irina, the pool nazi

Belonging to a gym in New York City is like belonging to a country club in the suburbs -- it costs a ton, and you can never really be sure of the company you keep. However, if you're lucky like me, for a mere $9 a month (probably a computer glitch I'm in no hurry to fix) you can belong to Bally's Total Shitness, and access their string of crappy clubs around the city. (To get to the top-tier Bally's you have to shell out at least $40 more a month.) It's essentially like having Coney Island as your country club.

If you want to swim, that's a whole nother story. Swim clubs cost top dollar, unless you're fortunate enough to live near one of the city's rec centers. Or belong to Bally's. (In which case you have to hop on the F train and trek out to King's Highway. And you have to deal with Irina, the Pool Nazi.)

The setup at King's Highway is this: three lanes of swimming, each one five full crawl strokes long. (So, what? Maybe 35 feet?) The first lane is labeled as the "Loafers Lane" and that's where the really fat people go to bob or float or, most likely, pee. The second lane is, technically, not labled, and the third lane has this confusing sign with two arrows that says something like "Medium Lap Swim." Basically, if there are two people swimming laps, they each get their own lane, and if there's a third added on (and Irina's around), then the three of you have to rotate through two lanes.

It's lame, if you ask me.

But it's what Irina believes in, with her whole heart and soul. (Note: Irina may not actually be named Irina. I have named her that because 1) King's Highway is very Russian, 2) she looks very Eastern European and 3) she barks at other members in an Eastern tongue. And it suits her.)

(Get it? Suits?! ha!)

Anyway, Irina was there, barking at everyone on Saturday. And it was irritating, especially because when there were only the two of us, she plunked herself in the better lane (yes, there is one) and left me to deal with turning around on an angled wall. So today, I went at a different time, intentionally, and Irina was there again! I muttered to myself (just like everyone else there) and seriously considered putting my workout clothes on and running on a treadmill instead. But I had already showered, so I figured I could at least outlast Irina and get a few laps in without her.

I developed a new respect for Irina, however, because there was someone there who just kept bucking the system the other three of us had agreed to.

All it took was "bark bark bark!" from Irina and that woman was doing her own slow laps with the Peeing Loafers. Not bad, Irina.

I've been thinking a lot lately about what bothers me about other people -- there's a theory that whatever you don't like in other people is something you are unsettled about in your own personality, and that really resonates with me -- so investigating what I didn't like about Irina shone an interesting light on my desire to be a regular somewhere. You know, to belong, to be familiar and have a sense of ownership. I wanted to be the one who knew what the rules were. (And I wanted to know how to bark in Russian.)

The other highlights of the King's Highway swimming pool (aside from the bandaids on the pool floor, the men I'm pretty sure were watching my bathing suit in case anything fell out, or the creepy guy with his shorts pressed up against a bubbler in the whirlpool)? The fire alarm in the ladies' locker room goes off every time someone opens the door to the steam room (and won't stop for three whole minutes); the other occupants of the pool are so old you have to wonder how much unintentional pee you're swimming in; there is a low-level of Ben Gay saturated into the pool water, so you come out without an ache or pain; and, if you leave your bathing suit hanging on a hook in the locker room on Saturday, there's a pretty good chance it'll still be there the next day. (Although that may only be if your bathing suit is all worn out and semi-see through like mine is.)

Thank god for chlorine and goggles.

what is the limit of human food consumption?

I've been away from work for six days now, and have an additional five days before I have to go back. I would like to think I have used this time constructively, clearing up the odds and ends of 2007, getting my house in order (as they say) and spending a terrific christmas with my family.
Alas, I have done only one of those. Instead, I have spent the time successfully turning myself into a slug. A cookie-eating, nut-devouring, snack-munching slug. To borrow (and tweak)a phrase from a friend, I have become "a mindless food hoover." It got so bad that Monday and Tuesday were No Nuts Days and Wednesday was a No Cookies Day.

And along with this crazy eating pattern I've fallen into (i.e., eat everything all day along), I've developed a wild case of boredom. I know! My life's too short and I have too much to do and accomplish and focus on to spend so much time bored. But it's that irritating Cyclical Suck kind of boredom, where I could get up and do something, but I don't have the energy. Because I still have FIVE DAYS before I have to go back to my regular life.

It's weird. And it begs the question: why is there "apathy" but not just regular "pathy"?
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Meanwhile, I've become a sap. I can't even watch TV without getting torn up inside. In my defense, though, have you seen that diamond commercial where the couple's inside the car and it's snowing out, and they're holding hands and he slips the seven-whatever-engagmentversary pendant into her hand while the heartbroken male singer starts croaking out a song about how he might be falling in love with me? (Um, I mean, her?) Yeah, that's what I want. And I want to be lost in the desert, dehydrated and broken armed, only to wake up in a medivac copter to the face of the one man who loves me more than anyone else in the world.

(Ok, fine, I'll skip the whole desert/copter/dehydrated/CSI bit and go straight for the loves-me-more-than-anything part. Is that so wrong?)
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And doubly meanwhile, I think the mouse might be back. (I found little poos near my blender. What, may I ask, is there to eat near my blender??)
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I got on a bus today going in the wrong direction. At the last stop, the bus driver shouted "last stop!" so I got off the bus, watched it turn around and go back in the other direction, not even taking long enough in its turn for me to catch it on the other side of the street. I acknowledge that it was entirely my fault for getting on the bus going the wrong way, but if it was clear enough to the driver that I didn't realize this was the last stop, don't you think it would then have been clear to him that he should have stopped on the other side of the street to let me back on? Luckily, I didn't care much (hell, I still have FIVE DAYS in which to get all my stuff done) but it did get a little chilly walking along, waiting for the next bus.
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Seen on the back of a van today: "Where the Pro's Go!"
Clearly, it's not where the Grammar Pros go.
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I watched my favorite movie from childhood today: Nadia. It's the story of Nadia Comaneci, the Romania gymnast who got perfect 10s in everything for years in a row in the 70s. And then she drank bleach because her life was going to shit! I'm not kidding, this movie has easily the WORST script in recorded history, and yet, I still remembered it. Especially the yelling (of which there is plenty) and the syrupy, intentionally heart-string-pulling moments.

And yeah, even 23 years later, I teared up in all the right places.

