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08.31.04
What did Brian and I do to show our outrage towards the Bush agenda? We went to visit Uncle Ira in the loony bin for his 60th birthday.
There was no traffic on the way to the institution, no delays getting in. My brother, who also came with us, said he was sure there were many delegates to the convention present. He said, "There are delegates here from Mars and delegates from La-La."
Did I mention my grandmother was there as well? Have I mentioned how my grandmother has the amazing power being able to aggravate my uncle so that he reaches new heights of "raving lunacy"? If I haven’t, I am mentioning it now.
I will presently indulge in a reenactment of a short scene between my uncle and my grandmother (please note that all capital letters in dialogue are used to denote when an individual is speaking in an unnaturally loud voice).
DENNIS
UNCLE
DEB
UNCLE
GRANDMA
UNCLE
GRANDMA
UNCLE
GRANMDA
UNCLE
GRANDMA
UNCLE
GRANDMA
UNCLE
GRANDMA
UNCLE
GRANDMA
UNCLE
DEB
Now, for the first time, I am making available a single page with links to Sam and my Port Authority Heights ad campaign. Look. Learn. Enjoy.
08.29.04
Port Authority Heights: On a clear day, you can see New Jersey
Port Authority Heights: Go West, Young Man
To thank him, I photoshopped his face on Star Jones’s body.
Sam, though you have moved away to the far reaches of lower-midtown, I will always remember you like this.
08.26.04
My uncle has already achieved the first two stages (in green). In 2-5 months, he will be up for the first of the yellow stages. By the time he gets into the “red zone”, we will be long gone. Interesting enough, we thought this time last year that we would already be in the red zone. Neither Brian nor I had any idea my uncle would have to jump so many hurdles before being discharged and reclaiming his apartment. This news is both good and bad. The visits are seriously wearing on us. With each conversation, I become more allergic to his voice, his logic, his paranoia. This evening, when he reiterated the steps towards his release, he repeated for the hundredth time his credo: Bite the bullet.Then he told the story of a visit my grandmother paid him early on in his incarceration. He was telling me this to illustrate how unreasonable my grandmother can be. He said, “She brought me linguini with clam sauces. She was very jumpy. You know how she is. I didn’t say anything, but then she said, ‘One more word and I’m leaving.’ So I didn’t say anything. But then I said, ‘You didn't bring any salt?’ and she screamed at me and ran out. They took me back to the ward and they said I could eat my linguini back in the ward, but when I got there, they had thrown it out. Can you believe that? I didn’t even get to eat my linguini.” Even though I often think every word out of my uncle’s crazy mouth is suspect, the only suspect portion of this story is the part when he said, "I didn’t say anything." I have never known my uncle to not say anything. He talks continuously. And loudly. And without any regard for logic. Or the stamina of his audience. And he often speaks with a mouth full of food and a nose dripping with snot. This apartment. It's so cheap. And on the upper east side of Manhattan. But . . . But . . . Red Zone, come quickly.
08.24.04
While breathing deeply through my nose and wincing, I was forced to turn my hawk-eye on the rest of room. Was it my instructor? Was it the fellow in front of me? What about the fellow to my right? Was it long-time yoga buddy Alison, who was practicing in back of me? Please. Not Alison.
The fellow in front of me finished his practice and left the room. The smell stayed. The instructor stepped out for a moment. Smell remained. Finally, Alison went out to change. Ah-ha! It was the fellow to my right. Ah-ha! Detective Debbie solves the case again!
On our way to the subway, Alison and I spoke of the "issue". We both agreed that it was very hard to concentrate and breathe deeply when every time one breathes in, one smells something malodorous. We are still unsure what has caused the malodorousness of our fellow practitioner. But we did indulge in speculation for a time.
Now, even though I’ve been home for several hours, I still fear I have acquired that strange and unpleasant odor in the way a host finds itself with a parasite affixed to it. This is a persistent fear for me – that I adopt noisome smells and make them my own in such a way that I drive away friends and acquaintances. I wonder what it all means.
It probably means I am crazy.
But not as crazy as Uncle Ira. So it’s okay, I guess.
