Sweet, Sweet Charity

Herewith, pictures that serve to humble, embarass, and recall the 'good old days.' These were sent by an old college friend who thought we'd get a kick out of them.

When I was in college I was a member of the Penn State Thespians [insert "lesbian" joke here]. This show was Sweet Charity (recently on Broadway starring the adorable Christina Applegate.

One of my main memories of this production was of one of the "Dance Hall Girls" (a.k.a. the slutty girls who dressed up as the slutty dancing girls) asked me if I ever took it up the butt.

Sorry, but that's my memory.

Ah, we were young. Full of champangne and dreams!

I think this was a costume. I hope it was a costume.

Blizzard!

The first blizzard of 2006 is upon us. It seems that they always happen on a weekend. I guess that's a good thing, because adults rarely get snow days. Especially when you live in Manhattan.

I ventured out this morning with Delilah in tow. She was very excited to go outside, since she is primarily an indoor dog. (Yes, I know. I am a very bad dog-mommy. No protesting letters, please. She can work it out in therapy like all my other kids.)

Once outside, though, she kept giving me these looks that said, "Dr. Rosenstein is going to have a field day with this one, Mom." So, we lasted all of 3 minutes before seeking refuge in the bodega next door.

It's kind of like the bodega that time forgot. Everything is ridiculously cheap by Manhattan standards ($.60 for a cup of coffee!) and they didn't mind that I brought a soaking wet dog into the place. I guess the board of health hasn't been in there recently.

Sleeping giants.

Amsterdam Ave.

Broadway.

This sucks.

My Life as a Double Agent

You want to know how I feel about Spies? Two words: Dream Job. Wear Lycra, do Kung Fu, balance exhilarating rumbles with Bad Guys with excruciatingly boring day job. Nothing wrong with that.

I actually might have made a reasonably good spy. Costume? Check. Kung Fu skills? A little rough, perhaps, but I've got a good kick. Double life? Sometimes. It's all relative.

In the very recent past, I had to channel my inner Sydney Bristow as I worked on a super-top-secret new business pitch. Well, it's over now. And we lost. So, now I can finally break the cone of silence.

It had all the makings of a good spy thriller: a crack team of highly talented, but possibly unstable operatives was assembled to complete a gargantuan task under an impossible deadline. Along the way there were clandestine meetings, strange people with dangerous accents, suspicious foods, and a whirlwind trip to a dingy little European town.

It was thrilling. The fate of the world (a.k.a. next year's forecast) was in our hands! The following images were pulled off an old Soviet satellite:

Radioactive snack-ums from the Crown Club. I brought home a sample to be analyzed in the lab.

Even super spies can supersize.

Our "target" is the guy in the red jacket.

Here we are posing as tourists. Hiding in plane sight. Genius, isn't it?

See, with the glasses, no one knows it's me!

Flesh Loaf. With salad.

I make this guy taste all my food to make sure it's not poisoned.

I caught this guy paying homage to Colonel Klink.

Those eastern Europeans are so superior.

The trick to having an alias is getting the details right. Like having a "Hildegarde" name-mug on your desk.

Beer and pretzels. With cheese. And butter. They were out of salad.

Updated

For those of you who couldn't read the fortunes in the previous entry- I updated to include them.
C

a month in photos

I've been missing from the Blogosphere for about a month, even though there has been no shortage of hilarious, absurd, infuriating, and disgusting things to write about.

So, in lieu of my witty prose, here are some snaps of life according to me:

I think these fortunes sum up the difference between me and my sister:

My sister's fortune: "People are naturally attracted to you."

My fortune: "The strengths in your character will bring you serenity." Frankly, I'd rather be hot and unserene.

A pre-holiday gathering of oldsters. We were full of pie:

Christmas Chez Hindsley:







New Year's Day in Philly. I didn't see any Mummers, but I saw a lot of drunks.




The first RAT of the new year!



Celebrating Sheri's birthday in style...

emotional spandex

It's the evening we look forward to all year... the office holiday party! Who will pass out in the bathroom? (sadly, no one.) Who will make inappropriate comments? (um, everyone?) Will I actually get to eat this year? (prime rib. yum.)


