Aren’t people more exotic and beautiful when they no longer exist for you?
- A. J. Perry, Twelve Stories of Russia: A Novel, I Guess

Closure? I don’t need closure. I got closure. I’m closed! Done deal! Game over!

So I loved my girl Bomee’s post on closure, then achieved my own nonrelationship closure when unceremoniously booted off of someone’s MySpace & Friendster lists.

But then.

I got thinkin’. (TT’s cue to stop reading and surf elsewhere.) Maybe my conscious self has closure, but maybe my *conscious self does not. (* equalling “sub” or “un” or “pre”; not going to quibble on semantics here.)

And so? What’s better than a fabulous break-up mix or kicking someone off your efriends list (for the record, as I learned unfortunately with my Mr. Inexplicably and Suddenly Hostile episode, you cannot kick someone off of your LinkedIn list) or dreaming of sticking a flyer with his mug xeroxed onto it labelled ASSHOLE under the windshield wiper of every car on his block?

Purging the *conscious. Duh!

Okay, okay. #1. I do not actually binge on men. (a) I used to. (i) I mean not like crazy crazy.

#2. Purging is an unkind word; too aggressive. They are people not objects. Okay okay, hence the (non) in front, which originally was the mathematical symbol for NOT EQUAL TO, but given the tags in .html … dorks reading nod vigorously

My professor today used the word ‘hyperbolic’ and I told her I loved that word and announced to class: “Professor, one point.” And she gave herself a point in the air. Keep in mind she is ninety five. Man, I love that bitch.

Okay okay. So. Binging - ish and purging - ish.

Okay THE POINT IS.

The point is.

1) Make a list of everyone you have slept with

This is where my father surfs away. Sorry dad, I love you!

2) Meditate cutting the cord with them
3) Burn everything you have that connects the two of you

I’m trying to get clarification on the order of two and three. Maybe it’s 1 - 3 - 2. Maybe you parallel path two and three. Alright. Point being.

Your *conscious gets closure.

When that happens, the sum of you gets aperture (ish). When your waters are no longer muddied, you can be open to new experiences, you can let someone drink up without fear of being toxic and splashing your bad juju or unresolved / unflushed shit all over.

More importantly, you can be with yourself without having a bunch of bees buzzing around in your *conscious, sapping your vital essence / “vital essence”. Just say no to bees! Purge!

The greatest love of ALLLLLLL

So I’m going to try this thing, this *conscious purging thing, and I made my list last night. It was really interesting to see whose names I lingered on. And I’ve decided, inspired by Rivers Cuomo, to do this while completely abstaining from LSD, heroin, crack, crystal meth, prostitutes, butt plugs and most importantly s-e-x. Not to mention this!

I don’t really want to let go, I like being weighed down with toxins, I want to hold on to my crap … My bullshit defines me …

If I am hard to get a hold of for a while, it’s because I am sitting Indian Native American style staring at art and breathing deeply, cutting the cord, letting go.

To let go your hand must be open. Before receiving your hand must be open.

I’ve been annoyed about this issue for a while and have to put my foot down once and for all.

Fact: Women do not whip out their privates and pee in public
Fact: If our local government didn’t clean our streets, NYC would smell like pee
Fact: Tax dollars pay for our local government’s activities
Fact: Sales tax is collected on everything but shoes & clothing $100 or less and unprepared grocery items
Fact: Tampons and maxi pads are not considered “shoes & clothing $100 or less” or “unprepared grocery items”
Fact: Men do not need tampons or maxi pads

Therefore women are paying to clean up men’s messes. This is an outrage.

I say we petition legislators and get them to ban sales tax on all coochie products. We want justice, and we want it now!

Anyone with me?

–

On another note, the word ‘tampon’ means ’stamp’ in French, a fact of which I was reminded when googling for the inappropriate & uncomfortable image above. Which then reminds me of my quest for inappropriate & uncomfortable rubber stamps.

Although right now there is a hot debate raging on Wikipedia regarding the “how to masturbate” page and its lack of citation, fortunately I thought ahead and downloaded the accompanying graphic months ago when this tampon (en francais, bien sur) idea first planted its seed, so to speak.

