So tonight I feel it is my duty to start off this entry with a disclaimer:
To my great horror, it has come to my attention that in a recent issue of Maxim there was a rather asinine letter defending Sex and the City signed by a "Mary G of NYC." I have not seen this letter, but from my understanding of it, it could have been written by a five year old.
Still, how many Mary G's of NYC can there be out there...20, 50, 100? In any case, this was not me, people. Though I love my four girls, I fully understand that the show is not for everyone, and even that, at times, the show was not all that realistic (GASP! I can't believe I just said that)...ie, examples including Carrie's ginormous apartment only cost her $750 a month, and that after years of beating around the bush with Carrie, Big finally came around (do I think this would have happened in real life? Sadly, no.) Thus, I love the show, but I respect others rights to hate it. And also that it is highly unlikely that were I to take the time to write into a magazine, I would defend it so poorly. It is also highly unlikely that were I to write into a magazine, I would choose Maxim (ba-ZING). Chris Calamera, if this is your idea of a sick joke on me, well, Boy, you're going DOWN.
Phew! Now that that's out of the way, on to the matter at hand. My apartment is an evolutionary work in progress. Little by little, I've been adding things to it. One of the things I added to it soon after the initial move-in was some of my favorite board games. In my entertainment unit, on the shelf below the DVD/VCR, I have three of my all-time favorites: Monopoly, Scrabble, and Taboo. This trifecta sits, ever patient, waiting to be unleashed for instant good times with the revered guests who cross the threshold of #2R. Lookin' at them recently, however, I had a revelation about what they represent...and there you have it, another Blog is born.
Recently I wrote about young love, stating that it was pure, because it occurred at a time in our lives when we hadn't learned to play games yet. (You'll notice that the blog I'm referencing is no longer, and thus we have the first instance in my blogging life in which I've censored myself. Ack! I feel like a sell out!!) Anyway, sitting cross-legged on my couch, staring at my Parker-Brothers\Milton Bradley trifecta, a light-bulb went off. Are we sensing that it's time for a Mary Metaphor here....oh, oh..I think it's time for a Mary Metaphor!!!
At age thirteen we hadn't learned to play relationship games yet, but we'd definitely been learning to play some type of games. Taking a mental snapshot of the games of my youth, I discovered a startling connection to the games we played with our mommies and daddies (and in some cases, stuffed animals, only child...remember?) and the games we play in our love lives. Are you ready? Here we go...
CANDYLAND:
Touted as a "child's first game" and it certainly was mine. You draw cards with colors on them and advanced forward. The ultimate goal is to make it to the finish... where there is like a candy kingdom or something. The loop hole is the picture cards, which correspond with places all around the board. If you draw a picture card, you have to go to the corresponding place, whether it be close to the finish, or back at the beginning. You draw the Gumdrop Guy, you have to go back to the beginning, but the Sugar Plum Fairy is practically at the finish. You draw her, and you're GOLDEN. The Gumdrop Guy is short, chubby (he's a gumdrop, so duh) and wears glasses, the Sugar Plum Fairy is statuesque, glittery, and an all-around fox. She represents the goal here, people, she represents the goal!!
CHUTES AND LADDERS:
You make all this effort to climb up a ladder and advance on the board, but with one spin of the wheel, you go sliding ass-first down farther than where you started from. Chutes and Ladders teaches us to deal with the curve balls that life throws, in dating or otherwise.
SCRABBLE:
DUH. You're given random letters and you have to take them and try and make them fit together with one to three other players' letters. You take randomness, and try to scramble it into something that makes sense. Although, in scrabble, points for intelligence counts...whereas in dating, I'm starting to wonder.....
TABOO:
Along the same lines of Scrabble, here we have another word game. Except this time you struggle to make your partner blurt out a word without using five obvious synonyms that will give the word away immediately. In Taboo, points count for how well you can communicate with the other person. If you are able to say "You know, that thing..." and the other person blurts out "OCTOPUS!" and gets it right, well, then you might just have a strong relationship there. Taboo also calls to my mind the things we ladies go through to try and get the guys in our lives to say the things we've been longing to hear, without holding them at gunpoint. How many synonyms are there for "commitment." Unlike in dating, Taboo has a timer and if the person still can't come up with your word, that's it. Hmmm, maybe we should start thinking like Taboo, we'd waste a lot less time.
MONOPOLY:
It's all about money and real estate. Also, there's a beauty contest.
