Big Blog News

Today is the anniversary of my fifth year of writing this blog, and to celebrate this day, I am upgrading my blog to giliwarsett.com.

From now on, you will be able to keep track of me at my new head quarters. It's time for a big change. Over the next few months, I plan to redesign my new blog, so stay tuned for improvements.

Thanks to everyone who has read My Basement Years over the last five years. I'm officially out of the basement(s) and don't plan to return underground ever again.

Goodbye basementyears.blogspot.com; hello giliwarsett.com!

Turns out there are a lot of Christians in Brooklyn.

Our new apartment building comes with a surprise much like our last apartment building. (But this new apartment is way better! I can't wait to move next weekend.)

Ice Cream Social

To celebrate Veronica's new job, Joseph and I treated her to an ice cream tour of lower Manhattan. (Veronica made this glorious map.)

We visited four locations and each of us ended up with a different order of favorite flavors and locations.


At Cones, Joe had Maté; I had Ginger Sorbet; Veronica had Dulce de Leche.


At il Laboratorio del Gelato, Joe had Guinness and Black Sesame; Veronica had Mexican Cinnamon and Tangerine; I had Pumpkin and Maple.


At Chinatown Ice Cream Factory, I had Zen Butter and Almond Cookie; Veronica had Pistachio and Mango; Joe had Red Velvet and Egg Custard.



At Lula's Sweet Apothecary, Joe had Maple and Waffles with marshmallow sauce; Veronica had Espresso Chip; and I had Peanut Butter Chip with hot fudge.

After the sugar shock wore off, I am left with the biggest dehydration/ice cream headache I think I've ever had. It was totally worth it for the adventure.


Happy employment, my dear Veronica. Here's to you!

Fake French

I spent the day with Katherine, her French sister-in-law, Marie and her French niece, Gabi.


We hit up all the spots where I usually take French people. The truth is that this was my first time hanging out with the French and it was so fun. Just being around them made me feel more fashionable, more cultured, somehow superior.


Gabi had never been to the United States and it was fun to see New York with her.


Maybe I'll start a tour service for French visitors. I should probably learn the language first, which sounds like a lot of work. I'm kind of lazy about learning languages. I guess I'll just have to settle for going to see Rendez-Vous with French Cinema or the Deneuve Film festival (with subtitles, thank you very much).

Dog days

It's been a long day at Higgins' and the whole gang is pretty worn out. On the plus side, I finally got to watch a marathon of Be Good Johnny Weir episodes. Happy to be home again.

Bagel therapy

Sometimes on a rainy day when you've been kept awake into the middle of the night by the neighbors, when melancholy won't leave you alone, and even Fran Lebowitz can't make you laugh, you've got to head on over to Ess-a-Bagel and nosh your blues away.

Oh, look who's getting cultured.

Films of the Week:

Monday, Exit Through the Gift Shop with Maggie and Joe (consensus: 3 out of 5 stars)

Wednesday, Domaine at Walter Reade with Veronica (consensus: we loved it)

I much prefer Béatrice Dalle in Domaine than in Betty Blue. Major, major crush.


Book of the Week:

After some post-Alice Munro depression, I became absorbed in Eileen Myles' Inferno (a poet's novel)

Music of the Week:

Milkymee soundtrack from Domaine

All the pieces

Last night, my fortune read, "You can never get all the parts of your life to match up at one time."
-From The Male Cross-Dresser Support Group by Tama Janowitz

(Close your eyes, pick a book off the shelf, open it to a random page, and read your fortune.)

Long-term crush on New York

Last night Joe and I saw Part Two of Angels in America. After thoroughly enjoying Part One, we weren't prepared for new actors to play some of the roles, but once we adjusted to the change, we felt that Part Two was also outstanding.

After the play, I impulsively stopped at a pretzel cart near Port Authority. The air felt celebratory: an amazing play, a day with temperatures in the sixties (I wore sandals!). I don't remember the last time I ate a street vendor pretzel. We weren't more than two bites into our treat when the pretzel flew out of our grasp and painted the sidewalk mustard yellow.

Drunk pedestrians stumbled by, kicking our pretzel this way and that. In truth, the pretzel was stale and my nostalgia had been satisfied by those first bites. Now the pretzel belongs to the pigeons.

Everyday I am amazed by this city.

Reading over your shoulder

Recently I was riding the train home from a long day. Next to me, this young hipster scribbled ferociously in his little notebook. I tried to nonchalantly read what he was writing; his handwriting was too messy. How can I explain how obvious it was that he was hoping someone would take notice? I've never seen someone perform writing as much as this guy.

So anyway, the train is slowly moving along until we are about to arrive at Bedford. Of course he's going to get off in Williamsburg. Where else? I look down one more time, hoping I can just get a sense of what all the fuss is about. And suddenly I watch him write, "If you're reading this right now--" but before he finishes his sentence, I look away. Then he snaps his notebook shut, gets off the train, and stands on the platform, watching me as the train pulls out of the station.

I couldn't read his expression and I was too afraid to spend much time trying. Guilt, confusion, and anger hit me all at once. Was he expecting privacy on the train? Should I have minded my own business? Did it make a difference since I couldn't read his handwriting?

Ultimately, I don't think I did anything wrong. Eavesdropping and picture-taking are standard protocol on the train.

I'd like to put this mystery to rest. I wish I had been brave enough to finish reading his sentence.