Sucker. (see above)

you can see pictures of me turning 1+2+3+4+5+3+2+1+2+3+4+1

Dear Kate,

Happy belated birthday! I'm sorry I couldn't make it to your party. Did you have a good time?

Love,Your Friend Who Couldn't Be There For Any Number Of Reasons, All Of Which Are OK

Dear FriendWhoCouldn'tBeThereForAnyNumberOfReasons,AllOfWhichAreOK,

Why, yes, thank you! I did have a lovely birthday! I started the day by sleeping in (sort of) and wrapping presents. Then I headed out to the spa, where I got about $80 worth of extra treatments because it was my birthday (and because I rock). When I went to pay, I thought the cost of my service (minus the extras) was $100, and I had $91 left on my gift card. When the lovely checkout girl told me that it was $125, I must have blanched to the core (though I don't recall it) because she got on the phone and asked her manager to charge me only $100! Truly appropriate birthday behavior!

I hopped in a cab (mistake) and headed uptown to the Guggenheim, where I met up with Andrea (who bought me lunch -- yay!!). We headed inside and with one quick flash of her Columbia student ID, she was in like Flynn (for free, no less)! I asked the lovely ticket girl if there was a birthday discount, and she looked at me knowingly and asked, "Are you a student?" "Why, yes, I am!" was clearly the right answer, and I got my second discount of the birthday.

After looking at art (getting free commentary from my Columbian Art History/Architecture Grad Student Guide) and discussing boys in great depth, we walked through the park and parted ways on the west side. I headed down to Deacon Brodie's, the bar I had chosen for my birthday celebration, where I was met almost instantaneously by Kate and a slew of Prompt Pals. We had a drink there, and then, half an hour later, they stopped serving us because the bar was closed for a private party.

Someone (who, kate, who???) should probably have called ahead on this one.

We headed across the street to the House of Brews (leaving behind a sign on the door saying "Kate's Birthday Across the Street," which made me feel kind of famous) and ate and drink and smiled and somebody (who, kate, who??) got a tiara.

I had one of the best birthdays I've had in years, possibly since my surprise 17th. I know that part of this was releasing my expectation that hoardes of people would show up and another part was making definite plans with one or two people to ensure that, in fact, someone showed up.

And lots of people did. (who, kate, who??) More people, in fact, than are in these pictures, but somebody was smiling really hard and looked kind of scary those photos, so they won't be making an appearance here. (Note: that's not to say I don't look scary in some of the pictures that are here. I just look less scary.):

Me & Dan, both pretending that I'm short.

Me & Kai, who has his birthday the day before mine, pretending that we love being December babies.

Me & Jimmy. I don't think we're pretending anything. Except maybe that we're not quite so shiny...

Me & Alli. She's pretending to be mysterious and I'm pretending to be sober.

Ave & Tom, pretending they're not about to eat nachos for dinner.

RJ and Ruthann, pretending this wee little dram didn't cost them $13.

me and Kate, pretending that, um, my tiara isn't crooked?

Me & Ruthann, pretending she's not leaving town for half a year in less than two weeks. (sigh)

I can finally say, after way too many parties that fell flat on their faces, that I may have found a way to have an Exceptional Birthday (Even if it is a Week Before Christmas).

Much love,

k8

thoughts on the gym

1. Castro was at the gym again today. He looked taller, greyer and less dead. Perhpas he is getting better?

2. I have no patience for aerobics instructors who use their classes as an exercise in humiliation. I also have no patience for instructors whose classes are boring, repetitive and involve kicks that could easily blow out one's knees. I've discovered, however, that I have no patience for having no patience, so when the instructor gets too annoying, I leave. (Tonight's lasted about 45 minutes)

3. I might be becoming a gym junkie. I don't want this to happen, because I think those people are weird, but it might just be happening anyway. That, or I'm eating too much sugar and just feel like the only way to get back to normal is to run for 30 minutes.
sidebar: maybe postal workers should run more.

4. If you're someone who doesn't poo very often, you probably shouldn't poo at the gym.

5. A while ago I was in a kickboxing class with a guy who looked like ugly cake's boyflan (ahem, I mean, a guy I used to go out with) and I spent half the class trying to impress him with how strong I had become since we broke up and the other half of the class trying to punch him in the head. He left thoroughly confused, and hasn't been back to class since. (it's ok, though, because he was kind of smelly.)

6. There's a woman I've taken class with at the gym for probably three years now and she looks like my ex-boyfriend's ex-wife. Which, by now, is no big deal. But when I met her, I was in the middle of some Severe Ugly with the ex, and I couldn't really stand to look at the woman at the gym. One day I finally told her that she resembled my boyfriend's ex and she smiled and gave a knowing sigh. (We've been friendly ever since.)

7. Eating less is always key to losing weight, but sometimes it's just impossible. (Like when people walk into your office and say "hey, Kate, I made these cookies just for you. Do you want one?" How exactly are you supposed to say no??) I think that's why god invented the guy who invented the treadmill. That, or he just thinks it's funny to have grown people run around like hamsters...

8. I have now officially overthought the gym.

why should my coworkers have all the fun?

I just signed up to write a column in our office newsletter. It's called:
My first article is due next week, but I'll be out relaxing (and hopefully catching up on some writing, but don't hold your breath) so I wrote it today. It's full of useful tidbits and shortcuts. Just chock-a-block with them. In fact, don't read this without appropriate precautions. You could hurt yourself.

You know your keyboard shortcuts in Word, but do you know what's available to you in Outlook?

In addition to the familiar shortcut keys from Word (e.g., Ctrl+P for Print, Ctrl+N for New Document or Ctrl+Z for Undo), there are a couple of Outlook-specific keyboard shortcuts that can save you some valuable time when sending emails.

If you want to: Use this keyboard shortcut Good for:
Check the names
on the To, Cc, and
Bcc lines against the
Address Book Alt+K or Ctrl+K Getting the right Lori,
Alan, Josh, Lynn or Jay

Jump to the subject field Alt+J Jotting down your
headline when
inspiration strikes
Switch to your Inbox
(from Calendar, Contacts,
Sent Items, wherever) Ctrl+Shift+I Getting back to your
Inbox from wherever
you may have roamed

Delete a whole word Ctrl+Backspace Eliminating typooos

Send the current email Alt+S or Ctrl+Enter Getting that email on its way!

