Stuff and Things

i don’t know why the passage of time still manages to surprise me with the way it just marches ahead and disregards everything else around it. but here i am again, bemoaning the changing of the seasons, lamenting over the lost summer and marveling at the fact that november is around the corner, dragging a gaggle of holidays behind it.

and then comes the new year, which will certainly pass in a flash, leaving me all agog again at how fleeting its appearance was. it’s become a ritual at this time of year when i look around and take inventory and feel largely displeased. without fail, i’m always disappointed in myself that i haven’t done MORE — what MORE means i’m never really sure. maybe i could have done more “to get ahead,” even though i don’t really know what getting ahead means either.

i certainly know i could have updated this blog more, especially in october, which was a whirlwind of activity for me. both september and october, in fact, were a little nutty with their boundless productivity, freelance work, travel and socializing. i guess they make up for my lackluster summer, which never really seemed to get off the ground.

it was unseasonably cold all summer, so cold that i never once fired up the grill, and instead spent my time ambling through the mundane in solitary confinement. i saw little incentive in breaking out of that routine, where life was calm and predictable. there were storms, yes, but they raged only inside. it was not the summer i expected when i sashayed through my birthday party in a red dress, but i see it now as the summer i needed to ground and center me.

these past two months changed all that by turning life into an endless stream of comings and goings. beyond the east coast train trip in september (which i intend to finish chronicling), i made a trip to the pacific northwest in october, first flying into Portland to visit with family and then driving up to Seattle with friends to witness the nuptials of one of my favorite couples, Nick + Zee.

it was a lovely long weekend, a four-day vacation spent socializing, eating and laughing. i played with my cousin’s kids, squeezed in afternoon bubble bath and enjoyed an incredible dinner at one of Portland’s swankiest restaurants, where i sampled bison tartar. then came one raucous night in Seattle, which started with the wedding and ended in a downtown pub crawl and search for an elusive after-party that was never found, so a hot dog cart had to make due. there i learned a very important lesson: hot dogs with cream cheese and sauteed onions are delicious.

the most amazing thing about the weekend? not a drop of rain fell on the usually rainy pacific northwest during my visit. the day i returned to LA, however, a week-long rain storm kicked into gear on my drive home from the burbank airport. a week later, i would have strep throat and have to go on a 10-day cycle of antibiotics, which i’m still finishing up.

no complaints, though. i had an awesome time, a time i am trying to remind myself of as i sit and stare into the eyes of november with thoughts about how i haven’t done enough this year “to get ahead.” truth is i have done plenty this year — from Landmark to leaving a relationship that was no longer working for me to writing articles for publication to reawakening my spiritual self with the help of chakra clearings and meditation to visiting old friends on the east coast and in the northwest to getting a roommate and making new friends to landing new freelance clients.

a lot has happened, some of it bad but most of it very good. it should be enough to make me feel like i’m “getting ahead”; it should be enough to quell the restlessness that has plagued me my entire life.

but it never is.

Vacation 2010: The Newseum in Washington, D.C.

the daytrippers: when we weren’t eating, drinking and laughing with my family in Baltimore, my parents and i managed to squeeze in a daytrip to Washington, D.C., which is roughly a 90-minute car ride away. we split up when we got there, with my folks heading to the Smithsonian Museum to drool over the Hope Diamond and me heading to The Newseum to drool over the museum for journalism.



congress shall make no law: i cannot recommend this place enough. as someone with a degree in journalism, visiting a place that celebrates the news so enthusiastically was thrilling. here, i was the proverbial kid in the candy store, ambling excitedly through the exhibitions and turning occasionally to strangers to exclaim, “isn’t this awesome?”



among the awesomeness: the restrooms in the Newseum were tiled with headlines gone wrong that were hilarious enough to make me consider sneaking into the men’s bathroom to read more doozies.



