dream

i dreamed that I had mets tickets for today. I was in a room where stacks of METS tickets came in. They were comp tickets for the next day. In the dream, I checked the seats vs the seating chart diagram. In the dream, I thought I can go during the day as i have a day off. I picked two different tickets, One set was right on the first base line and thought that would be a great place to take pictures. The game was Mets vs Baltimore so I thought I would take pictures of Cal Ripkin. There were white haired senior citizen also around. Mostly healthy looking women. I woke up and realized I had the day off but no Mets tickets.

4 women and one man

Everyday, there are the same 4 women, all ages, all races waiting for the train. We exchange pleaantries. We know little of each other lives. We share things in the moment. A wedding in Canada, a training that effects the time of day once must leave or the reason for absences. No real details. the etiquette is that pleasantries are exchanges. Notice of the pending train or missing a train. A new route.

the train pulls in... each of us look for a seat. each of us is entitled to the seat. One reads the Daily News, One reads the Times, one reads a book and one sleeps. first one to seat sits. There is no giving up a seat for another. There is only acknowledgement. if one offers, the others refuse.

Except for the one man. he comes to the station and the competition starts. he never gives a up a seat but rather will knock someone down for a seat. he reads his Sony reader or Kindle and goes the least distance. the man should not have to give up his seat but he is pushy and aggressive. he does not belong with the group of women. They purposely out race him to a seat. he makes mornings tense. He is on vacation right now

Capricorn Horoscope for week of August 27, 2009

Capricorn Horoscope for week of August 27, 2009

Verticle Oracle card Capricorn (December 22-January 19)
In his book From Heaven to Earth: Spiritual Living in a Market-Oriented World, Aaron Zerah riffs on the Hebrew word "nabal." It describes someone who's so staunchly concentrated on practical concerns that he becomes impractical. Please don't let this be your fate anytime soon, Capricorn. For the ultimate benefit of the bottom line, disregard the bottom line for a while. Fantasize like a teenage poet. Be as whimsical as a mystic clown. Be a sweet, fun-loving fool so you won't turn into a sour, workaholic fool.

people I meet

I talk to some of the most interesting people. I have met a Korean woman whose parents came here by way of Japan and asked the Korean consulate to change their passports to reflect their nationality and therefore they avoided being interred during the 1940.

I met a disabled woman who needs surgery at Joint Diseases, though i think she was on methodone, I was amazed at how she maneuvered the world in with such difficulty walking.

I met a young man who scoffed at his teacher father who only makes 65000 a year because his sister married a construction company owner and he got a 6 figure job doing nothing. His brother in law's company fireproofs building such as Yankee Stadium and Hotels and skyscrapers. He was full of himself and kept talking about helicopters taking him to Montauk etc. He really could not believe his life.

I met a woman who is responsible for the accounting books of a major advertising company. She had just finished her monthly audit and aced it. Her company has accounts in the billions, Johnson and Johnson, Burger King and TJ MAXX for some.

I met a man who was raised in a Jewish Orphanage. He and his brother had only each other and went to college. When he was flunking out, he realized that he had to depend on himself. He became an attorney his brother a doctor.

I met a man who was raised in foster care. He and his brother both were in prison. I met him when he was just out of jail. He was very proud to be from brooklyn and proud of the Dodgers.

people i run into

I ran into two women that I used to work with at St Josephs. One recognized me and we talked and the second I recognized and spoke to her. We both caught up with work things.

Tonight, I ran into someone I used to go to WW with. She left when she lost her job. I recognized her walking down the street. As i was talking to her, someone who goes to WW with me presently was walking down Broadway.

Dream

I dreamed that Suzanne Vega was using my apartment. It was not MY apartment but an apartment on the Upper West Side. She cleaned it out and I saw stacks of newspapers that I was okay with her getting rid of. I saw antique furniture and wondered if there was too much furniture. I was okay with eliminating some chairs.
There was a bed and someone was sleeping.

