Maccers

2007-06-23T13:34:00.000-04:00

11 miles today. That's my house to 96th street and back according to this website. Next Saturday I have to run to 108 street and back for the 13 miles. I just hope to God that the scale on that website is correct or I am going to be really pissed off.

The Hudson River Parkway is teeming with runners and cyclists. Crazy traffic. I am also hoping that this familiarity with other runners will make the crowd on marathon day less annoying. I have heard that it is a huge pain in the neck. Almost as much as the fact that whatever tissue had previously been hanging out on my breast bone seems to have disappeared now on some indefinite vacation. I am not waiting for any postcards either. Bastards. On the plus side though, I don't have to deal with the obstruction and the constant drag down when I am running. I've watched the other girls run towards me and it looks like that stuff hurts. I am aerodynamic. Like Holland.

2007-04-12T11:17:00.000-04:00

Melville
Foley

2007-04-11T23:19:00.000-04:00

"You can't go and eat on your own in this town," my tennis teacher told me, "you don't understand these guys here. They are aggressive."

Bored of couples and kids at my hotel, I drove outside of the safety of the walled in spa resort and headed into town.

Holy crap. I like to think that me and the octogenarians have a big mutual love going on but this is due in large part to both parties realizing that flirting is only ever that. In Palm Springs, however, aged golfers and soap stars fear neither death nor rejection and are the most forceful bunch of opportunitistic touch ups I have ever encountered. And I've been to Leeds. Greta Garbo would have hated it.

I was so shaken up I have driven up to Santa Barbara and Paso Robles. Staggering around Los Olivos and Solvang has certainly helped. I am currently obsessing about the Roussanne from these guys. And I mean obsessing. The highliner is also fantastic (blah blah blah Sidewaystastic), as is Foley's Clone 115 and Sanford's rose.

Tomorrow will see me asking a Perrin brother to marry me. Or a Haas.

2007-04-01T16:16:00.000-04:00

Since I have been upping the miles on my running to get me up to speed for Das Marathon (way way too early I know but I do nothing at which I don't peak too soon) I have been having strange cravings. Or not so strange as it happens.

I found myself being drawn into supermarkets and delis in search of leafy green vegetables. In particular broccoli rabe and kale. And no sooner do I buy them but I am rushing home, steaming them and cramming them into my mouth. Weird, I had thought. Until my sister sent me a book on nutrition and apparently women runners are suseptible to calcium and iron depletion. One huge natural source of iron and calcium is of course kale. Another one is amaranth leaves but I can't find these anywhere but I am aching for them. I have found Callaloo in cans in the supermarket but there is always too much other junk in there as well, like sugar. Ah well.

My main fear is that my knees will pack in before September. They are angry at me and whilst I listen to my palette, I am ignoring my knees. I fear it will end badly and I will be spending my near future running over other peoples' toes in an electric wheelchair or dancing with the stars like our Hev'.

Oh and I am also getting pissed on a thimble full these days. Quite disconcerting.

2007-02-11T12:22:00.000-05:00

I just did something I have been meaning to do for nearly six years now: that time period being the length of my residency in New York. I just subscribed to Private Eye. Sometimes it takes me a cretinously long period of time to shift my arse.

For example: a memo to the bloke who in 1990 offered me $45,000 in cash to spend the night with him: oh go on then, subject, of course, to inflation.

Anyway youse, go and check out the lookalikes, always a favourite of mine and guaranteed to be the least taxing on the brain.

Oh and Dumb Britain and this and this and this and this.

2007-02-01T23:34:00.000-05:00

Two for me. Because, today, I want to cry and I am out of ice cream. And jesus is Daniel Craig not hot and postured in a crummy actor sort of way. Life is disappointing when your apartment is drafty.

The Remote

I often think about you
when I am lying alone in
my room with my mouth
open and the remote
lost somewhere in the bed

The Sweetest Little Song

You go your way
I'll go your way too

2007-01-30T23:44:00.000-05:00

It's not that I want the truth, it's just that I don't want it thrust upon me

During dinner with someone who does indeed know better, or should I actually just say "more", than anyone else I have ever met (which, incidentally, doesn't mean that he is less pleased about this fact than I am for just knowing him), I was told whilst being hugged that I was indeed, his dear, fucked. And also, just to rub it in, quite by my own choosing and probably as a result of millions of years of gene reproduction and an ambiguous upbringing.

