Well, I'm going out of town again, so you probably won't see anything new here for a few days. Writing this blog, in fact, is my way of procrastinating my packing. I always do this every trip, and every morning when I'm trying to navigate public transportation on two hours of sleep, I wonder what is wrong with me for not learning my lesson. My mom does it too, so I must have inherited it from her. It's all mom's fault. Isn't everything?

So just a couple quick things:

Rent This: Donnie Darko. It makes no sense, in a lovely way. It's the best role Patrick Swayze will ever do. There's a really cool looking bunny rabbit. It's beautifully shot and Jake Gyllenhall is no less than perfect. Notice how he looks exactly like the bastard love child of Tobey Maguire and Jared Leto? How did they do that?

See This: 21 Dog Years: Doing Time @ Amazon.com. (Have I mentioned this before?) Now east-coasters can see what this dot-com garbage was all about. But if you can't make it out here to see it live, then buy the book. I snuck a galley copy out of the office and have read bits of it (I'm saving most of it for the plane ride tomorrow), and it's SO good. I don't time for a whole review here, but I will tell you what this book is not. It is not a guy who, disgruntled with corporate life, writes a 200 page complaint about how the man was bringin' him down. What it is, is biting, hilarious, moving and personal, and dreadfully honest about what it's really like to work at Amazon.com. I mean, this is it folks. No fooling.

And hey, I'm all for buying and selling used books normally, but buy this one new. I wanna see Mike on the best-seller list, right up there with Michael Moore. Heck, I'll have already read it and I'm still gonna buy a copy, so there.

Look at This: The Planet Cluster. Because space is neat.

By the way, isn't watermelon the world's most perfect food? Ok, so it's sort of a hassle to chop it up, and the seeds have to be dealt with. But ah, the reward is such bliss (see PS, below).

No funny stories because I WORKED ALL DAY! My part-time, maybe-for-two-days job has become a full time what-are-you-doing-the-next-few-weeks job. This is a good thing, I'm happy. But suddenly I have no TIME. I have netflix movies stacking up that I'm not watching. In fact, I'm going to watch one right now. So, bye.

PS. It's still HOT

Whew. Suddenly I'm busy. Maybe not as busy as you folks out there who work or go to school 8, 10, 12 hours a day. But going from zero to anything is a bit of a shock. So if you feel I'm slighting your e-mail, my sincere apologies. I will get back to you as soon as I can dedicate some honest attention to it. In the interim, here's the blog, which I will try to keep up with at least semi-regularly.

Two big pieces of news right now.

1: It's HOT. Just over a week ago, you may remember, I was telling you of how Lucas and I bundled up in parkas and braved bitter winds to go to Coney Island. Suddenly, the forecast calls for over 85 degrees tomorrow! This place is psycho. It wouldn't be so bad if the temperature inside my apartment was in some proximity to the temperature outside (right now a breezy, pleasant sixtyish), but even with the windows wide open and the fan full blast, it is sweltering in here. So, I bought an air conditioner today, for delivery Thursday. It's gonna be a long summer...

2: I am getting hit on incessantly. I don't get it. You don't understand, nobody hits on me, ever. It's just not done. I mean, I've found myself wondering exactly what could be so hideous about me that even the asshole weirdos who hit on everybody weren't hitting on me. Now at least the asshole weirdos are paying attention. I must be on the right track.

Example: took a cab from the co-op after shopping, and after the usual cab-chatting (provided you're lucky enough to get a driver who speaks English), the driver asked me if I had a husband. I said no (note to self: know when to lie), and not thirty seconds later he asks if we can exchange numbers. Uh, no. Thanks anyway.

Tonight was a little freakier. I'm walking home from buying my air conditioner, and about half way I notice that some guy is following me, fairly close behind, and muttering to himself. Well, people talk to themselves all the time here--especially now that everyone seems to have one of those hands-free cell phones--so this is not normally cause for alarm. But the guy is obviously not on a phone, and he doesn't seem your average street crazy. He's dressed up pretty colorfully, lots of red. First I think at first he's some sort of Rasta guy, but now I'm wondering there wasn't some "colors" thing going on. In any case, I don't worry.

