So, Jenny Miller, next time you're in town, I will allow you to take me out to dinner. And if I should end up in the district before you get up here, you can take me to local favorites Udupi Palace or Tiffin Indian Kitchen.

Please don't thank me, Jenny. Your profuse gratitude embarrasses me. You earned this prize!

02.24.03 - 1:00pm
Brian and I dined with my grandmother last evening.
Afterwards, I was bullied into watching a taped three hour performance of "The Merry Widow", as performed live at Lincoln Center a decade ago. This was, of course, a charming evening. Especially because throughout the meal and video-tape-watching session, my grandmother struggled hard to recall the character flaws of mine which she finds most repugnant. She then needed to repeatedly inform me of them.

I was thrilled to learn that I have recollected faults dating back to infancy.

Luckily, my immediate family picked up and moved to Fort Lauderdale when I was four, and my grandmother saw me on an average of once a year for the next 24 years. This all changed, of course, once I moved back to New York a year and a half ago.

At first, I tried apologizing for my sundry and numerous errors in character. Then I tried the old, "We're only human", and "Everyone makes mistakes." It took me several hours to realize that there were no correct answers. This was an academic exercise for my grandmother. Merciless criticism is the only thing which brings my nearly 85-year-old grandmother true joy.

Some of us like to write or take pictures or practice yoga. Some like to read or go dancing or watch tv. My grandmother simply enjoys turning the knife that she has driven into your back. Bless her soul.

On Saturday, Brian Mack, Susan Johnson, and I did end up checking out the Matthew Barney show at the Guggenheim. It was good fun and good exercise. Yesterday, Mr. Mack flew home with two bagels in his bag and a song in his heart.

02.22.03 - 12:58pm
Brian Mack of Minnesota is here, and we are heading out to one of the many fine museums of the fine city of New York.

I did want to give a quick heads up--My old man's brother, Ed, is now concentrating his energies on building a website. So check it out.

We are hoping that this new hobby will keep 19 year old Ed off the streets and off the smack. Here's to you, Ed Geller. And put some more pictures on your site, for chrissake!

At present, the only contestant in the "BE MY FRIEND" contest is a one Jason Labbe. His essay was very convincing, though he apparently wants me to make him dinner. I need some more individuals to enter my contest, so I can get out of making this fellow dinner.

So write me now. 250 words or less. Why you want to be my friend.

02.20.03 - 4:45pm
What do I know of life?
I know that Quaker Chocolate Crunch rice cakes, when eatten several at a time, begin to taste like Count Chocula cereal.

I know that Count Chocula cereal, when coupled with milk, can develop a slimy, unappealing texture.

I know that according to Google's image search, many Jenny Millers are cute, athletic, and blonde, most Deborah Schwartzes are dark and frumpy, and the one existing Brian Geller is an old dumpy pickup truck

I know that the sun is a dying star. But I try not to let it get me down.

I know that the slosh today (high of 45 degrees after almost 2 feet of snow fall) is knee-deep in some areas. So I am not ashamed that I bought a pair of very substantial boots from the Wheels of London store for a mere $50 yesterday. My new shoes are very large, boosting me up off the ground by almost three inches. Up here, standing nearly 5'5", I can survey the world from an entirely different view. I can also stomp down on all sorts of random people's feet and never even realize it.

My employer asked if I were wearing ski boots. Of course, they are high fashion footwear. So much so, that the Wheels store found them too sassy for the general public. Which is why they discounted them by 80%. I am just sassy enough for these shoes.

Brian Mack will be arriving today. I think I shall not step on him while wearing my new shoes. If only because he's traveling all the way from Minnesota.

But I shall take him to Dojo, one of my favorite eating spots in the Village. It has a lot of vegetarian food, and since they renovated several years back, people no longer complain of food poisoning.

I am nothing, if not thoughtful.

02.19.03 - 2:00pm
Today my glasses appeared to be smudgy. So I took them off to wipe down the lenses. That's when I realized that it was my eye that was smudgy. I find this worrisome.

