On a scale from one… to Marlee Matlin. Plus, the way of the doofus warrior….

Feeling and speaking keep coming back and damn if it isn’t ouchie as all hell. Still… on a scale from one… to Marlee Matlin, I feel like I’m skewing pretty Marlee, and so count myself lucky… Indeed, she is lovely and a role model to be sure. She doesn’t let anything stop her… ever. I used to be that way… probably to a fault. Sorry kids.
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What’s new here… hmm… lemme think…  our dog has morphed into that kind of bad boyfriend you involuntarily roll your eyes at and should break up with, but you don’t even though he…
  • is über needy
  • possesses a limited vocabulary with only tenuous subject/verb agreement
  • eats everything in the house, including that stack of New Yorkers you were saving (to catch up on… because you will catch up!!! Repeat. You will catch up!)
  • insists on watching really bad Canadian television like Bitten, which might as well be the stripper channel with low rent CGI wolves sprinkled in. Painful….Unknown-1
  • has crazy nasty breath–and NOT just in the morning
  • not-so-secretly longs to hump everything in sight, all the time, even when there’s subzero interest in nookie
  • takes enormous, stinky dumps and forgets to flush
  • gets all aggro when I ask for time to myself….
I SO want to break up with my dog right now… But New Yorkers ADORE their dogs, And 20-something women literally have orgasms in the street over my dumb dog… it goes entirely against the code of all good personhood to be… meh… about your pooch. But there it is. I am.
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A belated, but most sincere RIP for the gifted neuro… Oliver Sacks… Such a mensch. You always remind me of a way smarter, more rockin’ version of Santa.
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Thank you for teaching us that the brain is human, that to be odd is perfectly all right, if not a delightful bonus… I remember my mom shoving her coffee-ring-stained copy of The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat at me, declaring bluntly with a grin… oh, this one’s required, A… I think I was 16 at the time, and I reveled in its curious quirk. This was my introduction to neuro-diversity–something that would prove so critical later in life when trying to understand my daughter’s autism… and then after that, my own epilepsy…  NeuroTribes are what’s needed… for certain. Thank you also for reminding us that the joy of love can come at any time of life, even when we think it’s long past.
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I’m researching a short story about lycanthropy set in NYC during the heyday of the New Yorker mag–Dorothy Park, Benchley, etc. I always find werewolf stories to be subpar, don’t you? I think it’s the lack of consistency in the lore… Seizures are the closest equivalent I have for the emotional piece of it all. The pure, sticky dread of it all. When I wake up from a seizure, I usually don’t have my clothes on either and… I never know what horrible thing I’ve done — or maybe said. I only remember being filled to the brim…. with stars. My field of vision, my whole person–pure current.
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So, I’ll sit for hours these days, kneading the wolf idea like bread dough in my head… I think it’s starting to bleed into my very bones and being… I finally became so ravenous today that I buckled and slurked to the corner Starbucks for a cheapo egg, cheese and sausage sandwich…it’s really just an egg MacMuffin putting on airs…  pretending to be intellectually-driven… Typically, over the years, when I have been in starving artist mode… I would have only coffee in the AM and then dinner at night. Nothing during the day… because the day was about survival, adrenalin and being “on”… But today…. I felt so hollow after I re-read Sacks’s obit…. that I thought I would fall asleep and surely die—so quietly as if in the snow. I had to eat salty, ambiguous meat products. I was wolfish when I walked into the shop. I could have swallowed the little fanboy afro-barrista in one swipe of my chops…but Joan Didion (or her doppelgängster) was there…. working away at a tiny table in the corner, and so I behaved… for a moment.

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Everyone there was talking about the migrant crisis… the little boy… and I wanted to dare Trump to build a fence… the way of the doofus warrior
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Oh, I am crazy homesick for SF… I won’t deny it… but how I can’t wait for sweaters and baked goods involving pumpkin…
xoxo – gg

Bustle was right… It was hot as balls! And we were all just hanging on by a thread…

Especially the dog… I’ve been worried that he’s just dumb as a rock, but it appears he’s figured out how to control the air conditioner with his hot, stinky chicken jerky breath… So, that’s positive. (Right?) Today is cooler… (praise Xenu) With the dog though… I keep hoping he’ll grow up to be a chill, literary pooch… one who likes jazz, wears glasses and reads the New Yorker, but right now he’s more like a slack-jawed, mouth breathing yokel… I’m going to record it… You can totally hear him from across entire apartment… amid the Rear Window symphony that summer in the city always is. He sounds like a muppet laughing… (think: Ernie from Sesame Street). It shakes the damn coffee table. And  I’m pretty sure everything I say to him sounds like this:

