Ode to the Corner Bookstore

I am leaving for New York City tomorrow morning, and was thinking about what my weekend's itinerary will include.  I go to New York enough to not feel the pressure of going to the MOMA and the Statue of Liberty, so that leaves me with the added pressure of trying to avoid the tourists like the real New Yorker I'm not. With that in mind, I stick to the streets where I engage in commerce.  The corner bookstore is the kind of place I can shop guilt-free, because, come on, I'm buying books. 

Located on 1313 Madison Ave (Upper East), this cozy nook of a book store isn't quite convenient enough for any college-attending students in New York.  It's crowd is primarily composed of old people living in the area.  My Grandparents used to live about two blocks up, and we would come here all the time when I was younger.  I never really got what all the fuss was about until it was featured in an episode of Sex and the City, prompting me to re-evaluate.  I soon came to realize that this tiny bookstore, where they only keep one copy of each book on display, is really a catch.  Even though they welcome babies and canines- two of gods creatures I don't particularly enjoy- I find the ambiance to be tranquil and warm.  People gather for book signings and readings with distinguished authors, all while being serenaded by flirty jazz through a somewhat vintage speaker system.

All my raving about the Corner Bookstore makes me just a tinge bitter, as I've come to realize that Boston lacks a cute, independent book store like this one, where the staff is all so friendly and knowledgeable and effortlessly chic in a very eco-friendly way. I have gotten to a point in my life where I find myself waiting to buy books in New York at the corner bookstore; primarily the ones that I feel will impress the sales people and will strike up an intellectual conversation.  For example: instead of Shopaholic and Baby, what I might gravitate towards if I was at a generic boarders, I subconsciously (not really) gravitate towards a random Jack Kerouac book (meaning one other than On the Road). The sales person then starts RAVING about Dharma Bums, at which point I have no choice to buy it, and, surprisingly, I am GLAD to do so!

Books feel different when they've been purchased at the Corner Bookstore.  Not only are they usually signed by the Author, but they are crisp and come with a special Corner Bookstore bookmark.  And, if that wasn't enough, The Corner Bookstore inspired the movie You Got Mail. Can you ask for more?

Is There a God?

Richard Dawkins, in his novel The God Dilusion, introduces a spectrum measuring one's atheism. A one means you are certain there is a god, whereas a seven means you are certain there is no god. Dawkins considers himself to be a 6.9, because while he strongly believes there is no God, he is unable to prove it.

"A knowledge of the existence of something we cannot penetrate, of the manifestations of the profoundest reason and the most radiant beauty - it is this knowledge and this emotion that constitute the truly religious attitude; in this sense, and in this alone, I am a deeply religious man." --- Albert Einstein,

Einstein, on the other hand, did believe there was a God. He felt that there was no scientific explanation for how the universe could have come into existance without the help of a extraordinary super-power. Einstein was then later quoted as saying:

"I'm not an atheist and I don't think I can call myself a pantheist. We are in the position of a little child entering a huge library filled with books in many languages. The child knows someone must have written those books. It does not know how. It does not understand the languages in which they are written. The child dimly suspects a mysterious order in the arrangements of the books, but doesn't know what it is. That, it seems to me, is the attitude of even the most intelligent human being toward God."

So, is there a God? I'm still researching, but I'll keep ya posted.

Just to clarify...

I had written the pre-Kate Hudson part of my last entry on Saturday, hence why it says Saturday.  However, I actually wrote the entry today (Tuesday). The Kate Hudson event occurred yesterday (Monday). I am primarily writing this entry for myself- while it's easy to forget that I am getting academic credit for this, I happen to be very conscious of that and therefore need to be on top of my posting schedule.  

On a slightly different note, the episode in the New Yorker about the Hills has been really glorified.  The woman merged editorials and pop culture-- what do you think I've been doing for the past few months with this blog... are people implying that proverbial blog is illegitimate? Do people respect the New Yorker more than proverbial blog? 

Those are rhetorical questions; I know the answer is hell no to both! 

Greetings.

I'm home. I didn't update from D.C.