Create a new email
message (from inside and
outside of your Inbox) Ctrl+Shift+M Drafting an email while
looking at your calendar
or contacts
Reply to a message
without taking your
hands off the keyboard Ctrl+R Shortening the time you
spend responding to emails

i have so much to say that i’m not saying anything

I have sixteen novels inside me that I want to write here, but I'm too busy. So instead, I'm re-posting an email my aunt sent to me today. It's charming. Basically someone asked first graders to complete the second half of a well-known proverb or maxim, and this is what they came up with:

1. Don't change horses until they stop running.
2. Strike while the bug is close.
3. It's always darkest before Daylight Saving Time.
4. Never underestimate the power of termites.
5. You can lead a horse to water but How?
6. Don't bite the hand that looks dirty.
7. No news is impossible
8. A miss is as good as a Mr.
9. You can't teach an old dog new Math
10. If you lie down with dogs, you'll stink in the morning.
11. Love all, trust Me.
12. The pen is mightier than the pigs.
13. An idle mind is the best way to relax .
14. Where there's smoke there's pollution.
15. Happy the bride who gets all the presents.
16. A penny saved is not much.
17. Two's company, three's the Musketeers.
18. Don't put off till tomorrow what you put on to go to bed.
19. Laugh and the whole world laughs with you, cry and You have to blow your nose.
20. There are none so blind as Stevie Wonder.
21. Children should be seen and not spanked or grounded.
22. If at first you don't succeed get new batteries.
23. You get out of something only what you See in the picture on the box
24. When the blind lead the blind get out of the way.
25. A bird in the hand is going to poop on you.
26. Better late than Pregnant

all work and no play makes kate a dull trainer

I was recently given a series of pictures that are used by a drilling company in their sales presentations, along with the challenge of adequately captioning them. (Fernando was also given the task, and his are excellent, too. I will try to scan them in and upload them, but I am really REALLY pushing the limits here of how much time I can waste at work.) The photos are humdingers. Truly stock footage, with a hint of photoshop thrown in there. In my life, I may have never seen odder, or more boring photos.

Captioning them was slightly harder than I imagined it would be. But I think in the end, I came out ok. Judge for yourselves (but watch out, lest ye be judged).

[Warning: the fonts get a little wonky. Sorry.]

OR
(I couldn't decide)

how not to look a gift horse in the mouth

I was walking to the color copier at work today, and one of the attorneys I don't work for (and have never worked for) stopped me in the hall. Being a trainer, I thought for sure he'd ask me something about the holiday cards or maybe a malfunctioning macro in Word, but no.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," I replied.

"Have you lost weight?"

(Cue that familiar record-scratching sound.)

"Um...yeah," I smiled outloud, "I have! Thanks!"

He said, "You look great. You must have lost a LOT of weight! You look so streamlined now!"

"Um..." I was slightly more perplexed by this. How should I respond? Ask him how fat he thought I used to be? Lie, and say that yes, I had lost a LOT of weight (when in fact it's been a few pounds give or take)? Give him the breakdown of just how I had lost the weight? I spun myself through a variety of options and settled on one that seemed to make the most sense at the time.

"Thank you?"

He didn't even notice my hesitation, however, being too wrapped up praising this new, skinny, hot chick to notice he had been somewhat less-than-generous in the Backhanded Compliment Giving Department.

I laughed in my own head and decided that it was probably pretty hard for him to dole out the compliments, what with the handicap of being one of the lawyers who work here. (We're a firm with more than our fair share of Lawyers Who Don't Play Well With Others.)

The whole brief incident reminded me of the time one of the 5'5" attorneys here spent the whole Holiday Party my first year flirting with me, and then, the next day, when he found out I was a secretary and not a lawyer, pretended he didn't even know my name.

This time, however, instead of bristling, I tucked the compliment in my pocket (where there is a LOT of space these days, seeing as how I'm so skinny) and eagerly turned my face away from the big white teeth on the loveliest of lovely gift horses and instead, grabbed it by the mane and swung myself up onto it.

After all, riding a gift horse beats the snot out of checking out its breath!

ho ho oh my tummy!

A Recipe:

3/4 cup butter
1/4 cup milk
2t vanilla
9 cups powdered sugar
4 awesome friends
16,349,271 cookies


Combine first four ingredients, and add to food coloring in five different bowls. Slowly add friends (one of whom got a little lost on the way and stumbled across a lovely neighborhood man masturbating in the park, and another of whom asked for directions near the subway and was answered by a woman whose mouth was entirely filled with gold -- and I have the audacity to say I live in Park Slope??). Start frosting the 16,349,271 cookies.
I had my Second Annual Cookie Decorating Party today, and the results were just as spectacular as last year's. If you recall, there was a great deal of sugar ingested, and some moaning in agony several hours later. I think much of that was curttailed this year by the introduction of several savory foods, and some bloody marys. But maybe I am only speaking for myself...
(Some participants were better prepared than others, simply for having gone through the agony of the tummyache last year. This unnamed participant was not one of them.)


One of the best parts about this year's party was that it combined five of my favorite women, none of whom had met each other. So it was an opportunity for my worlds to really collide -- with frosting!
Andrea (above) was a meticulous decorator, creating this year's Best In Show. However, her perfectionism kept her low on the productivity scale. Keri was a little slow to get the creativity flowing (her first cookie, Christmas Rock, was one of the winners in the Ugliest category), but once the roll started, there was no stopping her. Lisa got onto a piping kick -- so much so that we were considering an entirely new category called Best OCD, in which the only contenders belonged to Lisa and Andrea. Ruthann showed some serious growth since last year, not making a single black cookie this year. And me? Well, I think I stuck like to glue to my traditional theme -- after all, I do eventually want to eat or give away these cookies. (Too many ugly ones and your options are limited.)

But enough build up! The envelope, please!

In the Best Traditional category we have:

Santa (by Kate), Menorah (by Lisa), Ice Skate (by Ruthann) and Christmas Tree (by Kate).

In the Best Non-Traditional category we have:
Boot (by Ruthann), Hugging Stars (or Fucking Stars, depending on who you ask) (by Andrea), Gray Christmas Tree (by Keri)

I would like, ex post facto, to add another contender to the Best Non-Traditionals, the Flipping-You-The-All-American-Christmas-Bird-Turned-Into-A-Dreidel (by Lisa)
(Perhaps you can see how this cookie was made from a hand and then turned itself around, through love, dedication and hard work, into a festively American dreidel. Perhaps not.)

