Rebel Prince

Last night at a commercial break during The Practice, I guiltily change channels to Joe Millionaire. A few seconds later, the phone rings. I think, this room is bugged, isn’t it. I look at the Caller ID. It’s Rajani. I pick up. “Oh, good lord, Rajani. This is becoming our thing now, isn’t it?” I chide. “Watching Joe Millionaire together?” (I like to pretend it’s mere coincidence that we find ourselves on the phone every Monday night at nine, eight Central.) And so it goes. We watch the remainder of the screeching, gold-digging train wreck.

I won’t bring myself to watch an entire episode of the series, but I usually tune in during the latter half to catch some of the crude mating rituals, and the ceremony with whatever precious gemstone pendant Evan is hawking this week. I laughed at Sarah’s comments to the effect of “he’s a little rough around the edges” and “he’s not really very intellectual.” And I loved when, as he tries to describe a kind of stuffed pastry at dinner, she says, “Gnocchi?” and then with a hint of self-satisfied and exasperated condescension, “Wait, you mean, ravioli?” Ha. She’s thinking, “ooh, project!” but I want to see her face when she finds out he’s more of a fixer-upper than a move-in special.

Speaking of TV, earlier tonight I caught the pilot of the unfortunately named A.U.S.A., a new sitcom starring the ever charming Scott Foley. Eh, it’s passable Tuesday night fare, but it’s definitely the star that holds the show together.

V. good. Yet again I undertook a bootless attempt to read Henry James’ The Ambassadors. I bought the book years ago, thinking, ah yes, Americans in Paris and so forth, but the dense, descriptive prose demands more attention than I can muster in my daily fifteen-minute stretches of reading on the metro. So it goes back to warming the bookshelf bench, for now. In its stead: Bridget Jones’s Diary. I know, how’s that for a 180?

Super-sized vending. Near the McDonald’s next to my office building, today I discovered an oddity: a huge outdoor vending machine, at the edge of the the parking lot. Huge. This thing is as large as one of those sidewalk delis. I walked up to it, mouth agape along with a couple of strangers, ogling the beast. Billed as a kind of automated convenience store, it sells not only food but other small, sundry items. I don’t know why, but the idea of a machine like this seems so foreign to me, literally, like European or Japanese, say.

And as if that wasn’t enough, attached to the side is a separate machine from which you can rent DVDs. (Another article here; and these pictures of the one in Adams Morgan give you an idea of what it looks like.) I’d take a picture of the one I saw today, but I’d probably get the some of the same strange looks directed at the machine itself.

Not much of an update today: I didn’t get much sleep last night, and felt groggy all day. When I got home from work, I took a nap straightaway and am feeling better now.

Taking pen to paper. I found an interesting website: Ex Libris Anonymous. They make blank journals with covers from recycled books. Very retro-kitsch. Beware of the “nudie books,” though. Those I’m not sure I approve of. Heh.

Speaking of writing, I may finally replace the little Mead spiral notebook I carry with me. It’s filled with an assortment of notes, especially relating to different trips I’ve taken: hand-drawn maps, restaurant listings and public transportation directions, currency exchange tables, foreign words and phrases. But worn by time and weather — notably one heavy rain that turned 17th Street into a stream, and left me stranded at Blockbuster without an umbrella — the notebook has seen better days.

I’ve read good things in the blogosphere about Moleskine notebooks. Finely constructed with an elastic closure, ribbon marker, and a pocket in the back, it’s perfect for jotting down interesting and odd turns of phrase, the occasional errant thought or three, and of course, further travel details. I used to think a Palm Pilot would be my ultimate techie gadget, but it’s not great for taking notes, as I found with my Kyocera SmartPhone. Graffiti (Palm’s proprietary handwriting recognition system) is fine for writing down a few words at a time, like addresses, but entire sentences becomes tedious. In the end, paper is much more efficient and — as I wax romantic about the art of writing — tactile, sensual.

I think I’ll pick up a moleskine notebook next weekend. (The Art Store in Georgetown should have them.) With a pedigree reaching back to Matisse, how can I resist?

There’s not much I can add to the Columbia story, but watching the news coverage yesterday — I had to turn it off after a couple of hours, seeing as how there wasn’t going to be any “new” news for a while — I flashed back not to the Challenger explosion of 1986, but further back to 1981, to Columbia‘s first flight, the first ever space shuttle launch. I’m usually skeptical of our recollection of very early childhood memories, so I’m surprised this memory came back so vividly. I was just about four years old. The Columbia launch was a huge story, and on our little TV, the shuttle was so small, and yet here was a marvel of technology, several stories tall, with people on board, taking off into space. And remarkable was the fact that it would return to earth, landing like a plane, and return to space on almost thirty more missions including the ill-fated STS-107.