I was going to, but the rate for Internet was 3 bucks per minute. An hour would've essentially cost as much as our flight to D.C. That's the going rate when you're nesting at the very hotel that REGAN WAS SHOT AT.

I was going to briefly describe my very happening-trip to D.C. but then something much larger happened. In a nutshell, I stalked Kate Hudson and Anne Hathaway. It was the best experience of my life. Well, kinda.

Here's how this whole thing happened:

I was shopping with my Mom at Bloomingdale's in Chestnut Hill, when I received a call from my friend Joe, asking if I would like to help him pick out a tie at men's Bloomingdales. I promptly said "peace out, mom" and went on over to Men's Bloomingdale's. Upon greeting Joe, he told me that the parking lot was flooded with trailers and trucks. With as much of a Hollywood upbringing as one could hope for within the constructs of Newton, I knew this meant a movie was being made.  And, not just a movie, but a movie with Kate Hudson. 

Just to give a little background, I've been keeping tabs on this movie- and the entire budding film industry in boston, for that matter- for a while.  Making movies in New York City is really expensive, whereas making movies in Boston is randomly mad cheap. Furthermore, more and more movies are being made in Boston to look as if they were made in New York. As far as Kate Hudson goes, any reader of perezhilton.com is aware that Owen Wilson and Kate Hudson were seen "canoodling" at Upper Crust in Beacon Hill two weekends ago.  I frequent said blogging website and restaurant, and was bitter to have missed them, so I was eager to make up for lost time. 

In the midst of all my excitement, I left Joe to fend for his own while I sprinted to the parking lot with the hope of interrogating a young craft services employee.  I ended up engaging in two minutes of brisk conversation with the electrician; he told me shooting would start at 7:30 and that he didn't know if they needed extras because, as said before, he was an electrician.  

As I skipped back up to finish the job of picking out a tie for Joe, I fantasized about all the things I would say to Kate Hudson.  I visualized myself explaining the countless hours of hair coloring I have experianced in hopes of obtaining her  token golden-blond hair. As if my time commitments to coloring my hair failed to exhibit just how devoted to her hair I was, I planned on referring to my hair coloring as a "labor of love".  In January I told Clinton from What Not to Wear that I loved him, so actually saying the aforementioned to someone I've never met before isn't completely out of charchter for me.  Nonetheless, I was elated. 

Joe, however, was not; despite all my begging, he had a date to watch gossip girl with the "girlies" and refused to wait at Bloomingdales for the next four hours in hopes of possibly encountering Kate Hudson.  I, however, was on a mission.  I called up a friend who I knew could Tivo gossip girl with no remorse, and off Katie and I went, back to bloomingdales.

Upon my second arrival, I really put my dignity in the back seat, and essentially screamed HEY! to the nearest person who I thought could be involved with the movie in a non-electrical way.  She called over her friend who gave me the number of Jody, the person who organizes people being extras in the movie. For the record, I'm calling her later!

At this point, Katie and I sat inside bloomingdales for about an hour.  We then went to dinner, trying to buy some time.  We had strategically parked outside of bloomingdales, near all the trailers, so that no one could block us from going through the bloomingdales.  Should we try to jump into the picture with Kate Hudson, that'd be a different story. But we were willing to take our victories as they came (and we did).  Sitting in bloomingdales in our last attempt to see SOMEONE who has graced the cover of Vogue, we noticed a much larger group of crew members accumulating in the central bloomingdales floor.  I hit up my normal faux-sheet browsing nook, and all of a sudden Katie tapped me on the shoulder and whispered "LOOK OVER". Sure enough, Kate Hudson was two yards to the left of me.  She was wearing no makeup, and a pair of charcoal Ugg boots. She did NOT look good. 

Her sub-par complexion was hardly a problem! Kate Hudson is Kate Hudson, with or without foundation, so I was still star-struck! She was in the middle of a large circle of crew members and 400 thread count sheets, creating just about the only scenario where I would feel uncomfortable screaming "KATE HUDSON! I LOVED HOW TO LOSE A GUY IN TEN DAYS!" 