equally awesome: the walls of the place were peppered with quotes about journalism that made me smile wide with dumb pride. another one i particularly liked: “If the First Amendment means anything, it means that a state has no business telling a man, sitting alone in his own house, what books he may read or what films he may watch.” — Justice Thurgood Marshall, U.S. Supreme Court



the exhibitions: none of them were the least bit partisan beyond advocating for complete freedom of the press. most of the major exhibitions centered on the biggest news events of our time, such as the fall of communism and the dismantling of the Berlin Wall. sections of the wall were on display as was the pen Mikhail Gorbachev used to sign a treatise that effectively ended the Soviet era.



another headliner: given that my visit occurred in early september, about a week before the ninth anniversary of 9/11, seeing this collection of front pages from 9/12 made it feel as though it just happened. the exhibition also featured a mangled piece of metal from one of the collapsed Twin Towers.





another disaster: Katrina was the subject of another exhibition and featured several relics, many of which were visibly water damaged. a wall of front pages after the disaster was also included.





all shook up: i didn’t really understand why Elvis Presley had his own exhibition here (and why it was so heavily trafficked). i get that he was a newsmaker, but doesn’t he have his own museum already — a place called Graceland? take note, Newseum curators. let’s keep out the fluff, ‘k?



speaking of fluff: the gift store at the Newseum was full of awesome, featuring famous framed front pages (“Dewey Beats Truman”) and newsy knickknacks, such as a mug that read, “Not tonight, dear. I’m on deadline.” i thought the newsboy caps were a particularly brilliant addition.





also brilliant: the design of the building, WOW. it was stunning from every angle, inside and out. the Newseum is on Pennsylvania Avenue, close to the Capitol and directly across the street from the National Gallery of Art. its seven floors appear to be constructed mainly of titanium and glass and are designed to mimic portions of a newspaper. the place is also huge. i spent four hours there and probably saw only 70% of the collection.





reporter’s notebook: in addition to several screening rooms and computer kiosks where visitors can leave comments, the Newseum is full of interactive exhibitions, including this game where two teams can play against each other to build a newspaper by answering ethics questions. i played handicap with the girls in the photo, me against the three of them, because i knew i could take these bitches.



pwned! i won the game, building my newspaper in what i’m sure was a record time — all thanks to Bryce Nelson, the awesome ethics professor whose class i took when i was getting my masters. naturally, the girls were impressed with my genius and asked how i became so knowledgeable about journalistic ethics. high off my victory, i blurted out, “because i’m a journalist!” which was received with the requisite chorus of oooohs and ahhhs. then one of the bitches had to ruin it by asking me where i worked, to which i stammered, “oh, you know, the internet mostly. i write a blog, but, you know, i write for other publications, too. i’m not only a blogger. actually, it’s really hard to explain. i gotta go. bye!”



hall of fame: the Newseum has a collection of all the Pulitzer Prize-winning photos taken since 1942, when the prize was established. needless to report, i spent a lot of time here looking at the photos, all of which were remarkable. (and no, i did not tell strangers i was a photographer.)





i hope you can read this (click here if you can’t): thank you, Newseum, for a terrific day that reminded me of every reason i ever wanted to become a journalist. hopefully, i will be one again, one who records more than just the mundane aspects of her life on a blog. until then, i take my hat off to those who are doing the hard work, serving as the watchdogs of democracy and writing the first draft of history.

a bunch more Newseum photos are in the slideshow below — and include more prize-winning photographs, political comics, erroneous headlines, gift shop items and exhibitions i haven’t covered here — though if you’re really curious, i suggest visiting my Flickr page for this set to see bigger versions of the images. better yet, just go to D.C. to see this place for yourself.