Inappropriately & uncomfortably yours,

xoxoANP!

And we spend our days and our shareholder dollars doing things like making fake podcasts discussing movies in order to explore new ways to trick consumers into consuming our products democratize access to capital.

While I am saddened that my best scenes were left on the cutting room floor, I am most incensed that the Genius of Bird Dog (e.g., “Do you love freedom? I don’t think you do.”) didn’t make it into the final product. In defense of the editor (the amazing Rachel from NYC Babylon), she had to wade through forty minutes of rambling nonsense …

What’s interesting is that 50% of the colleagues in this podcast (created five months ago) are no longer in our group.

I must say. I do like my job, even if there’s no way to get people to start using sig figs in their powerpoints.

While making a recipe (chicken, lemon, honey & oregano) tonight, I realized that I desperately need a more accommodating pan. And my colleague Mindy is right, I shouldn’t wait til I marry Toby Determined to get housewares for myself.

Luckily I saved the article “Fo’ Sizzle” from the December 2004 issue of Dwell magazine, which lists five saute pans. I narrowed their list down to three. Which one should I buy?

Sitram Catering Line
“Copper sandwiched between two layers of stainless steel; stainless steel handle. Available in four sizes, from 2.5 to 4.9 quarts, $104 - $135 ($136 - $178 with lids).” - Dwell

Viking Saute Pan
“Constructed with a patented seven-ply mix of metals called Therm-alloy. Stainless steel cooking surface and interior; stainless steel handle. 2 quarts, $185; 3 quarts, $210; 6 quarts, $275.” - Dwell
(Jesus, six quarts?!)

Le Creuset Deep Covered Saute Pan
“Porcelain-enameled cast iron, exclusive edition for Williams Sonoma. Available in four colors, 3.75 quarts, $230.” - Dwell

I don’t even know how to go about evaluating pans to be honest. I was going to pick something in milkbottle green, but, uh, well …

As you can see, advice most appreciated. Especially if you know what you are talking about :)

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Yo, that’s phucked up.

I love my old man. Here are a few ways that my dad has impacted my life for the better.

I like math.

I remember sitting Indian style on the cool linoleum of our basement while flipping through my dad’s college-ruled notebooks from the Air Force Academy, equations dancing over the pages in his familiar handwriting. What were these rhos and alphas and betas and funny symbols? How fascinating.

When he picked me up from my first very math camp (there would be three in my life as a dork), I ran so fast and hugged him so tight and cried so hard I got snot all over his shirt. We stopped at the McDonald’s in Kokomo on 31 and got a seat at the window where we could watch his Corvette while munching French fries. Even if I did sleep the whole ride, it was nice to have time alone with my Dad.

During one of our many Sunday drives in the Custom Cruiser station wagon with the fake wood trim, Dad tried to teach me derivatives. x^2 → 2x ! I didn’t quite pick it up as a middle schooler but it wouldn’t be much longer before I was geeking out with Diff Eq at my own Academy in my own college-ruled notebooks.

I like numbers and I get (applicable, non-theoretical) math. I still sign the P in my last name like an exuberant rho.

I like computers.

Who spends $10,000 on an IBM with a green screen and two 5 1’4” floppy drives? Who sets up a modem at home and lets his kids set up database on his machines at work? Who encourages the creation of wacky, pointless BASIC programs by six year olds?

If you answered, “ANP’s old man”, you win a daisy wheel printer that cannot print the tails of y, g, p, or j.

I like cars.

I remember sitting Indian style on the cool concrete of our driveway, banging Dad’s wrenches and other tools against one another while he fiddled with his Corvette. They made cool noises. Later, I would graduate to being able to use the steel wool to make the white stripes on the tires of our Delta 88 sparkle. Only occasionally would I try and make Dad spray me with the hose. It was fun to watch the soapy water make puddles at the bottom of the driveway, and I liked to splash my bare feet in the rivulets. The water always got so hot so quickly in the little ponds.

