a plague, a cake, a hero, panama!

I have the plague!

It's true! I went to the doctor today and she said, "No More Monkeys Jumpin' on the Bed!"

No, wait, that's not what she said. She said (without touching me once), "why are you here?"

"Potential sinus infection."

"How long have you been sick?"

"About five days."

"What color is your mucus?"

"Mostly clear, kind of yellow."

"Facial pain?"

"Yes. Here." I pointed to my face, in a vain dumbshow, as she wasn't even looking in my direction.

"Ok, well, it's viral. Nothing we can do about that. But I will write you a prescription in case your mucus starts turning green."

"Don't you want to touch me?"

"No."

"Has all that we've shared together meant so little to you?"

"No. I just don't want to touch you. I'm actually a robot, and not a doctor at all. But shut up and leave or you'll have taken longer than your lunch hour."
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Ugly Cake's Twin Sister.

Last night I didn't go see Spoon in the rain (because it would be at Stuyvesant High School and I'd have to have a ticket and we all remember what happened last time...) (if you don't remember, "last time" was when I went to see John Pizzarelli and I actually had a really good time, but I liked the way "we all remember what happened last time" sounded as I wrote it.)
So I went home. And I baked. And I baked and baked and baked. And I brought the cake in to work this morning (kind of like Bring Your Daughter To Work Day, except it was Bring Your Ugly Cake to Work Day), and sent out the following email to my coworkers about the cake:

BROOKLYN, NEW YORK -- Last night, disaster struck a small apartment in the South Park Slope section of Brooklyn. An isolated incident, the unspecified and mysterious disaster was restricted to the oven and cooling rack of a recovering actress/baker named Kate Surgeon.

"When I put the cake in, I thought, well, ok, I altered the recipe a little," said Ms. Surgeon, covered head to toe in flour, "but I didn't think THIS would happen!"

Authorities reported to the scene to find what could only be described as the Ugliest Cake Kate's Baked Yet.

"That cake has no head!" shouted one EMT, as he swooned with disbelief.

"Yeah, but it's filled with pineapple and cocount goodness!" responded the hottest firefighter in Kate's Imagination, as he clutched the young woman in his arms and whisked her away to --
Oh, sorry. Got carried away there.

I have (ugly) cake.
kate

Don't believe me?
Original Ugly Cake:

Ugly Cake's (Fraternal) Twin Sister:
(I find it particularly appealing in this bizarro color scheme)
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My Newest Hero
This morning, on my way to work, I realized I had not turned my cellphone on all day yesterday. So when I did, in fact, turn it on, I was mid-walk to the subway. And in yanking it out of my bag, I also managed to yank out the little holder that has my metrocard, ID, library card, building pass and gym membership card. Except I didn't realize I had done this.

When I got to the subway and found myself bereft of said items, I tore ass back up the stairs and headed focusedly towards the spot where I got my phone out. My panic was building with each step -- my identity could be stolen, someone could pretend to be me and take hundreds of books out of the library, work out until she was sore and ride the subway for free for the next 16 days -- until I ran into an angel.

"Are you Katherine?" she asked, floating about two inches off the ground, swathed in the most beautiful light and accompanied by choirs of small angels on the harp.

"OH MY GOD, YOU'RE MY HERO!!!"

I fell prostrate in front of her, pledged my neverending love and gratitude to her and thanked her until I was sure she was going to push me in front of the next oncoming train (but not without grabbing my ID holder back before doing so -- underneath all the angel there was the gleam of a feindish reader-but-not-returner). I totally would have offered her my cake, but, well, it was ugly, and somehow didn't seem worthy of her.

Of the many things I am grateful for today (including the break in the weather, not having to take antibiotics and having delicous cake for breakfast), I am most grateful for her.

Whoever you are, I love you! (And I'm pretty sure the NYPL does, too!)

watch out for flying merde

In an order that makes sense only to me and my drug-addled brain:

1. Summer colds suck. And summer colds that have no concomitant pain suck worse. (It sounds counterintuitive, but it's not.) Without pain (sore throat, headache, whatever), you don't know how sick you are, and you do silly things like stay out late on Friday and Saturday and by the time you're draggin' ass and ready to recover on Sunday, the weekend is already over and you've missed your chance. So then you have to stay home alone, all day, on one of the hottest days of the year so far, armed with neither netflix nor cable, (uphill both ways), grateful that The Stand (which you are now reading after having looked at it on the shelf for over a year and a half) is 1134 pages long because you've already read 200 of them today.