One-Hit Wonders: September 2010

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Vacation 2010: Baltimore, Maryland

warning: this blog post contains photos of russian food, vodka and members of my big fat russian family. these elements were the main fixtures of the first stop of my train tour up the east coast: Baltimore, Maryland, where my father’s two siblings and their families live. my parents and i paid them a visit over the recent Labor Day holiday. hijinks and hilarity ensued. well, not really, but a lot of drinking, eating and laughing did.



la migra! i hope you know this about me already, but considering that my closest friends forget that i am foreign-born, please make a note that i was not born in the U.S. despite how americanized i seem. i immigrated (legally) from what was then the Soviet Union (now Ukraine) with my family when i was 3 years old. this was in 1979 when an exodus of jews with “political refugee” status left the former U.S.S.R. for greener pastures and greater opportunities.



my pops and his siblings: i came over with my parents and most of my mom’s side of the family, but my dad’s side stayed behind until the 1990s, when they began making their way over, landing in Baltimore. my pops, left, is the youngest of his three siblings, who are actually half siblings born of the same mother.



my baba Anna: my grandma’s first husband died in the war, leaving her with two small children whom her second husband (my pops’ dad) adopted and raised as his own. sadly, she passed a few years after immigrating to Baltimore. while we were in town, we made sure to visit her grave, leave her flowers and tell her that we miss her very much. she was a good grandma.



the food: oh, the food. russian food is really in a class of its own. given the climate, there’s not much seasonal, fresh, organic fare crowding russian menus. however, there are a lot of potatoes, beets, pickled things, salty fish, cured meats and colorful salads. the cholesterol and fat content are off the charts. admittedly, i don’t love all of it (aspic is pretty gross), but the food i do love (hello, salty fish!), i love immensely.



speaking of love: i know this is gross to most, but sardines are one of the great loves of my life. (herring, too!) i eat canned sardines weekly, usually in a homemade pate with hard-boiled eggs and mayo, and hit up a nearby armenian store to get my herring fix. i’m also in love with sprats, pictured above, which are small, sardine-like fish from the Baltics that are delicious beyond measure. so delicious i could lick my computer screen.



the family: considering the amount of food that was prepared, it made sense to invite a lot of family over to consume it. the party was at my cousin’s house, in his disco basement, which is wallpapered with faux brick.



100 grams: vodka shots for russians consist of 100 grams (“zhto grahm”) taken in one fell swoop after a toast is given. here, my pops is giving one of the first toasts of the night (many more followed). in typical jewish fashion, the toast sounded something like, “i’m happy that we’re all gathered here for a joyous occasion instead of a sad one, like a funeral.” good one, pops!



l’chaim! my cousin, Oleg, also gave a toast. it was decidedly less morbid and amounted to, “thanks for swinging by. drink up!”



my cute moms! she was there, too, looking beautiful as always and partying it up like it was 1981.



speaking of 1981: this is a picture of my parents taken in that year when they were fresh off the boat and partying like rock stars. (yes, i know i look just like my mom.) i have this photo framed in my house. it’s hard to tell, but my pops has a gold front tooth in the shot. he was so gangster!



back at the party: the karaoke machine, disco ball and flashing neon lights were fired up and ready to go. just add drunk people.



and here are some now: my cousin’s kid, Alisa, took her new American boyfriend, Eric, to the festivities, where he sampled the weird food, met the crazies and witnessed the chaos that is a family gathering. considering that he didn’t bolt toward the door screaming, i’d say he’s a keeper.



me and my favorite uncle: he’s a little bit famous and all kinds of awesome. a well-respected mathematician — first in Russia and now in the U.S. — my uncle is endlessly fascinating and exceptionally smart, a true russian intellectual. but throw him and my pops together with a bottle of vodka and prepare for the stories of grade school misbehavior to unfold. lets just say i learned a lot about my pops as a young man during this visit. gangster indeed.



not so hard anymore: the angioplasty he had earlier this year really did a number on his heart, making it so open that the slightest provocation of sentimentality renders him weepy and emotional. once a sergeant in the red russian army, my pops is a big ole softie now. and i am still his little girl who thinks he is the greatest man on earth.



another daddy’s girl: seeing my family interact, you’d think we were all molesting each other given the way everyone feels everyone else up at every opportunity. but the truth is that we have always been an affective bunch, even without the vodka.