He was pretty patient teaching me to drive stick. “Now,” he said, straining to keep his voice even and calm, “you want to try and get it so the clutch is in and you shift gears when the RPMs hit 3000.” We’d found the rare northern Indiana hill at the local high school, and I think I only killed the poor Geo Storm about seven more times. If I remember correctly, he got out of the car and let me ruin the engine on my own for a bit – there’s a lot of pressure when someone’s in the passenger seat as you screw up time and again.

While I do not join my father on his pilgrimages with his award-winning cherry red 1984 to grassy parking lots filled with other men just like him, I hunger for growling engines with manual transmission, grippy tires, and fantastic suspension. If I didn’t like cute dresses and high heels so much (not something I picked up from Dad), I’d probably own a brand new six speed manual 200hp GTI right now, having blown much of my loot on fast new cars, kinda like how Dad used to be when he was a kid.

(Dad, any interest in this or this??)

I like sports.

He would lay on his side on the couch watching the tube (Sox, Bears, Bulls). He’s a long person (6’2”) and his legs were too long for the couch, so he had to bend his knees to make it all on the couch at once. The good thing for kids is that this creates a nice little triangle nest, and it was cozy to be nestled in that little pouch. Spectator sports aren’t nearly as fun without a giant human triangle to bury yourself into, but ever since whiffle bats and green tennis balls appeared in my hot little hands, I have loved playing sports. Softball, basketball, track, you name it.

Dad used to run laps at the Liberty track in the inky black of summertime. I’d go with him and play my walkman, hating distances but enjoying his company, even if he was 200 meters away. He always got so sweaty, but it was familiar family sweat, not noxious outsider sweat. Maybe that’s where I get my perspiration situation.

I love hearing his stories about the 32 points he scored in the North Liberty gym, or the guy making Varsity letter jackets who thought there musta been a black kid playing for Lakeville since his arm measurements were so long, or pawing through the piles of satiny ribbons from his various track and cross country meets. So many colors, mostly blues and reds, but the occasional orange and green and yellow and pink from cross country.

His was the first face I looked for after my record-breaking 400 meter run on the Bremen High School track at Sectionals my freshman year in high school. My school records haven’t been broken yet, either, but unlike his my school is still around so the jury’s still out.

He says his knees are shot, but his big hands with big fingers that still wear a big class ring still handle a basketball with a cozy familiarity. Even though I played basketball all through high school – he even drove three hours each way to see me rack up four fouls in the first quarter – I bet he’d still whollop me in a game of 21.

I like men.

I am not a daddy’s girl by any stretch of the imagination, particularly since I was supposed to be and was assumed to be a boy. But my wonderful relationship with my father makes it easy for me to have great relationships with men – particularly as friends and colleagues. I don’t feel that I have to play out these formulaic woman roles in order to relate to men; I can be my math-loving, sports-loving, car-loving self and have great friendships with the men in my life.

And for my love life, well, as I continue to figure things out on that front Dad has been a great source of wisdom and advice. I remember getting ready for a trip to Italy to see an ex-boyfriend stationed abroad as an Army Ranger. Dad was out East for a business trip and over a steak dinner and in the car, he shared his thoughtful perspective by way of anecdotes from his life as a boy-becoming-a-man in his mid-twenties. It’s funny, I remember being in Italy as my ex rustled around at five in the morning to head over to the base. I looked through the twilight and saw the glimmer of dog tags, and wondered about my father being stationed in the Phillipines. What advice would he give himself as a young man?

He’s also invaluable for helping me to navigate the confusing behaviors of men. “It means he’s not strong enough for you and he’s smart enough to realize it,” he emailed once when I asked him to help me solve a riddle. “You wouldn’t be happy with anything less than a 100% winner and I wouldn’t want you to be. You’ve got to know this about men: If a man wants to be with a woman, he’ll be with her. I’m talking tearing doors off hinges and gnashing of teeth! This getting together with other people business is messy,” he continued. “Want a buddy? Get a dog!”

Arf.

I love my father.

