Asthma rules!

Apparently I was so devastated with the season finale of Grey's Anatomy that I just HAD to see the inside of an ER. I mean, what's Thursday night without a little hospital drama? So, I had a sudden asthma attack late last night and got rushed to the hospital. Awesome!

The great thing about having an asthma attack and going to the ER is that there is no wait. Triage usually sees to it that I have a tube in my throat and plenty of steroids in my system immediately. Plus, even though I'm freaking out on the inside and seconds away from bursting into tears from fear that I don't know where my next breath will come from, Long Island Jewish hospital still finds a way to make me chuckle.

I walk into the hospital, hospital people see me with shoulders hunched, red face, and heaving for air, so I'm ushered to triage. PEDIATRICS triage. I hand the nurse my insurance card, so I don't have to do much talking (like spelling my 11-letter last name) and she says, "Wait a minute. Your date of birth is 1980? You need to go next door to the adult triage."

Holy shit, people. Enough of this. I am not, nor do I look like, I am 16 freaking years old. My mom is worried sick, but she still manages to laugh out loud with the mistake. Even the security guard comes up to her and asks, "how old is your daughter? Really?"

A few rounds of tube breathing goodness, lots of steroids, and a couple of hours staring wildly around the ER for some Seattle Grace Hospital action, I'm back up to 74% of lung capacity. The asthma specialist reports his numbers to the resident and he says,

"74%? You mean before we started the round of treatments?"

Specialist: "No, 74% after three rounds of treatment. We can run another test in few minutes, but she's at 74% now."

Resident: (look of consternation) "There's a lot of room for improvement here, so let's give it a few minutes and run the test again."

That's when I tell them that my lungs usually operate at this underachiever level. 74% is actually quite good. Sigh.

Just a couple of weeks ago I was boasting about my latest test results from my regular asthma doctor: (Large airway capacity improved from 65% to 70% to 75% in the last year; small airway capacity improved from 72% to 80% to a whopping 95%). You could have told me that I passed the MCATs, that's how I happy I was.

I agree to a follow up today with my doctor, increase the dosages on all my asthma meds, and take some lovely fat-inducing prednisone for a few days, and the attending discharges me.

Oh, how the mighty gym rat has fallen.

Slovenly

The lack of blogging has been due to a sudden cold that came out of nowhere and is kicking my ass. I came to work because it was of the utmost importance that one of our authors have his signing advance processed i-m-m-e-d-i-a-t-e-l-y, but now that I'm here I just want to crawl under my cubicle and sleep. I spilled hot and sour soup on my yellow t-shirt and must now wear my gym hoodie in the office to cover the disgusting mess.

I'd create a link to Get Set Go's "Sleep" if I could find the bloody thing online.

Once Soundtrack

Can't wait to get your hands on the Once soundtrack? Dying to hear some tunes before May 22nd? Hop on over to the brand spanking new soundtrack MySpace page to have a listen or two.

Also, if you preorder the soundtrack online at the Newbury Comics website, you can get a free booklet signed by Glen and Marketa with your order. Just ordered mine this morning!

By the way--I don't work for Fox Searchlight or benefit from any sort of financial gain from all this promotion. I'm just an incredibly huge fan of this movie, Glen Hansard, Market Irglova, the Frames, and their continued success.

The most romantic words ever spoken

HB: "I can't wait to cook for you."
Me: "And I can't wait to eat your food."**



**I can't cook for shit and I've known for a long, long time that if a boy wanted to marry me, it wouldn't be for my housewife skills. Guess we have a perfect match here.

Summer Fridays

Last Friday I was chatting with Boss #1 and I longingly said, "I wish we had summer Fridays."

"For what," he said.

"I dunno, go home and get an early start on my Netflixes. Go back to sleep. Anything other than being here."

"Summer Fridays is an industry standard that is slowly, but surely, disappearing," he said. "I mean, not many people still have that house in the Hamptons to jet off to."

"Sure, not everyone has that summer house, but who cares? It's less busy in the summertime, hence half days on Fridays," I ignorantly persisted.