now you tell me! i found a book of translated russian proverbs at my cousin’s house, many of which made no sense. i’ve been hearing proverbs like these all my life, usually from my mom, who once told me, “don’t be so dumb that you don’t notice the piece of herring on your face.” sure thing, mom!



cheers (again)! i’m sure there are a lot of great tourist things to do in Baltimore, but i did none of them. aside from a day trip to Washington, D.C., to visit the Newseum, which will be featured in the next post, i spent my three days in town shuffling between relatives’ houses — moving from one meal to the next, one toast to the other. despite how tedious that sounds, i had the time of my life and i can’t wait to go back.

more family shots in the slideshow:

Eat, Laugh, Sit

considering that i explored the West Coast on last year’s vacation — a roadtrip titled Eat, Drive, See — i decided to go East for this year’s vacation, a 10-day long train trip that had me sitting on the Amtrak, traveling from Maryland to Maine. i made six stops along the way, visited with seven friends and slept in five different beds.

the stops included Baltimore, Maryland, for a visit with my big fat russian family (my parents were also there); a day trip to Washington, D.C., for a visit to the amazing Newseum; several days in Newport, Rhode Island, for nonstop laughs with old friends i knew when i lived in San Francisco; an overnight trip to Portland, Maine, for a visit with a cherished friend i hadn’t seen in 10 years; one night in Jersey City, New Jersey, hunting for guidos with my former doppelganger, whom i also knew from my SF days; and a few final nights in New York City for a visit with my favorite girlfriends from my grad school days at USC.

in short, it was an AWESOME vacation. it was also exhausting, mostly delightful, and sometimes insightful, producing many good times i’ll recount here in the coming weeks through a series of photo essays. but as good as it was, i was happy to come home again, to sleep in my own bed again, to brew my own coffee again and to see my cute pups again, who appear cuter than before.

because as much as i like the east coast — and i do really like it, A LOT — and as many fantasies as i have about winning the lottery and moving to a penthouse near the Park on the Upper West Side, i love Los Angeles infinitely more. and the ear-to-ear grin that spreads across my face when i’m flying into LAX and start seeing the city lights that mark the start of my big and complicated city lets me know that i only have one home. it’s a sweet home and it’s where my heart lives and it’s where i live, too.

Los Angeles, i’m yours.

My New Roommate

this post is terribly overdue. i will blame the delay on work again, as that’s proven to be a good scapegoat for all the things i’ve been too lazy to accomplish this past month. of course, this is a lousy excuse because welcoming a new roommate into my life and home is BIG news, so BIG that i hit the CAPS LOCK button.

her name is WENDY, though she’s known in other circles as Guendy, Schmendel, Lorenza and Monita. but to me she’s just Wendy, with a nickname pending, though i’m leaning toward Honey — as in, “hi, Honey! i’m home!”

i’ve actually known Wendy for about five years, three of which she spent dating my crazy spanish friend Juan. then they split and she moved to texas, which is where she grew up, though i try not to hold that against her. fast forward to two months ago when Wendy was looking to move back to LA for work. since i had an empty second bedroom to spare and a mortgage to pay, i offered up the room and in she moved. that was around the 4th of July.

i will confess that i was super nervous before she moved in, with thoughts of “what have i done?!” swirling in my brain. at that point, i had my house back to myself for only a month and was beginning to enjoy the cozy solitude of living alone again, something i had not done in four years.

in general, i love the freedom that comes with living alone. i also have several Secret Single Behaviors that i indulge in regularly, some of which involve walking around the house in my underwear, a mud mask drying on my face and sesame oil lathered onto my skin. i worried i’d have to give those up. i also worried about how two girls would handle sharing one bathroom. and could i fart in front of her? and what if she hated my music?

thankfully, my paranoia waned within hours of her moving in and continued to evaporate in the weeks that followed, a time when our home seemed to transform into a sorority house. and by that, i don’t mean that we stayed up late having pillow fights in our underwear, only that we stayed up late drinking cheap wine and talking about boys.