Peace to those we lost yesterday, and to all those who bravely and innocently risk their lives every day.

I was working late at the office tonight. At around 7:30 p.m., a window popped up on my screen: “PLEASE LOG OFF NOW.” Yikes. That scared the bejeezus out of me, considering I was the only one left in our department. It was all very “the call is coming from inside the house!”. Ha. Well, I had forgotten the fact that our server was being taken down for scheduled maintenance tonight, so it was a routine network alert, and not the makings of a teen slasher flick.

Where “tall” is small. The new Starbucks in our office building is finally finished and ready to open. They installed the big green signs yesterday. The entrance is right next to the main door to the elevator lobby, so it’ll be tempting to wander in for coffee every morning. Then again, maybe not. As much as I like coffee, I don’t like paying for it. Our department uses Starbucks House Blend in its coffeemaker anyway, and that I get for free. Still, it’ll be nice to have a place close by (that’s not my desk) to just chill. I’ll have to avoid the peak times, though — the Starbucks space is rather small (and the weather not yet warm enough for outdoor seating), and due to our proximity to the high school it’s bound to become something of a hangout. We’ll see. I’m sure I can justify a caramel apple cider every now and then.

At the movies. My current Netflix holdings include The Cider House Rules and Citizen Kane, so I’ll get to those this weekend. As far as theatricals go, I’ll try to see The Hours and another movie of which I’ve heard interesting things, Russian Ark. It takes place over several time periods inside the Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg. Here’s the technical achievement (or gimmick, depending on your view): the movie runs 90 minutes, and the whole thing is filmed in one long, uninterrupted take. It plays the AFI Theater at the Kennedy Center through next week.

However, I’ll pass on the mediocre Recruit, despite Colin Farrell’s status as my new obsession. Even The New Yorker, a publication not prone to hyperbole, says, “With his dark hurting eyes, the stubble on his upper lip and chin, and his slender, lithe body, he can’t miss as a star, and he gives promise of cunning and resourcefulness as an actor” (Jan. 27, 2003, p. 94). Next up for Colin is Daredevil, due out Valentine’s Day, with Ben Affleck, Jennifer Garner, et al.

America’s war ‘over there.’ “Remember, war on the continent of Europe is a much weightier word than here [in the U.S.]. Here war is basically a foreign expedition. When we say ‘war,’ we mean our cities destroyed, tanks rolling.” — Radek Sikorski, former Polish deputy defense and foreign minister, on last night’s NewsHour.

So I never finished my tales of last weekend in southern California. As I posted earlier, Davíd Garza was fabulous. I definitely must listen to him more, and make it back to Largo again.

Friday. The beautiful weather continued the next day, as Kesha went to work, and Susan and I ran errands for that night’s after-party. In the evening, the three of us met up with Betsy at Le Petit Four for dinner. We ate outside on the front patio, which you’d be crazy to do in D.C. in January, as Betsy reminded me. The food was fabulous, and the atmosphere chic but not pretentious.

JLA and Deej met us at the Viper Room for Martha Wainwright’s gig. Cool place, but it was the other patrons that left a foul taste in our mouths. Apparently most of them hadn’t come for Martha specifically, so they continued yapping away during her set. She repeatedly told them to keep it down, but ah well, there’s no use arguing with drunks. It was an otherwise good show. We made it back to Kesha’s place (Cela joined us at that point) for the traditional post-concert after-party. Details omitted to protect the innocent.

Saturday. The morning uh, afternoon nope, evening after, we woke up and ate. And watched TV, during which I was made familiar with key storylines of As the World Turns. And slept. It’s all a little hazy now. All I remember is playing round after round of guerilla Taboo. Ha, that was fun.

Sunday. My vacation wrapped up the next day, as Kesha and I spurned the Super Bowl and instead went to see Chicago. Finally. (Well, “finally” for me; this was Kesha’s third time.) Ah, what a great movie. Hats off to Catherine Zeta-Jones. The “Cell Block Tango” makes me want to take up dancing again. We came back, and watched Super Bowl commercials (thanks to TiVo) and that earth-shattering episode of Alias. Susan, Kesha, and I had a phone conference afterwards. I believe the most used phrase was “Oh. My. God.” Ha, what a trip.

