hyacinths, daffodils, and tulips - oh my.

sPruNg. i, for one, am thrilled at these first true hints that spring is actually here. now it is time to let the aimless wanderings about the city begin and bust out the summer dresses. some people use this time of year for cleaning - not me. i feel as though i have done nothing but pack and move, pack and move, pack and move for months now (reason for that one being quite simple - i have done nothing but pack and move since 2005 began) and that one more organizational, or re-organizational, undertaking might be what finally sends me off the deep end. i do, however, intend to follow nature's lead and start afresh on a number of personal, artistic and professional levels. don't think i'm not aware of the fine line i am walking with cliche here, but, for me, spring brings hope and peace, it always has. like the ground and the trees around me, i will finally shake off winter's icy grip and turn my hidden, dormant self into something vibrant and beautiful. (or i won't, i will totally fail in this endeavor, retreat further into myself, and be crushed by the irony that while the world around me awoke and rejuvenated, i collapsed.)

aw, mom, i always dreamt of being a good listener so tonight i'm on my way.

SaVe tHe mUsiC. holy hell. did last night really happen? god bless vh1 and irving plaza and rick the security guy, i think it did. for a mere $5, i saw the features, ben kweller and the walkmen as i stood a couple of feet away from them. as their kick ass music and performances once again reaffirmed for me that there is nothing better than a good live show. that there is nothing more powerful or admirable or exciting than art. oh, but there was so much more than that . . .

* i stood in the lobby of irving plaza and watched the walkmen's hamilton leithauser come say hi to his mother, who had brought him his guitar.

* i bought my features cd from the drummer, rollum haas.

* i saw evan dando take the stage with ben kweller and cover creedence clearwater revival's "have you ever seen the rain?"

* my show-going partner-in-crime, sara, and i bought rollum haas a drink. then we kicked it with him after the show and he gave us beer from backstage.

not bad for a monday night.

i could use a resurrection.

sPeCiaL dEliVeRy. sometimes the easter bunny comes via ups to your office the day after easter and the basket is not so much a basket as it is a padded envelope. i guess that is part of growing up.

good friday.

mY sEnTiMeNtS eXaCtLy: good. friday. it's about freaking time. what took you so long to get here? i've been waiting for you, well, all week. boy i could have used you on monday but you were nowhere to be found. by wednesday i was worried sick that i might never see you again. yesterday brought some relief as i could feel that you were near. and, now, at last, you have finally arrived. i just hope the wait was worth it. (no pressure.)

thursday thoughts.

bLamE iT oN tHe raIn. it turns out it's all my fault that we had a sneaky spring snow storm yesterday. if you don't believe me, ask my boss.

iS tHerE a LeSsoN hEre? thursday morning, that means 6:45am bikram yoga on the lower east side. so it turns out that i am really good at awkward pose. hmmm. wonder what that says?

tHe aStRonOmEr's tRiAngLe. go see this play. find out more about it at www.collaborationtown.org.

aLL pOiNts bUlLeTiN. missing: my memory from last saturday night after roughly 2am. last seen: between dance floor and beer pong in bushwick. main suspect: mystery shot from gift bottle of corazon tequila from guy at tattoo parlor. if found: please return to me.

lEt mE dOwN geNtLy. for all you fellow friendster users, i have some questions about the nature of the activity partner relationship. is it okay to say to a friend, "look this just isn't working out between us, can we just be activity partners? i mean, i enjoy playing scrabble with you, we can keep doing that, maybe we can even go to a movie or a show or something sometime, but i just don't think we should be friends anymore. let's just stick to 'activities'. it's best for both of us."

photobooth shenanigans.

gUiLty pLeaSuRe. i'm lame. i love photobooths. so much so that bars become regular haunts for me if they have a photobooth. so much so that if i struck it rich the first luxury item i would purchase would be a black & white photobooth.
hmmm...i just need money. and an apartment with room for a photobooth.

until then, i will have to stick to:
union pool (williamsburg) - since this summer they have been using a less desirable 3 image per sheet film
lakeside lounge (east village)
niagara (east village) - not always functioning, has a tendency to eat your money, which i'm sure is entirely the fault of the machine and not how much i've had to drink
jack rabbit slims (east village)

exhibit b. 

exhibit a. 

diary of a bikram yoga junkie.

SaNitY cHecK. it's tuesday morning. 5:45am. i don't have to be at work until 9:30am this morning. so why am i up? oh, that's right, i am up, i am in the process of getting dressed, because i am choosing to go sweat like a madperson for 90 consecutive, relentless, grueling minutes. choosing to push my body to its absolute physical limits of strength, flexibility, and balance at 6:45am on a tuesday morning. and at 8:15am, as i lie on my back on my mat in final savasana, drenched in sweat, my sopping tee shirt and little yoga shorts soaked through and stuck to my body, i will LOVE the way i feel. i will want to stay where i am and do it all over again. i will reluctantly get up from my mat, trying to prepare myself to shower and rejoin the "dry" world. i will roll my mat up and smile with pride at how nice of a job i did with the letters when i took sharpie in hand and branded *henderson* on my blue mat. i will feel a chill as i leave the 106 degree studio and enter the hall. i will shower, put on my make up, brush my wet hair and put on dry clothes. but, of course, the humidity in the locker room combined with my own elevated internal body temperature will make blowdrying my hair virtually impossible at that moment in time. so i will pack up my things, return my yoga mat to its storage place, and, lastly, obeying the fundamental rule of yoga studio etiquette, put my shoes on just before heading out the door with my still wet hair. i will hop on the f train, wet head and all, laden with bags (my unnecessarily large purse, my pink plastic bag with my wet clothes, my "yoga" bag full of hair products and shower supplies and makeup and whatever else i may feel i will need over the course of the day). i will get off at 57th street, enter my building (and, the way things have been going lately, i will most likely try to swipe my metrocard instead of my building id), go up to the 27th floor, and stop in the ladies' room, where i will finally blowdry my hair. the other women who come in and out, mostly from the law firm down the hall, will take in the coat and bags strewn about, the blowdryer plugged into the outlet in the corner by the trash can, my struggle to juggle both blowdryer and round brush, and look at me like i'm insane.
but maybe i am. and maybe i don't care - because i doubt anyone said "picture perfect" to them this morning during awkward pose.