"Oh, Bluenana. Don't you know where summer Fridays came from? This industry was once made up solely of rich, privileged, white, Hamptons-summering folk. The only reason they created summer Fridays was so these people can get a head start on traveling out to their second home for the weekend. Nowadays, it's pointless."

Ding goes the lightbulb! Having been raised as a middle class, first generation Filipino-American, I'm not hip to the ways that rich people think. I never realized that the whole point of half days on Fridays was so people could beat the traffic on the Long Island Expressway.

The Tyranny of the Second Home is one of the most popular articles in the New York Times today, but I wonder if it's because of people the many people who can relate to the article or because of people who love to read articles like this, like an anthropological study of a fascinating breed of animal: the nouveau riche. I know which category I fit into.

I know I'll never have the privilege/hefty responsibility of having a second home, but I sure would like to be writing this post back in my warm bed.

VERONICA, NOOOOOO!

Son of a whore! What the hell happened?? Moonrat said she'd mourn Veronica with me, which confused me, so I went straight to my V-Mars inspiration and she confirmed it for me.

Now herein lies the problem with getting into a show late in the game. You can't stay on top of new developments unless you want to spoil crucial plot elements from the current season, so you're obviously not going to watch TV or read all the blogs until you've voraciously Netflixed the previous seasons and you're caught up. However, if the show is teetering on the brink of destruction, by not watching the current season, you're not adding to the show's viewership.

Veronica: I heard your plea for help and I stood idly by. I'm sorry I failed you.

Like lambs to the slaughter

This day can go to hell. While boss #1 is in DC hobnobbing with Democratic presidential candidate, Bill Richardson, I have the great pleasure of treading water with 25-pound rocks shackled to my ankles. Oh, I mean, keeping things afloat while he's away. Lovely.

Yesterday was the torturous publicity meeting where I sat in the hot seat and thoughtfully bobbed my head as we discussed the dismal state of affairs of boss #1's publicity opportunities--or lack thereof--for B-movie extraordinaire's autobiography and the even more dismal state of affairs of even more books. Outside of humiliation, I'm not quite sure what the purpose of the meeting was.

Today was the cover meeting where I was supposed to launch a bunch of books for cover designs, none of which I was prepared for. That went something like this:

Marketing Manager: Okay, so Bluenana is here to launch Boss #1's entire Fall list of book covers. Where would you like to start?
Me: Umm, (incomprehensible mumble).
MM: What?
Me: Well, (insert miscellaneous hems and haws here), we didn't actually discuss launching covers before Boss #1 left for DC.
MM: Oh (looks of malice, scorn, hate, and fury). I guess we'll have to discuss this offline.

At that point, I'm ushered out of the room like a 16-year old pregnant Catholic girl being sent to Wichita, Kansas to "visit her aunt." Sigh.

And furthermore, I hate that word, "offline." In corporate speak it just means, "I will chastise you privately, away from the prying ears of human resources."

I wanna go home. I have disc 4 of The 4400 season 3 and disc 3 of Veronica Mars season 1 waiting for me.

Once--the New York Times review

I freely admit that I passionately hate A.O. Scott. I think his aesthetic sensibilities are highly questionable, the NY Times is stupid for keeping him on payroll, and he's just an all around prick. In fact, I often see movies just because he panned them. However, giving credit where credit is due: his review of Once is spot on (not just because we agreed on something for a change, but because he actually captures what makes this movie special).

I know it doesn't need to be said anymore, but I absolutely loved this movie and I want EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU TO GO SEE IT. Here, I'll make it easy for you.

New York:
Landmark Sunshine Cinema
143 East Houston Street
11:40 1:40 3:40 4:40 5:40 6:40 7:45 8:40 9:45 10:40

Los Angeles:
ArcLight Hollywood
6360 W Sunset Blvd
12:00 2:20 4:50 7:30 9:40

To sweeten the deal, I am offering to buy a cupcake for anyone who goes to see this movie in NY.