A new category this year -- Best Gingerfolk:
Generic Vet (by Andrea), Rock Star in a Monokini (by Ruthann), Chest Hair Man (by Andrea) and Kate's Ice Skating Date (by Kate) (duh).

Everyone's Favorites, of course -- Ugliest!
There was an almost clean sweep in this category. Christmas Pile (by Ruthann), The Statue of Liberty (by Keri), Christmas Rock (by Keri) and Swamp Thing (by Keri).

And of course, everyone's favorite, Best In Show:
This is Suburban Mom (with fanny pack, festive sweater and easy-to-manage hairdo) (by Andrea).

I love this party for several reasons -- 1) it gets me to clean my house, 2) it lets me spend time with my fabulous friends doing something creative, 3) I get cookies, 4) it forces my friends to drag their butts to my house (from as far away as Columbia and the Bronx!), 5) I get cookies, 6) my friends get to hang out with each other, and 7) I get cookies.

I feel really lucky to have the friends I do. And I will throw this party every year if I have to put on 75 pounds each December to do it. My friends are worth it!

the single girl and her christmas tree: a parable

Once upon a time there was a girl in the city and she was single. She was content to be single because, well, that's how it was, and there was really no point fighting it.

One fine, December afternoon, the single girl called her friend and neighbor, Jimmy, to see if he wanted to come pick out a Christmas tree with her. He had helped her last year, offering his opinion on her shrub selection, taking the trunk end as they wrangled the tree up the stairs and generally bringing holiday cheer to the event of Tree Selection.

This year, however, Jimmy was out of town, and the single girl really needed to get a tree TODAY. (It was going to snow tomorrow, and she had to have it in time for her party next weekend.)

So the single girl bundled up in her coat, grabbed her granny cart, and trucked off to the local merchants to buy a tree.

Sadly, the folks at the Polish grocery store were extorting their customers, charging $35 for a tree that barely reached the single girl's chin. Lenny's Pizzeria was also selling trees, but they were all taller than the single girl, and she didn't want to bite off more than she could chew. Or carry.

So the single girl headed out to the dreaded no-man's-land called Home Depot. Her married friends refused to go there anymore, calling it the Auschwitz of Trees. ("Birchenwald!" the single girl thought to herself as she strolled, cracking an inappropriate smile. "Firschwitz!") But they would have a tree for her, she knew, and they wouldn't charge her an arm and a leg. "I'm brave," she said to herself, "I'll be too busy shopping to think bad thoughts."

She was right.

The single girl had no idea what kind of tree to get, so she started shopping by height and price. Anything around or under $30 would be acceptable. Of course, this being Home Depot, nothing was labeled, nobody seemed to work there and the single girl very quickly became overwhelmed and lonely.

Focusing on the task at hand (and not at the tears pooling in the corner of her eyes -- loneliness? or just the biting wind??), she picked a tree, held it at arm's length (which is a very inconvenient length from which to survey a whole tree) and decided hell, it was good enough, and she plunked it perpendicularly across her granny cart, taking out everyone in a five foot radius.

When she got to the teller, to her delight the single girl discovered her tree was a mere $24.95, and that the woman with the chainsaw would chop off the bottom inch for her. Her shorter tree was then placed into friendly netting and the single girl popped it into her granny cart to stroll off into the sunset.

Near the middle of the parking lot, however, the single girl noticed her tree was leaning over like a drunk on a barstool, causing the granny cart to list and veer to the left. She rearranged her Adorable Single Girl's Purse and really put her back into it. This is what single girls have to do, afterall.

By the time the single girl and her drunken tree arrived at home, the single girl was running through a list of all the things she liked about being single. "I don't have to smell anyone else's bad breath. I only have to clean up my own mess. I don't have to do anyone else's laundry. I can come and go as I please, without reporting to anyone on my whereabouts. Nobody wakes me up in the middle of the night." She mumbled these under her breath as she considered calling her single aunt to commiserate. (She decided against this, fearing her aunt would not only not adopt her positive skew but complain so badly it would only depress her further.)

By the time the single girl was lugging both the granny cart and the tree up the stairs, she felt defeated. "Stupid Christmas. I hate being single!" She yanked the tree out of the cart, jabbed it onto the spikes in the holder and trundled the whole thing into the living room, muttering something about wanting to be Jewish.

The next morning, however, the single girl awoke to the smell of pine in her house, snow swirling around in the streets outside her window and an overall Christmassy spirit.

She ventured into the living room. "Good morning, tree!" she said, delightedly. She took a deep, piney-fresh breath and announced to the whole apartment, "I did this all by myself. See this tree? This big, fat, attractive, inexpensive, lovely and festive tree? I got it. I bought it, I carried it, I jabbed it on its spike, and I made it not be tilty. I am the coolest single girl in the whole wide world."

And she was right.

The end.

why hello, 4am! haven’t seen you in a while

It's very early. (Although not quite as early as it was when I got out of bed... three and a half hours ago.)

I just had one of those can't-sleep-anymore nights, and figured that rather than lay around in bed, I'd get up and make the best use of my time. (And by "best use" I mean "um, I probably should do all this crap and now's as good as any time.")

Here's my recommended list of Ten Things To Do When You Get Up Godawful Early And Can't Get Back To Sleep:

1) Watch an episode of CSI, thinking it will lull you back to sleep.

I highly recommend NOT picking the episode with your boyfriend, Alan Tudyk, in it, as you will have to stay up and watch it (even though Alan plays a gay pedophile who (spoiler!) was guilty.) *sigh.*

2) Clamber back into bed, thinking that you are now on a different brain wavelength (especially if you accidentally watch the Tudyk CSI and feel your heart palpitating with odd, gay, pedophilic love) and will be able to drop off to sleep instantaneously.

This step may not aid you in getting back to sleep, but it will offer you the opportunity to eat a slice of bread (to quiet the rumbling in your tumbling) without having to consider it part of your caloric intake for the day. "I must have been sleep-eating" you hear yourself say later.

3) Surrender to being awake.
This involves putting on pants (fuscia) and your robe (lavender) and your sleep shirt (black and red) and looking like a supermodel.

