see you in two weeks.

In about an hour I'll be heading to lovely JFK International Airport to begin my international tour through Israel and Prague.

This will be my first Christmas/New Year's Eve out of New York in five years.  I've been ambivalent about New Year's in New York since the year I tried to go to Times Square for New Year's Eve in high school and made it all the way to 58th Street. So, yeah. I'm ok with missing that one.

Predictably, Christmas in New York warms my little pop-culture-over-saturated heart, not to mention my...whatever my relationship to Judaism is.  Especially since I just found out Santa is real.

But most of all, as much as I pretend that I am planning on leaving NY imminently, and even though it is not healthy to live in a city where I need a break every three months to maintain my sanity, I am always a little sad to leave a city that gives gifts like these:

Roast beef and what appears to be a matzah ball, neatly wrapped, on top of the stairs at the East Broadway F station (not my best photo...the train was coming.)

More Adventures With Ripped Paper

I once hinted that this blog might possibly someday have a theme. It looks like we have an early frontrunner: pieces of paper that I rip. Or, turning a nervous habit into an excuse to take pictures.

Yesterday, Tali and I went to see "The Last Newspaper" at The New Museum. Of note: a table with lots of sections of newspaper next to a board with magnets. Visitors were invited to rip up the newspaper and create new headlines, pictures, stories, etc. The most revolutionary use of newspaper and/or viewer participation I've ever seen? No. More fun than watching videos rewrite a Kant essay for the current political climate? Oh yes. 

Embarrassingly, I could not figure out whose installation it was. Anyone better at reading labels than I am?

Anyway, our product:

A work I had mixed feelings about was a documentary called A Dutiful Scrivener by Angel Nevarez and Valerie Tevere.  They interviewed the NYT obituaries editor, "exposing" the dark underbelly of the obituary business. Did you know that the NYT's choices of whose life was "meaningful" enough to get an obituary reflects the judgement of a few individual editors, and is often biased towards white men? Shocker.  

In spite of big, bold captions making sure we remember to be disturbed that obituary writers use formulas to establish the value of a human life "1 MODERATELY IMPORTANT LIFE=1,500 WORDS," A Dutiful Scrivener redeems itself by being full of kind of awesome trivia.  In case you were wondering, the longest obit ever was for Pope John Paul II, and was around 13,000 words. There may have been a longer one sometime in the 1890s. 

(Addendum: If, in fact, the filmmakers just have highly nuanced senses of humor and their subtle critique of heavy-handed political documentaries went way over my head, then I sincerely apologize for being a hater.) 

A Dream Deferred, a Wish Fulfilled

In case you were wondering, this would be the best gift of all time. I was going to buy it for myself, but while $800 dollars to buy a trip to the grocery store with Adam Scott might seem reasonable, I'll also need a flight to L.A. And a Ralph's card. Maybe it's not meant to be.  

Beginning to doubt that I would ever get to go grocery shopping with a celebrity who has my name screen-printed on his t-shirt, I began to to doubt the true meaning of the holiday season and fell deep into the hopeless abyss of longing for an E-Bay shopping spree that will never be mine. And then, a Miracle. After months of hoping, I learned that I have been admitted to the most exclusive e-newsletter in the whole World Wide Web, and was even exempted from the usual hazing rituals.

And the holiday spirit was saved.

Hello, world!

Greetings, friends. Welcome to my blog.

This blog might be (is) an unfortunate example of a cover that doesn't have a book. Which might not be (is not) actually a phrase, but I think you know what I mean.
 

So, soon I will think of important and exciting things, such as a purpose for this blog, and why people should read it. I'll do my best not to share too much of my angst.

For now, I am sure I can keep you coming back for more by introducing you to an old friend of mine, Receipt Man:  

RM is my first guest on this blog because, as a product of a late capitalist consumer society, RM's life is DEFINED by angst. Furthermore, in this age of reduced spending and digital commerce, RM is worried that his entire species may become obselete. My condolences, RM. Next time I'll make him some pants so he fits in.

Today, he is wearing his sound-canceling headphones. RM knows this is rude at the dinner table. But he lives in Brooklyn, so it's cool.