There was a core group of people. Two men, Me and Suzanne. We sat down to meal but didn't eat. The rooms were off the kitchen and it became a clinic. Some were there to see the Doctor, some to see the dentist. The dentist was a woman like an assistant. She looked like an old weather worn latina from Mexico or South America, Peru, Ecuador. etc.

My lower molar caps started to fall out. First one, then two, then three.. I asked her if she could glue them in. In the dream i questioned if she had the right glue. I remember laughing that superglue would do.

This dream is a composite of many conversations and TV shows that I watched this week. I really had a cap fall out and went to the dentist. I had a conversation on Wed about caps coming out with a woman at weight watchers. I have been working on getting rid of things i dont need and I watched a TV show about Hoarders who could not get rid of things and clear things out.

markowitz

Shook hands with the Borough President who was out campaigning for someone at the Train Station yesterday

Capricorn Horoscope for week of August 20, 2009

Capricorn Horoscope for week of August 20, 2009

Verticle Oracle card Capricorn (December 22-January 19)
I think you've been lurking and slinking long enough, Capricorn. For now, you've learned all you need to know about wrestling with camouflage and subterfuge. You've done all you could to clean up the crooked places and bring integrity to the twisted stories. Now it's high time for you to come out and play -- to exit the claustrophobic maze and make a break for wide-open spaces. Some cautionary advice: To keep from getting pinched by trick endings, make sure all sales are final and all goodbyes are complete.

dreams

i dreamed that i saw leap into a glass door. The cat had scratches and cuts in her underbelly and paws. I was there able to help her. She was a fat grey cat that was fluffy. Cat did not seem to be too hurt.

Last night, in my dream, i heard an intellectual discussion about the music of Bob Dylan. I heard myself say that his language was sophisticated using large vocabulary words but it may lack some melody at times. I woke to find a young Dylan singing on PBS. ( they must be running the documentary )

I woke often during the night with hot flashes. It was a restless night. I had many dreams as i woke often. As I remember then, I will continue to write them down.

cold soul

The Latest in Elective Surgery Will Relieve You of That Nagging Soul




By MANOHLA DARGIS
Published: August 7, 2009

If anyone looks as if he might be in the possession of a troubled soul, it’s the actor Paul Giamatti. With his doubting eyes and gently defeated posture, he tends to come across as a man carrying a burden, though one not necessarily or wholly of his making. You can almost see the distress resting heavy and hard on his sloped shoulders, pushing out against his ovoid head, tugging at his lower eyelids and worrying his lips.
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In “Cold Souls,” a story about life’s anguished weight, Mr. Giamatti plays a role for which he is exceptionally, perhaps even uniquely qualified: an actor named Paul Giamatti, thereafter known as Paul. When the movie opens, Paul is rehearsing a scene from Chekhov’s “Uncle Vanya” with obvious effort and concentration. “I’m a madman,” he proclaims. “I’m 47 years old.” It’s the final act of the play and Uncle Vanya is loudly expressing his vast disappointment. If only, he continues (and here the translation differs from other versions), “If I could only live what’s left in a different way.” In the play the next voice is that of his friend, a doctor, who, with palpable irritation, tells Vanya to shut it.

The next speaker in the film, though, is Paul himself, who angrily cuts off the rehearsal. “Uncle Vanya” is, among other things, about disappointed lives and thwarted desires and the continuing performances we call our lives. In many respects the same holds true for “Cold Souls,” an ambitious, elegantly shot, tonally cool first feature written and directed by Sophie Barthes that shows hints of Stanley Kubrick and Charlie Kaufman both. Yet unlike Vanya, the on-screen character called Paul Giamatti, who may or may not be similar to the public figure — the versatile, heroically ordinary-looking actor from films like “Sideways” and the HBO series “John Adams” — doesn’t appear to have much to regret.