Anyway, a fine time was had by all. Great space, great music (Look, Ma, a real band!), and a bunch of us from the agency stormed the stage and performed a not-so-impromtu set of tunes. We called ourselves "Pitchin' and Moanin'." Otherwise known as "Emotional Spandex."

Don't Ask.

The band in rehearsal.

I think this should be our album cover.
"She Hates Me."
Me and my fan club.

I'm sure I'm making some really good point.

Probably singing some Elvis Costello tune.

Strike

I know I'm way behind on posting. Life has been so ridiculous since I've been back in the US. I forgot how fast we move in NYC. My body rebelled, finally, last week in the form of a nasty stomach bug that flattened me for three days and hung around for a few more. Although, personally, I think it was overkill. My body could have just left me a voicemail.

As everyone in the free world knows, NYC was plagued with a transit strike this week. Three days of no buses or trains. Incredible how crippling it was. Through it all, most people demonstrated an incredible capacity for "sucking it up" and getting on with life.

The subway station near my office.

I came up with what would eventually be revealed to be a flawed plan. I had a rental car to get myself and a co-worker out to NJ for a client meeting, but I couldn't get past 96th street. So, I headed uptown to pick up my friend Michael and two of his friends. Flawed. We found ourselves hopelessly mired in the gridlock that was Manhattan.

Me, still cheerful after 3 hours behind the wheel.

It was an experience worthy of a Seinfeld episode. Conversations ranged from our jobs (advertising, broadway) and politics (hate George Bush) to tv (Super Nanny) and the strike (hate it!). Five hours later, I arrived at my meeting in NJ. Late, but with a humdinger of an excuse.

My chariot.

Day two was not much better. This time I picked up three "hitchhikers" along Columbus Ave to get myself through the checkpoint. It's so weird having a two-hour conversation with complete strangers. I'll never see them again, but I'll never forget them.

Day three I gave up and stayed home.

I Want My Mommy

I'm so sick I want to die.

Feeling Charitable?

The holidays are such a crazy time of year: gift shopping, holiday getherings, work-related functions. Who has time for anything else?

For any of you who have been meaning to make some charitable contributions, here are a few ideas I've heard in the recent past that I thought were kind of cool...

** If you have suits hanging in your closet that are a little past their prime, Dress for Success will take them off your hands. This organization provides suits and other professional clothes to low-income women who are interviewing for jobs.

**Ever wished you could run a marathon but are too busy/out-of-shape/sane to train for one? Why not contribute to a marathoner's training/charity fund? My roomie, Joanna, is running a marathon on behalf of the Leukemia/Lymphoma Society.

**Want to help rebuild New Orleans? Click here for good old-fashioned hurricane relief.

**If you're like me, you probably have a drawerful of toiletries stolen from hotels around the world. Did you know that local shelters would love to have them? Ditto for cell phones, baby clothes, and even prom dresses!

Many contributions are tax-deductible, so it's a win-win! Give til it hurts people.

Life Behind the Mirror

As in life, advertising is about multi-tasking. This week was one of the wackiest. I was all over the place: market research, black-tie cocktail party, rock & roll jam session. Who's life is this?

Interviewing neurologists. ZZZZzzzz.

The only thing missing is the m&ms.

RCW house band: Pitchin' & Moanin'

Retrieving Delilah

During my trip to Japan, my pooch Delilah was spending time in the Philly area with my Aunt. She had a great time visiting her "cousins" (the other pets in my extended family) and running up and down Aunt Joan's Stairs.

Over Thanksgiving I went to pick her up to bring her home. I was really worried that she wouldn't remember me. Luckily, that was not the case. I found her happy, healthy, a little scruffy, and if possible even more adorable than when I left her.

And they call it puppy love...

Thanks for abandoning me, Mom.

Delilah with Aunt Joan and friends.

Two hot babes and a hot car.

Pet Peeves

Sometimes people ask me if I have any pet peeves. I always roll my eyes because, of course, I have about 10 million of them. I become peeved fairly often. In fact, one could say that, on occasion, I can be quite peevish.

 

One of my biggest ones is the constant need for people to monitor the weight of other people (OK,  the weight of me). Don't get me wrong, I like a good compliment as much as the next person, but "Wow. You lost a TON of weight!" doesn't exactly qualify as a compliment in my book. I get it, I'm not as FAT as I was last time you saw me. Thanks, but could we refrain from hyperbole of the 2,000 pound variety?