The soundtrack is on sale next Wednesday, 5/22. Once you hear Marketa Irglova sing "If You Want Me," I dare you to NOT buy it.

The latest acquisition

After getting a 20% coupon by email from Banana Republic yesterday, I immediately went out and bought this dress after work. A girl can NEVER have enough green.

Go, Nikki, go!!!

Awesome news! Nikki--of the highly anticipated and long awaited first novel, Walking on Tiptoes--has been selected for a prestigious and competitive writer's workshop sponsored by the Hurston-Wright Foundation. This summer she will have an opportunity to spend a whole week focusing only on her novel and getting a lot of much needed work done to bring it that much closer to a bound book and a book signing at Union Square.

Please join me in a round of applause for Brooklyn's best kept secret--Nikki.

Stuffed Pigs

Sorry for the very sporadic blogging this week. HB is visiting and that always makes for infrequent posting. In fact, it's hard to type right now with all the food comingling in my belly.

For lunch, we had Charrito's in Hoboken for incredibly decadent Mexican. I had grilled chicken enchilladas drowned in a mole sauce with a heaping of refried beans, pico de gallo, shredded white cheese, and sour cream.

For dinner, we ate at Cara Mia, an adorable little Italian restaurant three blocks away from my house. I'm ashamed to say that I've lived in the same neighborhood for 26 years and this is the FIRST time I've been to this restaurant. I have no idea why. It's a gem! I had baked ziti sicilian, which was basically baked ziti with delicious slices of egglant parmesan baked underneath a thick layer of cheese. If I didn't have to roll myself out of the restaurant, I would have topped it off with creme brulee.

Mexican and Italian in one day is usually too much for the average stomach, but we're troopers. Also, we've been thinking about going to Cara Mia for our rehearsal dinner before the wedding next year, so I like to think of dinner tonight as "wedding research." Yeah, that's what I'm calling it.

28 Weeks Later

In reparation for my working in St. Louis last month on the weekend, craphole city that it is, I took a comp day today to chill with my better half. Our main goal for today was to see 28 Weeks Later, which was so EFFING SCARY. Yes, I knew it would be scary, but it was easily scarier than the first one.

Initially, I didn't know if they'd be able to pull off a whole new cast of characters for a sequel, but it worked out great. Stringer Bell was in it and played Stringer Bell (just kidding) and I learned an important lesson. No matter what country you're in, kids are stupid and can never be trusted to follow instructions, even if it means getting mauled to death by a zombie.

Kid: "Dad, can I leave the safe zone to get some stuff back at our old house?"
Dad: "No son, it's dangerous out there because they haven't finished burning all the rage-infected zombie corpses. Besides, didn't you hear all the American soldiers tell you a dozen times that it's dangerous out there and you could spread the rage virus, which has only been tenuously suppressed, and we're still at risk of another outbreak if you leave the safe zone?"
Kid: "But I WANNA GO HOME and get my favorite pair of Vans and pictures of Mom before she became a zombie."
Dad: "You fucking kids will never learn."

Riiiight. Basically, the fate of the world rests with some kid who wants to go home for sneakers and a picture. Fantastic.

UPDATE: Moonrat points out that I didn't actually finish making an argument in this post (d'oh!), so I'll complete that now. Despite my frustration with the fact that the fate of the world is dependent on a couple of irresponsible and selfish pre-teens, this was still an awesome and terrifying movie. Anyone following trailers or who enjoyed 28 Days Later will be surprised by who gets infected and by the arc of this movie. Fortunately 28 Weeks Later was not a victim of the sequel curse, so go see it and bring someone who won't mind you burying your face into their shoulder or clutching tightly.

Mother's Day, Queens style

I don't think Mother's Day could have been any more picturesque. I took my mom out to her favorite pressed sandwich bar, Press 195, where she had belgian fries, cream of tomato soup, and a prosciutto, tomato, and mozzarella sandwich and I had an eggplant parmesan sandwich. Afterwards, we had Italian ices at Ralph's, a Queens staple, and then we took a stroll in the park to watch the geese. A passing man saw us eating Italian ices together, paused, looked at us and said, "cute," then walked away. Strange.