BATTLESHIP:
You find each other's vulnerable places and then move in for the kill!
OUIGA BOARD:
This is really too easy. You gather all your girls together and ask this board questions that have answers that only fate holds. Done correctly, the board can actually yield pretty freaky answers. When I was young, I had a Ouiga board that even spoke more than one language. Apparently Spanish Ouiga boards do exist. Mine had "si" and "no" in the upper corners. Eesh, anyway the dating equivalent of Ouiga is psychics. I'll admit that I've been to a psychic once or twice, and like the Ouiga, a good psychic can also yield pretty freaky answers ("how the heck did you know about HIM?!") Both Ouiga and psychics are what we turn to when we're looking for answers that we are impatient to uncover.
So there we have it. The board games of our youth served a two-fold purpose. One purpose was to spend quality time with our parents/siblings/stuffed animals, and the other was to warn us about the road which lay ahead, containing a variety of different games that we would later have to master. It's comforting to know, however, that for the time being I can return to the games of my youth, presently housed on a shelf directly across from where I'm currently sitting, to take a short journey back to simpler times.
Sunday, March 13, 2005
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
A WORD on the 'Places I'll Remember' (to quote The Beatles)
Ok, recently a male friend of mine joked to me that he feels he needs to put on the Sex and the City theme song everytime he fires up my blog. Well people, you better cue that music. All I can say in my own defense is that I merely use the episodes as my spring board for analysis that hopefully becomes all my own. To those who smirk, I say don't be haters.
My lesson today draws loosely upon two episodes. One from Season Two, and one from Season Four (I know, you don't care).
The Season Two episode deals with avoiding different parts of town after you've ended a relationship because you fear that you might run into the newest addition to your (hopefully not too long) list of heartbreaks. In essence, this person holds you in emotional hostage because you don't feel that you have the freedom to go where you normally would (SEE, that was ALL me.)
The Season Four episode is perhaps one of my favorite SATC episodes of all time. It is called "Ghost Town" and it explores the concept that your exes become ghosts that haunt you. I mean, think about it. It is a startling thing to realize that even though you've broken it off with a person, he or she does in fact actually still exist. When a person is a part of your daily life for a long period of time and then fades away, it really feels like they died rather than stopped calling and stopped coming around. Yet we are all smart people, and we know that those we've said goodbye to still go about their daily lives. Though we assume these lost lovers are still human, they become ghosts to us, shells of what was between the two of you. And let's face it, if that person hurt you badly enough, seeing them again might just cause cardiac arrest.
Steering this back to SATC, in "Ghost Town" Miranda thinks she has a literal ghost because she hears strange noises at night from the (vacant!!) apartment above her. Samantha tells Mir that she must confront the ghost, acknowledge its presence, and release it. Carrie, ever intuitive, realizes that Aidan is her ghost, with whom she has unresolved issues...and she in turn embarks on a quest to confront him. GOD, that is good writing!
I love to walk...usually with my ipod tuned to the songs that make me happy, make me think, or make me imagine the circumstances and scenarios that I would like this song to act as soundtrack in my ideal life. I am incredibly blessed to live in one of the few places in America where one can do this without the fear of becoming roadkill. I sometimes feel it helps me make the most out of enjoying New York City. Sometimes, however, these walks lead me down roads I've tried to pave over many many times.
I was commenting to a good friend the other day how it is amazing that it only takes one stroll with someone down a seemingly inconsequential street to emblazon that place. You realize, as you are walking, that though you traveled on this street with this person just once, and even on a night that was not particularly special, that you now equate this place with this person. In other words, your departed escort now haunts this place. Haunts you...when all you are trying to do is take a simple walk.
In this sense, the city becomes a ghost town. It becomes a ghost town even though there is hardly ever a time when you can be out on the sidewalk entirely by yourself. There you are, out there surrounded by hundreds of people, haunted by the memory of a soul.
Did you know that sometimes, even without realizing it, you can attempt to obliterate a ghost by bringing someone new to its quarters? For the time being, the spirit on the haunted street, in the neighborhood, restaurant, grocery store..is moved to the back of your mind, as you create new memories with a new person. The danger in this is that once that new person joins his predecessors, these places become double--even triple or quadruple haunted. If you find yourself in one of these places while you are in a missing mood, then you'll miss whoever happens to be first on line in your heart that day.