He lives comfortably and apparently with some happiness with his beautiful wife, Claire (Emily Watson). He has an agent who phones him rather than the reverse. And he’s playing Uncle Vanya in a New York production, a plum gig. But something is troubling Paul, gnawing at him and eroding his performance, or so he believes. It’s not a tragedy, the theater director (Michael Tucker) kindly reminds him after Paul brings rehearsals to an abrupt, angrily frustrated stop. Yet the play isn’t a comedy either. It’s something in between, something like life, a blurring that thwarts Paul. His already rounded shoulders and bent head droop even further. And then he does something that every artist should be wary of: he listens to his agent.

The agent points toward a possible solution to Paul’s woes: Soul Storage, a company that extracts and stores souls, and on the conveniently close Roosevelt Island, no less. It’s a preposterous hook, of course, but Ms. Barthes introduces her absurd premise with deadpan restraint. In this she has great help from the dryly funny David Strathairn as Dr. Flintstein, who runs the company with his assistant, Stephanie (an underused, decorative Lauren Ambrose). With little ado Dr. Flintstein persuades Paul to relinquish his soul in a swift, painless process that extracts it as if it were a zit. Afterward Paul is horrified to discover that his soul looks — and, as he rattles it inside its glass container, sounds — exactly like a chickpea.

“How can such a tiny thing feel so heavy?” Dr. Flintstein marvels. In “Uncle Vanya” the heaviness is unbearable, essential, inescapable: “We must go on living,” a character says with wrenching finality. Ms. Barthes more or less comes to the same conclusion, but she complicates her film in ways that suggest she has trouble accepting such a seemingly modest (say, chickpea-size) conclusion. And so, early on, she introduces Paul’s narrative counterpart, Nina (Dina Korzun), a beautiful melancholic who smuggles black-market Russian souls into the United States. Like Paul, Nina is a performer (she passes through immigration using counterfeit fingerprints) and overburdened with soul, in this case the traces of smuggled souls that linger in her memory like the flickering images from barely remembered old movies.

Initially united only through the editing that toggles between them, Paul and Nina eventually meet in person. There is much to admire in their scenes together, particularly after Paul’s soul has gone amusingly if not tragically missing in Russia. There he finds a soap-opera star who yearns for the soul of Al Pacino (a very good Katheryn Winnick) and witnesses desperate people selling the most intimate part of their being. He also looks into his own soul, and while it brings tears to his eyes, it, much like the Russian subplot, proves disappointingly banal, which might be true to life but is an artistic letdown. In this attractive, smart-enough, finally un-brave movie Ms. Barthes peeks at the dark comedy of the soul only to beat a quick, pre-emptive retreat.

“Cold Souls” is rated PG-13 (Parents strongly cautioned). Be warned: the film encourages thinking.

COLD SOULS

Opens on Friday in New York and Los Angeles.

Written and directed by Sophie Barthes; director of photography, Andrij Parekh; edited by Andrew Mondshein; music by Dickon Hinchliffe; production designer, Elizabeth Mickle; produced by Mr. Parekh, Dan Carey, Elizabeth Giamatti, Paul Mezey and Jeremy Kipp Walker; released by Samuel Goldwyn Films. Running time: 1 hour 41 minutes.

WITH: Paul Giamatti (Paul Giamatti), David Strathairn (Dr. Flintstein), Dina Korzun (Nina), Katheryn Winnick (Sveta), Lauren Ambrose (Stephanie), Emily Watson (Claire) and Michael Tucker (Theater Director).

Ponyo

Sosuke and Ponyo in the 2008 film "Ponyo," directed by Hayao Miyazaki.
August 14, 2009
Forces of Nature, Including Children


By MANOHLA DARGIS
Published: August 14, 2009

To watch the image of a young girl burbling with laughter as she runs atop cresting waves in “Ponyo” is to be reminded of how infrequently the movies seem to express joy now, how rarely they sweep us up in ecstatic reverie. It’s a giddy, touchingly resonant image of freedom — the animated girl is as liberated from shoes as from the laws of nature — one that the director Hayao Miyazaki lingers on only as long as it takes your eyes and mind to hold it close, love it deeply and immediately regret its impermanence.