A perfect day.

Harper's Index

The June issue of Harper's has some fascinating stats in the index and I'm compelled to share:

• Percentage of U.S. households that will have a Nintendo Wii by 2011, according to Merrill Lynch: 30 (Excellent progress! Our plan for the Wii-ification of American culture will nearly be complete.)
• (For Moonrat and Nikki) Minimum number of different books sold in the U.S. last year, as tracked by Nielsen BookScan: 1,446,000
• Number of those that sold fewer than 99 copies: 1,123,000
• Number that sold more than 100,000: 483

Yes, those last set of stats are disturbing. HB asked me if I thought I was in the right industry. After some hemming and hawing, I admitted that I have no idea.

Happy Mother's Day

Even though it's a holiday created by the greeting card industry, I hope you make your mom feel special today.

Skirts and bicycles

I've decided that I want to be one of these cute European girls who cycle around the city in vintage bikes and adorable skirts and dresses.

Like her:



Or her:



Or her (and her awesome sexy leg showing self):

Even though I discovered early on that biking in a skirt and/or dress is a poor decision, I don't care because all of these girls look hot, confident, and amazing. I could never pull off that sexy cool look because I dress like a hobo when I'm not going to work and I dress like a square when I am at work. Envyyyyy.

Reason why I need a subscription to Us Weekly

Because when reading the well played post about Cameron Diaz's cute dress on gofugyourself, I discovered that she and and Justin Timberlake broke up. And then Nikki told me that this happened like 3 or 4 months ago! Where the hell have I been? Obviously living under a rock. Oh heck.

WTF?

Any remaining Lost viewers out there? I know, I suffer from battered woman's syndrome when it comes to suckage TV. Seriously though, this show is BACK ON AN UPSWING! And what the hell just happened tonight? My mouth is still agape at the absolute shock of that last minute.

Broken Friendships

The first book Moonie acquired at her new company is this fabulous self-help book about broken friendships, which is going to be an amazing book and the first of its kind.

The doctor writing the book is compiling data through an online survey and I hope many, many, many of you will take 10 minutes to fill out the quiz.

P.S. Moonie: I'm sorry it took me ages to post this. I am always the weakest link.

Sexy Back

I had my followup meeting with my trainer today and my workout routine is now topping at around 2 hours and 10 minutes in the gym, if I do my ab work at home. Pheww!

Because I have no point of reference (I've been a bonafide couch potato nearly all my life), I have no idea how intense this is. It feels like fucking murder on my body, but them endorphins feel sooo good. The rundown:

1. 10 minutes of cardio
2. chest presses-36 reps
3. shoulder presses-36 reps
4. bicep curls-36 reps
5. tricep extensions-36 reps
6. glutes-36 reps
7. leg extensions-36 reps
8. 45 more minutes of cardio
9. the scary sounding ABDUCTOR for inner thighs-45 reps
10. outer thighs-45 reps
11. standing row for the *hopefully* sexy back-45 reps
12. a whole bunch of nauseating crunches

If I leave work exactly at 5pm and head to the gym, I'm lucky if I make it home by 9:30pm, then I eat, shower, and collapse. I have NO TIME to do anything else. I vote for the 36-hour day. Come on people, who's with me!?

To the guy who called me a bitch on the subway,

I squealed "ouch" when you sat down because not only did you crush my leg, but your keys, cell phone, switch blade, and whatever else you keep in your pocket gashed my thigh and I thought I might be bleeding or worse, have a tear in my dress.

Mind your shit and fuck off,
Blue

Self-hate with a dash of self-pity

I don't usually use this blog as a forum for describing the trials of my job, a la Editorial Ass, but I am so mired in all kinds of self-hate right now that I desperately need an outlet.

I work for two editors, but only one of them really matters. That is, I only care about what one of them thinks of me. He--who shall remain nameless--is like many of his kind: arrogant, insensitive, self-congratulatory, and painfully intelligent. As a manager, he never really gets worked up about anything, so I never live in fear of a yelling, a tantrum, or irrational anger. I do, however, live in fear of feeling inadequate.