Despite this setback, I had not gotten my fill of Kate Hudson. I decided that I would stay in Bloomingdales a while longer, but that I really DID have to buy something to justify my being there. So, I milled around, looking for a pair of sheets for about a half hour. As I did this, a morbidly obese crew member who had previously asked Katie and I to be quiet (they were "rehearsing") told Katie that we were on "the longest shopping trip ever". Not only was he wrong (he has clearly never been to NYC with me) but he was clearly unaware of the great lengths I had endured to be within a stone's throw of Kate Hudson.  Nonetheless, I continued eyeing the sheets and Kate Hudson, only to look over and realize I was being eyed by Anne Hathaway. I looked farther to the left and covered my mouth in awe, while Anne Hathaway gave me a look meaner then the one I received from her security counterpart. At this point, I realized I needed to buy the sheets (so at least my dignity would be preserved in the presence of Kate Hudson) and leave.  

Overall, I was marginally disappointed that I didn't engage in any sort of conversation, or even an embrace, with Kate Hudson. But, I was really, REALLY, close to both Kate Hudson and Anne Hathaway. Joe was shocked. Not quite regretful, but almost.  And, I made Katie admit I delivered, which she did.  And with that, I'm off to call Jody. Peacers!

ADIOS!

I'm off to D.C. to chill with the Pope. Kidding.  I will update from our nation's capital upon my arrival. 

DEFF worth the trek

I just partook in a pilgrimage past the Natick Border. YUP, I just came from Framingham, namely One Underprice Way aka JORDAN'S FURNITURE!  

The picture above are the very-involved owners of Jordan's furniture.  Usually store owners are elusive and pretentious, but not these guys!  They go out of their way to make themselves relatable to the point of almost degradation, starting with their ponytails.  Quick anecdote: I thought they were a gay couple. Turns out they're brothers. Who knew. (actually the employee handing out Mardi Gras necklaces at the door knew because she was the one who told me) 

For those who were wondering, I had a very good reason for being at Jordan's furniture, and no it was not to buy a reclining chair with a Red Sox logo emblazoned in the arm rest. After weeks of begging my cronies to see the Rolling Stones movie, I finally asked the cronies who I knew couldn't say no: my rents.  For one, my rents introduced me to the Rolling Stones. For two, they took me to their concert a few years ago at Fenway Park.  For three, it's a rare day when I'm asking my rents to hang!

The movie was a much more enjoyable experience than seeing the stones live, surprisingly. The movie was made using eighteen cameras, so when it's not intensely focused on Mick Jagger's cheek bones, you feel like you're a spectator from the very stage he's performing on. Another plus of the IMAX rolling stones experience would have to be the mere absence of my mom tapping me on the shoulder during "Jumping Jack Flash" to tell me she was having a "contact high" from the person blatantly smoking a joint next to us, as she had done only a couple years prior. 

In conclusion, Jordan's furniture is well worth the trek. The seats are so comfortable, and I've actually never seen a larger screen in my life.  The end more than justified the means. 

RoRo

I'd like to quote Rosie O'Donnell:

2 parallel lines
cut by a transversal
alternate interior angles formed r congruentto
solve the problem
we must agree on the givens


She is not only a poet, but a math genius!

Everyone should check out Rosie's blog: http://www.rosie.com/blog/

The Hill

Nora Ephron wrote a really interesting article for the Huffington Post on her feelings for Hillary Clinton. I'm not a woman pushing the age of sixty, so naturally there are parts of this article that I can't relate too, but for the most part I really stand by Ephron's sentiments. It's also really refreshing to see someone publicly support Kucinich. Anyways, here's said article:

I would like to put myself among the growing chorus of people demanding that Hillary Clinton withdraw from the election. I don't really think it's fair to ask her to withdraw, and I certainly don't believe she's going to; she'll hang in there till the last dog dies, or till she runs out of money, whichever comes first. I'm not asking her to withdraw because I prefer Obama, and I don't think she should withdraw "for the sake of party unity," or whatever current bromide is being flung at her to get her to pull out. I think she should withdraw because I'm losing my mind.

