Coming Attractions

I think that those who read my little blog here (if there are any of you out there, I'm waiting for your e-mail) will be pleasantly surprised with what's on tap for Lisa in the coming weeks. Over the course of the next few weeks, I'll be moving to themes. I figure it'll be a nice little experiment and provide a level of continuity for my addled brain, which can't even remember my keys and glasses at the same time.

As such, let the announcement go forth to the masses. The week of 6/2/2003 will be Interview Week. Monday's interview is a dandy as well. On Monday, we will tackle the life, times and many loves of Bonnie Grover, my 20-year-old sister. What's Bonnie got to say? Inquiring minds want to know!

Also new and exciting, my softball team ("Barker's Beauties") lost again last night. This time we lost 15-3, due in some small way to my two strikeouts. I really, really suck. I have one hit this season. I wouldn't play at all but there's some stupid girl requirement in the league. The need three girls and I'm one of the three that can't say no. We do go out and get drunk after the games, so that's good.

It's supposed to rain again this weekend. Do not get me started.

OK, I'm out. Stay tuned ...

Inner Monologue From This Morning's Subway Ride

Is anyone else absolutely in hysterics about what the New York Post, a mainstream New York tabloid-style newspaper, gets away with printing on their covers? First was the absolutely classic "Axis of Weasels" cover with weasels in the place of the French and German UN delegates. Today they have the head of Don Zimmer on a mouse! Someone is having fun with Photoshop. For sheer comic value, there is nothing better than the New York Post.

There is now a hole in my TV watching schedule on Tuesday and Wednesday and I'm not sure what to do about it. I checked out that new "Fame" show on NBC last night. Are things really that bad for you, Debbie Allen? You used to be a respected choreographer and actor. Now, you are slumming it on this show and pimping out the good name of "Fame" while you are it? Is nothing sacred? You're still a good looking girl. Surely you could do better.

I want the marketing people at one of these Zima/Smirnoff Ice/Mike's Hard Lemonade places to look me in the eye and tell me they aren't marketing to underage people. Don't misunderstand me. I have no problem with underage drinking if it's in a controlled environment with no driving necessary. Take a look at some of these ads. Half naked women, flying in airplanes, dancing at raves. They aren't targeting my mother, folks.

Sir, I don't care what anyone says. Brown and black do not match. They never have matched. They never will match. It would also help if I couldn't see your undershirt. You look like 5-year-old dressed you.

Holy shit, is that Miranda from "Sex in the City"? Am I on the train with Miranda? Don't stare. Oh dear god. Who does your hair, Miranda?

Does anyone still read "Rolling Stone"? First, they practically run Jann Wenner out the door despite the fact that he not only founded the magazine but has one of the best ears for music in the business. Now, all the publish is articles about music that sucks. Memo: Fred Durst is over, Rolling Stone. Do us all a favor and let him go. And Marilyn Manson? Did I fall asleep and wake up in 1996?

I know I've said I'm a Knicks fan, but do the NBA Playoffs ever end? I'm not complaining entirely. Anything that will get the TNT/TBS network to stop airing "Roadhouse" for an extended period of time is OK in my book.

Speaking of music that doesn't suck, June 10, Radiohead. Mark your calendars.

OK, it's not Miranda. Whoever it is should get a new stylist though. That's the worst dye job I've seen since my sister found the green food coloring in the pantry and played "Don't worry, honey. It'll grow out" with my mother.

A Couple of Notes

First, please take note of my links column. I have added a lovely little site to the links area, entitled "Ari Goes Down." Please indulge in Ms. Goes Down's wonderful take on life in New York and life in general. You will not be disappointed.

Secondly, if you do come to this humble, little blog and would like to comment to me about anything I've written, would like me to write something for you or would just like to let me know that you like what you see, my email can be accessed by the Lisa G at the bottom of each post. I would love to hear from anyone and everyone. I'm very friendly (I think) but not that way, unless I've had too much to drink. Also, if you have a blog or a website of some kind that you'd like me to link to, forward that along and I will add it accordingly (but only if you are witty, insightful, laugh out loud funny or some combination thereof).

Thanks! And keep reading!

Nostalgia

I had a dream last night. Well, I probably had more than one but this is the one that I remember.

It is June, 1994 and I'm sitting on the hood of my friend's car, waiting to pull out of the high school parking lot for the last time as a student. I have my sunglasses on, those dark, dark sunglass that I used to have that totally shielded my eyes so that no one could tell where I was looking. I was sitting Indian-style, waiting for Jessica to come out of the building to take me home. I just sat there and watched all the students come out of the building. As each one walked out of the building, they took one step and changed into who they are today (or at least who I projected them to be). They became the people that they are in 2003. Doctors, lawyers, accountants, teacher, nurses, advertising execs and marketing folks. Some work for the town that I grew up in, others are writers, musicians, poets, actors. A couple of them took one step and just disappeared, cut down tragically in the prime of their lives. I sat on the hood of the car and I watched it all. I mostly just wondered why it didn't appear that I'd changed at all.

I'd never really cared for high school. It was an atmosphere filled with self-conscious worry and superficial obsession. Who liked whom? Who did what? Who was invited to which party/prom/event? Am I good enough? Smart enough? Fast enough? Rich enough? Pretty enough? Tall enough? Short enough? All of it served to make you question who you are, to make you feel inadequate if you didn't wear the right clothes or hang out with the right people. It somehow turned out that the people that I was friends with in high school were really just people like me. Girls and guys who just didn't really want to fit in anywhere else. I spent most of my high school days assuming that it would be so much better when I left and went to college. It really stopped me from enjoying those days. And in retrospect, they weren't so bad. I had a lot of good times with those girls. I just wasn't ready to see it that way.

I saw Jessica come out of the door and walk toward the car. She didn't change either. She came over and sat down next to me and smiled.

"You ready to go home, Lis?"

I smiled back. Am I ready to go home?

"Not yet, Jess. Let's go for a drive."

Memorial Day Weekend

Beginning of spring, my ass.

Never in my 26 (almost 27) years on this planet do I recall the weather being this consistently crappy this late in the season. For crying out loud, Saturday is June 1st! June! 1st! It wasn't bad enough that the skies threatened rain all weekend, putting the kibosh on a well-planned weekend at the beach, on Monday I woke up to sideways rain. I half-expected to see a dog holding onto a lamppost to keep from getting swept away by the wind. Actually, I was kind of hoping I'd see that. The logistics of a dog holding onto the lamppost with his paws and lack of opposable thumbs intrigues me. It's thoughts like these that kept me out of the really good schools.

As predicted, I managed to get roped into a trip out to Long Island to "support my sister at her new job." Translation: Take an over an hour train ride to come out and sit at a chain restaurant where everything is overseasoned and undercooked (take note, Australian Chophouse) while my sister screws up only my order (I think on purpose). Also, she broke no fewer than 5 dishes/glasses in the hour and a half that I was sitting in the restaurant, which I must admit gave me a slight tingle of schadenfreude. My other sister invited her new boyfriend to come along. I'm not sure where to begin. He is a little cute, I'll give her that. But he went to the Fred Durst School of Fashion, and I'm not sure if he showered. Plus, I think he was trying to stare down my shirt.

And now, the weekend's over, the long three day weekend that the entire American working populace looks forward to. What's it like outside? Sunny.

It's a good thing I'm not a defeatist or I'd have surrendered long ago.