The girl is running parallel to an island road, her eyes wildly fixed on a small car perilously whipping around hairpin bends in a raucous storm. Her name is Ponyo (gurgled and voiced by Noah Cyrus, Miley’s younger sister) and she was once some kind of half-human, half-fish daughter of the sea. But she found a boy, the 5-year-old Sosuke (Frankie Jonas, yet another one of those brothers), or rather he found her, rescuing her by scooping her into a pail. The two were separated — as fated characters invariably are — but she’s found him. Now, as she races along the surface of huge peaking waves she has summoned up by the force of her power, Ponyo is expressing not only her bliss, but also ours.

“Ponyo” is the latest masterwork from Mr. Miyazaki, the influential Japanese animator who has advanced the art with films like “Princess Mononoke,” “Spirited Away” and “Howl’s Moving Castle.” The new film, despite the initial distractions of the recognizable voices crammed into the English-language version (a subdued Matt Damon, a fine Betty White), shares thematic and visual similarities with his earlier work, notably its emphasis on the natural world, its tumults and fragility. (As Mr. Miyazaki once put it, “All my animation and comics involve land, sea and sky — they all revolve around what happens on earth.”) But “Ponyo,” which takes some inspiration from “The Little Mermaid,” Hans Christian Andersen’s macabre fairy tale, has a narrative simplicity, or rather the clarity of a distillation.

Despite the connection to Andersen’s tale, there is nothing remotely ghoulish about “Ponyo.” No blood and only a few anxious tears are spilled. Far more than Mr. Miyazaki’s other recent films, this one obviously has been created for young viewers, who will have no trouble grasping its broad story or understanding why the characters do what they do, as when Sosuke, worried about prowling cats, places a leaf over the pail with the goldfish girl. At that point Ponyo is as big as Sosuke’s hand. With her broadly smiling, pale human face and wiggling, red fish body, she looks a little like one of the girls that the Japanese artist Yoshitomo Nara likes to draw, minus the scowl. She also looks a bit like a well-dressed tadpole.

Like the other characters, with their clean lines and bright splashes of color, Ponyo tends to pop slightly on the screen. Although Mr. Miyazaki eschews the deep space of 3-D animation (over his dead body, as he recently suggested), he is acutely sensitive to texture, an awareness that translates into different visual designs for individual scenes and which intensifies the emotional register of those same scenes. The softly smudged field of grass that surrounds Sosuke’s house like a blanket is striking partly because you can see the touch of the human hand in each blade. The blurred pastel quality of the grass, the softness of this green mantle, convey a feeling of comfort that in turn summons up words like warmth, home, love.

Under the ocean the colors are more saturated and the lines often sharper. In this magical realm of undulating creatures and twinkling lights, Ponyo’s father, a wizard named Fujimoto (Liam Neeson), practices his mysterious art. From the prow of a submerged vessel, Fujimoto — the long tendrils of his rusty red hair waving around his head like octopus tentacles — releases potions that restore the health of the pollution-choked waters.

It’s hard not to think of the wizard, particularly when he gently and very cleanly curses the human world and its harmful ways, as something of a Miyazaki self-portrait. Whatever the case, like his creator, Fujimoto can’t keep Ponyo under wraps: she springs from the sea, exploding into the world with a reckless, infectious, almost calamitous exuberance.

This is nature unbound, or maybe it’s the image of childhood right before culture takes over and initiates its relentless tsk-tsking, telling us to mind our manners, shut our mouths and sit up in our seats. Smitten with Sosuke, Ponyo decides she wants to be human, a wish that involves a visit from her mother (Cate Blanchett) and almost upends the balance of the world. As in the original Andersen fairy tale, which turns on a mermaid who dies because she falls in love with a landlocked prince, humanity has its costs. Not to worry: no one dies in “Ponyo” or even coughs. Its sting is so gentle you might miss it. But when the ocean rises in this wonderful movie, each leaping wave stares out at us with a baleful eye as if in watchful and worried wait.