Don't get me wrong, this primary election has been swell. Like Michelle Obama, I feel proud of my country for the first time in a long time. I loved Dennis Kucinich, and I had a big sneaker for Chris Dodd. But now that we're down to two contenders, it's turned into an unending last episode of Survivor. They're eating rats and they're frying bugs, and they're frying rats and they're eating bugs; no one is ever going to get off the island and I can't take it any more.

I am particularly sensitive to this because I'm a woman of a certain age, and this means that part of the pie that passes for my brain contains a large slice called Hillary. I've been thinking about her in a fairly pathological way ever since 1992 and dreaming about her as well. She is me, and then again she's not. I used to love her and I no longer do, but unlike what usually happens when love dies, I still think about her far too much. When she tells a big lie, like her recent Bosnia episode, I can lose hours trying to figure out why. I mean, why? Was it one of those things that she'd said so often that she'd come to believe it? Was it a story that had worked in the past so she thought she'd gotten away with it? Did she honestly think that no one would rat her out? Does she not understand that if you're famous, there's almost nothing you do that someone doesn't have a picture of? I have no idea what the answer is to any of this because I'm not a liar and she is. (By the way, I don't think she was always a liar, the way some kids are born liars and never get over it. I think she was once a truthful person and her lying skills were forged in the early years of her marriage, forged in the crucible of Bill's infidelities and in her role as point person in dealing with them. This is what happens when you marry a narcissist: he spills the milk, you clean it up and your love grows. And then you end up a liar, just like him.)

But the point is that it doesn't matter why Hillary lied; what matters is that I'm hooked on Hillary and on the Rorschach process that defines my relationship with her: she does something, I spend far too much time thinking about it, I superimpose my life and my choices onto hers, I decide how I feel about what she's done, I bore friends witless with my theories, and then, instead of moving on, I'm confronted with yet another episode of her behavior and am forced to devote more hours to developing new theories about her behavior. I don't have time for this.

I understand that asking Hillary to withdraw from the race has more to do with me than it does with her, but that's my point.

Ephron really captures the essence of confusion towards the democratic election that people, but especially women, are experiancing. I find myself feeling sympathetic and somewhat supportive of Hillary by default, yet simultaneously rooting for Obama. I want Hillary to drop out, yet I want her to embody the Destiny's Child song "Independant Women" and not give up.

Regardless of my conflicted feelings towards Hill, it is clear that the bloodbath between her and Obama is potentially the least productive thing for the Democratic Party. In a time when triumph over the republicans is imperative, Hill should just take one for the team and call it a campain.

OH, and speaking of Hill and THE HILLS, Heidi made public yesterday that she officially supports McCain! WHO KNEW?

Hello!

I'm back from my very long hiatus. I think it was somewhere around three weeks. Nonetheless, here is a recap:

1.) Went to Puerto Rico. It was really warm and I loved how short the flight was. Overall, a positive experience.

2.) One of my BFFs got into Columbia yesterday.

3.) Last but DEFINITELY not least, The Hills is back!!!!

The Hills is one of the least stimulating, yet entertaining shows I think I've ever watched. There is something about watching a group of people do the most mundane tasks unsuccessfully that I just find riveting. For example, the girlies are sent to Paris for the Crillon Ball and Lauren decides to wear her ball gown out to the proverbial club. Bad choice number one. She wants to make the dress shorter for her night on the town, so she decides to do a "running stitch" to create a new hem for the dress that she will be able to easily take out later and will not alter the original hem of the dress. Bad Choice number two. THEN, Lauren looks around and plops her dress on top of a curling iron, resulting in a several-thousand dollar dress being ruined.

And it only goes uphill from there, because if Lauren's judgement is impaired then there is no hope for Audrina, who without question has the whitest teeth I've ever seen but also manages to make the stupidest judgement calls known to man. How could Audrina have thought it would be anything other than counterproductive for her to call Lauren, who is half-way across the world, and tell her that Brody has a girlfriend? Could that not have waited for another three days? Moreover, is Audrina incapable of making smalltalk? She legitimately called Lauren, told her Brody has an alleged girlfriend, and then hung up. Am I the only one who thought that made for great TV but was still bizarre?

I will be updating regularly now so get pumped for some seriously scintillating entries in the future!