08.23.04
Three years ago today, Brian and I were still unpacking boxes from our recent move to Sunnyside, Queens. I was unemployed and he had just started law school. Terrorist attacks were still several weeks away. Brian bought me this slick spot on the internet as a graduation present, a place to post my rejection letters, and a way to sharpen my new media skills while I looked for a job
Brian has now graduated law school. I am on my third job -- one which does not in any way employ my new media skills. We live in my crazy uncle's apartment in Manhattan. And we are still not fully unpacked. I have a few more rejection letters, and even one acceptance. We have also now been married for two and a half years, and we even finally went on our honeymoon, not to be confused with our honeymoon.
A big fat special thanks to Heck's Kitchen for egging me on, answering many a dumb question, and generally being good people. Also, a thanks to that weird Christiany kid in the OIT at Maryland who told me that just about anyone could have their own website. Also, to Brian, for never pushing me down the stairs. Also to all the regular and irregular debcentral readers. Even though I only get an email from you guys about every other month, it is that email -- and knowing that someone is reading my crap -- that keeps me going. Even if your email is criticizing me and telling me to get off my "pitty-pot".
Lastly, I would like to end with what appears to be a poem from Niall in Toronto
08.21.04
Thursday night, I rode home in a taxi with co-worker Rebecca Finkel. I tried to call Brian to tell him I was heading home, but I couldn't find my cell phone. I dumped the entire contents of my purse into my lap, and began fishing though it, but to no avail. I had Rebecca call my phone over and over. In desperation, I shrieked, "IT'S GOT TO BE HERE SOMEWHERE! I CAN FEEL IT VIBRATING!" As it turned out, I was sitting on it. I guess my senses were a bit dulled.
When I got home (around 9 pm), I passed out. Then woke up again at 2:30 feeling a bit icky. I think I'm fully recovered now, though.
Rebecca was obviously a lot better off than I was. Friday morning, I got an email she had sent the night before. In it, she explained she was looking through the inbox of an old email account "at which point i came across this very special rejection letter that reminded me of you." Says Finklel: "Notice below how Cineaste has deemed my submission 'inappropriate' because it is 'not appropriate' !? well that cleared things up for me. one day when i'm famous i'll include this letter and all those like it in my collection of unpublished early essays and articles, Pulled from the Garbage: The Misunderstood and Miraculously Recovered Works of Rebecca Finkel 1999-2000"
See excerpt from rejection email below:
Also, thank you to Heck’s Kitchen for pointing me to the Weight Watchers recipe cards from 1974 site.
08.19.04
I hate waking up to cockroaches in the tub. It’s so unsettling.
More reasons why I am a bad person: Last night, as he often does, when Brian served dinner, he put equal portions of food on his plate and mine. And as I often do, I pointed out that we are differently-sized people and therefore need different amounts of food – unless he wants us to some day weigh the same, despite the 11 inch discrepancy in our height.
When I serve dinner us, I naturally give him a larger portion than I give myself. Except if, for some reason, he is not so hungry, and I am more hungry. Then I give myself more. And if I only have one piece of gum, I pop it in my mouth and hope Brian hasn’t noticed.
I would be a very bad person to have with you on a desert island. Brian would be okay. There would be only one coconut, and both of you would be starving, and Brian would divide it up in equal parts, even if he were a larger person than you. You would still both be hungry afterward, but you would be confident that Brian was an honest and trustworthy desert island ally. But if I were there and I deemed my hunger to be greater than yours, I would hide in the questionable shade of a palm tree and open and eat the coconut myself. And then I would be attacked by a band of medium-sized to teeny-tiny cockroaches. I guess I would have deserved it.
08.16.04
I spent a large part of my weekend working on a comprehensive format from which to view a vast number of our vacation photos. This page is what I came up with. Beware. The page may take a little while to fully load up. Especially considering that I’ve posted over 60 images (out of 200 or so). Let me know what you think. I’m still checking for bugs.
This weekend, we also visited my uncle again. He proudly told us that at the institution’s Jewish services, which are given on Tuesdays by an orthodox rabbi from Brooklyn, he made up his own prayer. He said that it was divinely inspired, and that he liked it and the rabbi liked it and so did the other lady in services, who, by the way, isn’t Jewish. My uncle recited it for us:
08.14.04
The whole "violent crazy person has my address" thing didn't seem to bother him. But, then again, He as spent the greater part of the nearly 60 years of life as an occasionally violent crazy person living among more of the violent and crazy and violently crazy. My uncle spends a lot of his energies pan-handling for birthday cards as well. His birthday is on August 31st. I wonder if he has a new birthday card pen pal?