4) Balance your checkbook.
No, I'm not kidding. Your math will suck just as badly at noon as it will at 5:30 a.m. so why not get it out of the way? Sure you'll be depressed longer about how little money you have but some things are just bound to suck anyway.

5) Listen to your podcasts.
You're reading a new book that is a) almost 500 pages and b) due back in the library in probably two weeks, so you're reading that feindishly on the subway. You'd pick it up now, except it'd probably put you to sleep... Wait a second...

However, listening to your podcasts (espeically if they're NPR's Wait Wait Don't Tell Me) may yield you checkbook-balancing balance: turns out, Women with small waists and big hips also have big IQs. How cool is that?

6) Write in your blog.
Your readers have noticed a considerable drop off in your writing in the past few months. I'd recommend adding some sort of apology, like how your new job actually keeps you busy all day and makes it hard to have inania to remark on. (Sorry readers!) (Oh, also sorry that "inania" isn't a word. It should be.)

7) Scrub your shower and hang your new shower curtains.
What? You did that last night?

8) Mop your kitchen floor.
Ok, surely you're joking now. I balanced my checkbook and filed my paperwork. What more do you want???

9) Sew that button back onto your jacket.
You know, Kate, you're really pushing it here. It's already 7:30 and I regularly get up in half an hour anyway. Why don't I just go back to bed?

10) Resist the urge to go back to bed and be thankful that it's Friday.
At least you can sleep in to your heart's content then.

If none of these solutions work for you, then clearly, you're not me.
Good morning!

tag-a-doodle-doo

I've been tagged! Gasp!

Apparently, these are the rules of having been tagged.

1. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.2. At the end of your blog, you choose eight people to get tagged and list their names. Don't forget to leave them a comment telling them they're tagged, and to read your blog.

Except that, aside from my tagger (Aaron) and a couple of other friends (a few of whom were tagged pre-Aaron), I don't know anyone else who writes and would actually post this.

(Does that count as a random fact about myself?)

Ok, so here goes:

1. When I was a kid, I used to call pillows "pellows." My friend Sherri Berglund called me on it once and when confronted with the truth, I lied like a rug. "That's how Swedish people say it," I claimed.

Um, yeah, Sherri Berglund was also Swedish.

2. This is creepy. Aside from a rug, a bookcase and a shelving unit in my kitchen, I have not purchased any of the furniture in my house. (Awesome roman shades do not count.) Most of it has been passed down in my family, given to me as a gift, inherited from old roommates or boyfriends, or simply picked up off the street.

3. Sometimes my pantyhose are so tight that they give me a tummyache.

4. I have a rabid fear of puke. If someone on the subway looks green, or a kid nearby starts to cry and cough, I change locations. I haven't seen someone puke in years, and I have absolutely no desire to see it again any time soon. (I mention this only because I almost barfed in a cab today. I didn't! But it was definitely an option.)

5. I loathe reality television, and yet I'm secretly addicted to The Biggest Loser. I am rooting for just about everyone on that series, because, really, who doesn't want an unhappy fat person to be a happy thin one?

6. My favorite parts of a man's body are his hipbones and his upper arms/shoulders. However, my only physical requirement of a man is that he be able to pick me up and carry me. (Not into the next county, for example, but at least into the next room.)

7. I don't always flush the toilet every time I use it.

8. I can put leftover frosting in the freezer and forget that it's even there. However, once I re-discover it, I usually can't walk away from it and end up having to throw it out. (Why save it in the first place, you ask? Hmmm. Good question.)

So here's the part where I tag people, huh? Well, how about these fine folks:
Sara
Romero
Christina
Ian
John
Marcia
Bonnie

Bring it on, guys, bring it on!

yay! canstruction!

What do you call it when a bunch of artists make a building full of sculptures out of cans of food?
Canstruction, of course!

(From their website: "A foundation of the Society for Design Administration (SDA), Canstruction® is a design/build competition currently held in cities throughout North America. Teams of architects, engineers, and students mentored by these professionals, compete to design and build giant structures made entirely from full cans of food.")

Last year was my inaugural year, and, like many good things done more than once, the second time didn't quite live up to the first, but it was delightful in its own ways.
My favorites from this year include:

..The cute little car from Cars, that, if I were younger or older (or married with children, rather), I'd probably be able to name. I think I'm thankful that I can't.
Also on the kiddie tip... although this one's universal.
Hmmm, I'm sensing a theme here. Strangely, most of the attendees were adults. I thought for sure this would be something kids would want to see, but then again, it's probably something kids would much rather smash apart, so it's probably best to keep them home.
I liked this one because it was both retro and meta at the same time. (Don't forget, all the cans in the sculptures and the cans donated as entrance fees go to food banks -- one sculpture of a polar bear was made entirely of ingredients for New England Clam Chowder, all of which had been packaged and processed in New England. Talk about meta!)

And then, every year, there seems to be a pervading element. Last year there were lots of dragons/loch ness monsters (another one showed up this year, too), but this year, everyone had somewhat more of a dairy thing going on...

I scream:

You scream:
We all scream:

My two favorites, though, were both way cooler in person.
There was a sign at this stop saying "View through your camera or SQUINT." (I guess the woman at the front desk was tired of telling people what this was.) (It's Mona Lisa, if you can't see it.)
And this one was pretty dazzling to look at -- the color, which is not well reflected, thanks to my crap-o camera, came from the fact that it was constructed entirely from canned salmon. (bleck!)

A funny note about last year's canstruction -- if you look back at the old link, you'll see a collapsed statue. Yeah, that's the one that won the judges' award for structural integrity.

Oops.

This year's exhibit runs through tomorrow (Wednesday) at 5pm and costs only a can of food. You should check it out of if you can. It's really pretty amazing.

my brief foray into photojournalism

The weather was not cooperative this year in terms of my ability to pursue my photojournalism project, The Geriatric Pumpkins of South Park Slope. It was too warm for too long, and nobody really carved their pumpkins until the very last minute, and of course, they then molded and caved in and died on November 1st.

However, this weekend, I stumbled across two new additions to the project, making TGPoSPS almost a viable project for 2007.

So, my project started last year, when I caught this guy, aging and sighing, and complaining about how when he was a kid, things were so different and children had more respect:

This year, his cousin (son? grandson?) on the same stoop also got really old really quickly (although there's something almost down-syndromy about this particular gourd):
And then there are this weekend's finds (caught with my cameraphone, so the quality's a little pathetic).

