on nauseating films, new frontiers and newark

How is it Monday already? HOW? Someone really needs to look into reversing the ratio of weekdays to weekend days. This 5:2 business blows big hairy... toes. Yes, toes. I'm trying not to be so vulgar. It's a stipulation in my taxi-cab contract, if you'll recall.

Did you have a good weekend? Mine was rather decent, I must say. On Friday, I saw Pan's Labyrinth with The Adorable Meg. I didn't know a whole lot about the story going in but I knew that the film was on a bunch of Top 10 lists and I wanted to see it. I was warned ahead of time by The Hot Russian that it was "brutal" but I assumed she meant that it was brutal in the "bring tissues" sense. But now that I think about it, The Hot Russian, while very Americanized, does not tend to color her vocabulary with alternate and additional meanings of words. She's all about the standard, primary definition. Although, she's a little less literal when she calls me things like "shit head" or "bitch." My head is not comprised of feces nor am I an actual female dog, you see...

I loved Pan's Labyrinth but sweet Jesus, it was gruesome! One moment, it was a visual feast for the eyes and imagination and the next... well, it was just gnarly. Meg was good enough to help me cover my eyes, you know, when she didn't have her face buried in my shoulder during some of the more horrifying scenes. This may sound like a bad review, but I swear, it's not! Go see it. Just don't go without a barf bag if you're the queasy sort.

On Saturday, I got a very cute cut and color. My hair is a rather sweet shade of red and I got an angular cut (shorter in the back, longer towards the front) that makes my curls all springy and bouncy. Later that night, I poured myself into a pair of ass pants, made up my face, applied a shiny pomade to the new coif and made my way into the West Village for a singles mixer. I told NO ONE that I was going because if it sucked, I didn't want to have to relive it in excruciating detail to enquiring minds. I also wanted to spare myself a lecture in case I decided to ditch at the last minute.

But I didn't ditch. I went and I didn't hate it. In fact, I got a couple of phone numbers. I'm very proud of myself. I won't go into too much detail because I've become rather superstitious about dating. It seems the minute I share details with a third party, something goes wrong and then I'm left shame-faced trying to explain what happened and most of the time, I have no idea why. Oh, I hate that! It makes me cranky. Fear not though, if something interesting occurs, you'll be the first ones to know. Until then, patience, my friends.

Last night, I went to Iberia in the Ironbound Section of Newark for dinner. Mmm... Portuguese food. I do believe the restaurant emptied out the Atlantic Ocean to provide the seafood on our table alone. Even better, the bill was $70 for three people and we were all packed to the gills. So awesome.

And yes, I went to Newark, NJ willingly. I grew up not far from there so I have a soft spot for the much-maligned mini metropolis. Shitting on the city of Newark is a well-worn punchline that is most often trotted out by people who've never been (and no, the airport does not count!)

Vitriol directed towards Newark is viral, just like making fun of films like Ishtar or Waterworld. I never even saw those movies but I know enough to cite them as examples of box-office bombs and critical failures. My opinion is based more on osmosis than experience.

I dare say the same goes for Newark's bad reputation. Granted, there are some of you who may have been and legitimately loathe the place but the general consensus seems to be based on hearsay. So, in a sense, Newark is the Howard the Duck of cities. It makes sense that I defend it because, after all, I not only saw Howard the Duck back in the day, I liked it.

Shut.up.

one last helping of leftovers

Oops, I forgot to include this in my Thanksgiving recap...

My Mom: Wow, that's some name Heidi Klum gave her baby.

Yours Truly: I know. It's a mouthful. Maybe it's traditional or something because her husband is from--

My Mom: Seal.

Yours Truly: Huh?

My Mom: Her husband's name is Seal.

Yours Truly: Right... Really? You know who Seal is?

My Mom: I'm not as out of it as you think I am, you know!

Yours Truly: Fair enough.

My Mom: Now what do you think of that Michael Richards character? And can you believe the state of that Britney Spears? Did you see the outfit she was parading around in with that other twit, Paris Hilton?

You know, some people take to rocking chairs and macrame in their retirement. My mother, on the other hand, opts instead for some Rush & Malloy. Hot.

I can't wait to see which celebrities she mercilessly skewers next. If Thanksgiving dinner was any indication, she'll be serving up bitch slaps along with the Christmas ham. I'll keep you posted.

this & that

I just came back from a phenomenal post-holiday department lunch at Bread Bar at Tabla. We made sure to eat plenty as it was paid for by the huge corporate behemoth that employs us. The only problem is, dense meals in the middle of the day really do me in. As we speak, I'm locked in a ferocious battle with the sleepies. I could seriously put my head down on my desk right now and nod off dreaming of rosemary nann and raitas.