 

Think about it: what other physical "defects" do we feel as comfortable mentioning? When was the last time you ever heard someone say, "Hey Jill, your acne's really clearing up! You really had a pizza face there for a while." or "Wow, Bill, your formerly hooked and bulbous nose looks SO MUCH smaller! Way to go!" or "I gotta tell ya, Phil, whatever you did to get rid of that bad breath is really working. I mean, it could have knocked a maggot off a shit wagon. Keep it up!"

 

I could go on and on. Really.

 

I admit, if in fact I am defined by my body type, I am as guilty as anyone else for making that happen because it's so often a topic of conversation and something that I obsess over on a daily basis.

 

I'm just saying.

 

 

 

 

Gobble Gobble

Happy Thanksgiving!

I'm in Philly for the weekend to see my family and eat copious amount of Turkey, etc. After a relaxing weekend in the neighborhood, I was back at work on Monday morning. It was strange, but really fun. Of course, no actual work was done and I drank a lot of wine at lunch.

Life is good. And I'm sure by next Monday I will be fully back in the rat race.

So, I'm thinking of continuing this bloggin thing. But, should I start a new blog? One that's not a rip off of a movie title about being in Japan? Or keep this one. Confused.

Thoughts?

The Longest Days of My Young Life

November 17-18

Sadly, we had to leave Port Douglas and begin our journey home. The plan was to fly from Cairns to Sydney, where Doug and I would go our separate ways: he would stay with Tisha for 2 more days in Sydney and I was flying back to Tokyo to pick up my connecting flight back to NYC.

Unfortunately, when we got to the airport in Cairns, we found that our flight had been mysteriously cancelled and that we were put onto a later flight. One that would get me to Sydney exactly two hours before my flight to Tokyo. Normally, this wouldn't upset me, but given my recent issues with baggage, etc, and the fact that I had done NO souvenir shopping, I was pissed.

I set it up with the Qantas people to check my luggage straight through to Tokyo so that at least I wouldn't have to claim and re-check my baggage. I was pretty specific about the fact that Doug's bag would be staying in Sydney. They seemed to understand.

Well, let's just say that they knew that one of our bags was supposed to go to Tokyo, they just were a little mixed up on which one. Luckily, when Doug went to baggage claim, he recognized my bag trundling down the conveyor belt. He was able to get the Qantas people to re-check my bag through to my Tokyo flight, but the staff were unable to find his bag. They assumed it was already on my flight and they couldn't get it off.

In a last minute call, Doug told me to look for it in Tokyo.

When I landed at around 6AM, I went immediately to the bag claim people to explain the situation. My bag came through, but I didn't see Doug's. It was a little early to call him in Sydney, so I decided to fill out a lost bag report just in case. This was easier said then done, and as I was repeatedly asked to produce my passport to various baggage claim people, I was getting worried that I might be flagged as an agitator. I finally called Doug and he reported that Qantas had indeed found his bag after about 2 hours of searching the airport in Sydney.

I had hurriedly purchased an oversized, wooden souvenir as a gift for someone in my office. The customs inspector was very concerned about it and mentioned "termites." I assured him that there were no termites stowing away in any of my stuff. He looked unconvinced, but waved me through anyway.

My flight to NYC wasn't until 7PM and it was only 8AM when I finally cleared customs. I wasn't allowed to check in, so I wasted the day watching CNN in a random lounge, buying up some final souvenirs, and getting my nails done. I finally checked in at 2PM, and once-freed of my large suitcase, I set off to deal with my boxes of stuff that were being held in another terminal. I was only allowed to check in one more piece of baggage without being charged (they told me the charge to check my oversized wooden souvenir, which weighed less than 2 kg, would be $200 USD! Charlatans!!). So began another session of "what can I abandon now?"

I finally got everything into one box (underweight, thank you), stopped by the post office to ship my oversized wooden souvenir (only $30 USD, score!), and triumphantly returned to the check in desk. The agent tried to get me to downgrade my ticket to economy class because business class was oversold. I gave her a look that my friend Michael describes as my "I smell shit" face and said, "No, thanks." As if.