fast forward to now and we’re still doing that on occasion, in addition to the occasional dinner and drinks date that we seem to be having weekly. in fact, we seem to have slipped into a bonafide relationship with clearly defined routines and roles. and guess who the butch is?

yep, i’m the one tasked with killing the spiders, taking out the trash, getting items from the hard-to-reach cabinets and telling her she looks pretty in her outfit. in exchange, she cooks many of the meals, wipes down the stove and brings me cheesecake. oh, did i mention that she works for the Cheesecake Factory? and did i mention that cheesecake has been my weakness since, like, forever? this coincidence is nothing short of poetic.

our whole setup is rather poetic, bringing me far more joy than i ever thought it would. i miss Wendy when she’s gone. we email each other throughout the day. we sit on the deck and talk almost every night, sharing our reflections on the day and exchanging our insights into the daily dilemmas we both encounter. she is my surrogate boyfriend — but far cleaner and less hairy — shepherding me through my recent dark days and encouraging me through my more triumphant ones.

and while our relationship may be short on romance, it’s long on companionship and i’m optimistic about our future together. so far that future has us shacking up until the end of the year, at which point we will re-evaluate the situation. along the way, we plan to host some mixers and dinner parties at the house, and will likely continue spending many evenings talking late into the night — our smiles wide, our laughs plentiful, our conversations meaningful, and our glasses locked in a toast that celebrates our happy home.

One-Hit Wonders: August 2010

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Metacritic Triple Feature

here’s proof that all the time i’ve spent neglecting this blog has been time well spent. i’m pretty stoked to be writing about reality television, a long-standing guilty pleasure of mine. now if i could only figure out how to parlay my addiction to taco sauce into a career, i’d be set.

the first article ranks the 10 best and 5 worst reality TV competitions of all time. i’ll confess only to you guys that i haven’t seen all the shows i ranked, just read about them online, but i definitely plan to see VH1’s “Tool Academy” because a show that turns douchebag reform into a competitive sport sounds awesome.

Ranked: TV’s Best and Worst Reality Competition Shows
When Survivor and Big Brother premiered in 2000, the competitive reality show was all but unheard of. By 2003, the Emmys had created an award for Outstanding Reality-Competition Program, which followed on the heels of the award for Outstanding Reality Program, created in 2001. In 2008, the hosts of reality programs were honored with a category of their own.

Today, there are schools for people who aspire to be contestants on reality competitions. And there are competitions that test virtually everything — from one’s kitchen skills to modeling chops to design expertise, with prizes that include professional contracts, cash money and even the chance to...

next up is a ranking of “Bachelor” and “Bachelorette” seasons, which didn’t go over very well with the Metacritic crowd, who left very few comments on the piece, most of which amounted to “these shows suck and i can’t believe you bothered to rank them.” whatever, cool guys. i had fun writing this and, most importantly, i got paid to do it.

Ranked: Best and Worst Seasons of The Bachelor/The Bachelorette
We can only imagine how insane industry types thought the idea for The Bachelor was when they first heard it in 2001. Find love on a reality TV competition? Who would sign up for that? And the final couple is supposed to get engaged at the end of the season after dating for only six weeks? Surely, no one is that foolish. But foolish they were and they did sign up in droves, producing 14 seasons of the hit series and six of its spin-off, The Bachelorette.

Hosted by the timeless Chris Harrison, the franchise has kept a loyal following through the years of contestant cattiness, whirlwind dates in faraway places, hot tub make-out sessions and, of course, the most dramatic rose ceremonies...

finally, we have a list of must-see reality TV premiering this fall. worst thing about this article is that the “Untitled David Hasselhoff Project” had not yet released details at presstime so the show had to be omitted from the list. (i’ll catch you next season, Hoff!) best thing about this article is the first comment: “Cool, more partisan leftist ideological hackery soaking through even the most politcally irrelevant articles. And the left wonders why the rest of America is so fed up.” i love the internet!