A wise friend once told me that if he avoided all the places in the city that reminded him of past loves, he wouldn't be able to go out anymore. He hit the nail on the head. What is a girl to do, become a hermit? I am incredibly lucky in that I have a secret weapon, which I have put to great use. And of course I will divulge.
I am about six months shy of celebrating a quarter century of living in New York City (yes, I have decided to count my birthday not only as my celebration of aging, but as a marker of how long I have lived here). Twenty five years in the city is an impressive amount of time. A quarter century as a New Yorker...this, my dear friends, is my secret weapon (and I will explain...)
I walk down the street, in a neighborhood where a Ghost lives and inevitably I start to think of him....but, ah! No. This is NOT the neighborhood where Jackass #3 lives; it is instead the neighborhood where my mother took me as a child to buy the shoes I loved so much I tried to wear them to bed. This is NOT the street where Jackass #1 and I used to watch street artists create their masterpieces; it is instead the street I walked down at age nine, dressed (ironically) to the nines, with my mom and dad (dressed to the "mid-forties" ha ha ha) in tow after having seen my first broadway show. This is NOT the corner where I used to meet up with Jackass #2 before heading to the movies; it is instead the corner of the street where my best friend in third grade used to live (and still might...I think.) Using this tactic, I smile because I have the pleasure of knowing that I was here long before Jackasses 1-12, and these "haunted" places will continue to provide me with memories long after theirs have faded.
Still, while these memories remain annoyingly in focus, I recently discovered another means of survival. A few Sundays ago I was out walking for the sake of walking. I decided to go into the West Village and get lost (I mean really lost, in the West Village West 4th Street crosses West 10th Street, that's just NUTS). As I weaved my way West, I made the rather impulsive decision to keep going and before I knew it, I was pressing the call button for the walk light to cross the West Side Highway. I remembered a pier that one could reach from Christopher Street, and the only time I had ever been there was when I attended Wigstock as a crazy middle-schooler (do not ask, do not even ASK). Without the crowd, and the soundstage (and the benefit that 12 years have passed since that most interesting day), the pier was cleansing, open, and being enjoyed only by real live New Yorkers. Here was a world within New York that in 24 1/2 years I'd forgotten to take advantage of. My ipod and I strode down the expansive walkway, looking across to the less-crowded skyline of Jersey City and a sign which read "Lackawanna." At the end of the pier, I stood at the very corner of it, and held on to the railing, captivated by the water coupled with the glittering late afternoon sun. I felt tiny and enormous at the same time. I made a promise to myself there, which of course I will share. I will come back to this place. Often. In all seasons. But I will never, ever bring anyone with me. I want this place to remind me of myself, and once more, I will come here when my heart needs healing from whichever Jackass has pummeled it most recently. Though it is a deliciously romantic place, "Lackawanna" is just for me. Sorry Jackasses.
This was for You. (And believe me, You knows who they are ;O).
There are places I'll remember
All my life, though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I've loved them all
--The Beatles--
My lesson today draws loosely upon two episodes. One from Season Two, and one from Season Four (I know, you don't care).
The Season Two episode deals with avoiding different parts of town after you've ended a relationship because you fear that you might run into the newest addition to your (hopefully not too long) list of heartbreaks. In essence, this person holds you in emotional hostage because you don't feel that you have the freedom to go where you normally would (SEE, that was ALL me.)
The Season Four episode is perhaps one of my favorite SATC episodes of all time. It is called "Ghost Town" and it explores the concept that your exes become ghosts that haunt you. I mean, think about it. It is a startling thing to realize that even though you've broken it off with a person, he or she does in fact actually still exist. When a person is a part of your daily life for a long period of time and then fades away, it really feels like they died rather than stopped calling and stopped coming around. Yet we are all smart people, and we know that those we've said goodbye to still go about their daily lives. Though we assume these lost lovers are still human, they become ghosts to us, shells of what was between the two of you. And let's face it, if that person hurt you badly enough, seeing them again might just cause cardiac arrest.
Steering this back to SATC, in "Ghost Town" Miranda thinks she has a literal ghost because she hears strange noises at night from the (vacant!!) apartment above her. Samantha tells Mir that she must confront the ghost, acknowledge its presence, and release it. Carrie, ever intuitive, realizes that Aidan is her ghost, with whom she has unresolved issues...and she in turn embarks on a quest to confront him. GOD, that is good writing!