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by the amazing and incomparable Allie Brosh…

… though this may be because I still sound so unintelligibly French since breaking my face… (This, despite all my “What’s New Pussycat?” jam sessions) Yes, he likes to sit right next to me, his chicken jerky face poised at my ear, breathing heavily like a bedraggled tourist on the subway. Drooling on my laptop… Not so good for the writing productivity… oy… I’ve been hibernating, working on a book based on a TEDx talk I gave a few years back about creativity, electricity and the brain… It’s turning out to be so chocked full of sci-fi tropes… I almost feel like I’m right back in Scott Bukatman’s class at NYU…Yes!… Love me my NERDS 🙂 So, am writing out the heat… eating loads of muffins… and bacon and cheeseburgers pizza with brie and ice cream… At a size zero, I need some reserves… lest I disappear with this next round of surgery and being wired shut. it’s getting so old… I told the doctors at this point… I totally don’t mind being a mute, living out a quiet Amelie-like existence… talking is so overrated…  If I can just lose this damn Kirk Douglas vibe, I will be the happiest spaz in all the city 🙂 No offense, Spartacus… I jus miss being able to smile.

Stay cool ladies and gents…

xoxo – gg

The last time I was warm…

Ugh… 5 degrees yesterday… All the dogs were like this:

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Cartoon by the amazing Allie Brosh – hyperboleandahalf.com

I think the last time I was actually warm was when I was like this… fatty, fat, fat and happy… looking all Nat Geo and whatnot…

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But it’s no easy feat… making a little person in our fair city.

You walk all prego into a deli and say, “Can I have a large caesar salad, turkey on rye with Russian dressing, a large Pellegrino and a coffee regular?” And the deli guy says, “Who you buying for, the Rangers?” People chuckle. Then, he leans over the counter, assesses your curvature and pronounces: “Whaddayaknow, it’s a girl!” He will then tell a completely tedious story about his grandmother and a legendary gender-predicting turnip. All the while… behind you… people waiting in line are starting to sigh and make zero population growth comments. At this point, Dr. Deli starts to argue with you about the coffee you’ve just ordered because he thinks it’s not good for the baby. He’ll also tell you that he does not believe in amniocentesis. To the ladies he knows who are going to have an amnio, he tells them, “What? I already know it’s a girl.” At first, you protest, but eventually you give up and he tells you lovingly, “Don’t forget the napkins lady! Your stomach is like a shelf–it catches all the dressing. You don’t want greasy shirts.”

The New York women are very different from the deli guys…  One evening during rush hour in my eighth month, I was waiting for the train at West 4th. The loudspeaker was bleating unintelligibly like that teacher from the Peanuts cartoons, and there were as many people on the platform as there are living in Mumbai.

Suddenly, I had this surreal feeling that I was being surrounded. “Well, this is just super… exhausted pregnant lady gets mugged on subway,” And this being New York, they’ll probably insist on taking the baby as well. But as I looked around I saw that I was being surrounded by four women, 3 armed with really great bags–Celine, Louis Vuitton, a trusty Longchamp. “Yeah, you need us” one said, and being New Yorkers, they ignored the fact that they did not know one another and joined forces to form a kind of phalanx around me, not unlike those that offensive linemen build around a quarterback.

When the train arrived and the doors opened, the women moved forward, with purpose, and I was swept inside, not the least bit tussled. ”Looks like a girl,” one woman said with a grin, and as the train began to move we all made grabs for the pole and turned back to our lives.

How did I get on this again? Oh right, it’s arctic out… enough to give Santa an aneurysm.

So, what’a girl (or boy) to do? Stuck inside… having already watched every “meh” Netflix movie there is…Feeling like you’re coming down with Scurvy. And if family is around, they’re all fighting like drag queens at a wig sale… You need to act fast, my friend. You need to stay warm and not go completely bananas.

The solution is to nest like hell.

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Unpack everything, go through all your stuff and make sure it’s spread out everywhere for maximum warmth and sorting.

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Sophie sorting.

You can hang up things (yes, art has insulating qualities). You can bust out your patterned duct tape and wallpaper your bedroom with old posters, you can borrow power tools from your equally housebound neighbors–just to chat them up. You can rearrange the furniture… You might even paint the bathroom and get high off the fumes… Ultimately, you will feel so awesome because you’ll have been totally productive, organized your space and stayed warm… all without having to gain 30 pounds, all without being harangued by deli people.

So take that … stupid winter…

xoxo – gg