I'm trying to buy a book (hurrah!) and I submitted my draft of acquisitions materials to my editor this afternoon. Within minutes, he stood at my cubicle and said, "You're usually very good at this, but this is quite possibly the worst selling point I've ever read" and proceeded to read aloud from my acquisitions material. After the public shaming (I'm in a cubicle in an open office environment), we went back to his office so he could instruct me in Proposal Writing 101. "Step 1, you should...blah blah blah."

Now, I'm trying to rally my spirits and "get back on the horse," but it feels impossible at this moment. Blech. I am a tiny dot on an endless sheet of paper. I can't even grieve properly...I've gone from denial to depression. What happened to anger? I'm a much better writer pissed off.

Perhaps I'm not cut out for this job and have been in denial for the last three years. Perhaps I should start looking into a new line of work, maybe one with decent pay. I hear construction pays well. Shit, I'm probably better with a hammer than I am with a keyboard. Hate hate hate.

I HEART Veronica Mars

Before I gush, I must give credit where credit is due. Nikki has recommended so many shows that I've subsequently Netflixed voraciously and then fallen in love with: Wonderfalls, Dead Like Me, The Wire, The 4400. Thank you, my TV twin, for your amazing taste in TV. I am your TV Padawan, your apprentice, and I have much to learn from your pop culture tube taste.

This lead came from a House o' Blogger blog, and I still can't believe I never watched it before. I freaking LOVE Veronica Mars. I've only made it through the first two discs of the first season, but it's love at first sight. Here's a little sample of Veronica's tough girl, smart mouth awesomeness:

Veronica: (defending a friend) Leave him alone.
Weevil: Sister, the only time I care about what a woman has to say is when she's riding my big old hog. And it's not so much a bunch of words, just "oohs" and "ahhs," y'know?
Veronica: So, it's big, huh?
Weevil: Legendary.
Veronica: Well, let's see it. I mean, if it's as big as you say, I'll be your girlfriend. Aww, we could go to prom together.

Love it. Watch it! But, is it over or not? I haven't kept up with the gossip and I don't want to dig around for news too deeply because I'm afraid of spoilers.

Spiderman 3

I really, really wanted to like this one, but I knew I wouldn't. This wasn't Spiderman 3, it was Emo-Spidey. The slightly greasy, matted hair, the sullen eyes exaggerated by--I swear--black eyeliner, and the too tight skinny boy jeans? Yeah, you're so bad Spidey.

There were 55 new characters and not one of them was fully developed or entirely likeable and there were 12 different villains in the movie and it was way too long.

Sigh. We know there'll be a fourth one, a fifth one, and maybe a sixth one, so I imagine there's time to recover from this faux pas.

I'd rather be blogging

but I have too much "homework" to do. Well, it's really work work, not homework, but you know what I mean.

I saw Spiderman 3 this weekend, watched the first two discs of Veronica Mars, Season 1, and rediscovered the sheer delight of a Brother P-Touch labeler. It was an overall great weekend, but I just don't have time to write the recaps right now. They're a-comin' soon!

Of course, it's ALWAYS necessary to take a work work break to rewatch the battle of Helm's Deep from The Lord of the Rings: Two Towers, since it's on TBS right now. That fight scene is some good shit.

Flickrlicious

Since it's Friday and I've made a habit of not working (or just being mentally incapable of focusing on important projects), I discovered the third dimension of Flickr: groups.

I know, I know. "Duh, Blue. Where've ya been?" Seriously though, I've just been using Flickr as a storage device for my photos. I was hoping to build up my contact list with friends to share pictures of what life is like in New York and I could see what life is like down in San Antonio and DC, but it turns out that a lot of my friends either a) don't have a camera, b) don't have the inclination to take pictures, or c) are too lazy to put their photos up online. Tsk tsk tsk.