Old Pumpkins In Jail:
("I didn't do it, man. Don't let them convince you that I did. How could I? I have no teeth. Can an old man with no teeth have committed a crime like that? I ask you.")

and Aging Is Hard On The Skin:
("Don't buy that Pearl Cream secret-of-the-oh-wee-ent stuff. It doesn't work. I repeat: IT DOES NOT WORK. But come on in. I have cookies. You look like you could use a cookie.")

The Christmas decorations are already up. I don't think pumpkins and santa should overlap.

today’s accomplishment

If you were to move in across the street, you wouldn't be able to see me roaming around in my apartment, thanks to my new roman shades! (Of course, if you lived across the street, I'd worry about you, since that's a junior high, but that's a whole nother story.)

I still have venetian blinds behind the roman shades -- I guess because I wanted a united Italy in my window. Come to think of it, I've been wearing a lot of brown shirts recently, so if I change my name to Mussolini, someone come over and punch me.

If you're an astute picture-looker-atter, you'll notice my ATTRACTIVE hot pink velour pants and non-matching t-shirt in the mirror. Also, if you're wondering what the splotches are on the left hand window, that's a vine that's grown from a bean-in-a-can that my cousin gave me last Christmas. And if you had just-outside-the-frame-vision, you'd see the magnets I stuck to my ceiling last weekend. I've had a tin ceiling for over two years now, and only just caught on to all the things I could be doing with it! Ceiling collage! Magnetic poetry for those reclining on the couch! A new place to hang postcards!

I think I need to get out more.

scary ass candy

I've been meaning to take pictures of this and post it here ever since halloween, but I haven't gotten around to it -- either out of fear, or a sense of admiring awe. (Hard to tell. Sometimes those get confusing.)

Someone in my office was giving out little gummy food items for halloween -- ice cream cones, hamburgers, milkshakes, etc. They were all really cute, and somewhat tasty, actually. But there was one among them that was just too scary (and repulsive) to just pop into your mouth without adequate reflection (and photo opportunities).

I bring you... (drumroll please)... THE PHILLY CHEESESTEAK!

At first glance it's a mere hotdog. But after some label-reading, I discovered it was, in fact, a philly cheese steak.

Even more frightening out of its wrapper, the cheese steak haunts me now. Mostly because, once I took it apart, only one image stuck with me, and the only phrase I can come up with to describe it would have to be "vaguely-syphilitic"

But if you're sitting on the edge of your seats wondering the same thing I was...

Yes, it was quite tasty.

blah blah blah blah blah blah (you know you want to read this)

Things I heard today:
In my office (said by, um, someone who looks an awful lot like me), "Ooh, I like Time Warner's hold music. I might call them back just to hear it again..."

On the subway (after a foul odor wafted through the car), "Aw man! That's awful. What did someone eat?! If my grandma were here, I would blame her..."

At a theatre talkback, after I had asked a representative from Ben & Jerry's and a well-intentioned bakery in Yonkers if either company (both of which were there discussing their do-goodery in the community) were doing anything to combat obesity: "Um..., good question." (pause, uncomfortable look around) "Next question?"
---------------------------------
I am beginning to learn, bit by irritating bit, that you can't force people to learn. (And this is not a comment on relationships, it's a simple fact of life at my law firm.) There is an ongoing technology upgrade going on at my firm (which is too boring to detail) and it requires some additional training for a large number of people in the firm. The best, fastest and easiest way to do this, of course, is for me to teach the fewest number of classes to full classrooms.

The way I'm going to do it, however, is to teach as many classes as humanly possible, and then, for the people who can't be bothered to come to my classes, I'll do side-by-side training with them at their desks.

Paint me giddy with delight.

(It's funny, actually, because I like the classroom teaching part of my job the best. It just chafes me that people wait until the very last opportunity to take my classes, and then -- oops! They get stuck doing something else. And then, alas, so do I.)

Mrrrrr.
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I made a new friend at the gym today (who was not a Possibly-Dead-Possibly-Alive-Communist-Dictator-on-a-Treadmill). She got on the machine next to me and started chatting, which, I must say, is not easy 25 minutes into your 30 minute elliptical workout. In between wheezes and gasps (mine), she told me that she had just moved here and found that working out in New York City didn't mean climbing mountains like it did in California.

I, of course, told her that I love climbing mountains, and gave her my card, telling her to call me the next time she wants to climb a mountain (which hopefully won't be in the middle of December...)
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Did anyone want to know how cute I look in my new coat?

The answer is: Extremely Cute, Thank You.

culture vs. nature

A brief overview of my weekend, if you will:

Friday night

Excellent date with Australian Frank. 'Nuff said, mate.

Saturday day

Excellent museum date with my friend Sean. (Ladies, Sean is single and I highly recommend him. Go ahead, check him out. I'll wait.) We went to the Met to see the shark (who we affectionately now call "Sharky Shark") and ended up checking out the whole museum. My favorite? This one:
We hit the modern stuff, the furniture, the weapons (did I mention Sean's a prop master?), the tapestries and (my favorite) the benches.

After all the culture we could stand, we headed to Chinatown for an Adventure Dinner. There was a place Lisa and I had discovered last summer during a Taste of Chinatown and I tried to go there once for dinner but discovered it was nothing but a junky little take-away place. Doomed to repeat history once again, I sighed heavily and turned to go, when Sean said, "Uh, Kate, there's a staircase here that says 'Open.' Do you want to see what's in the basement?"
I agreed, but only if he would go downstairs first.

And boy were we lucky! What a find! Go to Sanur! It's on Doyers Street and it's AWESOME! Sean ordered Assam Stingray (which is wikkid bony) and I ordered ginger and scallion crabs -- which came in their shells!! Totally a little hole in the wall, but the most adventurous dinner I've had in a long time!

Sunday day

I got a call early in the morning from Lisa, who asked if I wanted to come with her and RJ and Max to check out a cabin RJ was interested in LongSomething Manor, NY. (Longacre? Longfellow? Longmeridian? I forget.) I said, sure, why not, I love car trips, and we headed out the door.

LongTripFromHome Manor, while cute, wasn't much to write home about, but it was nice to be out in the country, peeping at the leaves and catching a smidge of nature.