I'm also in one of those moods where I don't feel like answering the phone and/or returning calls. The voicemail light on my phone is beckoning but I just don't want to deal. It's not that I'm feeling anti-social... it has more to do with the fact that I'm behind on several freelance projects and don't want to have to fib my way through the progress report. Ugh. Anyone want to subcontract some work from me? I seriously spread myself too thin. If you're into photo editing and research, let me know.

In other news, there's a new dating prospect! However, I don't want to say much yet for fear of jinxing things. I will say that the candidate has been screened by two members of My Esteemed Reader Panel (MERP) and they both approve. Furthermore, she's gorgeous, funny and slightly quirky. I think I'm smitten. It's too early to say for sure but for now, I've got the flutter in my stomach and an ever-present coy smile on my face.

We're having dinner this weekend which will be the true test of our compatibility. Will we be able to sustain conversation? Will our chemistry in real life mirror our email and phone chemistry? More importantly, will she be a belcher? Or will she have hands like Skelator? Is she really a senior citizen masquerading as a 31-year-old woman? Will she have crunchy bangs? Or an affinity for Tweety Bird activewear? Will she wear a rain hat even though it's not raining? How about moon boots or white sweatpants? God, I hope not. Wish me luck, people!

And don't forget to vote for moi in zee Best of Blog Awards. Luckily, I'm not bringing up the rear in my category (so far) but I could still use a few more votes. Thank ya kindly!

10 things I can be sure of over the holidays

No matter the year, the circumstances, the new additions or any other changes, the following are McDimple family holiday traditions I can count on yearly:

10. A book of stamps, shaving gel, razors and Snickers in my Christmas stocking

9. The Mother will inevitably use the word "carcass" when referring to the remnants of the turkey or ham. The rest of the McDimples, particularly me, will be grossed out and will loudly protest her use of that term. However, the rest of them are not grossed out enough to refrain from eating the soup she makes with said carcass. I, on the other hand, am.

8. The Father will pontificate that "Alastair Sim is the best Scrooge ever." He will then scoff at all other comers. That's right, Kelsey Grammar... He's talking about you!

7. The McDimples must pussyfoot around the house while the Mother's sultana cake is in the oven. Loud noises or slamming doors are the bane of the sultana cake's existence, you see. My mother has been known to say, "If you ruin my good cake, I'll flatten ya." It's actually quite charming and not at all violent-sounding when said in a soft Scottish accent.

6. The Father will cram several pieces of candy into his mouth while trying to avoid the watchful eye of the Mother. His hunting and gathering moves are quite stealth but his unnaturally sensitive gullet gives him away each and every time. Peanut M&Ms in particular set off violent coughing fits in this man. After the choking scare has been averted, The Mother scolds him and hides the candy dish while the rest of us mutter under our breath and shoot him dirty looks. Group punishment blows.

5. The Mother will say, "This is too much!! A nice wee box of chocolates or some Licorice Allsorts would have been plenty!" as she opens the many gifts from her children. The Father's favored standard phrase is: "What'nerth are yae doin'?" While we're all moved at their humility, each kid takes a turn issuing an "Oh, shaddup!" or some other variation. Lovingly, of course.

4. I will be tasked with quietly rearranging the Christmas decorations the Father haphazardly places in the family room. When it comes to illuminated ceramics, the man knows no restraint. Mind you, he's a brilliant artisan when it comes to making furniture and other decorative pieces but arranging them is a whole other matter.

3. At 7:00pm EST on Christmas Eve, my parents will wish each other a "Happy Christmas" since by then it's technically Christmas in Scotland. After that, they give us the usual stump speech that goes a little something like this: "In our day, we were happy to get a piece of chocolate and an orange in our stockings. After dinner, we had dumpling and that was our big treat. That was our Christmas and we were glad to have it. It was a simpler time then..." Their storytelling both warms our hearts and shames us simultaneously.

2. The mere mention of Nestor the Long-Eared Christmas Donkey will bring all four McDimple girls close to tears. The one who brought it up will be soundly shushed and the memory of the persecuted wee donkey will be repressed for another year.

1. Diarrhea and regret

friday afternoon slack

As you can see, The Lovely Jess and I are once again hard at work...

Jess: I am making the fattiest fatty dinner ever on Sunday. The Roommate and I have been conspiring

Yours Truly: Ha ha ha. Conspiring. I just had the funniest visual of you two holding clandestine meetings with blueprints and rubbing your hands together all evil-like

Jess: I'm making individual chicken pot pies in a puff pastry and baked apples with butter and brown sugar for dessert

Jess: "How to make our dinner guests have heart attacks"

YT: Are you plotting the course of the cholesterol that will clog up the arteries? "If I add an extra 1/2 cup of butter, it will ensure rapid arterialsclerosis (sp?) beginning HERE!" [points dramatically at map]

Jess: HA!

