NBC has apparently run out of original, creative, or even funny material for their fall line-up. Whitney, a new series debuting this fall, is a sitcom about "a happily unmarried couple" that "tries to have a relationship... in a world that expects a more traditional approach". Not the most original premise for a sitcom. The offense of this series however, is not its unoriginality in the plot department, but the sexist message NBC is sending in promoting the series. Trailers for the sitcom found on the NBC website are of the main character Whitney providing relationship advice to women on sex, wedding etiquette, and to how to truly punish your man by making him listen to you. Billboards for the show can be found stating that "[w]omen are like emotional ninjas. 'I'm fine' means I'm going to stab you in the neck". In other words, take what women say with a grain a salt, because they never say what they really mean. NBC might think that having sexist dialogue come from the mouth of a female character excuses it from being misogynist and offensive; but it doesn't, it makes it worse. Masquerading the message that "women never say what they mean" or that "women don't know what they want", as a tutorial how-to for women in relationships, sends a message that women actually believe that they are indecisive, feel bad about it, and therefore feel the need to provide men with the secret to deciphering female speech! Just because the offensive speech is coming from the mouth of a woman, promoting a sitcom with the messaging that women are indecisive and never speak their mind, is not the same as reclaiming the word cunt or dyke; it's the exact opposite. It creates a hostile environment and implies that the decision and voice of a woman should be ignored; that what a woman says has little bearing on what she actually means and therefore can be interpreted at will. But to what extent and at whose expense is this message meant for interpretation? Beyond creating a pattern of miscommunication, messaging like this belittles a woman's right to her own autonomy. Whether in public or in private, the message sent puts women in danger of sexual harassment and violence. A “no” no longer means “no” if women are portrayed as never saying what they really mean, and that is a scary message for a sitcom to be endorsing. It’s doubtful that NBC had any of this in mind when promoting their new series; but that’s not really the point. What matters is that the negative portrayal of women in the media should not be the norm. It shouldn’t be the light bulb idea that goes off in some exec’s head when thinking of how to best promote a sitcom. It should never be the “go-to” in any form of media. Whether you're dressing women in leopard print bathing suits to sell cars or portraying women as being chronically indecisive to launch a sitcom, it’s all the same. It's all sexist, no matter whose mouth it comes from. But it makes you wonder this: where is the line drawn? Where do images produced in the media, go from being profitable, to socially irresponsible?

Where is the Versatility?

Maybe I'm getting old, maybe I'm getting bored with the city, or maybe I wish there was more than one lesbian bar that was centrally located, somewhat my kind of crowd, and special enough for a friend's bday. There just aren't a ton of options. Ok, I know that there are options, but not a ton.

A woman once told me that the reason that they aren't any lesbian bars, or that the lesbians bars don't last, is because lesbians pair off, shack up, and then never go out again. I think she was only partially right. I on the other hand, and my partner, and our small group of friends for that matter, prefer to pack ourselves into a tiny bar where it is guaranteed a sloshed faux hawk will spill beer on your foot. It's a good thing that we are more the flipflop kind of lesbians and not the manolo blahnik type, am I right?

I'm not alone in my obsession...

Lesbian Pulp

I'm on Yelp!

Hilarious Sweetener on Yelp!

Pigeoned...

We've officially been pigeoned. Pigeoned? Yes, pigeoned. As one half of a good Elmhurst-dwelling lesbian couple, my girlfriend, has dutifully been trolling our fire escape window box in preparation for our sunflower/herb/catnip garden. This afternoon, to her dismay, a pigeon perched itself smack center in her beloved flower box. I would love to say that lesbian conqueored nature in this case, however it was not to be. Catnip will have to wait, at least for 18 or so days, for in front of my hysterical girlfriend yelling at the damn pigeon to get out of her flower bed, the pigeon looks me square in the face and lays a friggin' egg. Yes, an egg.

Great Gelato!!!

I am a firm believer in the majestic powers of chocolate. And when it comes in the form of creamy gelato in a little cup with a tiny spoon, those magical powers are even all more consuming. I like my gelato and I my chocolate, I just swoon over any establishment that offers me the choice of three different chocolates when I order, and this is exactly what you should expect at Grom (a gelato shop on the corner of Bleecker and Carmine in the West Village) - chocolate, dark chocolate or extra-dark chocolate.

when the pretty collegiate inquired to my taste I boldly went forward and chose the extra-dark chocolate and am glad I did. The picture taken on my phone does not do it justice. But take it from someone who knows their chocolate (and believe me I do), this gelato is a perfect balance of intense dark creamy frozen chocolatey goodness, minus the bitter aftertaste that so many dark chocolate bars tend to have. West Village story short, definitely a NYC food to eat and love.