The defense rests, your honor.

2. I got this email recently:
"please allow me to open up this friendly line of communication with you...first and foremost my name is dee,i read ur profile and i respect how u feel about people and life itself. you couldnt epressed urself any better then that. now as for myself,i admire realness,honesty,loyalty. im very business minded,mentally intuned with the almighty and im very clost with my family. fars some of the things i like and dislikes lol. i like making money thats why im self employed. love to travell,work out,read,dance,bowl and net-work with good hearted strong minded people. my dis-likes are,i cant stand being around fake people,racist,nastyness and disloyal people. other then that im just a down to earth guy thats focus. after i read ur profile i said she sounds like a woman of sustance let me drop her a line or two. if by chance ur interested in geting to no a rarefind gentleman i guess ill be hearing from you.lol"

I'm especially fond of how he likes how I feel about "people and life itself." Um, have y'all read my profile here? While I'm fond of it, and won't be changing it any time soon, I think perhaps I could have epressed myself better.

Oh, and did I mention I got it twice? Excellent.

3. Along a similar line, I finally got Yahoo personals to accept my profile without saying it had "too much personal information in it," and then, once it was posted, promptly took the profile down. Because in addition to a bevy of gents who don't know the difference between "your" and "you're," I got this email (abridged, of course, because the original was about five pages long). Now, I have to admit, it's well written and charming (and makes references to things in my profile, so some of it may not make any sense). But enough! Read:

Oh come on Kate! That last picture [the one I've now posted as my main photo here] is just not fair. I might have passed your profile, but that last shot of you is just so sexy and alluring. Now you might be asking yourself, why?! Why would someone want to pass by your profile?

Gee, I don't know, Mike from Staten Island. Why don't you tell me what's wrong with my profile.

Your Height - Some guys might want to pass you by because they would be intimidated by your vertical superiority. I have no such issues with you, as I am taller than you. That's not my concern.

You're Liberal - OH no, is political debate taboo in a relationship? I don't think so... do you? I'm somewhat conservative, but I've shifted to not-political. ... I don't think you're the type to get crazy over political discusion, so this is not my concern either.

Batman T-Shirt - Most girls would not present themselves in a Batman T-shirt. There is a small percentage of men that might pass you by, just because of your t-shirt. These are the same people that have their brains eaten in zombie movies.

OK... OK... OK...

I'll get to it. Religion is my concern. I'm not a church goer, but I am Christian / Catholic. Normally, I don't push my ideals on people. ... So, this wouldn't be an issue in the beginning. Yet, I'm forward thinking and I can be serious minded. What happens if we're together in bed. You're wearing nothing my blue button-down shirt and I'm wearing a big smile. Then, you tell me the news. "Mike, I'm pregnant!"

What would we tell our child when they ask, "Where did I come from? Why am I here?" Yes, I have a big imagination. I can see us having a lot of fun together. Nothing says we have to have children, but "What if" is a game I play. I think we'd have a lot of fun together, but what if?!


You mean, what if I never email you and we never meet and we never end up in bed together and we never have children? What will you tell them then?

4. Have you seen the fainting goats? I heart them.

5. Has anyone been to Austria? I'm taking suggestions for my family's trip in September.

6. I went to White Castle on Friday night. At 11:30. I ate a chicken ring and I was assured it was cut right from the chicken's ring. Why was I there? Hmmm, short answer: birthday party. Long answer: did you know White Castle burgers (called "Slyders") have five holes in them? So not only are they tiny, they're Swiss! And, um, I'm on a trek to explore all things Swiss in NYC. (I'm pretty sure the long answer is a lie.)

adventures in long island city

It was 5:30 at night. I had just woken up from two separate naps – the one before picking up my absolutely-favorite-and-now-resoled shoes from the cobbler, and the one after. Still groggy, I reached for the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hey," croaked a voice on the other end of the line, sniffling, "what are you doing?"

"Hey Thea, I just woke up. What are you doing?"

"Well, it's Saturday and it's summer, and I think we should take advantage of that," she said, and broke off into a hacking cough. "Sorry."

"No, I totally agree." And having just woken up after sleeping for four hours, I did totally agree, despite having the same exact plague as Thea's.