Jenny Miller posted a blizzard picture of Brian and me on her website yesterday. This is proof that she is in league with the forces of good, contrary to what her site's name suggests.

Alison Adleman was back practicing yoga this morning, despite the whole hamstring incident. I was very confused by this, as I still remembered that wretched tearing noise that her leg parts had produced the previous day. I felt so confused by the zest and vigor with which she practiced yoga, I conducted my practice as if I had torn my hamstring clean off. Because somebody had to represent.

Brian Mack of the Minnesota Macks will be in town tomorrow. His site has been down, and we are all very annoyed. Especially because it had featured some of my black and white photography.

Brian Mack--May God be with you in finding a new web host.

In honor of the weather warming up, I wrote almost an entire paragraph last night, one which I later did not erase. It dealt with the time when I was about six years old and was swept up in an undertow (for about 20 seconds). This was a very distinct moment in my early memory. But it is one other people have found trite, trivial, and even histrionic.

As long as other people insist on not publishing my work, I will continue to allude to the event in various fiction and non-fiction pieces. That's a threat.

So there.

How interesting that at six, an undertow was the most exciting thing to happen to me. If only Little Debbie could see Big Debbie now: Crazy Uncle Ira and evil grandma and crappy job and toe surgery. The funny thing is, though my life is a million times more grotesquely complicated now, I am, on the whole, a lot happier than I remember being at age six.

So there.

02.18.03 - 3:41pm
I apologize for not blogging in yesterday, but I was too busy BEING BLIZZARDED ON! Geez! That's some crazy junk. Check out these pictures the B Man and I took on our hour-long outing to the video store (which is essentially four blocks away).

In inventorying my weekend, I find that we saw two videos. The first was Dogtown and Z Boys, which was a fun frolic into the world of 70s skateboarding culture. Can one "frolic into" something? The other movie was "El" (This Strange passion) by Bunuel, done in his Mexican phase. It was typically odd, and contained scenes of domestic violence. But because it is in black and white, and because it was filmed in 1952, the domestic violence is almost entirely non-threatening.

In addition, this weekend I wrote one sentence in a story. But then erased it.

I also spent many hours in my house clothes talking on the telephone. Joy!

Today: It was still snowing last I checked. Alison Adleman tore a something in yoga practice this morning. She was in the midst of an advanced-looking stretch, and we all heard "Rrrriiipp!" I thought I was going to puke on my yoga mat. We think she may have injured her hamstring. She could walk fine afterwards, which may be a good thing, but may be a bad thing. I volunteered to stop practicing for the week to show solidarity with Alison and her injury. But everyone yelled at me to stop complaining, so I just flopped around some more on my yoga mat, trying not to hear as the sound of muscles tearing echoed in my ears.

I am always very careful in yoga practice. If I never put too much effort into my stretching, I will most likely remain uninjured.

02.14.03 - 1:42pm
Valentine's Day is a goyisha holiday
I'm not saying this out of bitterness, because my heart is dry and shriveled like an old woman's knees. I just don't understand the concept behind it all.

St. Patrick was the fellow who drove out all the snakes from Ireland, which is apparently why, in celebration of his day, we drink beer and punch people in the shoulder for not wearing green. Did St. Valentine drive out all the red-speckled alligators?

I do know that Easter is the celebration of the return of the egg-laying rabbit. Maybe St. Valentine initiated the return of the red-speckled alligator.

I feel our Jewish holidays are more intuitive. Sukkot is an harvest celebration honoring a gazebo with a roof and no walls. One goes inside the gazebo, hangs fruit from its ceiling, and shakes a tree branch in the cardinal directions. There! Wasn't that simple.

