April 2008June 2008 


3 posts from May 2008

May 11 2008
Puppies As Metaphors Comments (7)


I’ve been trying to think of ways to write about my new Shih-Tzu puppies, littermates Hyphen (boy) and Sash (girl), without being one of those annoying bloggers going e-googly over his pets, but in reality it’s hard to Photofigure out what I even want to say. It’s difficult to put into words how it feels to suddenly be caring for something tiny and only recently alive, so utterly dependent and so fiercely stubborn. When they lie on their backs and kick like babies as we stroke their fat little bellies, it elicits an unexpectedly paternal feeling. I feel like a mother dog with her ears pricked up whenever they yelp (usually while roughhousing) or do something they shouldn’t. Or do exactly what they're supposed to...GOOD BOY! GOOD GIRL! [Insert stock footage of hand offering treat.]

I have noticed there are a lot of lessons to be learned from this brand-new experience (today was their ninth DAY with us), many metaphors. They’re teaching me about time-management, about what really matters to me (not only them, but their pressing needs have helped to push some driftwood aside), about justice (try refereeing) and about simple joy.

Img_2261_4Pictures I’ve taken of them suggest different things for me—one, of them running like nothing else in life matters, called to mind the movement to free Tibet since their breed originates in that oppressed country.

But as far as metaphors go, the most important thing I’ve had to figure out pretty quickly is that whatever the puppies might mean to me on a deeper level, regardless of what they’ll bring to my life over time, puppies make lousy metaphors because there is no time to ponder when one is hungry, barking, in distress or searching for a far-away, inappropriate place to poop.

May 04 2008
Are You Outta Control? Is That Dog Walking You? Comments (10)

Img_2065Give it up—do as I say!

We finally got our puppies, and almost immediately began plotting how to get rid of them.

Not really. Not...quite.

I hired a car service for us to pick them up in Connecticut. The car broke down on the way, so a replacement arrived—it reeked of cigarette smoke, making me worry our tiny-muzzled new Shih-Tzus would get sick, and the service had decided I only needed a one-way job. It was fixed, but got things off to a "ruff" start.

Picking them up was fast and painless. Getting them into their carriers was easy, too. Once in the car, our boy, Hyphen, threw a shrieking fit. I had no idea they’d be able to make so much noise this young, and his panic truly rattled us. She reacted to him, but not as loudly—she’d been to the vet for hernia surgery already, so might be less stressed by confinement. I rode with him, stroking him through the top until he finally calmed down 25 minutes later. This was the first moment we realized our crating experience might be a doozy.

Img_2064Once home, Hyphen and Sash tentatively left their carriers and sniffed around, then all was forgotten and they began exploring with gusto. Sash seemed really fat to me and her belly was hard. Lesson learned—she inaugurated the living room with what seemed like days’ worth of food. What a dump!

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May 01 2008
Don't Pretend You're Not Hungry: Madonna At Roseland Comments (18)

Img_1957Satisfying sweet tooths for 26 years.

***NOTE: Tons of pictures and videos after the jump...all photos & videos by me.***

After stressing for a ticket and then lucking into getting one the old-fashioned way, last night was Madonna’s hotly-anticipated Hard Candy promo show at Roseland. There’s no way any promo show could top her 1998 Roxy appearance for me, because that came after a five-year dry spell and had not been done before—such a huge star contained within such a tiny club!—and Madonna’s emergence, unfurling from within her “Frozen” garb, felt like a spine-tingling, spooky spiritual visitation.

No dark arts this time, but if the Roxy in 1998 was black magic, Roseland in 2008 was a dazzling dose of white magic, a bit like Glinda beneficently mingling with her munchkin subjects.