PONYO

Opens on Friday nationwide.

Written and directed by Hayao Miyazaki; United States production directors, John Lasseter, Brad Lewis and Peter Sohn; English-language screenplay by Melissa Mathison, translated from the original Japanese by Jim Hubbert; music by Joe Hisaishi; produced by Toshio Suzuki; released by Walt Disney Studios. Running time: 1 hour 40 minutes. This film is rated G.

WITH THE VOICES OF: Cate Blanchett (Gran Mamare), Noah Cyrus (Ponyo), Matt Damon (Koichi), Tina Fey (Lisa), Frankie Jonas (Sosuke), Kurt Knutsson (the Newscaster), Betty White (Yoshie), Liam Neeson (Fujimoto), Jennessa Rose (Kumiko), Lily Tomlin (Toki) and Cloris Leachman (Noriko).

Dream part 2

I have no recall of part 1 because i went back to sleep. In the dream, i was with my friend Elynor who is disabled in real life but in the dream she was healed. She was wearing maroon bellbottoms that were high wasted. She resembled Janis Ian and a composite of herself. She was in an office with a glass window and solid door. I was on the other side. She opened the door and I showed her a sketch. A straight line with a circle underneath in the center. I told her that at the point of the circle, the Hudson River was 25 foot deep.


there was lots happening in the office, interruptions, distractions, people on the phone. noises, people moving.

Capricorn Horoscope for week of August 13, 2009

Capricorn Horoscope for week of August 13, 2009

I wouldn't be surprised if your whole life passed instantly before your eyes one day soon. Not because you'll come close to literal physical death or anything dangerous at all, but rather because you will have a brush with a magic power that could be yours in the future -- a magic power that will be possible for you to fully own only if you cut the umbilicus that links you to a dying source. Wow. Did I really say that in a fun little astrology column? And are you really prepared to change your life because of something you read in a fun little astrology column? I hope so. In the coming weeks, it'll be the fun little things that have the greatest potential to align you more closely with your soul's code.

see the movie read the blog

Julia/Julie Project

julie and julia

Two for the Stove



By A. O. SCOTT
Published: August 7, 2009

In an understated but nonetheless climactic scene in Nora Ephron’s “Julie & Julia,” Julia Child (Meryl Streep) and her editor, Judith Jones (Erin Dilly), struggle to come up with a title for the culinary doorstopper Julia has spent the past eight years composing. It’s not an especially suspenseful moment — pretty much anyone who has cooked an omelet knows what the book is called — but it gives Ms. Ephron and the audience a chance to savor the precise nature of Julia Child’s achievement.
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The book is “Mastering the Art of French Cooking” — not “How To” or “Made Easy” or “For Dummies,” but “Mastering the Art.” In other words, cooking that omelet is part of a demanding, exalted discipline not to be entered into frivolously or casually. But at the same time: You can do it. It is a matter of technique, of skill, of practice.

The impact of that first volume of “Mastering the Art,” and of Child’s subsequent television career (which is mostly tangential to the movie’s concerns), is hard to overstate. The book stands with a few other postwar touchstones — including Dr. Benjamin Spock’s “Baby and Child Care,” the Kinsey Report and Dr. Seuss’s “Cat in the Hat” — as a publication that fundamentally altered the way a basic human activity was perceived and pursued.

Not that Ms. Ephron’s breezy, busy movie traffics in such sweeping historical ideas, except occasionally by implication. Nor does she infuse the happy, well-fed life of her Julia (the main source for whom is a memoir Child wrote with Alex Prud’homme, her great-nephew) with too much grand drama. “Julie & Julia” proceeds with such ease and charm that its audacity — a no-nonsense, plucky self-confidence embodied by the indomitable Julia herself — is easy to miss.

Most strikingly, this is a Hollywood movie about women that is not about the desperate pursuit of men. Marriage is certainly the context both of Julia’s story and of Julie’s (about whom more in a moment), but it is not the point. The point, to invoke the title of a book whose author has an amusing cameo here (played by Frances Sternhagen), is the joy of cooking.

