Oh, Honestly!

There is a piece of building material left over from the World Trade Center collapse which ended up being in the form of a natural cross. It's quite impressive...they set it up amidst the rubble as soon as it was found, and it really did, in those days, convey a sense of hope. (Yes, I was working downtown that day...eight blocks away. It was a very strange day.)

Well, they are now going to move the cross to the Memorial Center, and the atheists have gone completely bonkers on the subject and are trying to get it banned.

You know, I happen to be a believer...not in religion per se, which I consider the most divisive force on earth, but in God. Now it would not occur to me to tell others what to believe, or to tell anyone what not to believe, or anything of that nature...I mean, I feel very strongly that one's beliefs are one's own private property. But this group has gone completely bananas.

In today's NYTimes, they have an article about the fact that the atheists have brought a lawsuit to try and get the cross banned from the Memorial site, and it says, in part:

"...four individual atheists, who are described as having suffered 'dyspepsia, symptoms of depression, headaches, anxiety, and mental pain and anguish from the knowledge that they are made to feel officially excluded from the ranks of citizens who were directly injured by the 9/11 attack.' "

First of all, if they were "directly injured" by the 9/11 attack they'd be dead. Secondly, how dare they deny the comfort that might be derived by Christians (or for that matter, Jews) from this cross? And thirdly, how on earth do these people live in the world? Do they fall down with migraines and indigestion (that being what dyspepsia is) every time they pass a church or a temple? And who said they were excluded? That's an exclusion of their own making, surely. I hardly think the Memorial is going to have a sign announcing No Atheists Allowed.

I mean, really. How damn stupid can you get?

Love, Wendy

Say What, RiteAid?

I have various discount/reward cards for the drugstores I use. Today I went into RiteAid to get cigarettes, some dish soap, and some body lotion, and when I looked at my receipt, I saw that they had indeed discounted a couple of items...the two packs of cigarettes.

This is fine, except that the discount/reward card is called "Wellness +". Ummm...what?

Love, Wendy

More Work!

Just got cast for three days' work in something called Gods Behaving Badly. I am going to be playing "one of the recently dead group." Yes, really. I can only hope that casting agencies make a habit of saying "The director loved your look!" You know, the way people reflexively say, have a nice day? Because if they cast me as dead, and the director loved my look, I am in SERIOUS need of new headshots. I mean, face it, doesn't that seem just a tad bit tactless? You're hired to be recently dead because the director loved your look? Good God, what can I possibly look like?

Meanwhile, I just saw the last Harry Potter with Sarah. It's wonderful, presuming you're as steeped in Potter lore as we are...definitely a fitting end to the series. I must say, we're evidently not quite so serious about it as some people. At one point, there was a girl sobbing so loudly you could hear her all over the theatre. Admittedly, in these nasty little multiplex theatres, that's not terribly difficult.

Oh, for the days of actual movie palaces! The Piccadilly Theatre was ours in Chicago, with marble floors and golden cherubs and red velvet curtains...now that was movie going. That theatre could even ennoble a lousy cowboy movie.

I'm going to eat something and curl up in bed and see if the fur people will join me. I've been filling Sarah's bed up with her boxes of stuff, and Moon Unit at least has taken to dozing on my bed, which is just the way it should be.

Love, Wendy

Busy...And HOT

This weather is disgusting. It's in the high 90's every day, and Friday it's going to be 100! I can't wait...I can't wait to go on an Alaskan cruise, that is. However, after a brief period of complete panic caused by my spotty knowledge of electric things, I now have more than adequate air conditioning (it was a matter of hitting the switch in the plug)...in which I intend to stay until this whole thing goes away.

Meanwhile, I've been running around like a chicken with my head cut off. A week ago Sunday (July 10, if for some bizarre reason you're keeping track), I got a background job on something called Finchley Dreams. I cannot imagine why anyone would dream of Finchley, because it's a rather dull London suburb, but then again, I don't title movies. This shoot was a killer. It was a protest scene, and we protested for 15 hours. Yup, you read that right. 15 hours. In 90-something degree weather. Standing. I thought my feet were going to burn right off me. This is going to be a very pretty little paycheck, however! (And if you think my description is vague, it is...we had to sign a confidentiality agreement.)