The guy's muttering gets louder. I distinctly hear the guy saying something about "ass" over and over. So I whip around and say "Are you talking about my ass?" He looks taken aback, though he plays it cool. "I wuz just talkin' to myself," he mumbles. "Why?"
"Well, I hear you behind me saying 'ass' a bunch of times and I want to know if you're talking about my ass or somebody else's ass."
"You got a fat ass."
"Oh really?" I have to laugh. "Is that 'phat' in a good way or in a bad way?"
"Naw, it's aiight. A good way. It's nice."
"Well..." (I'm never quite sure whether to be mad, or flattered, or amused, so I decide to be all three). "Well, okay."

So the guy keeps walking beside me and talking and asks my name and stuff, and I ask his (Eric). I feel like telling him there are better ways to meet girls than walking behind them commenting on their body parts, and that I'm probably old enough to be his momma anyway, but I don't. He asks me if I have a husband (why do they always say husband? What if I have a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend, for that matter?), and I say no, but I make up something about having "a man" and we're thinking about getting married yadda yadda, just to stave off the picking-up talk, though he still manages to comment several more times about my "f/phat ass." Okay, I get it!

As we're approaching my house, he asks if I live "up here in the projects," which I guess aren't that far away (he was walking in one of those directions I've been instructed not to go). I said no, he walked on, and with a nod wished me a pleasant "good evening."

It was only after I got home that I realized the crazy stuff that was going on in that interaction. I suppose it's the women's studies major in me that wants to analyze any sexually- or racially- charged encounter, but here goes.

See, I wasn't scared. At no point did I ever feel like I was in any danger, or that this guy meant any harm--he was just a kid talking shit, no big deal. I didn't know that for sure, of course, but we weren't exactly on deserted streets--if I wanted to put up a fuss, someone would have noticed pretty quickly. So I didn't feel my personal safety was an issue. But the longer he followed me, the more I could feel getting charged up, my spidey sense was tingling. It wasn't from danger, but it was from the power involved in this situation. As a man, and as a black man in a largely black neighborhood, he had the "power" over a small white girl walking down the street. And he took it, feeling he could talk all he wanted about my honey-baked ham. Would he have done that on the Upper East Side? Fuck that, he would have been shot. Would he have done it to a black girl? Maybe, but he probably would have stayed farther behind her! Who knows what he wanted to accomplish, but I am sure he knew I could hear him, so his power increased the longer I continued to ignore his obvious comments. On the other hand, maybe he felt like I was taking away his power--trying to make him invisible--by pretending he didn't exist. So, both of us, in our own ways, were feeling small while he was walking behind me.

When I turned around and called him on his shit, it cut the tension flat. My reaction was one of amusement, some irritation, but not fear or anger, and right away it leveled the power dynamic. We went from two objects, dealing with each other based on stereotypes and social mores (me: scary black man following helpless white girl! him: white folks taking over our neighborhood again), to two people walking down the street having a conversation (albeit a strange one). I think he was genuinely surprised that I had the balls to say anything, and that led him to be relatively polite for the rest of the time we walked together (maybe five minutes). The thing that's really cool is that I didn't have to get angry at him or insult him to take the power back. If I turned around and told him to fuck off, he might have walked away laughing "got another one!", or maybe he would have gotten pissed at me. Not to be all new-agey and crap, but if you send out the negative vibe, you're bound to get it in return. In truth I realized that being angry was just as inappropriate as being frightened. He was just talking about my ass! Maybe he was trying to freak me out--well, kids do that--or maybe he was really was fond of my ass. Can you blame him? ;) Either way, it's not threatening, just silly. Laughter was honest, and appropriate, and effective.

I kinda feel this was my own good-natured Take Back the Night march. I go, girl.

Here's a love that will no doubt live forever.

To be honest, after the blow of Britney and Justin, I needed something like this.

It may take you forever to download, but you don't want to miss the JarJar Binks E! True Hollywood Story.

It's pretty cute, and there are some good laughs. As with all E! True Hollywood Stories (though it looks like someone forced them to change it to F!), it's got everything from childhood photos of "Jerald Binkelstein" to interviews with fellow cast members of Star Wars Episode I (played by quite competent actors). And, of course, the typical E! "reenactments." See the rise, fall, and rise again(?) of this comic legend.

If you don't have a high-speed broadband thingamahoogit, it might take you three hours to download this ten-minute film. Better yet, go "visit" your friend with the T1 connection at work. Either way, if you're at all a fan of Star Wars, you'll find it worth your while.