Why Disney World Kicks Ass Reason #2: Hot French Waiters

In EPCOT, (THEEXPERIMENTALPROTOTYPECOMMUNITYOFTOMORROW, in case you were wondering) 11 countries are represented in World Showcase with pavillions where you can eat, drink, and party authentically (or inauthentically in an adorable, kitchy way) in the country you are visiting. Each country is unique (The Japanese women always accuse me of shop lifting, and the Moroccon boys try to get me to party in Orlando with them after hours -- more on that later) and the France Pavilion is special in the awesomest way of all -- the waiters in the French Restaurant, Bistro de Paris, are almost always mind-blowingly hot, in that lip-biting, holy-shit, OMGTHEYARESOHOTTHEYMIGHTBEGAY?, European kind of way.

Although their English is horrible and I rarely have any idea what on earth they are saying, I look forward to them bringing me little plates of cheese and carding me for my glasses of wine. (Tip: Don't ask them for band-aids, they have no idea what that word means. But fine, conversation is not important when love is in the air -- only eye contact is necessary.)

I always ask them where they are from, and if they've gotten the chance to travel while visiting the United States. I used to stop at asking if they've visited New York, urging a trip a.s.a.p. to "the best city in the world!" (which I'm sure, as any good Frenchie would, they all bitterly disagree and are convinced that everything sucks except for Paris. I know this. My Parisian friend from high school -- affectionately nicknamed "Frenchie" -- told me so.) But now I've gotten more bold in my conversation. Soon I'm sure I'll be leaving them keys to my apartment and saying "stop on by whenever! I've got an enormous bed!"

I find it deliciously ironic that the only picture I could find of the Hot French Waiters was this one -- where everything is crystal clear EXCEPT FOR THE HOT FRENCH WAITER. So you'll have to just go and see for yourself. Voulex-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?

A Cat on a Hat (And Some Excellent Advice)

I often see Charlie walking around my neighborhood in the evenings, with his best bud Nicholas atop his head. Nicholas is always very well behaved and I can tell Charlie is, like, Cat Owner Of The Year. I finally asked if I could take his photo, because he always makes me smile. Charlie agreed, but asked for a few bucks so that he and Nicholas could get some food. I didn't realize this was a way Charlie makes money. (What to do, what to do!?)

Anyway, I gave him a $5 and he posed for a picture and even gave me some excellent advice (I didn't know that was included in the price!): Don't date someone who's going to scratch you in the face. Are we talking about Nicholas? I wondered. He wouldn't! But Charlie removed his glasses to show me several light welts around his eyes -- marks that he said were from his ex-girlfriend. Find a guy that treats you right, he said.

OH, OKAY. You make it sound so easy, Charlie. But thank you anyway.

Okay, this nytimes feature is kind of cool

Just last week I was whining about how I wasn't going to be able to read things on paper anymore and I'm still sad about that, I am. But I was reading an article on nytimes.com and noticed that this little question mark would pop up if I highlighted something*.

It's a dictionary! Which is great! Because the people at the New York Times use big words and also I don't have to open a new tab and type in bartleby.com and type out the word and then pick which result is actually my word and then read the definition (and listen to the pronunciation because that robot voice kills) and then go back to the article having forgotten where I was.

It's also great because the word "worm" is listed in the NYT Guide to Essential Knowledge (what a great name) and I can still listen to a robot voice.

*OK I just found out, minutes after posting this that this has existed for year. Like, since 2002. I'm really ashamed I got so excited but still, it's a good feature.

Wanted: 1 Single, Hot, Mafioso

I couldn't figure out how a book that's pretty pulpy could end up being so genius, and I think The Godfather makes that possible because of the characters. They were so believable and even the blood-thirsty ones were relatable. I believed every word they said. (I mean I believed them when they confessed their fears or expressed their thoughts, not when they promised they didn't kill people.) I'm on to my next book now, and I actually really miss the characters. That's probably why, ever since, I have been seeking a mafioso boyfriend. There are some reasons this is a GREAT idea:

1. “Going to the mattresses” sounds awesome, and what's cooler than a room full of mattresses (comfy, fun, totally sexy)
2. I love a good offer that nobody can refuse
3. Low levels of violence are kind of cool (think: brass knuckles)
4. I love eating Italian food for breakfast, too!
5. Free 3 year Sicilian vacation! (if you are living on the lamb)
6. Italian weddings = awesome (literally buckets of rigatoni and Italian sweets)
7. Southern Italians are almost always sexy (and when they have face disfigurements because of gang-related injuries, they are even sexier)
8. The Don really, really loves his family
9. Everything gangsters say sounds so cool (admit it.)
10. My Italian relatives would secretively be proud
11. I could finally get back at that bitch Molly Gallagher for infiltrating and eventually taking over the primo cafeteria table where I had been sitting for years with her army of skanks in 1996.
12. Like any good Mafioso-wife, I go to Catholic mass and pray enough for my sins and the sins of my murderous lover
13. I already make the best spaghetti sauce with a recipe passed down from my Grandma Paceleo.
14. I appreciate “that guinzo” sense of fashion – showy, flouncy, loud clothing

