the history of debcentral



clare & stephen
amy & scott
andrea & jonathan marc & liza

grandma's window
state of mind


hair issues:
my pink hair mistake
my purple hair mistake

moving day
our new digs
garden of stones

eleanor turns 26
deb turns 27
deb's birthday collage

zina and me
our ira visit
gators v. vols
chinatown/little italy

Fight Night

This weekend the Heck's Kitchens fought the Debcentrals.
There was a great big rumble. I'm not sure who won. But many Gin and Tonics were drunken. And many drunks were Gin and Tonic-ed.

I took a whole bunch of pictures this weekend of Jenny and Sarah and the gang, but alas, I am lazy and foolish. So all I have for you is this screen-saver-sized picture of the Upper Arlington Golden Bears, Class of '91.

We finally met Mr. Michael Bova, Ms. Suzanne Marcus, and Ms. Constance Chang. They were all charming and funny and tremendously well-dressed. It was very strange, as I have heard much about these people, seen pictures of them, read interviews with them on Jenny's website, talked to them on the zonkboard, and even made them my friendsters. And there they were in the flesh. I felt like I was meeting my long-time pen pals. It was kind of funny but kind of weird.

Many stories were told, many people were made fun of, and I was by far not the most talkative person there. This was highly unusual but not unpleasant, as Mr. Bova does a mean impersontion of a toothless bloodthirsty old hillbillly.

On Sunday night, Brian and I had dinner with my grandmother and brother. My grandmother waxed romantic as she reiterated that when she dies, we are to have her cremated and then kick her ashes into a trash can.

This evening , B and I are flying out to Clearwater. We will be Giving Thanks with Brian's brother, sister, sister's boyfriend, mother, mother's boyfriend, mother's boyfriend's daughter, mother's boyfriend's daughter's boyfriend, my parents, my brother, my sister, my sister's dog, some random lady, and a random family of five that Brian's mom knows from the Temple. I think that makes 19 people (with Brian and me, of course) and one dog. My sister and I are vegetarians. My brother is glatt kosher. Mother can't eat refined sugar. My father doesn't eat much red meat. Brian's brother only eats chicken caesar salads. Brian's sister does not eat much fat. I don't know enough about the random woman, but I'm assuming she's trouble. This will be the meeting of the dietary restrictions.

And I am still looking forward to Thanksgiving. Maybe it's because I miss my sister's dog. The dog should be kept away from any chocolate.

Jenny Miller and Sallypants are coming to town.
They should be here tonight. I can hardly wait.

Also, I posted these pictures from my party. My hope was to illustrate the confluence of 40-plus people in one room. Did it work?

Also, my Debcentral email is down.

I must go now, as I have to plan our MJH happy hour. Duty calls.

*Correction: Sam sent out the happy hour email. I am off the hook this week.*

Today I officially became a New York state driver.
I suppose this is funny, as I do not have a car, nor do I ever have access to one while I am in the state of New York. I suppose I can always rent one.

I got my first replacement drivers license while I was in Gainesville, Florida. It was my 21st birthday. There were five people in the entire DMV. Everyone was nice to me, wishing me a happy birthday and winking, and the woman who took my picture did a relatively good job. I got the brand new shiny license that same day.

This afternoon, at the DMV on Greenwich Street, we could have been at a free clinic or the post office on the day before Christmas. I waited on various and sundry lines for almost two hours. The women who was right before me in picture taking line was unlucky enough to not have her papers in order at the time she was called. The woman behind the counter got very angry. Though I think her natural disposition happened to be a mixture of surliness and unprovoked nastiness. She barked at the woman, "I said: Give me that form and go stand up and have your picture taken." She grabbed the form from the other woman. The unorganized woman stood back and began to take off her winter coat. "Did I say Take off your jacket?" The DMV woman yelled. "No. I said, 'Get up there and let me take your picture.'"

The woman paused, unsure if she should take off her coat or not. The DMV woman turned to her co-worker. "Didn't I tell her to leave her coat on?" She turned back to the woman, "I told you to leave on that coat. I don't have all day. This ain't no Glamour Magazine photo shoot."

So the woman left on her rumpled winter coat and looked at the camera rumpledly. Then the DMV woman snapped the camera, yelled, "Stop moving around already," snapped again, looked over the picture of the frowning-rumpled-coated woman with her eyes half closed, shrugged, and yelled, "NEXT!"

I had my coat off in advance. I didn't think she would make me put it back on. I stood back and tried to feel charming. The flash went off and the DMV woman paused and then shrugged her shoulders. I bet my eyes were half closed too.

But I won't find out for another two to four weeks. All I got for my two hours of waiting was a junky piece of paper with my name, social security number, and receipt for the $40 processing fee.

We will know in two to four weeks just how mean that surly DMV woman really is.