Yay. The heart is a lonely hunter, apparently. And stupid.

2007-01-15T23:34:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow is the coldest day of winter so far for Chicago.

Guess where I am going?

Yeah right? It's gonna be so great.

You know I spent my teens terrified of being killed by a falling icicle. The perfect murder weapon or so my english teacher, crackwhore and pot, once told me.

2007-01-15T21:32:00.000-05:00

I know of Nirvana and it is right here where I live. Downstairs is a restaurant with a bar tended by a Brazilian who refills as if pinot gris were diner coffee.

Now that my woodwork is ebony, how could I ever leave?

In other news of YuriGellereasque joy, a nice lady and her family came by mine and took away all the beautiful Waterworks tile which, as a direct result of my contractor's inability to count, had been sitting on my living room floor for maybe 4 months. And she gave me cash and promised to weep every day when she saw them. I am satisfied, finally, that they have gone to a good home.

Oh yeah, and I have this:
Built for love

Well I laughed anyway......

2007-01-02T19:34:00.001-05:00

Well I laughed anyway......

Type (or smash depending on the day of the month) Banana Republic into google and this is the second search result:

CONSILIUM
Council of the European Union.
ue.eu.int/ - 15k - Cached - Similar pages

What? No it is funny, honest... Maybe a just a little then.

2007-01-01T15:13:00.000-05:00

Photos of foie from wd-50.

Just as well I am off food or I would be sweltering right now.

Happy New Year!

2006-12-29T18:26:00.000-05:00

Happy Christmas to me. Happy Christmas to me. The love of my life arrived today from Design within Reach. Oyyyy, breathtaking and with its own book.. Only mine is chocolate and walnut and this one is tan.

Best. Christmas. Present. Ever.

In other news, I think it's time I bought me some J Crew stock. I am loving this company, their sales and the speed of the delivery on their online shopping. Is this what being thirty-something does to you? An overall appreciation of quality combined with a need to possess? I am the the Beardstown Ladies.

Kill me now.

But take some naked pics of me on the chair first, please.

2006-11-23T15:43:00.000-05:00

I love this story . To me, it represents so much of the American spirit of enterprise. My favourite quote by a mile:

"Take it up with God," an seemingly unrepentant Joshua Thompson told a TV reporter after it was learned the two had flipped the home for $88,000."

Indeed.

2006-11-05T21:41:00.000-05:00

The unpacking doesn't seem to end. The new cleaner is coming tomorrow and I am terrified that she will resign on sight if I don't give everything a one over today. I opened a note book which I have obviously been taking with me everywhere since I left London as two cards fell out which were addressed to me at the apartment my sister and I sold nearly ten years ago. Seems my life doesn't change much. A lot of melodama. A lot of promises I believed which hindsight proves to have been empty. In one of them, its author had called me pulchritudinous. Hand on cock when that was penned, no doubt.

And then there's a letter from me, not posted, dated 1999.

"A

Today, three days after you left, I realized I was bored with crying about you and fixed the video which had remained a mystery to you during the entire three months that you were living here. It was really easy. Are you a cretin?

You don't need to answer that.

No regards

Maccers"

Bitter, but proud. Always.

2006-11-02T20:52:00.000-05:00

When a man you love, because he is your HERO, asks you to go to a steakhouse in town, the name of which you do not recognise,
do not, my dear, dear friends, do not under any circumstances go.

Whilst loss has been something with which I have been able to deal with on multiple levels of late, I hate to lose my illusions more than anything (except perhaps members of staff that look good in tight pants).

A trip to said above-mentioned steakjoint will leave you vacuous and yearning for the days when all you had to do was stare into a dreamy pair of dark brown eyes on top of 6'5 of brawn and just dream.

2006-10-20T22:48:00.000-04:00

I'm sitting here snug in my Sofitel slippers and robe looking down at Sherbrooke Street (argh no more shops, please!) from the 15th floor. They upgraded me to a suite, they could see I needed it. My crumpled suit and the charcoal cavities beneath my eyes must have moved the receptionist. Although, this is my second upgrade this week. I stayed 3 nights at the Zaza and they did exactly the same thing. They also provided me with two extra large condoms, a packet of lube and my own personal oxygen cannister. If only.