Thanks to my peeps for an awesome reunion! (A very small footnote: I watched part of Stuart Little 2 on the plane trip over there, and though it’s tedious, at least for adults, I have to admit: a mouse that talks, and wears a little sweater, jeans, and sneakers? How cute is that.)

I found a website for a Harvard survey on American dialects. The dialect maps are pretty interesting—though you’ll note it isn’t a completely random sample, since the respondents are mostly self-selected as far as I can tell. The topic du jour of dialect—what to call a sweetened, carbonated beverage—also seems one of the most regionally distinct. My parents say “soft drink,” as did I, growing up; of late, I say “soda.” (Link from pealco.net.)

I also found No. 76 kind of funny, only because I’d never heard the phrase “kitty-corner” until a few years ago, when I was in Vancouver, looking for a place to exchange currency. I was directed to a place “kitty-corner” from somewhere else. I thought, “Wait. Huh?!” But of course, I nodded blithely and went on my way. Yes, I found it. Eventually.

W&G notes. The Screen Actors Guild Award nominations were announced the other day. Sean Hayes and Megan Mullally were nominated again — yay! — and are the defending champs, if you will, in their respective categories. The SAG Awards will be broadcast Sunday, March 9. Speaking of Will & Grace, there’s a super-sized, Must-See TV line-up tonight with 40-minute episodes, so W&G takes the screen at 9:20 p.m., as Dan Futterman continues his guest-star run. From the episode description: “Jack and Will continue their gay makeover on Karen’s cousin and reminisce about Will’s 1986 ‘outing.'” I’m thinking, flashback! Can’t wait.

In further news, this season’s parade of guest stars also includes Demi Moore and Minnie Driver (in a couple of February episodes), and Madonna (set for May). And the W&G foursome will appear on Larry King Live tomorrow night, January 31.

Blah. Today was a non-event. Aside from a phone call from Mom, and dinner at McDonald’s, today was rather unremarkable. And so it’s an inauspicious day to debut the Rebel Prince updates mailing list, but I’ll do it anyway. Here’s the spiel: subscribe to the list via the easy-as-pie entry box in the right-hand column, and you’ll get instant e-mail notification when I post new entries on the website. At most that works out to one e-mail per day (in practice, less often than that), so it won’t clog up your inbox. This way, you don’t have to come back to RebelPrince.com repeatedly throughout the day, clicking “Refresh” and desperately seeking new content — ’cause you know that’s what you do. Ha.

So yeah, it’s gimmicky, but hey, use the list or don’t: whatever works for you.

And now, pursuant to New Year’s Resolution No. 2 (encompassing health and well-being), I shall go to bed early for once. Good night.

That’s right, I was bored… I re-designed the site again, with yet another Nick Bantock postcard. This one is called “The Alchemist” from Griffin and Sabine. (Watch out for the horns in the boy’s shadow.) We’ll see how long this new look lasts.

Danger: human being crossing. The District needs to do something about the intersection of 15th and N Streets. I admit that it’s too close to Massachusetts Avenue to install another traffic light or stop sign, but the least they could do is re-paint the worn and fading crosswalk lines. There are even preliminary stripes on the ground in orange spray paint, so it looks like the traffic people have done some planning, but just haven’t gotten around to it.

I bring this up because last night, as I crossed the street — inside the crosswalk, mind you — two cars didn’t stop for me. I had gotten to the middle of the street (it’s four or five lanes wide), and two cars driving side by side in adjoining lanes just kept on going, so I had to stop between them as they rushed past, lest I get run over. And one of them honked. Like they can’t slow down? Oh, as if I’m the one that’s supposed to get out of the way. A little lesson, people. Pedestrians move slower than cars. Slow. Er. That’s why they have the right of way.

Ugh, I was in such a state after that. I started to take it personally in an absurd kind of way (as if this speeding driver were really trying to kill me), and then generally (as if this were just more evidence of a decline in respect for the law and, taken to an extreme, for fellow man). But I’m over it. For now.

That, and I lost a glove. I probably left it on the plane. Yesterday was not my day.

TV notes. What can I say about Alias on Sunday? I’ve never yelled so much at the TV. Amazing stuff. I love it when they pull out all the stops.

I’m a little peeved that The Practice has moved to Monday nights. That used to be one of my nights off from TV — I guess I’ll just set my VCR to stun during the week, and watch everything in a big block on, say, Saturday afternoons. Tonight: the State of the Union address. Okay, Mr. Bush. Let’s see what ya got.