Fall Reality TV Preview: 15 New & Returning Shows
As the summer winds down and kids start getting ready for school, the fall lineup of reality TV programming follows, with the networks rolling out a show for every night of the week. The crop of returning series this season is mostly predictable, with tried-and-true reality favorites such as Survivor, The Apprentice, America’s Next Top Model and The Amazing Race — all of which are premiering a double-digit season. Shows featuring trainwrecks are also making a comeback, as evidenced by Hoarders and Celebrity Rehab With Dr. Drew.

The new series include Sarah Palin’s shamelessly self-promoting TLC special on the great state of Alaska, plus MTV’s intriguing take on documentary filmmaking, The World of Jenks. This season also debuts recession-themed programming, seen in the WE’s new series Downsized and the unemployed executives competing on...

Chakra Kadabra

needless to say, these past few months have been a bit wonky for me, with fallout that i’m still trying to process. if i’m proud of anything at all, it’s that my process as a 34-year-old is so much healthier than it was at 24 when i was more prone to self-destructive behavior. all i will say about that time is thank god this blog didn’t exist back then.

today, my process is much tamer, borderline boring even, as i meditate and do yoga through my stress. i’ve also been spending a lot of time alone, working mostly, but also sitting and thinking, with a restlessness pulling at my insides. it’s a restlessness i know all too well, nondescript but imposing, this time pulling me toward something rather than spinning in place as it has before. until about a month ago, it had been pulling at me nonstop. my choice to attend the Landmark Forum in april was likely a part of its pull, drawing me toward anything that looked like it could help me through my flux.

it’s a mixed bag for me, this self-help stuff. generally, i like some of it, up until the point that i begin to hate it, at which point i hate all of it with a passion. Landmark was a good example of this hatred, with its churchy dogma and stupid lingo of affirmations that required me to submit to them at the expense of everything i knew to be true. fuck that.

self-help books also evoke this hatred, as i cannot get through a single chapter of a self-help book without wanting to vomit. to me, they are like romantic comedies — with the same predictable formula dressed up in new packaging. uninspired and insipid. you’ve read one, you’ve read them all. fuck them, too.

i hear therapy is good, though i’ve never been despite all my closest friends telling me i should go. (what’s up with that, anyway?) but i worry that my bachelors in psychology will render me the Worst Patient Ever, one who will get up and leave the instant i hear the shrink say, “that must have been really hard for you. talk to me about how that made you feel.” yeah, fuck you, too.

i don’t do pills either. i don’t doubt that others need theirs and i don’t judge them for it. they can take their xanax, valium, prozac, lithium and oxycontin. i really don’t care. personal choices are personal. and my personal choices will have me finding joy in my dogs, my friends, fine food, good music, books and art. the meditation, yoga and time alone have also worked wonders. but still, that damn restlessness keeps pulling.

recently, its pull led me to the door of a psychic, who was really more of a healer. she came highly recommended, so i traveled to Cambria for an overnight trip with a friend to see her. i met her for about an hour and a half of conversation and a clearing of the chakras. i’ve seen my fair share of psychics before, one of them very good, but most of them bad to average.

as a psychic, Darcy wasn’t particularly extraordinary. she did see a few things about the future, none of which i care to share here and all of which she qualified with the disclaimer that she’s taking my temperature only on that day and that we could have a different reading on another day. free will and those pesky personal choices make very few things in life preordained.

we talked a little about the past, which i already know, so there’s little point in talking about it. she did see a few things, among them my father’s recent heart problem, which she said has resolved itself for now, which is good. she said my own health was also good. then she told me that one of the “guides” watching over me is a grandmother whose name has an E and N in it. (my maternal grandma’s name was Eugenia.)

then i laid down on a massage table for the chakra clearing and that’s when she really earned her wage. the seven chakras are new agey shit i can really get behind. yoga and meditation had introduced me to them already, but i never had them cleared so i didn’t know what to expect.