Anyone know those shiny loafer shoes with the tassles? I want a pair. I think they're Autumn lesbian chic.

New York Exhaustion/Psychosis...

There are very few things in life that I love as much as writing. There are even fewer that are able to provide me with a solace when I feel as if I might go stark raving mad. This psychosis is a common effect on New Yorkers I believe. It's hard to live in a city of congestion, filth, murder and bitchiness without feeling as if your mind might implode at least once a week.

Most often, for myself, it is often akin to exhaustion, unfolding for me in a distinct set of stages: sleepiness, heaviness under the eyes accompanied by a loss of interest, followed by intense rage.

I write to ward of my desire to bark at customers at work when they asked what a novel is or if non-fiction means it's "not real". I write to prevent myself from falling asleep on the train. I write to prevent my coworkers from speaking to in the lunch room. I write because at times stringing words together often is the only way I can keep the little blue furry people quiet.. But if I didn't live in NYC, I probably would still write, even if the furry people took up house elsewhere.

New York City?!?!

You know the salsa commercial where the cowboy looks into the camera and exclaims in horror, NEW YORK CITY!? Whether you or don't, the point is that the cowboy is correct in his astonishment, who would ever really want to live in this city? The housing is overpriced, the food though yummy is overpriced, and every other possible thing that one might need to live is jacked up to the point where it might as well be lined with gold and sold in the suburbs. But then again, where else is there to live? Where else do people live? Yes, I've lived elsewhere but who would ever want to given the choice. Unless you were to live in some foreign and fabulous culture with an equal degree of diversity, culture and glitz (such as Paris, Rome or a bunch of others I've never been to) why would one ever want to live outside the 5 great boroughs? As smelly, stinky and rude as it is, it's NYC. Open mostly about 20 hours of the day, complete with unreliable and again overpriced public transportation with a complimentary dose of stress and anxiety. What's my point? If you don't live in NYC then I don't have one. If you do, well then you're not the ones asking...

If April Showers Bring May Flowers What Does April Snot Bring???

Staying home does not suit me. Moreover, being sick doesn't. Paid time off should be spent at the beach, playing travel scrabble with my lady, not home sick first with the influenza and then with laringitis/cough/cold/flemminess. Presently we do not play travel scrabble, but we plan on it. The fact that the Scrabble is "travel" is trivial beyond its obvious convenience.

What do I take from this week of ill physical well being: loves shows itself in the smallest and most minute details at times (a.k.a. When you're puking in the bathroom and are so weak that your girlfriend needs to feed you). No, seriously. Some people have that gene, I think it's a recessive one, and some people missed the boat. My girlfriend, she definitely was staying in one of the larger cabins on the ship.

It's been a while...

So it's a been a while. What are people's thoughts on "Demand Studios"? Any thoughts at all? Anyone reading this know at all what I'm talking about? It's seems to me that you have to get pretty good at their format and be able to gather a lot of info on a lot of random topics pretty quickly to be able to make any money with it. I suppose it's good practice for my writing either way. Yes???

So, I have one article going at the moment. I have a week to write it and then might, and I say might make a measly $15 off of it. Guess that would be $15 richer than I am now. This what I'm rambling about. http://www.demandstudios.com/ How do you create a hyper link, if that is even what it is called? Where do you learn any of this stuff? Quite a few questions tonight that no one will respond to. Wow! Do I sound bitter or what!? There I go again with the questions!!!

Well, the article is on wine if you wondered. I know... Amber wine, which apparently also is referred to as Blush and Rose. I'll keep you updated, whoever "you" are...

_Unexperienced seeking anything...

Sometimes, as in a crappy job market such as ours,experience is only ink deep. If you are unable to print it on a resume under an italicized or bold title with a start and end date, you might as well be scratching your ass or picking your nose, because anything else means jackshit. Why don't people have sections of their resume titled "The Shit That Really Matters" and "If You Give Me a Chance You're Bound to Be Pleased"!

Not Your Typical Post...

Every Shabbat dinner my family had when I was a child was identical to the one prior. My mother's pots would clang over the Israeli music coming from our old, oversized silver casette player, the one with the counter my mother used for when she recorded my sister and I practicing the piano. My family, immediate or extended, is by no means boring, monotonous or mundane. We are lounder, more boisterous and a bit more sarcastic than your average tree of kin. But like all families, there are a handful of things which mine does exceptionally well (of course there are a few that we do extraordinarily poorly as well), but for these few works of art we've never attempted improvement. Friday night sabbath is one of the better in our repetoir, holidays in general we excel at, but friday night dinners stands out as exceptional. It's by no means because my family is perfect, we are far from that finish line, but we love and we love well. That is one thing this slightly irregular, haphazard family of mine knows, love-big gooey gumball drop sized pieces of love.