In the vernacular of many American kitchens, “Mastering the Art” is better known simply as “Julia,” and many a kitchen debate has been settled by an appeal to its authority. Should we separate the eggs? Turn the roast? What does Julia say?

In 2002, more than half a century after Julia and her husband, Paul, arrived in France — a debarkation that provides the movie’s opening scene — a young woman named Julie Powell decided to answer that question in the most literal and systematic way imaginable. A would-be writer working at a thankless office job and living with her husband in Long Island City, Queens, Ms. Powell spent a year cooking every single recipe in “Mastering the Art” and writing a blog about the experience. The blog led to the memoir that provided Ms. Ephron’s movie with its title and the lesser half of its narrative.

Trimming some fat from Ms. Powell’s rambling book (and draining some of the juice as well), Ms. Ephron’s script emphasizes the parallels between the lives of her leading characters, who never meet. (They appear on screen together only when Julie watches Julia on television). Julie (Amy Adams) and Julia have loving, supportive husbands — the affable Chris Messina is Eric Powell; the impeccable Stanley Tucci is Paul Child — who only occasionally express impatience with their wives’ gastronomic obsessions. (Paul by arching an eyebrow, Eric by storming out of the apartment.)

Both women take up cooking out of a restless sense of drift — “I need something to dooooo,” Julia exclaims — and both pursue it in the service of a latent but powerful ambition. Publishing success is the happy ending to both tales, and Ms. Ephron, a literary and journalistic star before she was a filmmaker, is unequivocal in her celebration of the joys of such triumph.

Julie, in an early scene, is humiliated by a table full of college friends who flaunt their BlackBerrys, assistants, real estate deals and lucrative glossy-magazine gigs. But by means of failed aspics and triumphant sauces, Julie shows them all up. And Julia, similarly, overcomes the xenophobia and sexism of the French culinary establishment and the myopia of an American publisher and becomes the person we know as Julia Child.

As does Ms. Streep. By now this actress has exhausted every superlative that exists and to suggest that she has outdone herself is only to say that she’s done it again. Her performance goes beyond physical imitation, though she has the rounded shoulders and the fluting voice down perfectly.

Often when gifted actors impersonate real, familiar people, they overshadow the originals, so that, for example, you can’t think of Ray Charles without seeing Jamie Foxx, or Truman Capote without envisioning Philip Seymour Hoffman. But Ms. Streep’s incarnation of Julia Child has the opposite effect, making the real Julia, who died in 2004, more vivid, more alive, than ever.

In Mr. Tucci Ms. Streep finds, as in “The Devil Wears Prada,” a perfect foil. Like the character he plays, he is gallant and self-assured and able to assert a strong sense of his own presence even as he happily cedes the center of attention. Together, their mastery of the art is so perfect that even quiet, transitional scenes between them are delightful. (And when Jane Lynch shows up as Dorothy, Julia’s sister, the delight ascends to an almost indecent level of giddiness).

If only Mr. Tucci and Ms. Streep were in every movie, I thought to myself at one point, as, in a state of rapture, I watched them sit still on a couch looking off into space.

The problem is that when they aren’t on screen in this movie, you can’t help missing them. Ms. Adams is a lovely and subtle performer, but she is overmatched by her co-star and handicapped by the material. Julia Child could whip up a navarin of lamb for lunch, but Meryl Streep eats young actresses for breakfast. Remember Anne Hathaway in “The Devil Wears Prada”? Amanda Seyfried in “Mamma Mia!”? Neither do I.

The deck is further stacked against Ms. Adams by the discrepancy between Ms. Powell’s achievement and Ms. Child’s, and by a corresponding imbalance in Ms. Ephron’s interest in the characters. The conceit of parallel lives is undone by the movie’s condescending treatment of Julie and also by its ardent embrace of the past at the expense of the present.