Now that I've discovered all these amazing groups, my mind is bubbling over with photo projects! There's a whole group devoted to nothing but photos of Queens and no one represents Queens Village yet (project #1). There's this cool challenge where you take a self-portrait every day for a year and the photos are pooled into a group (project #2). That's a pretty intense project. One photo a day doesn't sound like much, but it'll take a lot of creativity before it photos look monotonous or boring day after day. I don't think I'm ready to commit to that one yet.

Anyway, if I can get my ass out of bed tomorrow, I think I might start my Queens Village project. Represent, yo.

I'd rather be...

the best naps happen at my parents' house, originally uploaded by strph.

A great picture I found while Flickr surfing. Strph has beautiful photos.

TGIF

Seriously. Though I can't concentrate for shit today and that sucks. It's a good thing that I didn't download Joost onto my work computer because I really would not get anything done.

Oh, I meant to write a "Woo hoo, I have Joost post," but between the inability to make a coherent sentence and laziness it didn't happen. If anyone wants to join, let me know.

Once (the recap)

OHMYGOD, yo. Last night's event made me so happy, I thought I would jump out of my skin. I'm going to tackle this post in parts, lest I faint from joy.

The Movie:
It's being pitched as a "musical," but I can't think of a more inappropriate word to describe it. Musicals conjure images of Grease or West Side Story, which is far from what this movie is. The director--John Carney, former bassist of The Frames--likes to call it an "album on film," which is the perfect phrase. I don't want to give away too much from the movie since I know some of you are going to see it when it's in wider release. Carney made a brilliant portrait of Dublin, love, and longing, and you MUST SEE IT.

The Q&A:
Foresters, I made you all proud last night. I asked a question without sounding like a fangirl gushing inaudible, incomprehensible sounds. In fact, I managed to sound semi-normal, verging on intelligent. My question (more or less): (to Glen and Marketa) did you write The Swell Season with this movie in mind? If not, how did the movie and that album come together? Glen answered my question thoughtfully while staring straight at me for about 3 minutes, during which I managed to not crack under the pressure of celebrity interaction. Good progress!

Performance:
Marketa played "If You Want Me" and they both played "Falling Slowly" with Glen's beat up guitar with the hole in it. Need I say they were amazing? It was so intimate and I just kept thinking about how lucky I was to be there.

Regrets:
1. Why the fuck did I leave my camera at home? I was terrified of the "Anti-Piracy" warning on the email confirmation I received that I intentionally left my camera at home. Bollocks, bullshit, bitches, butt. Wouldn't you be scared if you read this:

ANTI-PIRACY ENFORCEMENT

The screening will be monitored for unauthorized recordings. By attending, you agree not to bring any recording devices into the theatre and consent to a physical search of your belongings and person for recording devices. If you attempt to enter with a recording device, you will be denied admission. If you attempt to use a recording device, you consent to your immediate removal from the theatre and forfeiture of the device. Unauthorized recordings will be reported to law enforcement and may subject you to criminal and civil liability.

2. I wish HB were with me. It wasn't the happiest of endings. Thank goodness for dark theaters. You have a few minutes during the credits to mop up your face when you're crying like you're pregnant.

Summary:

What a perfect night! Moonie was great enough to come with me after someone flaked. Boys are so unreliable. After the show, I got to shake hands with Glen, introduce myself, and--I swear this is exactly what he said--"C-----? That's a great name. I'm going to name one of my children that one day." After an autograph and a photo, I was on Cloud 9.

Please, go see this movie. It's on a short tour right now at a few major cities, but then it'll be released in NY and LA on May 18th. The soundtrack comes out on the 22nd, and I know you'll buy it after you see the movie.

P.S. If I HAD MY CAMERA, these photos would be so much better. Sigh.

Thank you, MySpace

I got home too late to write my post about Once last night, but it's coming soon, I promise. In brief, it was amaaazing and Glen Hansard said he loved my name and would name a child after me.

In the meantime, I'd just like to give credit where credit is due. MySpace: I've given you grief in the past for being an incredibly shitty social networking site and I'm sorry. I would never have known about last night's event if it weren't for you. So, thanks.