He is an incredibly smart and wonderful man, loving and kind, and he is a remarkable human being. I am honored that he continues to share himself with me, not only as his daughter, but also as a person. I admire him in countless ways (the voting of Republican not being one of them :) ) and am so proud that he is my father. I look forward to continuing to get to know him better and learning from him as he likewise learns from me.

I love you, Dad. Happy Father’s Day.

Inspired by a post written by a former colleague.

File under: how odd

940P just kicked me off his Friends(ter) list, which is so curious and interesting. I find the digital relationship management aspect of post-Internets human relating fascinating, and he hadn’t struck me as the type to manage his Friendster list so obsessively. I thought only I did that.

File under: wrinkle cream

Millsy is in town from LA!!! He took me to an event last night that was planned by someone in their early twenties. Here are my observations:

1. It was loud and the sound system was tinny. At around 11:30 the volume was turned up to eleven, which turned me into a crazy person. My personal version of hell. I wanted to kill everyone around me and told Mills we had to leave in fifteen minutes or else I would go insane.
2. There was a beer pong table there.
3. Beer was being served in plastic cups.
4. There were NYU girls present.
5. Girls were standing around in outfits that seemed like attempts-at-Sex-And-The-City, but they were wearing them with the slumped shoulders and self-consciousness of the 25-and-under set.
6. The guys looked like they were 12 and were also self-conscious. How did I not notice that when I was 25-and-under? Ah yes, I was too busy being self-conscious.
7. Karaoke is not compelling if you do not know the other people and are not interested in getting to know the other people.
8. How was it that I was the only person wearing Chuck Taylors? It may have been the only bar in all of New York City south of 14th street for which that was true.

Conclusion: I am old. I would much rather go to a bar that kids cannot afford, if only because it means that they cannot play beer pong there while injecting their loud pop music into my ear drums. I want good conversation, and I want it in a well-planned space with nice background music and drinks that aren’t priced to encourage projectile vomiting out of a cab that speeds south on the FDR en route to another party.

I have been there, the early to mid twenties, and it was fun while it lasted, and I’m not hating on these kids today. Not at all. But they can play in their playground, and I can play in mine, and I think Mills and I learned an important lesson last night: Don’t leave event planning in the hands of a power-hungry control-freaky child. Event planning is strictly the provenance of power-hungry control-freaky adults!

File under: renegade artisan / artist / useful objects for Maslow’s 3.14th level of needs

I just got back from a fantastic afternoon enjoying the Renegade Craft Fair in Billyburg’s McCarren Park. It’s much better this year than last (more energy; crafters are better organized and booths designed more nicely). If you can go tomorrow, do so, and be sure to check out the following boofs:

bright lights little city

Heather Wells graduated from RISD in ‘02 and makes these supercute lamps out of drink umbrellas. I bought the cutest lampshade ever from her and am so excited to rock it in my kitchen. Plus her mom was there to help her sell. How adorable!! Of course her presence and her art school cred complicate the artisan v crafter v artist war, but no matter …

Modern Planet

Danielle McGurran is a really cute and funny woman that I think might be lesbian. My favorite tee of hers was a graphic of a rubber cement canister named “starving artist” with a reference to needing validation. Some of her stuff was a little too dark thematically for the place I’m in these days (e.g., “Dead Inside”), but I picked up a tee shirt to give as a gift. (She screens on men’s tee shirts and I no longer buy men’s tee shirts for self.)

So Softies

Marilyn Patrizio is an illustrator and fine artist born and raised in Brooklyn. I got some sheep - themed stuff her because I am obsesed with sheep; my little sister and I will not rest until we can get the Burberry sheep with wheels in our living room. Until then, sheep-related goods must do. Marilyn was inspired by something she’d seen across the pond in the U.K. so this is the newest addition to her collection. Her octopus is also ultra-cute, I was forced to pat it on the head thrice to see its little legs bounce up and down in delight.