YT: "However, if I go easy on the butter and increase the amount of sugar, we're looking at a good chance of diabetes. That might take longer to kick in though and at best, we might only get an amputated limb or some cataracts."

YT: I'm sick. Sick, I tell you. Sick

Jess: That's why I love you

YT: My mother would hang her head in shame if she only knew. You know, I think she'd be more upset about my irreverence than my lesbionic ways

Later...

Jess: Did you watch The Apprentice last night?

YT: Yup!

Jess: I cannot believe how horribly Apex did. It was mind-boggling

YT: I could not figure out why they were at Penn Station handing out ads

Jess: It was really dumb

YT: That's not targeted marketing at all. Stupid, stupid, stupid

YT: I wish the show wouldn't end. I like it far too much

Jess: Me too

YT: Ewwwwwwwwwwwww! Guess what?

Jess: What?

YT: My friend's in-laws somehow indirectly know Raj and they gave Raj her cell phone number!!!! She hasn't watched the show this season so she asked me about him...

Jess: Oh my god

YT: She will HATE him. She is a fiercely independent woman who will kick a man in the balls if he even looks at her funny. I mean, she wishes airborne viruses on people for fuck's sake

Jess: Oh dear

YT: I hate him so much. We were walking around DSW last weekend and I trash-talked him all the way from boots to sneakers

Jess: That's a great line

YT: Why thank you

Jess: You could start a novel with that line

YT: Yup. It's right up there with "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times..."

Jess continues this theme on her blog with another of our deep and probing discussions...

dinner with the mcdimples

To celebrate my father's birthday, I headed out to NJ after work last night for a family dinner. As expected, there was good food, great wine and lots of laughs... mostly at my mother's expense.

My mom has a tendency to recap the week's headlines at the dinner table. If by chance one of us has not heard a certain news story (or even if we have), she proceeds to retell it. At length. And VERY dramatically. She doesn't mean to but when all is said and done, it sounds like she's telling a ghost story. Her eyes widen and she gets a serious look on her face and deepens her voice. All that's missing is the campfire, the flashlight under her chin and the "It was a dark and stormy night..." intro.

She also injects a lot of Scottish-isms into each story. Between that and her Vincent Price-like delivery, it's hard to keep a straight face. She finds it extremely disturbing that her daughters always have to stifle a giggle after she tells a tale of death and destruction. Example: "So the car came tearing down the road going like the hammers and the poor wee woman got knocked down." No one ever gets hit or run over by a car, according to my mother. They get knocked down. This amuses me. And in case you need a translation, "going like the hammers" is shorthand for "going like the hammers of Hell," which means going really fast. Apparently the Devil is a no-nonsense boss who abhors inefficiency. If you get sent Down There, you can expect to be assigned a hammer which you'll have to swiftly swing FOR ETERNITY. No slacking in Hell allowed EVER. Got it?

So last night the mother was using her spooky voice to tell us about some poor kid who was playing with a latex glove and ended up choking on it and dying. We were all in agreement about how tragic and senseless it was. Nothing funny about it. She then went on to lament that the child was alone so there was no one around to perform the "Hemlock Maneuver" on him.

And that's when the dam burst. We snickered and laughed. She got flustered, offered up a few other mangled pronunciations in exchange and then finally told us all to shut up. But even when trying to silence us, she doesn't possess the ability to slap us with an effective, piss-filled "SHADDAP!" As a soft-spoken Scottish woman, the best she can muster is a rather genteel-sounding "Accch, sshhusht you! Away and bury your head!" Which only makes us laugh harder. She just can't win.

beer... it's what's for dinner

I'm home this Friday night and I couldn't be happier about it. I just finished two loads of laundry and now I'm sucking on a Hoegaarden whilst listening to The Cure. It's just like heaven, if you'll pardon the obvious reference.

I had great plans to make myself a home-cooked dinner tonight since I haven't been home most of the week. Dinner this week consisted of Fritos from the vending machine at work (Monday and Tuesday), Gulf tuna at on Wednesday and um... I don't remember what I ate last night. Yesterday was a bit of a blur. But it's 10:40pm and I still haven't eaten a proper meal. Instead, a lovely Belgian beer and selections from the vast Cure discography are my sustenance. I heart the Cure. Their Giants Stadium stop on the Disintegration tour was the first concert I ever attended. I was truly lucky because Love & Rockets and The Pixies (all bow) opened up for them. What a bill!