Darcy started at my base chakra and worked her way up to my head, her hands not really touching me, just hovering over my body. as she moved up my spine, she would stop and see things. she saw where i was in my cycle, she saw that the titanium rods in my back were near my heart chakra. she said i was too tethered to the past and needed to let it all go, and at one point “pulled out the tethers.” she saw where there were blockages (my third eye chakra) and where there were none (my throat chakra, which she said was clear because i “speak my truth”). she finished by “shooting some light into my spine” and sending positive energy through my body.

the clearing must have lasted less than half an hour. oddly, i didn’t really feel any sensation in my body during the process, not even tingles. but when she was done, wow, did i ever feel amazing. my back felt super straight, my head clear and light, my body perfectly balanced. i was relaxed but awake, calm but energized, as though i had just emerged from a spa. and that pesky restlessness had finally ceased. i took a walk in town afterwards, drank tea (which i rarely drink) and bought a moonstone ring at a local shop. everything was wonderful and illuminated. i was happy and serene.

that evening, i enjoyed a laughter-filled dinner with my friend and a night of dreamless sleep. as we drove back to LA the following day, the goodness didn’t subside, staying with me for an additional few days. then the tide turned and the bloodletting began.

apparently, chakra clearings can produce some intense side effects that include crying fits, feelings of dread and obsessive thoughts about failed relationships. of course, this disclaimer was nowhere on the warning label. but here came the sorrow, pouring out of me like a fountain of vomit and, despite my best efforts, i could not stuff that genie back in the bottle. i was a mess. so i let it pour and pour it did. for two solid weeks, there were tears, vodka drinks and the replaying of far too many sad songs. it was awesome!

actually, it sucked ass, but it also needed to happen. i knew i had been avoiding the heavy processing i needed to do — taking refuge in work, in my bravado, anything that would distract me from the restless pull that needed to pull me to the ground. of course it won out in the end, as it always has, pulling me to the door of the healer who worked her magic on me and gave me not what i wanted, but what i needed.

now, four weeks after the clearing, i am feeling loads better despite the occasional pulls into mess mode. but i don’t fight them anymore. i let the visits come and snake around me, suffocating me momentarily before releasing their grip and taking the sorrow with them when they leave. i know the visits will become less frequent with time. and i know i’ll keep pushing through them because i have to.

Gone, Baby, Gone

all the comments from the first seven years of this blog have vanished. i’m trying to be all zen about it, but i’m royally pissed off. i’m mostly pissed at myself for ignoring the emails i got notifying me that my old comments service provider, Haloscan, was being taken over and dissolved, taking its database of comments with it.

i should have paid more attention to it, i realize, but i was busy breaking up with my boyfriend and trying to keep my head screwed on. i couldn’t be bothered. so now i’ve been bothering the customer service reps who work for Haloscan’s new owner, Echo, who keep telling me, “your comments are now GONE. didn’t you get our emails?” yes, yes, i got them but aren’t they tucked away somewhere safe? nothing ever really disappears from the internets, right?

ok, so no comments. i’m sure i’ve reread them more than anyone else did, and i will miss them more than anyone else will. it’s all very sad. RIP, my little friends. maybe i should throw them a funeral. or maybe you all should go back and leave some new comments on old posts. we can re-live 2005 together.

in other news, something else important has disappeared: my free time. these past few weeks have buried me under a pile of freelance work that i’m not even close to digging my way out of. august will be my busiest month of this year, with looming deadlines for a magazine i copy edit, a website i’m helping to launch and articles i’ve promised to write. this means blogging will be light this month, which sucks because i have news to share about my awesome new roommate, my visit to a psychic and even a new home improvement chronicle.

on the bright side, my wallet will be heavy, which is good because mama needs a new couch. i also need a massage, a facial, a vacation, a gardener and a cabana boy to peel me grapes. for now, though, i’ll settle for just a little more sleep. the past few weeks have been stressful and the next few will be even worse. but when they’re done, hopefully i can have some serious fun.