DeLong Press

Denise DeLong makes these ultraplayful collages capturing a positive energy. I get happy just looking at her stuff, and I recently rearranged the four prints of hers that I owned in my tea drinking spot so that I can gaze upon them while getting my chakras in order. (Did you know that if you aren’t peeing once every two hours it means you are dehydrated? Allegedly. What does this mean for nighttime?)

girlie pants

Okay, so, the thong I got is apparently not online, but as a proud Yale College alumna I found it necessary to purchase a preppy pink and green number with a skull & bones graphic lovingly screen printed on the cha cha region. Sadly, there is no crafter info online, but the girl seemed nice and was bemoaning the state of affairs regarding wholesale underpanties (American Apparel size selection is limited — Adrian, get on that!). She lives in Cleveland and, AND, and there is a special discount — get 15% off with code renegade06 at checkout (good through 7.31.06).

It’s going to be 90 degrees tomorrow (yesssss!!) so be sure to hydrate enough to pee once every two hours and wear sunscreen if you are a honkey.

File under: pleasant addition

My dating hiatus is officially over after three exciting weeks of ANP self-love (but not in the onophile (sp?) sense). I believe I have finally and successfully completed the mission, nay, challenge set forth by my therapist over and year ago and am now in a place where men are filed under the category of “pleasant addition to an otherwise rich, full, and interesting life” and not in the category of “necessary validator without which I will surely die”. And, ooh! Ooh, it is so nice to no longer objectify boys in such a reductive and demeaning way (sorry guys).

I am now going to go lay out all the spoils of my day onto my bedspread and stare at them and feel good about myself.

I highly recommend this class for anyone looking to jumpstart their creativity. Frankly, it was better than therapy for me. And if you take it, tell him ANP sent you!

CREATE YOUR OWN SOLO SHOW!! with Matt Hoverman
An 8-week workshop culminating in a public performance of your 10-minute solo show!

Hey all!

CONGRATULATIONS TO

LUCY BALLARD
SUSAN RANKUS
And special guest, alumnus JOHN MAHONEY

WHO ROCKED THE HOUSE LAST THURSDAY WITH TERRIFIC SOLO SHOW DEBUTS!

A Las Vegas dancer with a dirty little secret, a gay mailman delivering “packages” (if you know what I mean)
and the randiest nun at the Pittsburgh Renaissance Fair…
THIS one was brimming with sexual heat… And laughs!!!

Susan Rankus’ piece “RENAISSANCE” has already been accepted for a performance date at the NY SOLO PLAY LAB!

My NEXT Level One class start THIS MONDAY!
There are still a few slots left…

Level One Solo Show Workshop: Meets Mondays, 6-9pm, starting Monday, June 19th.
(We will not meet Monday, July 3rd)

(The original 8-week workshop for folks who haven’t taken a class with me before!)
$500

Sign up now! Class size is limited!

Thanks!

Matt Hoverman
mhoverman @ earthlink.net

The single most necessary ingredient for an artist’s success
is the presence of believing mirrors.

INFO ON CLASSES FOLLOWS:

CREATE YOUR OWN ONE-PERSON SHOW IN A SUPPORTIVE, FREEING & FUN ATMOSPHERE!

Learn the fundamentals of storytelling!
Develop crisp character monologues!
Explore the art of the rant!
Increase confidence in your own voice!
Find focus for or flesh out an existing project!
Create a showcase for your talents!

TELL YOUR STORY!

How it works:
Over the course of eight weeks, you will produce an abundance of short pieces in a variety of solo show forms through improvisation, in-class writing exercises and take-home assignments. You will then develop one of these “nuggets” into a 10-15 minute polished solo show and perform it with your class in a theatre space before an audience of invited friends! (Small class size (maximum: 5 per class) insures that you get to work every class and get lots of personal attention.)

Do I need to have an idea already?
No! The class will spur your imagination
Is it okay if I already have one?
Yes! You will get tailored guidance to fulfill your vision of your piece.
Am I too experienced?/Not experienced enough?
This workshop is appropriate for actors & writers of all levels – or anyone with a passionate desire to transform the details of your life, attitudes and beliefs into a hilarious, moving theatre piece!