I think this photo sums up how the local kids probably feel about living in a place where the sidewalks roll up around 3pm on Sunday:

After lunch and tea, we headed back to the city, stopping along the way at a store whose billboard announced itself as "Memories: Possibly the Best Store Ever. GOING OUT OF BUSINESS!"

And back in the day, I can see why M: PtBSE might have been a hit. Full of knick-knacky goodness, it must have died a little on the inside when eBay came on the scene. Because they were selling things like porcelain booties (which I happen to force my brother-in-law to collect by giving one to him at every gift giving occasion) for $9.95. (They're worth about a whopping 99 cents.)

By the end of the weekend, I was exhausted, culturified and naturalized. (And I had small cuts all over my hands from trying to eat crabs in their shells. Good god that's a pain in the ass!)

Lather, Rinse and (as often as you can) Repeat.

art? or just construction?

I was walking to Bryant Park the other day and right in front of me was what I could have sworn was an art installation: the main branch of the New York Public Library, covered in fabric, with a guy dangling from a rope above the doors.

"Surely," I thought to my enlightened, art-aware self, "this reflects the truly precarious nature of man, and his relationship to higher learning. The fabric on the building is an attempt to keep knowledge in, and the man hanging in front is there to coax us into a peaceful acceptance of limitations."

Then I looked down and saw the construction barriers and the guy with the cherry picker. Oh well. I guess art truly is in the eyes of the beholders. (and imaginers)

However, I share with you the building itself, as it looked really odd, all wrapped in an outfit:

Almost like a marshmallow or something...

cats and dogs

My brother in law sent me this, and while you've probably seen it (or something like it) a thousand times already, I was charmed and entertained by it no less:

DOG DIARY
8:00 am - Dog food! My favorite thing!
9:30 am - A car ride! My favorite thing!
9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
12:00 pm - Lunch! My favorite thing!
1:00 pm - Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
3:00 pm - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
5:00 pm - Milk bones! My favorite thing!
7:00 pm - Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
8:00 pm - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!
11:00 pm - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!

CAT DIARY
Day 983 of my captivity. My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmatesand I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets.

Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength.

The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt todisgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet. Today I decapitated a mouseand dropped its headless body at their feet. Ihad hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescendingcomments about what a "good little hunter" I am. Bastards!

There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hearthe noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due tothe power of "allergies." I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage.

This morning I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of mytormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try thisagain tomorrow -- but at the top of the stairs. I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches.

The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released - and seems tobe more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded.

The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicate with theguards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captorshave arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe.

For now...Cat

lesson learned

A theory, free of charge:

Everything happens for a reason. And the key to making the most out of life is focusing on learning the right lesson from your mishaps. [although that word, "mishap," is one of those words that distracts me. Shouldn't it be pronounced "Mis-shap?"]

So, earlier this summer I was repeatedly getting cancelled on at the last minute, and it was starting to drive me out of my mind. "Don't you have the consideration," I would shout to my empty shower (in lieu of said cancellers), "to think ahead and make a plan you can stick to?!?!" And I would roil and stomp and do all those things we do when we think nobody else is looking.

I thought (naively) "what lesson could there POSSIBLY be in this crap?!?" and then tabled the discussion with myself, and just kept on trucking.

And then I got stood up. I didn't think much about why that happened, I just thought, "oh poo, a Friday night ruined" and "eh, he sucks" and I went home. Well, last night I got stood up AGAIN, by someone else entirely, under completely different circumstances. (He, too, was a douchebag about it, though, TEXTING me a weak apology and asking me to hang out later if my previous plans fell through. I should have made a plan with him and then stood HIM up! Drats! Next time!) And that conversation I was going to have with myself jumped right up off that table and came waltzing into my brain.

I learned two things:

1. I would much rather be cancelled on at the last minute than stood up; and

2. It is far better to have risked and flopped than not to have risked at all.

Oh, and I learned a third thing:

3. There are some really cool installations at the Brooklyn Museum right now, including the Dinner Party by Judy Chicago. You should go!

a compendium of claptrap

This is the transcript of an actual email sent between me, my mother and my sister:

I wrote:
I have an appointment tomorrow for an MRI because my doctor says I am showing symptoms of a growth in the spendulla shoplongata section of my brain. The symptoms include buying a new pair of boots and shoes, neither of which were on sale. The doctor I spoke with said that the growth was probably not malignant, and was most likely due to the recent increase in my brain activity.

My mother wrote:
Dr. Gortha says you are suffering from idiopathic fiscal hypermania, a common condition resulting from your gene pool. Don't waste your money on an MRI. Think of how many more boots and shoes that could buy!

My sister wrote:
I'm sorry but I'm not sure what "not on sale" means...
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Last night I skipped the halloween parade (that apparently 1/8 of New York actually went to), and instead had sushi with Andrea. On our way out the door, we noticed a tray of jelly bellies, which, as you already know, are one of my favorite candies of all time. I was about to dive in and start chowing down when I realized that they were the "Harry Potter" jelly bellies -- the ones flavored like dirt, boogers and vomit.

I opted for a Krackle instead.

Trick or treat, indeed!
--------------------------
Speaking of candy, my boss came by my office today with a huge bag of it. She then hid it around my office like a remedial Easter Bunny.

--------------------------
I saw Sufjan Stevens tonight at BAM with Keri. He is so AWESOME. I'm definitely not part of his hipster demographic, so a lot of the design elements and videography felt really forced and plastic to me, but I just love his music and his cute little voice. And he had four disco balls going at once! Hipster or no, I can't argue with that.

And he wrote an ode to the BQE! (you can catch part of it here) For about an hour tonight, I felt like Brooklyn was actually made out of heaven.

sharif... he likes it!

So, I share an office with a guy named Fernando. (Yes, I am constantly asking him if he can hear the drums. He can, but chooses not to.) His desk faces the door and mine backs up to it. (This way anyone passing by can see that I'm not, in fact, working. Awesome.)

I was kind of pissed, actually, that he got the good desk, since I've been at this firm for five years and he only started three weeks ago. I thought for sure my friends in-house would hook me up.

They totally didn't.

Anyway, Fernando and I got into a discussion one day about the desk setup and I told him it was wikkid unfair that he got the good desk. He, not being an idiot, agreed.