Before I got distracted by fear of dying at the hands of a violent crazy person who thinks he is Superman, I was going to say that I forgot to post one the our sign pictures. Here is Brian trying not to slip in the pool of non-potable water at the Villa d'Este in Tivoli.
Are you bored yet? Do you want to see more pictures? Because we certainly have more pictures. Here are some images that Brian and I took of ourselves, given to you in alphabetical order of the name I gave them when I saved them to my hard drive: Speaking of the Villa d'Este, here's Brian and me in front of the fountains; Brian and me in front of the ruins at Hadrian's Villa; Brian and me near the ancient Palatine Hill; Brian and me loving life at pompeii; Brian and me being of differing heights at the Trevi Fountain;and lastly, Brian and me obscuring everything else as we vie for supremacy in the Vatican City Museum.
If you still have any energy left, then you can look at this picture of former co-worker Aiesha's baby Zenzele. She is really too much.
08.11.04
After over a year of calling us and leaving messages on our answering machine, Clark Kent has finally taken that first step towards friendship and written Brian a letter.
And here is the envelope in which it was sent. Note the return address. Note the mention of Ward 2 West, home to a number of criminally insane people who have committed "some of the most notorious and gruesome crimes in New York City's history"
Yes, the note appears to be written in that typical crazy person handwriting. And the content seems worthy of the insane, though maybe not so much the criminally insane. I think the letter was addressed to Brian because his name is mentioned first on our answering machine. Seriously. This man has been calling us no less than three or four times a week for almost a year and a half and leaving us messages, which we of course do not return. He must feel very close to Brian's recorded voice saying Hi. You've reached the home of Brian Geller and Deb Schwartz. Neither are home right now, so leave a message.
He even spelled Brian's name correctly. It would be pitiful and cute if it weren't so dern creepy.
Eventually, my uncle will be released from the loony bin. I can't wait to meet his other friends. I'm sure they're all charming.
08.10.04
I started to worry. What if he's overcome with shock because I appear a good deal older? Or heavier? Or more haggard? And he? What if he is now morbidly obese? Or maybe he has a prosthetic limb? Or a disfiguring scar across his face? Nine years is a plenty long enough time to acquire a disfiguring scar that has keloid and set in good.
As it turned out, I recognized Dominic immediately. Because he looked exactly the same. He said, "You know, I've gained 40 pounds since high school." But he looked exactly the same. He told me that though he usually keeps his head completely shaved, he had a little bit of hair growth going on. He looked exactly the same.
Dominic's film was very cool, and we had a very nice evening. In the end, I was rather glad he looked exactly the same. He told me that I too looked exactly the same. Our evening, despite the city and the circumstances, was reminiscent to those spent back in high school (by the way, that's Keith Murray on the far left, a random guy we all hated, Molly Hale, Marc Rothschild, and moi).
I am like the proverbial turtle with these vacation pictures. Today, I present you with three pictures of signs we photographed around Rome. The first one we saw at the Villa Borghese Gallery. The second we saw in Vatican City. The third was in the subway. And the last is a movie poster for the movie You Got Served, which apparently translates into "Street Dance Fighters" in Italian.
Okay. That's enough merrymaking for today.
08.09.04
Pictures, pictures, pictures. We took about 200 pictures during our trip. This was because we were afraid someone might mistake us for not tourists. In August, Rome is the City of Tourists. Tourists from all over the world could be seen taking pictures of each other with their hands on the naked rumps of ancient statuary, with their head's propped up on the headless necks of marble Venuses and Apollos. Every irreverent thing one could imagine taking a picture of in this ancient and artful land, some other tourist had already thought of, and was already doing. This made me annoyed. As a reaction to this, most of our pictures were ir-irreverent. That means they were almost reverent. It was unnatural for me to be this way, but it would have been even more unnatural for me to wait in line behind four other chuckleheads to pose with my arms around a water-spouting sea nymph or giving a thumbs-up to a Jesus on the cross.