Things that happened since last I blogged:

  • I turned 27
  • I got a new dresser
  • Brian shoved the old dresser in pieces down the trash chute and got yelled at by our super.
  • I threw myself a big fat birthday party
  • We fit 45 people into our studio apartment
  • I had a bit too much to drink
  • I fell off a stool while dancing and bruised my rump
  • And still, I was in bed by 2:30
  • Brian and I saw I Vitelloni
  • I bought myself a new scanner
  • I scanned in these Polaroids from the party
  • My friend Amy Lee Fishman Cooper turned 26
  • I finally finished reading Anna Karenina

    As you can see, I've been tremendously busy lately. I also wrote another couple paragraphs. But then I felt lousy about myself and erased them. I am very far behind on my cosmic plan for stardom. I was to have published a story by 25 and have gotten my first book deal by 30. I have just turned 27 and I can't even finish this short little essay I've started. It really bums me out. Since crazy people love lists, I'll start a new one.

    Things I didn't think I'd have by 27, but do:

  • A husband
  • Gray hair
  • My uncle's apartment on the upper east side
  • A job that does not employ any of my marketable skills
  • Marketable skills
  • A taste for yoga
  • A website dedicated to myself.

    Things I hoped I would have by 27, but don't

  • A published story
  • Fame and/or fortune
  • An apartment on the lower east side
  • A bohemian lifestyle.
  • A calm and expansive understanding of our universe
  • One of those miniature shopping carts
  • A dog named Trotsky

    Things I hoped I would have by 27, and do:

  • At least 45 friends
  • A close relationship with my younger sister
  • A black turtleneck

    Since Jenny's doing it, so will I.
    Google searches which resulted in hits to Debcentral:

    jared fogle jewish
    "down with love" girdle
    "human organs for transplant" bag
    addresses of socialites manhattan
    blackout picture august 14
    cottonelle puppy commercial
    pee wee herman myers briggs
    alka seltzer pigeon
    "coughing up yellow\green phlegm "
    tampa bay buccaneers birthday ecard
    gossip clare balding
    Okay. That's enough. The big news is that Brian purchased a DVD of Palestinian film Divine Intervention off of ebay last week. It came in the mail yesterday, and I think we will watch it tonight. We are very excited. Apparently, it has not been released yet here in the United States, so we had to purchase it from some fellow in Canada. We are so cutting edge.

    My cold is almost all gone. I practiced yoga last night with a quasi-runny nose. I stored tissues under my mat for easy accessibility and convenience. When I was finished practicing, I rolled my mat up and began walking out when my teacher said, "Kleenex?" Because I am an idiot, I said, "No thanks. I'm fine." He said again, "Kleenex? Are you planning on leaving them here?" He pointed to a sad rumpled pile of used tissues which had previously been residing beneath a corner of my mat. Somehow, I managed to un-hygenicaly forget about them. I don't enjoy being associated with dirty tissues.

    I'm dreaming of soup.

    As much as I like the idea of a 3:30 Happy Hour I have discovered that it is a thing of much evil. When you start drinking before dinner, you drink instead of eating dinner. Then you shout dumb things in peoples face. Than you try illustrating how you had once broke your nose in yoga in this certain dangerous pose. Then you fall over and almost break your nose again. Eventually, you take a cab home and pass out before 9 pm.

    And then you wake up with a start at 4 in the morning feeling so idiotic that you want to jump out of your own skin. Well, you do all this if you are me.

    So we (you and I) are going easy on the 3:30 happy hours.

    I am writing something new, something I just might finish. Yea! The bar is set so low. My second short fiction piece in over two years. I am writing about going apartment hunting with a fictional friend Nam Sueman. No. Actually, the story is all based on a real event which took place while apartment hunting with Sam Neuman. To protect the innocent, the character based on Sam is called "Sam." The protagonist and narrator is "Deb." Looks promising, no?

    Brian and I visited Uncle Ira in his new digs yesterday. Manhattan Psychiatric Center looked more like a real hospital . . . FULL OF CRAZY PEOPLE! While at the prison, you mostly have contact with other guards, at the civil facility, all kinds of crazies are roaming the grounds, moaning, their mouths full of half-eaten food. They ask for cigarettes, change, pizza. They wear sweat pants. Their hair is awry.

    I think of our arrival like that scene from Thriller when all the undead people surround Michael Jackson and a menacing way, and that one blueish undead fellow opens his mouth, and dark viscous blood oozes out. Not too sounds too melodramatic, but it was a little like that. But instead of being undead, they were crazy, and instead of wanting our souls, they asked for cigarettes, change, and pizza. They were dressed about as smartly as the undead, but probably couldn't dance as well.