Chicken Insides and Mayo...

Braised chicken is what trickled into my gray matter during my weekend. Braised chicken and how to pluck and feather a bird properly. No, not really, but that you have to take the shmutz out of the middle, pull the neck out of the little bag and feel around for the heart. Then drop the neck on the clean kitchen floor and hear your girlfriend squeal. Before this weekend, if you had handed me a raw chicken I most likely would have cringed, sat it on the counter and preceded to stare down the already dead poultry. After confirming it's lack of life I would have googled to see if you are able to microwave a whole bird. Who knows where it would have gone from there. But alas, I know longer own a microwave (I know! Tell me about it!). They aren't allowed in my new home I now cohabitate in with my girlfriend. My girlfriend the chef, enough said. I do not believe her refrigerator had seen mayonnaise since the previous tenants! I snuck it in, and before she knew it, we were eating BLTs after work at 2 in the morning! A small miracle perhaps? Or the beautiful give and take of a blossoming relationship? The latter holds more validity I'm sure. For BLTs at 2am, I'll dispose of my microwave any day!

It's IKEA or bust... For a dresser that is. Recommendations for 2nd hand stores with funky/vintage/retro furnishings would be appreciated.

Reveling in Slow Reading...

I always believed I was a fairly slow reader. It doesn't really matter I suppose. Do I enjoy what I read? Yes. Does my father, the man who blows through two hardcover new releases in a 8 hour period while waiting to have surgery also enjoy his books? I assume so. But what I have come to determine over the past three days, a period of time in which I purchased a new book, read only that title and finished only 10 pages, is that I do not read slowly but read sporadically. What do I mean? I mean that I read a paragraph and am inspired and begin jotting notes in the margins. Then I'll make it through another paragraph, dog ear and abandon the page altogether. I love to read, I drool and spatter the pages of good prose with my saliva, but the time I have to to write is so minimal that I hoard it like a squirrel would acorns in November. My point, yes I do have one, it that when I'm and gray and wear matching purple paisley dresses with my girlfriend, then I'll worry about not reading quickly enough. Until then, slow sporadic consumption of words with intermittent pit stops for chicken scratch will have to do.

GO OBAMA!!!

Well, they did it. Healthcare, at least I think they did. I'm not exactly sure why they have to vote so many times and why they insist on using a gavel, but none the less, they did it. Go President Obama! Hell yes we can! It gets me all firedup and patriotic. Can't you tell? Well, if you can't take my word for it. It is a dreary Monday morning in Manhattan. Ironically, I'm sitting in my doctor's waiting room. I'm tempted to go running up to the receptionist (pardon me, administrative assistant) and say excitedly, "this is all free right!?" For some reason I do not think they would be quite as amused as I am (I tend to amuse myself easily, it's a G-d given blessing and curse at one time), considering they are sweeping in a bundle of cash from this poor bookseller. I know, cry me a river, but seriously, this whole "out of network" bullshit isn't necessary, at least not to my pocketbook (which I stress is no Berkin to begin with). But seriously, "out of network"? Whose network? The almightly gods of United Health Care? Apparently so. But what? Did my OBGYN miss orientation? Was he not allowed to rush or pledge some secret, underground fraternity, therefore is now labeled as an outcast or (insert gasp) an "out of network" provider! G-d forbid! Can I help my doc out here, write a letter? I suppose calling 311 for this matter wouldn't help. So for once in my life I'm left speechless with a large "out of network" charge on my Master Card. and once again, the grand MC, accepted everywhere you want to be, even the gyno.

Frustration...

So apparently it is much easier to setup your own FB page for your blog and have numerous individuals as your friends than it is to have more than five individuals follow your blog. Did that make sense? Then again, those five individual don't exactly count (no offense to any of the five). Let me explain... One is the girlfriend, one is the best friend (well two actually), one is best friend's girlfriend and the last is a friend of the friend... Oh forget it...

Onward and upward... Last night my girlfriend leans over on the subways and plucks a gray hair from my head. Foreplay. My first gray hair. I find another one this morning before I get into the shower and briefly debate bringing home hair dye this evening, having the girlfriend dye my hair and swearing her to secrecy. Then I came to my senses. I am numb to any expectations of beauty society imposes upon me. Is that a wrinkle I see?

Here it is!!!

http://www.ecosalon.com/orgasmic-organic-aphrodisiac-foods-for-great-healthy-sex/

Oh, how proud I am of myself!!!