The flight home was very comfortable, although I made the mistake of ordering the Japanese meal. What on earth possessed me? I'll never know. I chatted with my seatmate, a 50-something actuary/estate tax specialist from Boston who was much more interesting than his job sounds. He asked me why I was still single saying, "You know, if there wasn't a geographical issue and an obvious age difference, I'd ask you out."

There I was, bare-faced, bespectacled, flip-flopped, uncoiffed, and unshowered being practically propositioned by a possibly non-creep. Wonders never cease. We exchanged business cards, but that's probably the end of that.

Finally, we landed in NYC and I breezed through immigration. I had only the tiniest twinge of guilt when, in response to the question: "Have you spent any time on a farm during your time outside the US?", I checked the NO! box. I'm sure those cows were clean.

There was a car waiting for me at the airport (thank god) and soon I was back at my apartment, catching up with my roommate and trying to win back the affections of my seriously pissed off cats.

Snorkeling on the Great Barrier Reef

Wednesday, November 16

We were up early to catch the bus to take us on our snorkeling tour of the Great Barrier Reef. The Quicksilver company was recommended by a woman we met in Sydney on our Harbor Bridge Climb. They were a little more expensive than the other companies, but I think they had a more comprehensive program and were obviously well-prepared for any and all tourist-related situations.

Boarding the boat

It took about 90 minutes to get out to the pontoon at the Agincourt Reef dive site. On the way, the crew showed us a video about how to snorkel. I admit, I watched this with great interest because my last few snorkeling attempts have been great failures. I don't know what it is, but I just get really panicky underwater. Having that mask stuck to my face and the snorkel thingy shoved in my maw is just horrible. Don't get me started on the flippers.

One item of interest that was repeated several times was that there is a high possibilty that there will be "marine stingers" in the water. Now, by "marine stingers" they actually mean Box Jellyfish AKA venomous death blobs that will kill you as soon as look at you. In fact, they don't even look at you because they don't have eyes. They just have tentacles. And if even the teeny tiny tip of a tentacle even brushes against your teeny tiny toe, you die a slow horrible gasping death.

But, never fear. In order to avoid 400 tourists writhing in unimaginable agony on the decks of the pontoon, Quicksilver provides "stinger suits" which apparently protect the wearer from the stinging creatures. Maybe the electric-blue lycra spandex deflects the stings. Or maybe it scares the life out of everything in it's path. You be the judge:

Auditioning for the Blue Man Group.

My match.com photo

Awwww...

Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my close up.

Anyway. Once we were suited up, it was time to get in the water. Even though they make it easy by providing a snorkeling platform where you get basically just sit down and your in the water, I was fairly terrified. My heart was thumping so loudly I could barely hear Doug trying to reassure me that it would all be fun.

The snorkeling platform. At least I wasn't dorky enough to wear a life jacket over my stinger suit.

We got in the water, and it wasn't long before I was being knocked around by little waves and had taken in a huge mouthful of water. I was trying to stay within the "if you're not a strong swimmer" zone, where they suggest that children, the elderly, and the infirm should stay. But I soon realized that my chances of drowning were great increased due to the presence of other flailing, panicked landlubbers. So, I made the executive decision that I'd strike out for the calmer waters of the "if you're a confident swimmer" zone.

Best decision I ever made. The water was calmer (even if the current was not) and soon I had gotten the hang of the skorkeling thing and was chasing after schools of fish. Doug and I stayed in the water for over an hour and went in for a second trip later. It was fascinating seeing the coral reef and all of the crazy fish and other creatures that live in it. We even saw several clown fish (that's Nemo to us mere mortals). I was absurdly pleased by that.

They call this the "dead man's float." Eek!


It was our last real day of vacation (at least together, Doug was staying on in Sydney for another two days). So, we went back to our favorite restaurant in Port Douglas (of the two we tried): Salsa Bar & Grill. Another great meal complete with witty banter with our new best friend - our waitress who looked just like Cate Blanchett playing Katharine Hepburn.

Later, after waiting 40 minutes for a cab that would never come, we ran into the Nuts people from the night before. They were also waiting for a cab and offered us a ride back to the hotel once their car finally came. They were a hilarious group of friends who vacation together every year. Good times.