Travelling fucking sucks. These planes, they all get delayed. You miss meetings and connections and the check-in staff are botoxed into a total lack of empathy. I is pointless to care. I have learned their craft in one swift week. I am the water off a duck's arse.

I have been to Japan, Texas and Quebec in the same week - all foreign countries. All with great service. All not New York - a city I am pining for these days.

This is my first stay in a Sofitel - a hotel chain which has been highly recommended to me for three years by a particularly good friend of mine who took me here for dinner tonight, a place which rates up there with my all times favourites ever. Like a mixture of WD50 with Blue Hill. Strangely bizarre that I spent a whole week recently laboring over which of those to I would rather have someone take me on Tuesday. [I shouted for Blue Hill in the end, just cos it's closer to my apartment]. Anyway whenever you feel like going to Montreal call L'epicier at least three weeks in advance. You will not be disappointed, especially if you go with the degustation menu - it kicks the arse off French Laundry, an overrated jerk circle of a restaurant.

But what the fuck happened to the Canadian $, people? My handy hotel guide tells me the rate is CS$1.09 to the US$. I came here three years ago when it was closer to $2 to $1. Argh. This is not a cheap town - it makes Tokyo look like Blackpool.

Ah Tokyo. The home of the best sushi in the world - and here for all to try at a reasonable price. Try it here. Knock yourself out. We did.

That's enough of my public service announcement. It snowed here in Montreal tonight. I'm sleeping in tomorrow, if my jet lag will let me.

2006-10-14T20:32:00.000-04:00

Su Ki Da

Miss you already.

2006-10-09T01:38:00.000-04:00

It's easy when you're big in Japan

Only I'm not apparently.

I always forget something. This time it was bras. Not such a big deal for me since technically I don't really need them but I thought hey I might actually be in a country where my size is generally in stock. Perhaps there are even some nuances here that take me into account.

So off I trundled into the shopping area of shinjuku-ku in search of something fabulous. Isetan certainly is that. I have finally got used to the shouted greeting and the constant bowing. Well, nearly anyway. Certainly keeps my greasy fingers from touching the suede in the handbag section anyway. These perfect ladies make me feel like a huge hulking sweaty smelly oaf.

I was fascinated by the Ladies Black Formalwear section on the third floor. They even have a question and answer book as to how to dress and beahve like a perfect blackclad doll. Small bag, polite shoes, hat, gloves and pearls. It's a level of demure I could never attain and seeing these ladies and their poise I am jealous. But really though I just want one of them in my house, silently gliding about, fixing my tea and giving me a foot massage. Oh and smelling nice. Which they all do.

The purchase of a perfect Japanese style ladies formalwear dress later, I headed up to lingerie. I didn't even have to jab around looking lost for a millisecond before an assistant appeared and slapped her tape measure around my braless torso. I am a 75A in Japan. That's like the smallest cup size but the largest width size. And then a LARGE in anything else. It's just not fair. Lovely assistant lady then scooped up numerous bras and showed me into a changing room which was decked out almost as lavishly as my hotel bathroom. Well, half as lavishly.

Once I had the bra on she came back wearing white gloves (which everyone seems to here) and then fitted me properly, tidying away numerous folds of flesh and oh so politely. Fab.

I had to buy two. Mainly because she was so nice but also because they were just so kawaii. She's studying English. When I left she almost put her head on the floor. It's quite exhausting all this politeness.

2006-10-08T17:40:00.000-04:00

I never want to leave this country. Well what I actually mean is I never want to leave this hotel and so far I haven't. The view of Mount Fuji from my bedroom window is out of this world. This bedroom is out of this world and has more sqft than my apartment. This does not offend me, since there is no wine fridge, but fuck am I painting all the wood in my apartment dark brown. So calm. So reminscent of the most weirdly fantastic service ever ever ever.

The most perfectly beautiful 5 foot Japanese lady was standing on the pavement to welcome me last night. And then I was swarmed by her army of perfectly beautiful Japanese men who removed every possible item of luggage from my person and ushered me up to reception. So gentle, so soft, such perfect perfect skin. I nearly cried. I would not have been the first. Beautiful married lady I met in the bar last night told me that she did cry when she saw the bathroom. She is from Kyoto and in town for a wedding. Her husband was in the room sleeping off the booze. I drank, she smoked. I fell in love with her. She told me I was beautiful [which, to be chronologically correct, was when I fell in love with her].