Reasons this is a terrible idea:
1. There is always a legitimate concern that my boyfriend would a) die at work or b) kill people at work and have to escape to Sicily for three years
2. I don’t have a brother, so who will beat up my boyfriend when he smacks me around?
3. I bet mafia jokes get old really fast
4. Frequent family wars might get tiring (can’t everyone just get along?)
5. Wife/girlfriend beating = not cool
6. I hate hanging out in hospitals
7. I do not– nor will I ever – know how to prepare Veal Scalopini ( I don't even think I know how to spell it)
8. Worry about being judged on the hugeness of my bling rather than the content of my character
9. Boyfriend might spend too much time at whorehouses/ cheating on me
10. Become overly suspicious when people want to meet me in Italian restaurants (will I have to start frisking everyone?)
11. Constantly living in fear that the Don would call to redeem his favor
12. High levels of violence are kind of UNcool (think: chopping off someone's head)
13. I take things too personally -- it’s never just about business to me

Looks like there are more pros than cons, so if you know of a good looking single gangster, give him my digits.

AND... if you liked the movie, read the book. In the film, the story is AMAZING, the characters are AMAZING, and the book slows that down and lets you understand it at a whole new level. It was one of those rare times that I thought "I want to start this book again, right now." And fortunately, there are a bunch of other books about The Family -- waiting for me. Can't wait!

So That's Who Really Actually Let The Dogs Out!

more music charts

Video Killed the Radio Star. But we never had print stars anyway...

I just realized that we won't have print media anymore.

Magazines are folding and the entire newspaper industry is facing a wrecking ball but I always figured that once the selection was winnowed down, a choice few would emerge from the fray glorious and golden, that the magazines that really provided quality content would always be here because we wanted them and that if not the sudoku books, then the ones that really mattered would always sit on a shelf. But now I'm not so sure.

In the article "The New Journalism," New York magazine spoke with Nick Bilton, a web developer for the New York Times who spends his days tinkering in a lab for new ways for us to experience written word: "'I like the way paper feels,' he scoffs. 'To the next generation, that doesn't mean anything.'"

Oh no, he knows what I'm thinking and he doesn't care! It's obvious to me now that once the iPhone 10.0 and Kindle mate and have a baby I'll still be reading the New York Times -- just not on paper. And that actually matters.

I don't have an iPhone. They're expensive. So is my laptop, you know, that thing you have to replace every few years? Books are cheap and they last a long time and they are yours to keep. Once literature goes online you won't be able to loan your friend a good book -- he'll have to download it for $7.99. And because it's so easy to download illegally, you'll only be able to open the book on five different devices before it's on lockdown. Does this sound familiar?

Because it is harder on our eyes to read from a computer screen, we won't stick to any text for

long. Without paper, how will in-depth pieces on any subject be written and read? I'm afraid that if people no longer want to read more than 300 words our knowledge will suffer.There's a difference between reading facts and reading someone else's perspective. It's true that the internet has made facts more available to us. Books only hold so many pages; they aren't linkable or searchable. But the analysis and synthesis of true understanding requires time which only paper can afford.

The Tale of the Douche-Hats and the Viking: What Do We Do About Homeless People?

This weekend, perhaps because of the particularly frigid weather, I experienced an influx of homeless person encounters. On Sunday night, I was on the F train going in to Brooklyn and a woman asked for change. I gave her a dollar bill. “Can I have a five?” She asked. Later on the street, a homeless man approached me with a well thought out plan: he was trying to by some Chinese food and he needed $7.67 more. I gave him a $5 bill and he scrunched up his face and looked to the sky and said “Listen -- can I have $2.67 more so I don’t have to ask anyone else?” Like, I know it’s annoying to ask different people, but it’s what you’re doing, asking for money. It’s whatchu gotta do. Enough.

Anyway, on the way home there was a vikingesque looking guy asking for money. He was covered in blankets and hats and was making his way down the subway car with a paper cup. He approached this line of college aged douche bags, probably from the Mid-West, most likely Republicans, all wearing THE WORST WINTER HATS I HAVE EVER SEEN. Every single one of them. Like, is that what brought them together? Anyway, this guy asks the ringleader of the douche-hats for money and instead of saying “no” or giving him money he launches into this questionnaire including questions such as “why are you homeless?” “did you graduate high school?” “do you try to be homeless?” “what are you going to do about not being homeless anymore?”