From the very start, Paris in the late ’40s and early ’50s is — well, it’s postwar Paris, a dream world of fabulous clothes, architecture, sex, food, cigarettes and political intrigue. And New York in 2002 is made, a little unfairly, to seem drab and soulless by comparison. Queens, demographically the most cosmopolitan of the five boroughs and something of a foodie mecca, is treated with easy Manhattanite disdain, as a punch line and punching bag.

The unevenness of “Julie and Julia” is nobody’s fault, really. It arises from an inherent flaw in the film’s premise. Julie is an insecure, enterprising young woman who found a gimmick and scored a book contract. Julia is a figure of such imposing cultural stature that her pots and pans are displayed at the Smithsonian. The fact that Ms. Ephron, like Julie herself, is well aware of this gap does not prevent the film from falling into it. All the filmmaker’s artful whisking can’t quite achieve the light, fluffy emulsion she is trying for.

But an imperfect meal can still have a lot of flavor, and the pleasures offered by this movie should not be disdained. Julia Child knew what to do with a broken sauce or a half-fallen soufflé: serve it anyway, with flair and without apology. What would Julia say? What she always said: Bon appétit!

“Julie and Julia” is rated PG-13. It has mild profanity, and the indulgence — in exquisite moderation — of a few choice vices.

JULIE & JULIA

Opens on Friday nationwide.

Written and directed by Nora Ephron; based on “My Life in France” by Julia Child with Alex Prud’homme, and “Julie & Julia” by Julie Powell; director of photography, Stephen Goldblatt; edited by Richard Marks; music by Alexandre Desplat; production designer, Mark Ricker; produced by Ms. Ephron, Laurence Mark, Amy Robinson and Eric Steel; released by Columbia Pictures. Running time: 2 hours 3 minutes.

WITH: Meryl Streep (Julia Child), Amy Adams (Julie Powell), Stanley Tucci (Paul Child), Chris Messina (Eric Powell), Jane Lynch (Dorothy McWilliams), Linda Emond (Simone Beck), Erin Dilly (Judith Jones) and Frances Sternhagen (Irma Rombauer).

Dreams

MY sister had a dream about My aunt who died in March the night after I did. In her dream, she looked the same as she was in my Dream. She had her tenant on her left and told my sister that my father was dead.

We both had dreams about the same aunt who looked about the same age two nights in a row.

steely dan internet show set list 8-4

Steely Dan
Beacon Theater
August 4, 2009

Teenies Blues (The Band)
Aja
Hey 18
Peg
Dirty Work
FM
Rikki Don't Lose That Number
Home At Last
Dr. Wu
Any Major Dude Will Tell You
Do It Again
Love Is Like An Itchin' In My Heart
Babylon Sisters
Daddy Don't Live In NYC No More
Black Cow
Josie
Don't Take Me Alive
Kid Charlamagne
Reelin' In The Years
My Old School

celebrity sighting

I saw Jackie Mason and hostess of Top Chef Masters, Kelly Choi both on the Upper West side tuesday while i was going to Steely Dan

dream

i had a dream about my auntie etty.( she died in March).. i was offering her these chalk boxes that I got at Macy's from a Live Strong promo and i remembered in the dream that Rosie was grown up and getting married.. She looked really well and she was laughing..

Capricorn Horoscope for week of August 6, 2009

Capricorn Horoscope for week of August 6, 2009

Make sure that no one except you will be able to tear asunder what you join together in the coming days. Tie knots that will never slip. Build bridges that can't be burned. Send emails that cement new alliances and plug yourself into networks that are crackling with high-energy connections. Stock up on nails, safety pins, staples, tape, and glue. Be sticky, Capricorn! Just one caution: Do not marry your fortunes to anyone unless they're willing to be your devoted, synergistic warrior as much as you are their devoted, synergistic warrior.

people i run into

i ran into an student from the past in Target today. he lives in the Bronx and was with a new girlfriend... we talked about his last course

Met Museum of Art