I wouldn't say I am necessarily jet-lagged, but I would say I am a bit discombobulated. Nutella. Gelato. I miss you. Come back to me.
I have only five pictures for you today. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. I will get more up soon.
In the first picture, I am posing (not ir-irreverently) with the legendary "Dancing Fawn" of Pompeii. In the second, Brian is photographed with one of the many instances of anti-Bush graffiti we found in around Rome. In the third, I can be seen with my two favorite beverages: water and wine. I am so biblical. In the forth, Brian can is sitting under Bernini's statue of an Elephant with an obelisk on his back. We got in a big fight right after this picture was taken. The last picture was taken by a random at Hadrian's Villa. I did not mean for the marble tush to be so close to us. That was totally the random's doing.
08.06.04
Today we got lost among the ruins of the Palatine Hill and visted the main synagogue of Rome, where I bought two broken Havdalah candles by mistake. Now we're going to make one last go at visiting the Shelley/Keats museum, which promises to be small and not-thrilling.
I am soooo tired.
Ciao. Until we're back in Americay!
08.05.04
The space bar on this keyboard isn't working so hot. I just moved from a computer where the shift key wasn't working. I am getting very annoyed.
Now I think the backspace isn't working very well either. ARG!
Tomorrow is our last day in Rome. We have been doing the mad dash for souvenirs. All of the touristy kiosks are lousy with bum gifts. Postcards and mugs and Pinocchio figurines and men's boxers with pictures of the special place of famous naked statues printed on them. I don't know anyone who would want any of the above mentioned items. So I thought I would just buy everyone Italian grocery items. I wonder if I have to declare olive oil and coffee to U.S. customs.
Yesterday we visited Pompeii, which was hot and dusty and filled with dogs. I started taking lots of pictures of the dogs, because I thought it would be funny. Then I thought that maybe a nice souvenir would be a "Dogs of Pompeii Calendar" which I could create on my arrival back in the states. Maybe. Maybe not.
Today we visited scenic and ancient Tivoli. Just about Everything in Italy appears to be scenic and ancient. That's more than I can say for New York. Before we visited scenic and ancient Tivoli, but after Brian and I got into a big fight (during my mad dash for souvenirs), I went into a Benetton store. This is apparently sale season. Nearly everything in nearly every store is on sale. So after Brian and I got into a big fight, I ran into a Benetton store where nearly everything appeared to be on sale, and I tried on a top. It was hot out. And I realized after I was returning the top to the rack that I had sweated all over the back of it. So I was forced (out of shame) to purchased it. Only as I was purchasing the top did I realize that the women working in the store were too busy smoking cigarettes to care that I had sweated on their sale items. I am dumb.
Okay. These broken keys are annoying me too much. I's time for dinner anyway (10:15 pm). So goodnight for now. I'll see you back in America, unless the customs agents haul me off for grocery smuggling.
08.03.04
FACT: It is very hot and muggy during the day. But at night and in the morning, it is actually quite pleasant.
FACT: Food for vegetarians is not all that hard to find. I am not getting any smaller while I'm here in Rome.
FACT: Due to the weakness of the American dollar everything here is expensive. Thank you, President Bush.
FACT: Our hotel room is bigger than our apartment.
FACT: Almost everything in the Vatican City gift shop has a picture of Jesus on it.
FACT: There is tons of old shit here. And inside the old shit, there is often someone selling small new replicas of the old shit.
Until next time, Over and Out.
08.01.04
The keys on the keyboard are in funny places here in Italy. And everything is very expensive. But we haven't even been here a day.
A real dialogue between my husband and myself:
ME: Take a picture of me in front of this old shit. (Brian snaps picture) Let me see. (looking at picture) Hey, there's just some trees in the background
BRIAN: I did what you told me.
ME: I don't see any old shit in the background.
BRIAN: What old shit?
ME: I SAID take a picture of me in front of the old shit.
BRIAN: Where is there old shit around here?
ME: HELLO! Look around. (waving arms like a maniac) This is all OLD SHIT.
BRIAN: It's just bricks and shit. It's not OLD SHIT.
ME: Gimme my camera back. I'll take the picture of myself myself (snatches camera from husbands hand and takes picture of herself for a change).
Please excuse my many typos. I can not easily do editing here at this bookstore/internet cafe/airconditioned place.
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