I love to walk...usually with my ipod tuned to the songs that make me happy, make me think, or make me imagine the circumstances and scenarios that I would like this song to act as soundtrack in my ideal life. I am incredibly blessed to live in one of the few places in America where one can do this without the fear of becoming roadkill. I sometimes feel it helps me make the most out of enjoying New York City. Sometimes, however, these walks lead me down roads I've tried to pave over many many times.
I was commenting to a good friend the other day how it is amazing that it only takes one stroll with someone down a seemingly inconsequential street to emblazon that place. You realize, as you are walking, that though you traveled on this street with this person just once, and even on a night that was not particularly special, that you now equate this place with this person. In other words, your departed escort now haunts this place. Haunts you...when all you are trying to do is take a simple walk.
In this sense, the city becomes a ghost town. It becomes a ghost town even though there is hardly ever a time when you can be out on the sidewalk entirely by yourself. There you are, out there surrounded by hundreds of people, haunted by the memory of a soul.
Did you know that sometimes, even without realizing it, you can attempt to obliterate a ghost by bringing someone new to its quarters? For the time being, the spirit on the haunted street, in the neighborhood, restaurant, grocery store..is moved to the back of your mind, as you create new memories with a new person. The danger in this is that once that new person joins his predecessors, these places become double--even triple or quadruple haunted. If you find yourself in one of these places while you are in a missing mood, then you'll miss whoever happens to be first on line in your heart that day.
A wise friend once told me that if he avoided all the places in the city that reminded him of past loves, he wouldn't be able to go out anymore. He hit the nail on the head. What is a girl to do, become a hermit? I am incredibly lucky in that I have a secret weapon, which I have put to great use. And of course I will divulge.
I am about six months shy of celebrating a quarter century of living in New York City (yes, I have decided to count my birthday not only as my celebration of aging, but as a marker of how long I have lived here). Twenty five years in the city is an impressive amount of time. A quarter century as a New Yorker...this, my dear friends, is my secret weapon (and I will explain...)
I walk down the street, in a neighborhood where a Ghost lives and inevitably I start to think of him....but, ah! No. This is NOT the neighborhood where Jackass #3 lives; it is instead the neighborhood where my mother took me as a child to buy the shoes I loved so much I tried to wear them to bed. This is NOT the street where Jackass #1 and I used to watch street artists create their masterpieces; it is instead the street I walked down at age nine, dressed (ironically) to the nines, with my mom and dad (dressed to the "mid-forties" ha ha ha) in tow after having seen my first broadway show. This is NOT the corner where I used to meet up with Jackass #2 before heading to the movies; it is instead the corner of the street where my best friend in third grade used to live (and still might...I think.) Using this tactic, I smile because I have the pleasure of knowing that I was here long before Jackasses 1-12, and these "haunted" places will continue to provide me with memories long after theirs have faded.
Still, while these memories remain annoyingly in focus, I recently discovered another means of survival. A few Sundays ago I was out walking for the sake of walking. I decided to go into the West Village and get lost (I mean really lost, in the West Village West 4th Street crosses West 10th Street, that's just NUTS). As I weaved my way West, I made the rather impulsive decision to keep going and before I knew it, I was pressing the call button for the walk light to cross the West Side Highway. I remembered a pier that one could reach from Christopher Street, and the only time I had ever been there was when I attended Wigstock as a crazy middle-schooler (do not ask, do not even ASK). Without the crowd, and the soundstage (and the benefit that 12 years have passed since that most interesting day), the pier was cleansing, open, and being enjoyed only by real live New Yorkers. Here was a world within New York that in 24 1/2 years I'd forgotten to take advantage of. My ipod and I strode down the expansive walkway, looking across to the less-crowded skyline of Jersey City and a sign which read "Lackawanna." At the end of the pier, I stood at the very corner of it, and held on to the railing, captivated by the water coupled with the glittering late afternoon sun. I felt tiny and enormous at the same time. I made a promise to myself there, which of course I will share. I will come back to this place. Often. In all seasons. But I will never, ever bring anyone with me. I want this place to remind me of myself, and once more, I will come here when my heart needs healing from whichever Jackass has pummeled it most recently. Though it is a deliciously romantic place, "Lackawanna" is just for me. Sorry Jackasses.
This was for You. (And believe me, You knows who they are ;O).
There are places I'll remember
All my life, though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I've loved them all
--The Beatles--
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