In the end, the douche-hat ringleader says “you don’t seem like disgusting or anything, you’re not wasted on alcohol or drugs, you seem like you could be pretty well pulled together” (what a prince this guy is). The homeless Viking then admits that he is a high school graduate and actually probably could do some stuff to turn his life around. “I guess I am sort of smart,” he says.

Now, the douche-hat ring leader was really pissing me off. He was arrogant, loud and pretentious. But I admit: I took off my headphones and I couldn’t stop listening. And it wasn’t that kind of train-wreck-can’t-look-away listening, it was genuine interest in what the Viking was saying. Why was he homeless? What did he really think about that? Did he see a way out? Had anybody ever said to this guy “hey, you’re pretty smart and you could do better”? I was so torn between thinking the douche-hat ringleader needed to be smacked, and thinking that he actually was thought provoking and interesting. I mean, I’m thinking about all this now, right?

In the end, douche-hat said “maybe there is a reason I met you tonight, God Bless.” And I immediately thought: okay, he is some born again Christian who is going to go home to his church group in North Carolina and tell everyone how he really saved this guy’s life and changed the face of New York City homelessness on his weekend trip, between seeing Mamma Mia and eating at Ruby Foos in Times Square. He’s like Superman, this guy.

Hate him or love him? And what do we do about homeless people? Give them money (if so, how much?) and shut up? Or make them work for their money? Give them a little kick in the ass? Or do they only need kindness?

Stop! In the name of love

I took this picture in France and just rediscovered it on my computer. I would see this in Paris.

Cats Hate Sombreros (But Love Fish Tacos)

Since I am a cat person, I am a sucker for pictures of cats wearing hats, cartoons in which they speak in English accents, and I obviously treat my cats like spoiled children. Since I coddle them so, I recently bought them a shitload of cod (which as a vegetarian, I effing don't want to touch, buy, smell, or prepare) and made some fish tacos for Tuffy, Buddy and Junior. I got the recipe from a book called Cooking For Cats, which I realized post-meal, is what I should have done. Cooked for them. Not with them. They were so excited by the smell they were climbing all over my arms, shoving their noses into the bowl, crying bloody, squeaky, meow-murder, and attacking eachother in order to get closer to the goods. I was so stressed out that I almost didn't have time to make them wear sombreros and tiny plastic "fiesta!" bibs. Almost. They hated the hats, but loved the tacos. I think in the end, we all won.

The interesting thing is, they all had different approaches to the tacos (after their initial crazed reaction to the smell of fish).:

Tuffy, who is a huge snob, pretended to be unexcited and sulked alone in the kitchen for approximately 3 minutes, until she realized her good friends Buddy and Junior had no qualms in eating her share of the feast. Then she ran in and tried to make up for lost time.

Junior neatly pecked his mouth inside the rolled taco, delicately eating the fish and trying desperately not to get his tiny lips on the taco shell. Not an adventurous eater.

Buddy, who is diabetic and shouldn't really be eating carbs anyway, immediately slapped his paw down on one side of the wrap, and with his other paw unrolled the taco flesh so he could smash his face into the cod, inhaling it much like the very vacuum cleaner that terrifies him, sending him to hide in his lair in the basement for hours.

It will be a long time before I cook for these kids again. They seemed rather unappreciative and get just as excited when I crack open a can of tuna. Anything for my babies.

Baby-Sugar-Fix

At work I see a. lot. of. babies. Here are some cutie pies I stumbled upon. So take a look, oo and aah, get all cutsie-wutsie or whatever -- get it out of your system -- and don't do it again until the next time I post a Baby-Sugar-Fix (at least in public.)

There are a few rules, of course. The following things are prohibited:

1. No spitting up babies, or babies that appear to be ill.

2. No babies with shit all over their faces. (Moms always think this is so cute. ?)

3. No strollers. Sorry -- I don't like strollers.

4. I love buttcheeks way more than anyone else I know, but I do not want to see baby buttcheeks in this manner. Just, no.

5. No babies that are going through that alien period they all go through (newborns).

I will probably add to this list later, and if you can think of any, let me know. Until then, enjoy these smoochie pies.

This Is What A Feminist Looks Like (and I'm cool with it)

People are so pissed about this.

I am over it: people getting embarrassed to admit they are a feminist. Often times, when asked the question “are you a feminist?”, they reply with “yes, but…” I say: you either are or you aren’t. And you probably are. The “but” is not necessary. You do not need to apologize or explain yourself for supporting social, economic and political equality for women worldwide, which is what feminism is.