Who is Matt Hoverman?
Matt Hoverman is a Drama Desk-nominated playwright (THE AUDIENCE), working actor (Yale Rep, La Jolla Playhouse, The Acting Company, Late Night w/Conan O’Brien, voices for Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Pokemon, Yu-Gi-Oh!, Sonic X and more) and teacher who has coached/directed dozens of solo artists. Past workshop students have gone on to perform their solo shows to great critical and audience acclaim in such venues as: Ars Nova, The New York International Fringe Festival (Cynthia Silver’s BRIDEZILLA STRIKES BACK! won the Fringe NYC 2005 Best Solo Show Award!), The Midtown International Festival, HBO, Estrogenius Sola Voce Festival, manhattantheatresource, Mo Pitkins, Lake George Theatre Lab, NY Solo Play Lab, The People’s Improv Theatre (PIT)… etc. He has taught this 8-week workshop over 25 times.

Testimonials from past students:
“Matt enabled me to take something vitally personal that was unsettled and incomplete, and give it the form it deserved.” Craig D.
“I am so grateful to have such a wonderful teacher, rock, anchor by my side.” Cynthia S.
“Since I took Matt’s class, doors have opened for me. I’m being produced all over the city!” Christine F.
“The day after my final showing, I was asked to improvise a story in a commercial audition. They told me I was the best person all day – I booked it!” Katie A.

RESERVE YOUR SPACE NOW – CLASS SIZE IS LIMITED!
(Also available for Private Coaching.)

EVERYONE HAS A STORY TO TELL -
I’LL HELP YOU TELL YOURS IN A WAY THAT IS BEAUTIFULLY AND UNIQUELY YOU.

New York City may not have a Fourth of July parade right through the heart of town where politicos and firemen throw candy at white kids who have a future of diabetes looming on their horizon, but we do have a lot of cool things to do all summer long, much of which is free. Here’s the handpicked - by - ANP events calendar over the course of the next month or so:

Friday, June 16
7:30p Muay Thai boxing, Church of St. Paul The Apostle, 450 Columbus Avenue

Saturday, June 17 - Sunday, June 18
11a - 6p Renegade Craft Fair at McCarrenn Park in Billyburg
Bedford Ave & N 14th Street
I went to this last year and got some superfun prints by Denise DeLong.

Monday, June 19
8:45p There’s a Thai film showing at 32 2nd Avenue @ 2nd Street
The Birds is showing at Bryant Park but I’m doing the Thai film.

Wednesday, June 21
The Moth: Stories about Maladies
Love these, minus the self-important women in their late thirties scowling at me while they husband-hunt

Saturday, June 24
Brooklyn Hip Hop Festival

Monday, June 26
Moth - Story Slam
Bryant Park - To Have & Have Not

Friday, June 30
Summerstage - Joan Didion

Monday, July 3
Bryant Park - Mash

Tuesday, July 4
Battery Park - Belle & Sebastian

Wednesday, July 5
River Flicks - Mean Girls
Bring a blanket; the seats are hella uncomfortable and you’re going to want to kick back.

Thursday, July 6
7p - Castle Clinton - Mates of State

Friday, July 7
River Flicks - Wallace & Gromit

Monday, July 10
Bryant Park - Bullitt (!!!!)

Thursday, July 13
Prospect Park - Yo La Tenga
Bring a blanket. Seating gets sucked up in like negative ten seconds.

Friday, July 14
River Flicks - March of the Penguins

Saturday, July 15
Siren Music Festival
I took these pictures of Coney Island during and after the SMF last year; the experience inspired me to pony up for an SLR. Even if the music is blah, will be nice to sunbathe and hipster-watch and ride The Cyclone!

If location, etc. stuff isn’t there, google around. I’d like to go to as many of these as possible so if anything looks of interest to you too, let me know and we can roll through six deep.

Other stuff that I want to do this summer (holler if you wanna join):

• pick up hoops in T Square

• batting cages at Coney I or Chelsea P
• dim sum
• something involving roller coasters
• picnic at storm king
• kayaking in the hudson
• mountain bikes