The plan was simple. We'd get dressed, and head to P.S. 1 for their courtyard dance party, and then afterwards head to the Water Taxi Beach, where neither of us had ever been before. Dancing, dancing, and beach. What else could be better?

"Meet you at 7:30," I said, and dragged my lazy bones into the shower.

I might have a little optimistic about 7:30. Realistically there was no way I could get showered, dressed and get from Brooklyn to LIC in two hours – especially not on a Saturday. I was determined to try, however.

I set off towards the F train, mercifully catching a bus along the way. Once I passed Bergen Street, though, I realized I had run out of stops where I could switch from the F to the G train, so I figured I'd take the F to the V. I got off at 42nd Street to change to the V, but only then realized that the V doesn't run on the weekend. Great. Horace, God of the MTA, was smiling on me that night – the 7 train stops at 42nd Street, and I took that out to Queens. I was only seven minutes late. (Thanks, Horace. I'll burn your offering this weekend.)

Thea, on the other hand, despite living on the 7 train, had a much harder time getting there. Suffice it to say there was a little confusion as to which stop to get off, and we ended up going straight to the beach.

And of course, when I say beach, I really mean "beach." It's a pier, right next to where the water taxi docks, that somebody (the owner?) has covered with sand and picnic tables and a little shanty-like bar and hotdog stand. There are porta-potties and a dance floor (plywood under a tent), and one spectacular view of Manhattan.

And tons of people. Who were all a little random. There were the artistic-types (Thea was briefly besotted by a guy she called "Graffiti Pants"), the financial types (two guys we chatted with both worked with lots and lots of money), the clubby types (ah, dear sweet White Shirt Guy, why didn't you talk to me?? I console myself with thoughts that you were dumb…) and the pot-smoking types (they were everywhere, because nobody else was out in the middle of nowhere to tell them not to).

Now, I love walking on the beach, especially at night. So if Thea and I had been the only ones out there, that would have been fine with me. Well, a little odd, lonely and dangerous perhaps, but you get my point. So to add tasty (albeit absurdly expensive) drinks, cute guys, dancing and perfect weather to the mix… awesome.

A highlight? Mike the Brit.

At one point, Thea and I were dancing and this guy came on the dance floor looking a bit like a chicken on fire. Now, I'm no Martha Graham, but he was super-flailey, super-sweaty and tons of fun! Thea new instantaneously that he was British (she has a sensor for those things) and I only found out after we started playing a game: Who Can Make Dancing with Your [insert body part] Look Best? Let's just say no one, British or American, male or female, looks good dancing with an elbow.

The night wore on, our decongestants wore off and we packed it in. (But not before a guy said to Thea, "Hey, you're GORGEOUS!" Her response? "And I rock the Casbah!" Sadly, he didn't get it.) Instead of a reversal of the trip I had taken that afternoon, I crashed at Thea's house (a mere twenty minutes away), and as soon as my head hit the pillow, I was drowning in my own snot. I relocated to the couch and a 45 degree angle, only to scare the shit out of Thea by going missing.

"I felt like a guy whose lady has up and left him in the night." (Direct quote)

All in all, a repeat-worthy adventure!

i'm not eighty six! i'm thirty!

My New York age is 30

Here's a fun quiz from Time Out New York that will tell you how old you are in New York years. Despite my granny cart, cat show attendance and generally questionable social life, I'm not 86 like I thought I'd be.

As a 30 New-York-year old, these are my results:

This New York age puts you into a middle category between young and old (but not "middle age" per se). Be proud. You've got a nice balance between going out hard-core and staying in. You care about culture but also like some quiet nights. Keep it up, but think about expanding your horizons in the other directions.

What's your New York age? Take the Time Out New York quiz and find out!

tee hee hee

Because I have absolutely nothing to say, I will let this little gift from Christina say it all for me:

the sufferance of fools

Fools can now vote!

(Oh, wait, that's suffrage, not sufferance.)

[And, Kate, fools have been voting a lot in the past few years, you say. Totally different topic, my friends, totally different.]

So I was out the other night with my excellent friend Keri, and we were talking about how two such attractive figures as ourselves could spend a whole night at a bar or an event or just out, and not be chatted up or hit on or even ogled once -- not that we necessarily want to be ogled, but you know what I mean.

