Ginger's follies, foibles and fixations.
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| You Listen to Me, Mr. Kick-Ass Ginger's follies, foibles and fixations. |
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Friday, January 03, 2003 Happy New Year! (belated) I WILL NEVER DRINK AGAIN. Or so I declare a couple of times a year, it seems. Normally I don't indulge excessively on New Year's Eve (or really, all that often any time) but this time I was invited out to a "hot Manhattan nightclub" for a celebration with my boss and sundry work-related friends. I figured--how often do I get to do "the Manhattan nightclub thing?" (answer: never, and probably for good reason) so I figured I might as well not start another year curled up with my cat and a movie and try this new adventure. We started the evening at a work-friend's apartment, a little potluck thing. My salad was declared a huge hit, and I had my first-ever glass of Dom Perignon champagne -- Yum-E. Already I was mixing vodka and champagne within an hour of each other, so this did not bode well for the rest of the evening. Also I ate lightly; strike two. It should be noted that the Infamous Backstage Back-Rubber (IBBR -- see previous entries dating back to October, for fuck's sake) was in attendance as well...and not a bad cook. After the potluck, we headed over to the club – which by the appearance of the line seemed to cater to extremely young, extremely straight, unfabulously-dressed kids in from Jersey. Ugh. There we met up with other friends/co-workers who were waiting in the insanely long line. The line wasn't really moving and it was already 10:30pm, leading us to conclude that we'd still be standing outside at midnight. To make matters worse, another pal who had reserved a (very, very expensive) table in the club (at which we were all planning to sit) had given up, canceled the table, and was heading home. Meanwhile, seeing the line, the Infamous Backstage Back-Rubber (IBBR) had decided to walk his leftover food home—a few blocks away--and would join us in line later. But then! Someone from the table group took pity on us and decided to strong-arm us past the beefy bodyguards and get us in -- but where oh where was the IBBR?! But it was too late; as we frantically tried to call him on his cell phone, we were hustled into a much shorter line, whisked past the velvet rope, and scooted downstairs. Mr. Boss kept saying of the IBBR "Forget it, he's not going to get in. There's no way, he's doomed, we won't see him." Crestfallen, I thought I had lost my chance with the IBBR -- I mean, if I couldn't smooch this guy on NEW YEAR'S EVE while we were BOTH DRUNK, it was just never going to happen -- and now he was stranded outside without the support of any of us or the mysterious strong-arming table guy. But lo! At the bottom of the stairs, who was standing there but IBBR!?!? I was literally shocked speechless. He had managed to go home, drop his leftovers and come back to the club and get in BEFORE we did. We are still mystified on how he managed that, but the important thing is that we were all there. And then? Well, as I was standing there admiring IBBR's magical ways with nightclub security, I noticed the name of the just-cancelled table group on a list and I said to the harried-looking host -- "That's us, that's our reservation." "OK," he said. "This way." I grabbed IBBR and everyone else, and we were escorted to a roped-off room and to a table equipped with the standard NY Eve party goods (hats, streamers, &c.) and surrounded by comfy couches. Had we really done it? None of us in the group had paid for this table, yet here we all were! [Not to say that we hadn't paid anything; it was the price of a good seat to a hit Broadway show just to get into the place] Soon a waitress came by to explain that we could have two bottles at our table at any one time, and the bottles would be refreshed (along with a selection of mixers) up until 1am -- all included in the price of the table, of course! So understanding the value of a dollar that none of us had spent, we went to work on the bottles. It was at this point that the rest of the evening gets fuzzy. What I do sort-of remember: • Attempting to dance on the tiny dance floor with IBBR and other friends to horrible disco music while the extremely straight-n-young, unfabulously-dressed Jersey-kid crowd packed onto the hip-hop floor next door. I gave up on dancing soon thereafter. • Trying to subvert the "two bottle" system by filling one empty carafe with the rest of the (top-shelf) vodka, hoping it would pass as tap water, and then the waitress cluelessly (or maybe not-so-cluelessly) clearing the vodka carafe along with other partially-empty bottles. • Vaguely hearing the NYEve countdown, and then kissing the IBBR at midnight. And then kissing him again..and again. Well, you get the idea. • Talking at great length (between smooches) with the IBBR about highly personal things that were, in retrospect, entirely inappropriate for polite company, but at the time seemed like a good idea and were, at least, not untruthful. • The waitress coming over and complaining loudly at the miniscule tip, even though we weren't even close to leaving and hadn't yet figured out how much tip to leave—what was on the table was just a few bucks a few people had thrown down throughout the evening. I understand that drunk people who hadn't thus far paid for anything are probably notorious for 'forgetting' to tip, but her accusing us of stiffing her before we'd even really had a chance to think about tipping yet put something of a harsh on our collective buzz. • Everyone else leaving, the IBBR and I staying because I had more or less forgotten how my legs worked, and why bother leaving when you're making out with a cute boy on a comfy couch? I mean, really. • Finally realizing that if I didn't get some water and sleep RIGHT NOW I was going to be very unhappy. So, we left. The IBBR gallantly waited a very long time with me (fortunately it was unseasonably, almost freakishly, warm) until we could find a taxi willing to take me to Brooklyn (and don't even START about why we went home separately and alone – that's none of your business, Nosy McSnoop!) • A very sweet Bangladeshi taxi driver who put rose oil on my hand – apparently to soothe my churning insides when I explained that I can get carsick riding in backseats for long distances (I didn't). • Getting home and managing to write something illegible in my journal before passing out in full makeup, with contacts. • Various ill-effects of excessive alcohol intake, which I will not detail here. • A somewhat bleary but heartfelt call to IBBR and an arrangement to see a play the next day. And so it goes… posted by Ginger | 6:44 PM The Triumphant Return of The Friday Five! First I'd like to say for the record that I'm glad we're gettin' back to the good-old superficial stuff and none of that introspective crap I refused to answer last week (all about year-end assessments and new-year's resolutions and that sort of thing. I'd rather not think about it, thank you). 