My women’s studies professor used to ask a series of questions to determine if someone is a feminist:

1. Do you think that young girls in Thailand should be sold into prostitution?
2. Do you think that women and men should be paid the same wage if they are doing the same job?
3. Do you think women should be allowed to pursue any career field they are passionate about and have talent for?
4. Do you think women who were raped should be stoned by their villagers?

If you answered: no, yes, yes, no, then you are a feminist. Okay, I realize it’s not that easy. Men and women are biologically different and require different things. But come on, ladies, let’s not get our panties in a twist over the latest Ms. Cover, depicting Obama as Superman with the words “THIS IS WHAT A FEMINIST LOOKS LIKE” on his chest.

A feminist can look like absolutely anybody, that is the whole point of feminism, so let’s get as many people as we can “admitting” they are feminists. Let’s just celebrate how awesome it is that Obama is a self proclaimed feminist and had the strongest platform for women's rights of any major party in American history. I don’t think that Ms. was trying to say that women are sitting around waiting for a superhero like Barack Obama to swoop in to save us. They’re “tackling what must be done to move forward at this extraordinary time.” They are celebrating the fact that we finally have a leader who isn’t going to turn back Roe vs. Wade. They are proclaiming to America that – let’s face it – this IS what a feminist looks like. Does it have to be more complicated than that? What am I missing here?

Why Disney World Kicks Ass Reason #1: It’s Good For Your Imagination

I was 5 the first time I went to Disney World (the perfect age, according to me), and I distinctly remember exactly what I was thinking as I set sail to the Pirates of the Caribbean, the indoor boat ride that takes you through a Caribbean town being ransacked by sex-craving, drunk, pillaging pirates. Wait a second… how could you not love this ride? (Especially since a 2006 addition of a Johnny Depp animatronic doll who looks so real I practically jumped out of the boat and begged him to sleep with me the first time I saw him.)

But back to when I was five. I thought, as our boat eased into the waters and drifted past the backdrop of an endless Caribbean sea: “How did they get the whole ocean into this ride?”* I would kill to have that excitement again, that wonder, that amazement. I have my moments when I do – when I’m looking at stars, sometimes, or thinking about how much ass a T-Rex could probably kick, but Disney World brings this magic to millions of people every day. For one sweet moment, these kids are in pirate land. Where else are they made this offer?

Pirates of the Caribbean isn’t the only place that offers this kind of magic. Pretty much every single corner of the entire property (which is, by the way, twice the size of the island of Manhattan) has been painstakingly designed by teams of “Imagineers” who plan out sights, smells, sounds, and uses of space that leave you feel like you are anywhere but central Florida. You feel like you’re in the caves of the South West, you feel like you’re on a rocket in space, you feel like you’re dining beneath an Aztec Pyramid, you feel like you’re fleeing from dinosaurs.

I see boys running around in raccoon caps and girls spinning in princess dresses and hats. They look just like I did (I had one of those pink princess hats!) on my first visit. Some things, like girls wearing princess hats, boys wearing raccoon caps, should never change. At work, I hear about little girls obsessed with going to the salon and worrying that they’re too fat and idolizing over-sexed pop stars. In Disney World, they escape this real world and get to run around on a way larger-than-life playground all day, where every single thing was created to make them feel magical.

Omg, I’m getting teary eyed. More later.

*I’ve since learned that the sky line is an illusion and the pirates are animatronics, making the Pirates of the Caribbean slightly — only slightly — less enjoyable.

How to Make it onto an NYC Missed Connection

When a stranger in a mangy t-shirt writes a few sentences on the internet about how he wishes he had said something to you, it almost makes it okay that you are single and have no one to see Slumdog Millionaire with. It doesn't matter if he had asked for your number you wouldn't have given it to him because he probably has a sex + chocolate pudding fetish and he smells like canned Atlantic salmon. Someone thinks you are attractive. And because I really believe this, lately I have been reading a good deal of the MCs and trying to figure out how I can achieve this very special brand of fame.

1. Learn how to make I'm-Interested-in-Having-Sex-With-You Eyes. Practice in front of a mirror if necessary. (It's best of you don't wink to get the message across. Lips are acceptable.)

2. Make eyes at guys that are tall and wear button down shirts. This is what 90% of posters say they look like. 

3. Be Asian or blonde if possible. Wear a bright colored accessory. Yellow tank tops do well.

4. Actually anything to call attention to yourself is good. "tear it up" on the dance floor or yell something slutty at a concert.

5. Hang out in Union Square or ride the subway a lot. The L train is best.

6. Mornings and evenings are the best times. So try to look hottest then.

7. Your neighbor might be your best option. So don't ignore him even though he seems a bit intense. Keep your curtains open, he knows what you're up to all the time anyway.