The Boy in the Bubble

I work on the Upper West Side and just in case you've been living under a rock for the past few days, David Blaine is in an 8-foot spherical "human aquarium" in front of Lincoln Center and will be for a whole week before he attempts to hold his breath for 9 minutes. It's Day 2.

Some coworkers and I went to see him at lunch today. The aquarium and Blaine by themselves are relatively boring, but the onlookers are a different story entirely. Their fascination with death-defying feats has never been more apparent to me. Reactions to Blaine's form of performance art, in my eyes, can be divided into two categories: (1) hope and youthful amazement -- much like children who are thrilled by quarters that magically appear from behind their ears -- and (2) morbid curiosity of what it would be like to see the famous magician die. My reaction falls more into the first category and less into the second. I took several pictures and have attached a few of the better ones. Enjoy.

Sunny Saturday

Thought I'd share a little slice of New York in the spring...

Valuable Life Lessons

Over the past two weeks, I've learned the following valuable life lessons:

(1) People will have pity on you if you're broken. Some may even offer to do things they don't ordinarily like to do. For example, cat-people may offer to walk your beast of a dog.

(2) You should go to the doctor on a regular basis. If you wait, oh, say, four years between visits, the doctor is likely to find a greater number of things wrong with you. You will then have to go to a myriad of appointments with specialists.

(3) When your metabolism shoots through the roof, you can eat whatever you want. You will, however, be the hottest (and not in the good way) and sweatiest person. Ever. It's gross.

(4) Swallowing a radioactive pill (prescribed by your doctor) does not make you glow in the dark.

(5) Labrador retrievers do not understand crutches.

Broken Bekah.

After yesterday's game against Albany, I am now the proud owner of a spiral fracture in my right ankle. I have a 9am appointment on Monday to see if they need to put pins in my fibula. Hooray. I'm out for the rest of the season and my parents are out of the country for two more weeks. I can't walk the dog on crutches, so I need to hire a dogwalker. I know you're all jealous.

Bad Peeps bad.

If you know me well, you know that I can't stand marshmallows. And so it follows that I despise Peeps. Naturally. Every Easter I am reminded of my hatred for Peeps and I become a grouchy militant person for a few weeks. Bear with me.

Hello, gorgeous.

Christmas isn't that far off...

Everybody's Favorite Surgical Interns and Reality

I'm fascinated by Grey's Anatomy. Really, I am. This is partly because the show takes place in Seattle, partly because of the witty writing, but mostly because of the surgeons.

Like so many people in this world, I am enchanted by doctors, police officers, fire fighters, EMTs, and really anyone else capable of saving me from certain death. I affectionately call it the "rescuers complex." It's a thrilling concept, that the one person you are sharing your most intimate moments with is also the one person who, in a grave emergency, could save your life. The beautiful twenty-somethings in Grey's Anatomy only add to these little reveries... Thank you, ABC.

Best Holiday Ever. (Just kidding.)

My feelings regarding Valentine's Day are actually pretty neutral. As I am officially Valentine-less this February 14th, I chose to celebrate the holiday with a threesome: me, the snow packed around my car, and a shovel. After removing the snow left behind by the previous weekend's freakish nor'easter, the dog and I trudged back to our apartment to change into sweatpants and curl up with a cup of coffee.

To be honest, I don't mind being Valentine-less. I have a big furry black dog that likes to warm my feet, people scattered across the country who think I'm great, and a family that loves me. I do, however, mind all those Valentines that feel the need to flaunt their status as couples. Get a room. Get. A. Room.

Seattle

I've just rediscovered my love of Seattle after having spent eight days enjoying all of the coffeeshops, bookstores, rain, family, and friends that the city has to offer. And now, picture time...



Seahawks stadium and ferry boats















Space needle and apartment buildings















... and my personal favorite: salmon.

Pirates of Somalia?

I'm watching the 11 o'clock news and, I kid you not, there is a piece about pirates off the African coast. The very best part of the news byte was that they showed a variety flags flown by the African-counterpart of the Jolly Roger. Brilliant.

Stop. Hummer time.

There is a very strange commercial on TV right now. It's for Hummers and has a Christmas theme. A yule log DVD is playing on the backseat DVD players. The driver is a handsome young man wearing a Santa hat. The girls in the backseats are wearing tinsel garlands and playfully swatting each other with said garlands. But here's the clincher -- the part that makes this commercial so weird and a little creepy -- wait for it, wait for it... One of the passengers is wearing a mascot-type Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer costume.

Does anyone else find this strange? My friends and I never never NEVER EVER wear mascot-type costumes for non-Halloween events. Never. Why? Because it's weird. WEIRD. You might think that someone at Hummer, Inc. participating in the production and subsequent airing of this commercial would have said, "You know, guys, a young twenty-something riding in the backseat of a Hummer wearing a full-body Rudolph costume isn't normal. It's kinda weird. Maybe it's a little funny to some, but creepy to most. I don't really think that we should do this commercial." But, no. It would seem that no one said any such thing. Or if someone did, he/she was squashed like a bug. "No, no, you fool. You are completely off-base. People want to see young twenty-somethings being creepy. People will buy our overpriced ugly tank-like trucks because of Rudolph."

Weird.

Chanukah = awesome.

So, last night, I celebrated Chanukah for the first time. Ever. You may be saying to yourselves, "Why, Bekah, why did you celebrate a Jewish holiday, when you aren't Jewish?" The answer is simple: the excuse to eat starchy foods, gamble a little, drink a beer called "Hebrew" (I'm not making this up.), and end with some chocolate in the shape of gold coins. The moral of the story is that I've learned that I like latkes. And they're easy to make, which is always a plus. "Hebrew" isn't half bad, either.

New Camera!

Because Santa brought me a new digital camera, I have new pictures to share. Here's a keeper:

Chrismahannakwanzaawho?

So... It is now, officially, the holiday season. In less than 90 minutes, I am leaving work to get in my car, in which I will sit (picking my nose, listening to Mahler loudly, talking to the dog, and staring at other drivers doing the same) for several hours to move a mere 30 miles. Happy holidays to me.

I have been out of it. Completely out of it. I confess to not having finished my shopping as of yet -- two days before Christmas. I'm sorry the folks on my list who, barring any holiday miracles, won't receive their presents until after Christmas. I'm a terrible friend... especially when it comes to promptness in gift-giving. And card sending. I've just given up on card sending. Forget it. If I write out a card in 2006, you'll be lucky if you get it by 2008.

In short, this is what the holidays mean to me: sitting in traffic and reminders of my forgetfulness. Well... traffic, my forgetfulness, and freshly baked cookies.

Mickey Mouse and Bananas

Today I learned -- courtesy of The New York Times -- that the food industry is trying to make fruits and vegetables more appealing to kids. Obesity is climbing to record heights. The solution: slap Mickey Mouse on the foods you want kids to eat.

While I think this is a great start, I also think that there are several problems. It's hard to put packaging on "pre-packaged" foods like bananas, oranges, etc. Those wimpy little stickers -- like the Chiquita Banana girl or Dole ones -- fall off or go unnoticed. Not to mention that shrink wrapping fruit means that shoppers can't check the fruit's freshness. Besides, kids who are already hooked on delicious processed food (such as Oreo double-stuff cookies) aren't going to make the shift to fruit if their parents are still buying Oreos.

It's hopeless. I'm glad I'm not a fat kid growing up today.

Better blogging

We've arrived. Goodbye, Xanga. Hello, Blogspot.