    No, really. It wasn't all that bad. But my uncle was very displease with the whole situation. In response to our question of how was he feeling, he said, "I'm not doing worse. Worse is doing me." Oh, Uncle Ira. Always so witty.

    Last night, I sold my broken umbrella to a stranger for $4.
    Avery, Sam, and I ran into a couple huddling under the awning of an upper-east side drinking establishment. It had been raining all day. The man said, "How much you want for that umbrella? I'll give you five bucks."

    "This umbrella?" I asked, holding it up.

    "Yeah. It's small. I'll give you four dollars."

    "But it's broken."

    "Three dollars. I'm just going to use it to run down the block. Three dollars, and when I'm finished, I'll throw it in the street."

    "In the street?"

    "I don't care about the goddamn umbrella," the man said. "I just need it to get down the block." The woman he was with was curled into the crook of his arm. "If you want the freaking umbrella back, follow me down the block and pick it up out of the street."

    Avery and Sam urged me to sell the umbrella. Avery said, "Hell. It's beer money."

    I looked down at my little broken umbrella, then back at the couple under the awning. Umbrella. Couple. Reluctantly, I handed it over.

    The man fanned out several singles. "Here's three dollars. Here's four. Four dollars for your goddamn umbrella."

    The woman thanked me. Avery and Sam laughed. Both had umbrellas. We walked uptown, and I walked between them. I was four dollars richer, but inside, I felt dirty.

    Debcentral is usually not too political, but two things recently have really gotten on my nerves:

    The first is this partial birth abortion hookum. I can't even talk about it, because my face turns deep red and my head begins to spin around. I have written and erased many incoherant thoughts on the evilness and ridiculousness of the topic. But I will say: People making policy on woman's reproductive rights=well-fed white men living off my tax dollars.

    I wish someone would partially abort our crappy president.

    Zoiwee! That was a zinger!

    Next topic: Britney Spears' VH1 Behind the Music. Why do I care, you ask? Because I cannot spend a peaceful evening watching I love the 80's without seeing a commercial with that flake-o looking dreamily into the camera and saying, "Ever since I was little I always knew I was different."

    Yes, she was different because she had parents who were ever-ready to sell their daughter's money-maker for a few quick bucks. As the pirates say: Arrrrgh!

    I just felt I had to vent.

    Sam and Talia did it again.
    They are the reining king and queen of the double feature. On Saturday night, we traveled up to Columbia to see Sam's cousin perform in the student play Love and Literature. Like many student plays, it was performed in a black box theater in the basement of a dorm. Like many student plays, it involved awkward dialogue such as, "Don't close the book on this relationship," "You can't just put me back on the shelf like one of your novels," and "I want to be done with this chapter of my life."

    Also, like many student plays, the actors experimented with shades of nudity. We sat only five feet away from the scantily clad actors as they performed their lovers' romp, and like most mature adults viewing a student play, we giggled and squirmed uncomfortably. At one point, Heather Scott, who was there as well, whispered "I wonder if they're going to do it."

    The play was free, and Sam's cousin, who was not the lead character, was actually quite good. Then we traveled downtown to see Matt and Ben at midnight. Talia had finagled free tickets for us. The play was really cute--Matt Damon and Ben Affleck as played by two women--and it was wonderfully mean. When the play let out, Grammy Schwartz and Grampy Geller were almost asleep. So that was Saturday.

    Presently, I believe I have a cold. My nose is runny and my head is foggy. The day is foggy. The director of the Museum stopped me in the hall to tell me he accidentally found my site on the internet. He liked my rejection letters. He said both he and his brother actually framed their rejection letters to Yale University. He is very cool. Still, having my dumb website discovered accidentally by the director of the Museum makes me feel embarrassed and ashamed.

    I created in August of 2001 as a lark and a way to teach myself HTML while searching for employment and seeking my star. I have maintained this site for over two years, and still no one has discovered me and made me famous. So why do I keep it up? Thank you Jenny Miller for introducing me to googlism and reminding me for the site's raison d'etre.

  • debcentral is the way you really put yourself out there
  • debcentral is also a very popular answer to the google image search for "nude+couple"

    Keep on trucking.

    Our costumes were less than a success.
    We dressed up as Hall and Oates. We looked more like Groucho Marx and Andy Warhol. The party at Heather Scott’s. She had wine and vodka and punch and jell-o shots. Alison Adleman and I were more conservative in our drinking, but Brian got quite convivial.

    Early Saturday morning, Brian got quite sick. On the bath mat. After we through bath mat into a grocery bag and after Brian went back to sleep, I stayed up and uploaded our party pictures. Here they are.

    And guess who’s been calling us again? None other than Clark Kent. My multimedia resources are limited, but I tried recording the answering machine message as a .wav file. It’s a rather a primitive attempt at a multimedia experience. Enjoy!

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