Luckily, in retaliation for having the shit desk, I get to control the white board behind it -- the one poor Fernando has to look at all day long. It's got our office address on it, the numbers of some servers or something (marked, in really crappy handwriting, with "please don't erase"), a photo of Omar Sharif, and what I would consider "the battleground."

Whenever Fernando says something about me that I don't particularly care for, I write that it's not true, that he stinks and then I provide Sharif's opinion on the matter.

So the other day, when he told me that my skirt (which I made myself, thankyouverymuch) made me look kind of tarty, the whiteboard had to show my disapproval:

Fernando and I may, in fact, be perfect roommates for one another. We write passive-aggressive songs about the things we don't like about each other -- for example, "Hey Fernando, Your Curry Smells Like Armpit" or "Kate Stinks A Lot After The Gym" and our non-passive-aggressive favorite, "It's Time For Pitted Dates."

I'm not sure there are many other people here who would fully appreciate the beauty and genius, then, that is Sharif's Halloween Costume:

Thank god for Fernando, and happy halloween!

good god, how did our parents ever survive all that plaid??

I just want to know how it is possible that anyone born in the seventies wasn't made entirely out of plaid polyester -- or perhaps terrycloth...

Look here to see why I say this.

(and then thank my cousin Brian for sending it our way!)

le roi c’est mort et so is my ipod

Sad day. Dark day. Last Tuesday. The day my ipod kicked it. One last toggle of the hold button, a prolonged menu-and-select hold... and nothing. Not even a friendly little apple screen.
I thought perhaps it was in a coma.

So I took it to the good folks at Tekserve and they told me the bad news. Spanky Jr. was, in fact, dead.

Then they told me the good news: Spanky Jr. was still under warranty!

So now I have Spanky too too, who is currently sitting on my desk loading up with music. (Thank god, because I was getting tired of the same 18 songs on my palm pilot. Have you ever worked out to Keren Ann? It's like jumping rope underwater.)

And let me give you a bit of advice while I'm here: have a couple of free drinks with the International Legal Technology Association before going to wait at the Apple Store. It makes you much more charming, and when you tell them (secretly, of course) that your appointment was 20 minutes ago, they'll think you're cute and charming instead of just another thoughtless New Yorker who was having too much fun chatting with techies to show up to her appointment on time.



good god, where is my life going? I just actually wrote "having too much fun chatting with techies to show up to her appointment on time." Does anyone have a life I can borrow?

invite me to your party!

I am like frosting -- a fun addition to just about anything! (ok, except pizza, or electronic equipment or maybe postcards -- though that one's still open to debate.)

I went with a friend to a party full of strangers this weekend, and, left to my own devices, I grabbed a roll of three-inch wide masking tape and a sharpie, and started labeling things. I started out simple, with strips of tape saying "K8's Leg" or "Shin" and got progressively more nerdy ("GASTROCNEMIUS" ) and abstract ("RACY ---->" ).

By the time I left, however, the trend had caught on, and people were drawing six-shooters for their hips, Frankenstein valves for their necks, earrings and mustaches for their faces, and mottos for their shirts. (Mine was "MY CAR SERVICE FORSOOK ME," since the car service that said they'd be there in six minutes to pick me up never actually showed.)

p.s. all handwriting was done upsidedown.

My theory is, if I'm having fun, we're all having fun. Even if you don't want to have any fun, you'll be having it. (or you'll be in the other room where they were watching wrestling and eating cheese.)

My other theory is: every party is enhanced by some red velvet cake.

Oh, and another theory? Artsy people like artistic outlets in public. Nothing says "I'm sexy" to an artsy girl than coming up with the wittiest three-inch masking tape label.

Ok, ok, one last theory: cheese + me = good.

right brained or left brained?

My mom sent me the coolest link today, which took me to a test for right-brainedness or left-brainedness.
Go here and try it yourselves!

(turns out I'm predominantly right brained, but can change it to the other direction at will, making me voluntarily left-brained? I think this is why I spent so many years as a translator in my family...)

what if kate rewrote the catalog?

I get some weird catalogs.

Now, part of this is my fault. I'm a bit of a crafter. So I get on these mailing lists that must just be full of old ladies with SCADS of money who sit around and think, "Aw, gee, isn't this a cute mouse figurine? Wouldn't Mildred just love twelve of them??"

I, on the other hand, think, "Good Christ, how could the world possibly need so much kitschy crap?!"

Take the "Pumpkin Gobbler" for instance:

Their description: Pumpkin, or turkey? This cast-iron kit changes a pumpkin into a humorous "gobbler." Simply insert the six antique-brown-finished pieces (two wings, two feet, a head and a tail) into the bright orange vegetable, and it's transformed into an amusing (pumkey or turkin?) sculpture.

My description: Pumpkin, turkey or eyesore? This piece of garbage will make your pumpkin rot faster and your children wish the neighbors were all blind! Order three!

How does your garden glow? With a pink flamingo! Place this "bird of paradise" on your lawn or near a window and watch it light up. During the day, a solar panel on the base converts sunlight into energy. Crafted of resin.

Ugly, ugly, ugly. Buy this nasty lamp and watch your back -- the neighborhood watch association will be on the lookout for every dropped piece of trash, every cigarette butt and every unrecycled can... for the rest of your lives!

Santa and Rudolph "deliver" lots of sweets and laughs all season. This hilarious candy-dispensing duo assume the position and, with a gentle push on their backs, poop candy.

We are a nation of twelve year old boys.

Spunky stray cat holds your prettiest blossoms. Touch her head and tail, and they spring back with joy . . . she just loves the attention! Crafted of steel with the shiniest glass eyes.

Yeah, this is a sculpture that will take up all the space in your front hall. Don't let the kids touch it, or shards of the "shiniest" metal may go flying off, spring-loaded, in all directions. Note to buyer: Official membership to Crazy Cat Lady Club comes with purchase.

And the kicker:

Our table is beautifully sculpted with three-dimensional detailing. The handpainted base captures the color and excitement of exotic fish, snapping turtles, and coral beneath the ocean.

Ow! My eyes! They're bleeeeeeeeeeeding! I haven't seen so much ugly since that pile of barf in the subway! (Free delivery in Florida.)

I think I have a knack for it, don't you?

p.s. check out the rest of their goods at http://www.potpourrigifts.com/