Personally, my favorite holiday is Pesach. On this day, one's family gathers together to tell of our exodus from Egypt by reading from a Haggadah (or coloring book thing). The family tries to humiliate its youngest member, hides a piece of matzo (or cracker thing) in the sofa cushions, then sings a song about a goat and the angel of death. Afterwards, everyone eats a lot, drinks four cups of wine, and blames each other for all their problems.

Isn't this so much better than dumb old Red-Speckled Alligator Day?

Earlier in this blog, I mentioned old women's knees. I want to acknowledge that, at the advanced age of 25, I was beginning to show signs of developing saggy old woman's knees. I am now 26, older and wiser, and practicing Ashtanga yoga (as I so often mention). My knees, near-miraculously, have appeared to become less saggy and more not-so-saggy looking. This is most-likely due to the development of "leg muscles". The other day, though, I had a very strange experience. I was at home in my gatkis, and got up from the couch. As I did, I glanced down at my legs. There is a position in the midst of standing which contracts two different thigh muscles. The flesh in between, to my horror, sunk in and wrinkled in a most bizarre and unattractive fashion. This has taught me a very important lesson: I can never stop yoga. It is the only thing that's keeping my skin from looking like a rumpled burlap sack.

02.13.03 - 2:18pm
Syms is having a big Presidents' Day sale.
It's primarily a haberdashery and a closeout store targeting the decrepit and women one might describe as "handsome", but one can sometimes find great deals.

They had sweaters for sale. I own five sweaters. Lately, I have been wearing them two at a time. I try to switch up the inner and outer sweaters for variety's sake.

By the way, it is really cold here.

I left the store with a bag full of sweaters and took the subway back home, stopping off first at the grocery store. On my way from the subway, I saw a wonderful first sentence before me. And then another. And another. In my mind, I was sculpting the first paragraph of a new story. How content I was, even as the bag of sweaters dug into my palm.

I was in the aisle of cleaners trying to decipher the difference between two green-colored Windexes, when I realized I was lighter than I should be. My bag of sweaters was gone.

I ran down the aisle. I ran up the aisle. I ran to the customer service desk to look for a manager. No manager was there. I began sweating in my multiple sweaters. After much frantic sweating and running, I decided to retrace my steps. There, sitting in the middle of the floor by the eggs and processed cheese, was my bag of sweaters. People steered their carts clear of the bag to avoid hitting it. Ah! How absent-minded I am!

I recovered my sweaters, but lost my paragraph. Brian tells me that I am lucky the manager didn't have my bag of sweaters detonated. After all, as the woman from the post office said, "We're in a CODE ORANGE!".

In yoga news: my instructor, Christopher heard through an unnamed source (thanks a lot, Alison) that I had been trying to pop my left hip out of joint in an attempt to get my leg over my head. Not that I was even successful. I have had supine toroise pose privileges revoked. I guess that's okay, as the position caused me excruciating pain.

In Debcentral stats news: I just found out that if you do an aol search for e-cards about "foot prints in the sand", my website is something like the fifth entry. Yes! Rock on, Debcentral! Rock on, God-themed e-cards!

02.11.03 - 1:25pm
I think I may be hypoglycemic.
I think I should not consume so much coffee and refined sugar.

Almost every day now I've been getting that hungry-crampy feeling, coupled with light-headedness and pangs of intense rage.

This must be how Bill Bixby felt when his eyes turned eerie green and he was transformed into a green, messy-haired Lou Ferrigno.

Oh, Dr. Banner, how misunderstood you were! You would never have lobbed that bad guy through a plate-glass window if someone had simply given you a nice glass of juice.

Interesting things that my friend Susan told me this weekend:

She had been expecting a package from her parents. It was long-overdue. She went to her post office to ask if it were there, if she had simply never received her note from the post office telling her to pick the package up. The woman told Susan that there was nothing she could do for her. Susan asked, "Can't you just look in the back and see if there's a package for Susan Johnson?" The post office worker became indignant. "Lady," she said. "Don't you know what's going on? It is IMPOSSIBLE for me to go back there and look for your package. We're in a CODE ORANGE!"