Then a friend of mine asked me to do some computer transcription. Beware of friends bearing thumb drives. That took up all of Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday...long, long hours. Like 10-12 of them per day. And in the middle of it I had to go to a friend's birthday party, which I managed for about 15 minutes. (But another nice paycheck!)

Thursday I got some rest, ditto Friday, but meanwhile I had to do some housecleaning because of a friend bearing cats! More on this in a minute.

Friday, a little more rest, but not enough...and then Saturday a cousin came in town so Sarah and I had to have dinner with them, which was great fun...but I had gotten a call earlier in the week to go back on Finchley Dreams on Sunday. Luckily it was a late call (like noon...the previous week was 5:30 am), and only 9 hours, but more grueling because there was about three times the humidity. I may just have to burn the outfit I was wearing...I don't think I'll ever get the sweat out of it. You know it's hot when you sweat right through your underwear.

And last night...drum roll, please...DWEEZIL AND MOON UNIT FINALLY ARRIVED!

Yes, I am once again a happy cat mother. And yes, I will get pictures in here if Sarah will show me how. They're not exactly kittens...about 6 months old or so, but they are young, and they're pretty gray tabbies, brother and sister. And even better, they arrived spayed, with all their shots, a little box, litter, feeding bowls and food! Free! A friend had to get rid of them, and here I was in need of cats...

They are currently curled up on Sarah's bed. They now let me pet them and do a lot of ear scritching, but it'll take them some time to actually settle in and start to run the house in proper cat fashion. But I am covered in cat hair and just thrilled!

YAY! I HAVE CATS!

Love, Wendy

A True Meeting of Minds

Well, I had the best damn Thursday, all due to Jane Schott, whose comments you can read here, and don't forget to check out her blog, which you can find under Things I Love on my blog page...Empress of the Eye.

We met for lunch, and I then dragged the poor gal off to meet my kid, and we just had the most fun! Now Texas Beth, when are you coming into New York? And Carolyn, you get in here too, because you would logically be staying with me, and your advent may be the only damn way to get Sarah's crud out of the apartment.

Other than my lovely Thursday afternoon, absolutely nothing has been happening. I am actually doing something about the house, but veeerrrryyyy slowly. Books are getting shelved, floors are getting washed, laundry has been done...and ALL the ironing is done AND the stove is clean. I consider these last two items enormous accomplishments, particularly the stove (I'm still picking Brillo bristles out of my hands).

Now I am going to finally FINISH the damn kitchen...which is a matter of about four square feet of floor to wash and the table to move. And I've been putting it off for days now, so it's really time. AND I've sternly informed myself that I can't go downstairs for another cigarette until it's done. So there.

Love, Wendy

A Couple of Weird Food Things

I was reading a magazine the other day, and there was a product advertised in a jar. Said product was baked brie. Can someone explain to me A. WHY you would put baked brie in a jar, when you make baked brie by putting a chunk of brie in an oven? and B. I think these people should hire a translator, because this jar says Baked Brie. Under that it says Camembert Au Four. Well, au four is right, that meaning in the oven in French, but surely you ought to know whether you're putting brie or camembert in the damn jar?

But I do think I've just come across my all time favorite overblown restaurant description of a dish. This comes from the restaurant's actual menu and I don't feel like going back to it, so you'll just have to be satisfied with the fact that it's a French restaurant here in Chelsea. Which is extremely expensive. They offer the following:

New York State Steak Frites (Organic, Grain Fed), butter maitre d'hotel, french fries. watercress mustard dressing with bearnaise pepper and roquefort sauce. (sic...sic as a dog. Pace Dorothy Parker, whose line that is.) (She's talking about Winnie the Pooh.)

I think someone should do something about this chef. Mellow pills would come to mind immediately, but first I think we should stage an intervention by taking all his/her ingredients away and forcing him/her to make a steak with some salt and pepper on it. Maybe. Clearly this boy/girl has major problems. I can't even begin to think about what this conglomeration might taste like. And actually, I don't WANT to.

Um, Jane? What happened?

Love, Wendy