My second concert was just as cool -- Depeche Mode's Violator tour with special guest Nitzer Ebb. To this day, "Join in the Chant" sends me back to my Doc Marten-wearing days at Aldo's in Lyndhurst, New Jersey. Don't poke fun 'cause it's a Jersey club -- this club will kick your ass up and down the street. Top NYC DJs frequent the place and that English dude who used to be on 120 Minutes used to spin there during that show's heyday. It's got cred and a playlist to die for. I spent many a night there cutting a rug in a fog of dry ice with a 50-cent draft in hand. The other hand was used to sweep my curly locks from my face as I swirled about the dark dance floor. Talk about choreography! Step back, Debbie Allen. Take a seat, Twyla Tharp.

Ah memories of Aldo's.  Despite my lesbionic ways, I'm not really one for ogling women. Except at Aldo's. I wasn't even out during the halcyon days at this establishment but there were glimmers that I was a big ol' dyke waiting to happen. Most obvious were the "funny feeling" and the butterflies that would erupt in my stomach when I'd see women wearing long black skirts, platform-steel-tipped boots and arm-band tattoos writhing to "Cuts You Up." Mmm... goth chicks. To clarify, I don't mean those ones with eye makeup like Alice Cooper and an unhealthy fascination with Anne Rice. You can keep those. I guess I'm more prone to goth lite. Yummy.

Does anyone know of a comparable club in NYC? I want -- nay, need -- to witness women getting down to Apoptygma Berzerk, Wolfsheim, The Jesus and Mary Chain, Peter Murphy/Bauhaus/Love & Rockets, Ministry, Front 242, et al. My mouth foams at the prospect.

cereal monogamy

The past few days I've been craving cereal like a crack fiend. I don't eat meat so when I'm running low on protein and iron, my body is usually pretty conscientious about issuing a craving to satisfy my nutritional needs. I've been known to blurt out "I need cheese" at random times. Most people understand because well, mmm...cheese. I guess I'm low on riboflavin and massive amounts of sugar because my body issued a cereal edict today. So I stopped at Key Food on my way home from work and perused the aisle certain that something would jump out at me right away. And then I saw it... Peanut Butter Toast Crunch. I loves me some peanut butter especially in a bite-sized crunchy format. I rationalized that it would be a better purchase than the Peanut Butter Cap'n Crunch standby because the latter can be a tad rough on the roof of one's mouth. I think I drooled in the aisle anticipating what this new concoction would taste like. I had to resist the urge to rip open the box while waiting to pay for it. Naturally I was stuck behind a woman quibbling with the cashier about whether the ground turkey was on sale or not. Despite my mounting hysteria, I managed to squelch the "Haul ass, bitch!" that was desperately fighting to come out. I then had to battle the need to bust open the box and eat it while walking home. This was a severe jones I was riding out.

I blew off dinner completely and sat my ass in front of the TV with a Yuengling and started tearing at the cardboard. I'm not a big fan of milk so any cereal I eat is straight up, right out of the box. I don't always drink beer with my cereal but this was a special occasion. It was a first date of sorts. I was in such a frenzy that I don't think I even tasted the first few handfuls. When I snapped out of my altered state, I had peanut butter dust all over my black clothes as well as caked on my face. What's even more pathetic is that the cereal wasn't even good. It took me half the box before I realized that it, in fact, sucked. I've never experienced morning-after-a-one-night-stand regret but I think I understand what it feels like now. I'm so sorry I strayed, Cap'n. I remain forever your bitch.

tarot cards & tapas

I unexpectedly ended up going to a press event after work. For reasons I can't really explain, I had my astrological chart done at a function touting nail polish remover. If there's a common thread in there somewhere, I'm just not seeing it. If it was palm reading and Lubriderm, I'd understand but I'm not sure I'm grasping this correlation. To add insult to befuddlement, I totally got weaseled out of my tarot card reading. I do believe one of the organizers was standing behind me giving the "wrap it up" motion about two minutes into my session. I was quickly told to embrace my "odd ways" and to stop being so hard on people. On the upside, I'm going to fall madly in love next year and I was encouraged to either have kids or write a children's book. Apparently, I'm "bursting with content." I personally think the astrologist is bursting with shit.

I then F-trained it downtown to attend a birthday dinner at 1492 where we partook in sangria and yummy tapas. As good as the food was, I'm not sure I fully appreciate the whole sharing of food with complete strangers concept. Half of the table was comprised of people I never met before but that didn't stop them from making short work of my fried calamari. Perhaps it's the PMS but I found myself getting really territorial with my porcini mushroom croquettes. I practically had to throw elbows and slap hands to get one when the waiter brought them to the table. I know the whole tapas thing is supposed to be a communal, shared experience but this was more like a feeding frenzy. Oddly enough, there was a woman sitting next to me named Mako who was super predatory and really efficient whenever a new round of food hit the table. I dared not put my hand in her path for fear it would be mistaken for chum. Personally, if I shared a name with a fierce killing machine, I'd be a bit more mindful of my eating habits.