Kate: Bye. [lets EVIL REALTOR out of apartment. There is a jingling of keys and the sound of the keybox being fitted to the doorknob. KATE turns around and leans backwards on door, securing deadbolt and chain with a dramatic urgency.]
ER: [from outside] Goodbye!

and...

...for your listening pleasure, my theme song for today.

i don't think that will be a problem.

ACT 1

Kate: Hello?
Evil Realtor: Kate, hi, it's Marlene. I've been trying to reach you! Have you gotten my messages?
K: Marlene, yeah, right, hi. Sorry, I've been in Japan.
ER: Oh, how nice!
K: Yeah, whatever. What's up?
ER: Well, I'm going to be the listing agent for your apartment, and I'm going to need a key, and I'll need to come do another walk-through as soon as possible.
K: Oh, my apartment is for sale?
ER: Oh, yes, and I need to know, if we needed to move someone else in there early, would that be a problem?
K: Excuse me?
ER: [pregnant pause] I mean, if, say, we gave you sixty days' notice, and we needed to get someone in there in, say, November, would that be okay with you?
K: [does not respond]
ER: Hello?
K: [pitch of voice slightly raised] Is this a joke? You can't be serious.
ER: Well, I mean, we would give you sixty days' notice.
K: November is fifty-seven days away, Marlene.
ER: Er, right, well, I mean, 60 days, within reason.
K: Well, what do you think the owner would say if I asked, "Can I move out early, thereby breaking the legal document we have each signed in the presence of a notary?"
ER: I don't think that would be a problem, if he could find another tenant to move in.
K: Okay, then, I don't think this would be a problem, if he can find me another apartment to live in.
ER: Oh, I don't think that will be a problem. I can find you an apartment.
K: Sure, for a thousand dollars a month.
ER: Oh, well, if that's your budget, you definitely won't have a problem.
K: Marlene, I have to go. What do you need from me?
ER: Well, just a key. Oh, and an appointment for the walk-through.
K: [sighs] When is good for you?
ER: Oh, just about any time...
K: How about Friday at 12:15?
ER: No, I can't come then.
K: Okay, then you'll have to wait until after next week. I'll be out of town.
ER: Oh, well, I suppose I could come Friday. Did you say 12:15?
K: Yes.
ER: Can we make it 12:25?
K: [loud sigh] No. I will be there at 12:15, and I need to leave at 12:25.
ER: Um, okay then.
K: Bye Marlene. [hangs up]

CURTAIN

sometimes a touch.

First, jetlag sucks.

Second, my apartment is for sale. Again. This time, I don't think they are kidding. Realtors are calling. I'm acting like I'm still in Japan, at least for now. I have no idea where I will go or what I will do, but the point of decision-making is looking imminent. My lease expires at the end of December.

Third, my car, my beautiful baby, my chariot of thunder, has a big fat dimple in his cheek, thanks to a presumably white vehicle of SUV size that I suppose could not maneuver into one of those extra-wide Newark Airport parking spaces. No note on windshield. Just the dent, like a calling card or piss on a hydrant, enough of a mark I suppose that nothing further needed to be said.

Still, I am grinning like a dope. I am awake beyond my energy. My brain is back. Things are going right and well, and I'm incredibly, stupidly, simply happy, thanks to hugs and kisses and funny jokes, as usual.