1. Do you wear any jewelry? What kind? Yes. Silver only. I have a little gold jewelry (or gold-plated) and I even when I want to, I can't seem to walk out of the house in it. My favorite stone is garnet, and I like sparkly things. A couple of years ago I had a ring made with two diamonds and a piece of black jade with the idea that I wanted a "signature" ring that I'd wear all the time. Unfortunately, the fact that it's white-gold and that I don't really like it all that much means I don't wear it often, which is a real shame considering the expense, and that I have only myself to blame since I designed it. Sigh. 2. How often do you wear it? Except for the "main" ear piercings in my earlobes, I haven't taken my earrings out for several years. I wear the same pair of silver hoop earrings almost every day in my earlobes, but I usually take them out at night. I've been wearing the same nostril stud that my nose was pierced with--and same for the cartilage piercing in my right ear--since the day they were put in. I wear 2 or 3 rings fairly often, a watch pretty much every day (though I see this as more functional than decorative), necklaces sometimes, bracelets almost never. The "signature" ring -- a few times a year. 3. Do you have any piercings? If so, where? Five in my ears -- three left, two right (one of the two on the right is the top cartilage part of the ear). And my left nostril. I used to have a belly-button piercing (1996-1997) but one day it just sort of fell out, so I have a tiny scar there now. The ear cartilage piercing is a second try -- the first time I had it done was at Lollapalooza 1993, and it never healed right. This is how I learned that you should never have anything pierced with a "piercing gun," or in less-than-sanitary conditions. Nothing more scandalous than that, though I have a number of friends who can show you some cringe-inducing piercings... 4. Do you have any tattoos? If so, where? Yes, one. It's a drawing of Piglet from the original "Winnie the Pooh" books (not the DisneyTM version - urgh) that I had done the day I graduated from college. I'll just say it's generally invisible unless I'm wearing a particularly low-cut top, a skimpy bathing suit, or we're really good friends. On a related note, I had another tattoo designed but decided against it (it was a shark, and looked pretty cool). I've--off and on--wanted to get another one ever since the first, but nothing has struck me as something I'd want to ink on my body forever. Not to mention it's a little too painful to do frivolously. 5. What are your plans for the weekend? This doesn't seem to go along with the above, but I'm game. Uh, so far I've been sitting at home, alternately reading, knitting, eating, watching DVDs, tidying the apartment, and generally lazing about (oh yes, and working a bit from home). Tomorrow I have to attend rehearsal during the afternoon and might go to an art museum with some friends. For the ONE Sunday I have free in my life, I plan to have brunch with my good friend Nell. I have so missed our Sunday brunches! posted by Ginger | 5:17 PM Monday, December 30, 2002 Dude! Like, New Stuff I don't know how my net-voice turned into that of a sixteen year old boy, but there you go. The point is that, after many long months, I have changed the content of my home page, though I haven't bothered with the rest of the website. I've added a photo of myself that is less than flattering--taken as it was when I was horribly sick--and removed the far cuter photo that still failed to earn me any dates, dirty e-mails or marriage proposals and so is therefore deemed a failure. So, go take a gander, willya? And along with the theme of epic fantasy film reviews, here's some thoughts on Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, excerpted from the same email referenced on my Home Page: Like the first LOTR, I appreciate the grand cinematic achievement of it (though something was wrong with the projection, making everyone's faces look square) but it fell short of being "entertainment" in the razzle-dazzle sense. Watching it was like--well, like reading a book that is good but moves very slowly. Imagine that. And though I liked "Fellowship" the movie more after reading the book, I don't know if it [reading the book] helped my experience with "Towers." The decision to shuffle the order to place the battle of Helms Deep at the end is understandable, but sacrificed the emotional journey of Frodo and Sam, which is the real "meat" of the book. Also moving the defeat of Isengard to correspond to Helms Deep was confusing, and lessened the impact of Saruman's defeat--a huge deal in the book. ("He [Saruman] didn't seem to upset about it," my dad observed). In other words, I probably would have chopped out 40 minutes of orc-hacking (and all of Liv Tyler--what the hell was that??) and concentrated on developing the complexities of the Frodo/Sam/Gollum menage-a-trois. But that's just me. Ding Dong the Show is Dead No more singing vegetables, no more backrubs. Yes, our show is over for the season. Next we launch right into rehearsals for the NEXT show--this one about singing stuffed animals--which hits the boards way too soon for my taste. I think I learned a lot with this production and hopefully will be better prepared for the next one. And I hope we make some more money--sheesh. Anyway, I won't miss this show. After ten weeks, two shows a week, I think I've had enough. The cast and crew was for the most part very talented--too talented, in fact, for this sort of thing--but nobody really bonded. In fact, despite my invitation to "do something" together after the last show to say goodbye, only one actor took me up on it (coincidentally, perhaps, the infamous back-rubber). I don't know, the whole thing was just a tepid experience all-around. And, with that, I'd better get to bed. I'm finally feeling human again and would rather not relapse right before New Years Eve! posted by Ginger | 12:27 AM |
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