And I was reminded of something another friend once told me about why nobody's talking to me. "Kate," he said, looking at me with a big sweet smile on his face, "you look like you don't suffer fools gladly. I mean, you're gorgeous, but if I didn't already know you, there's no way I'd risk coming over to talk to you."

That's really stuck with me. (I may have added the "you're gorgeous," just to make my memory feel better, but that's not the point, either.) The challenge for me is that I don't suffer fools well, and I'd rather stay home and watch a movie than spend a night out chatting with someone boring, dumb or boorish.

So I focus on the girlfriend(s) I'm with. And I have a great time. But I do worry sometimes that I could spend the rest of my life this way, going out with girlfriends, connecting with people I already know, and not meeting anyone new.

I think it might be... Time for an Internet Advice Intervention!

Luckily for me, there are tons of advice columns about how to be more approachable in a social setting. I've picked a few of my favorites (and will be putting them all into action... maybe.)

This video warns me away from "blocking behaviors" like holding your wine glass in front of your face, or talking from behind a bush. (Ok, I'm lying about the bush.) Hmmm, can't say I'm doing either of those.

This page wants me to (and I quote) "have fun at a party." Now, see, I knew I was doing something wrong.

I like this page because it's completely irrelavant to my situation, and yet chock-a-block with good advice. (It's about how to be an Approachable Girl at School.) Things like "Always maintain good hygiene" and "Have fresh breath"; "Don't stress out too much about your body image; you have the rest of your life to do that." And my most favorite... "Be polite. No burping, spitting, swearing, etc. Say please, thank you, and sorry, even when it isn't your fault." Clearly, I should stop expecting to meet people when I'm running, as I rarely have good hygiene or fresh breath and I'm constantly spitting (and not at all sorry for it.)

This is a good resource for those of you who want to be more approachable while fly fishing. (I know I do.) Luckily, while fly fishing (as opposed to being an approachable girl at school (above)) what you wear is not important. (Phew!)

I'm fond of this article, because it says, "If you are a guy and you are wondering how to be approachable, you should probably go see a shrink because it is your job to be the one who approaches, not the one who is approached. So you fellas need to stop being lazy and put in work." Thanks, Sun Dixie, for letting me entirely off the hook!

This one's got some interesting advice: "Go to places where a guy can talk to you without a lot of spectators. Guys don't like to strike out, especially if there are a lot of witnesses. I don't mean for you to hang out in a dark alley. Maybe a park, the beach, an empty swing set." Hmm, that's actually good info. (Also on this site? "Make eye contact n smile ...not in a hooker way" Damn! I knew I was doing something wrong!)
I like this site because it's called "How to Stop Being a Social Outcast and Take Some Initiative (for Her)" Awesome. It's especially good because it's mostly advice on what not to do, for example, "Your smile. Don't do a hideous smile that shows all of your teeth or an ear-to-ear grin." Aw crap, I think my hideous smile is way better than my Mouthful of Rotten Fish smile...

And finally, a site that I found both entertaining and secretly kind of helpful. (Make sure you watch the Flirting Video.) It doesn't hurt that I know one of the actresses in the film, but the advice the woman gives out is actually kind of useful. She says that if you've got a group of women and you see a group of men just kind of hanging around at a bar, it's not a bad idea to approach them and say "hey, we're over here if you're interested." I'm not sure I'd ever have the guts to do it, but whatever.

So now that I'm armed with all this good advice, I expect to see you all at the bar this weekend, smiling, being approachable, and most of all, leaving your shrubs at home!

canoe racing schmanoe racing

Dear Universe,

Thank you so much for sending the canoe race my way. Man, it was boring as all get out, but if I hadn't gone, I wouldn't have caught up with a friend from my improv group in college, and had a really great afternoon in the sun.

I'm starting to get your point.

Love,
Kate

p.s. HOWEVER, I haven't quite gotten your point in giving me those guys on the beach who said (and I'm quoting) "the Japanese are an inferior race, because of their morals. And it's genetic." Seriously, Universe, WTF? And did they have to say it loud enough to incense me so much I had to leave the beach? And did they have to say it in front of their kids? I was seriously tempted to tell them I was Japanese. Not that they'd buy it, because I'm so SUPER-SWEDISH, but really. Universe, can we work on this??

p.p.s. Happy 20,000th view, blog-readers!