Bad news. My camera battery is dead and I have lost the charger. Fucking typical.

2006-10-03T07:24:00.000-04:00

Curumin is at Nublu tonight. You should go. Amazing.

2006-10-01T22:52:00.000-04:00

Note to Bjork.:

You missed a line from the lyrics of "I have seen it all"

You need something in there about this.

I think it would fit nicely between "The Eiffel Tower and the Empire State."

Also, never mind seeing the Eiffel Tower, have you done one?

2006-10-01T21:06:00.000-04:00

If I am stressed and then add one other anxiety-related factor, my body is apt to go into some sort of toxic shock as if I had been eating out of date egg product. A week ago I lost 5 pounds in about 3 days. I am shallow enough to think of this as a positive outcome but now that functioning is back to normal, I fear the rapid unsightlies as anyone in the mid to late of any decade generally does.

I am also wondering whether my trip next week to Japan will in any way hinder my resolve to stay on sternum alert. Not sure whether I will be stuffing my face with Japanese food or not - maybe the massive jet lag will kill hunger.

Obviously I am whopping it up with hotels. Sad tourist on a week's vacation and no time for hassle, I am traipsing in the footsteps of Sophia Coppola and staying here. Mainly because I have no imagination and plan to drink myself through despair in the hotel bar next Sunday night. Come and say hi!

And if you needed any further evidence that I am a simpleton, I am also going to be checking in here at some stage next week.

You know, last time I was in Asia, I got bed bugs at Charlie Hut on Chaweng Beach. I have gone to the dark side. It's nice here.

2006-09-10T18:42:00.000-04:00

Becoming ever more pretentious is a privilege of the spinster and I find myself these days prefering music to be sung in french. Maybe it's that the unemphasized language fits in nicely with pretty much any beat. See MC Solaar.

My current fave chanteuse is the fabtastic Pauline Croze. [She has a couple of vids on the galerie page.] I heard her first on some world music radio channel on iTunes and immediately fell in love. I think she looks like a cross between Tracy Thorn and Audrey Tatou. But anyway. I love her. Joe's Pub please book her soon.

French is good for melodrama and overwhelming sadness in general. I thoroughly recommend it.

Try also Rosapaeda

2006-09-09T16:29:00.000-04:00

Also, how beautiful is my Liebherr fridge on the right?

Life is good. Apparently the apartment will be done in a couple weeks. That means I will have a shower door, a fixed toilet seat and one bullnosed bathroom tile that cost $190.

2006-09-01T19:00:00.000-04:00

All roads lead to Scotch Corner

London. Less fake, more chav.

Oh I'm sorry. It's just that I am no longer afraid of the anger. I watched Friends with Money on the plane over here and for once didn't cry because I felt like Jane. Maybe I am Jane, only I don't drive and happen to be persecuted in real time by smelly fuckers with trucks.

I am currently dreaming of not washing my hair (assuming this also means I don't have to shave). I am also dreaming of a gay husband. Gay boyfriends, whatever. I just one who will commit (and kiss my friends when they cry and run their own businesses. And. And. And......)

I did cry at Failure to Launch though. What this says about me I don't ever need to know.

I am still angry and I don't even live here. I am tired of it though. Y'all can send me home now. I want to rescue my herbs. I think they all must be dead by now. This is not my beautiful home. I don't understand the machines with the buttons that I need to press and slots into which must be fed approximately $378 at the current exchange rate to purchase a piece of paper which will take you backwards and forwards between Green Park and Piccadilly twice (but no further!).

I tried to explain this to a crumpled suit behind me this morning. He sighed and stared at his watch. He humpfed. [He humpfed! What the fuck is up with these people and their passive aggressive YELLING!]

"Oh I am sorry. I don't understand this machine any more. There is all this oyster stuff which is confusing me. And the request for six pounds and fifty pence which in any case must be wrong. I need to go to Green Park, not Cockfosters."

Crumpled suit does not take the apology. He looks at watch. He looks at me. His eyes narrow. He humpfs. He looks at watch.

I miss my contractor. I wanna go home.