Img_0359_2I went with three pals. We arrived at 5:30 to stand in line ahead of the 6:00 p.m. suggested arrival time, ahead of the 8:00 p.m. doors and way ahead of Madonna’s 10:04 p.m. kick-off. It was cold, but the mood was fraternal, even when Jason got separated from us in a different, sectioned-off part of the line. It didn’t last forever and he joined us with some nice, chatty guys who at various times led mini-sing-alongs, reminisced about previous gigs and/or showed off their bulges. (We were near pornstar Spike, who is a sweet pocket Madonna acolyte, not as intimidating as his oversized digit.)

6a00d8341c2ca253ef00e552089add88338Jason—"Miles Away!"

PromoAs time went by, so slowly, the line started to snake forward, and stories of fake wristbands trickled back to us...thousands of dollars wasted. They were using blacklight to inspect them and were not suffering fools. A transgendered fan who’d flown in from Israel was set aside and seemed in danger of not going in because her wristband had been on her left, not her right, wrist. This was the only evidence of unfairness from the Roseland security crew, who kept things calm and were intent on rooting out any deemed impure of heart.

We were finally let in a bit after 8, snaking past hysterical VIPs who were having difficulties maneuvering will call out front. I had two shots at tickets that way, but I’m glad I went with the wristband, which got me in faster and got us way closer to the stage

Sth710451A Rolling Stones throw from the stage. Courtesy of Jason.

We spotted Fran Drescher, Rosie O'Donnel and Zac Posen—Madonna attended an afterparty at The Box with Posen and other fans-masquerading-as-VIPs.

Img_0372All the world's Madonna's stage.

Roseland is a bit of a dump, but has its charms when you’re 20 feet from Madonna’s stage. We packed ourselves in and I counted the minutes, flashing back to my panicked response to the claustrophobic atmosphere at the Roxy in 2005, a miserable promo show that was nothing more than Madonna dancing gamely with a couple of (cute) amateur pornstars as representative figure of the rest of the suffocating pack.

AssholeBut Roseland was not so bad, nor was it without its thorns: One guy muscled in last-minute and barked at the woman he displaced, “Don’t like it? There’s the door.” (He is pictured at left, looking smug. Here's hoping he breaks a leg soon.) Some French guy behind us kept looking for ways to get around us, and his taller friend had to be told by one of my party not to even think about it, merci bien. Two Russian girls next to me pressed continuously against me as if moving sideways would help (it would be, literally, a lateral move), until one grabbed the other and was in the process of forcing her forward, which tipped me back and threatened to leave me crowd-surfing. Off balance, I grabbed her and tossed her a foot over. “Don’t do that,” I said calmly, regaining my footing. The same idiotic bitch was wearing a backpack into which she or her friend could easily have fit. Then there was the supertall, seemingly nice guy in front of us who felt the need to put his giant arm up in the air, and drape it over his head Beyoncé-style as Madonna performed. I wanted to tell him what the acid-tongued GF of one of my cousins once told me when I was sitting in front of the TV as a kid: “You make a better door than a window.” She made a better door than she did a girlfriend, because that was my only memory of her.

After a lengthy DJ set (Miami Sound Machine, Human League, Journey, Guns ‘N’ Roses, Paul Simon...???), the show began just after 10 (such a relief...no 2 a.m. appearances!) with two matching Hard Candy panels “melting” and the middle panel swiveling out to reveal Madonna in a mighty throne.

Img_1950Madonna's sugar is still the stickiest, sweetest and rawest.

Roger Friedman is a fucking payola pussy for saying Mariah is the new queen of pop...she’s the reigning queen of radio is what she is, and Madonna can outsell her in concert and in single sales any day of the week. Anyway, Mariah's impact on the world is obvious without having to "dethrone" other legendary acts—why is it so important for her and her surrogates to displace accomplishments by Elvis, The Beatles and Madonna? Queens are not voted on, nor are they chosen by members of the illegitimate (FOX) press. And once their reign is established, it’s for life or until abdication. Madonna showed no signs of quitting, strutting through a hot rendition of “Candy Shop” that got things off to an ooey-gooey good start.

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