And just like that

The lease is signed! It's legal: Joseph and I are moving two blocks away in a little over a month.

Visitation Rights

Friday:

Jim and Pam arrive in New York
BBQ at Fette Sau




Saturday:

Join Jim, Kerry, and Higgins for off-leash in Prospect Park
Joe, Pam, and Jim go shopping in lower Manhattan
Paulie Gee's for pizza
Joe and Gili attend Jenny’s 30th birthday party



Sunday:

Visit Brighton Bazaar and other Russian food shops in Brighton Beach
Coney Island
Shop at Brooklyn Kitchen
Go to the Sarandon Fest and watch Thelma and Louise; Susan Sarandon speaks at BAM
Sri Pra Phai for dinner



Monday:

Joe's parents fly back to Iowa
Joe and Gili go to work
Valentine's dinner at Cafe Habana
Oscar Nominated Live-Action Shorts at IFC





(Some photos were taken by Joseph.)

Symptoms of seasonal sadness

It’s been a frustrating time full of uncertainties and unknowns— lately my anxiety has been higher than usual. It's not all bleak: I am able to sleep and enjoy myself. Last night I remembered my propensity toward depression in the winter. For some reason, this year has felt easier.

But when I break it down, it’s the same as other years:

-Increased need to wear pajamas
-Fascination with the contents of my refrigerator
-Confusion about why there aren’t more mind-numbing reality shows streaming on the Internet.
-Disdain for alarm clocks, even when the sound is the theme song from my beloved Northern Exposure.
-Momentary desires to commit violence (today I imagined punching my fist through a cookie display at a bakery in Chelsea)
-Blank pages daring me to write
-Captivation with the perpetually dripping sink

Yes, I think my old friend, Seasonal Affective Disorder is making an appearance.

Excuse me, do you have the--

Continuing with February's theme of Wait and See, I visited Paula Cooper Gallery to watch two hours of Joe's MFA mentor, Christian Marclay's The Clock. The piece is a curated 24-hour film, marking actual time with clips from films that reference time. In other words, at 2:13 today, Marclay has edited together a cohesive sequence of representations of clocks, watches, and people talking about 2:13. There's lots of room to get comfortable on the couches and lose track of time while knowing exactly what time it is. The show is at once impressive and gimmicky. Most importantly, it's a great way to Wait and See.



Another option for Wait and See month is an evening at Radiance Tea House and a trip to the candy store, Myzel's with a good friend.

Extra credit to one of my favorite authors, Eileen Myles for an honest and hilarious essay on book tours in the back of the current issue of Bookforum.

A Little February-April Fool's

There's snow, ice, and general winter chaos outside. Inside, things have gotten chaotic, too. The current tenant of our (hopefully) new apartment has gotten cold feet and decided that she doesn't want to move out until May 1. Our new landlords are negotiating with her, and will try to persuade her to leave on April 1, so that we can move in. In the meantime, we are stuck in our apartment for two months with the dream of inhabiting our new space on April Fool's Day. Is that an omen? The tenant may choose not to sign a contract agreeing to leave, in which case the apartment will no longer be ours for the taking. It's up to her now. Only time will tell what she will do. How I loathe depending on flaky people.


To celebrate the theme of February, which is "Wait and See," here are three suggestions for what to do while you bide your time:

1. Watch the excellent documentary, Marwencol.
2. Read The Collected Stories of Wallace Stegner. It will take you a while.
3. Go through every season and episode of Northern Exposure. Appreciate that you aren't in Cicely, Alaska.

Our new(est) home

We're moving again! Our new apartment is about two blocks away from our current place. We're very excited to stay in the neighborhood but to get the heck out of this building.

Hopefully in this next apartment, we can stay put for a while.

Here's the craigslist advertisement:

REAL COZY 2 BEDROOMS - RAILROAD STYLE

HIGH CEILINGS - WOODFLOORS - FULL EAT-IN-KITCHEN

FULL BATHROOM - PRIVATE BACKYARD/GARDEN

HEAT/HOT WATER INCLUDED - SMALL PET OK- AVAILABLE MARCH

A new group of angels

Last night Joseph and I saw Part One of Angels in America at Signature Theater. Although I've been told that I saw the play when I was much younger, I only remember the HBO series, which I've watched several times. Before last night, I worried that the theater production wouldn't live up to the series, that my imagination would be unable to accommodate a new cast. I was thrilled with the production. The show benefited from a new interpretation. I feel tremendously lucky to have the opportunity to see Angels in America live, celebrating the twentieth anniversary of Tony Kushner's classic. Many of the play's central themes remain relevant today.

Snowy morning with the boys

The other best Joe ever

Haven't slept in thirty hours minus a thirty minute nap. The best food for sleep deprivation is a Belgian waffle with bacon from Joe Jr.'s in the East Village.

I walked to the train through the thick falling snowflakes and realized that this is the only acceptable weather for bagpipes. But not too much bagpipery, just a few notes while I dash away.

My emotions are fragile and frantic. I almost started crying on the train ride home as I admired all the beautiful New Yorkers going about their lives. Oh, home!

Here's to sleeping all day.

Changing climate calls for changing how we understand the weather

I’m obsessed with understanding the weather. For a long time, I wanted to become a weatherwoman on a local television channel, but I gave up the dream when I realized that there’s no science to the forecast. Everyday I check wunderground.com, weather.com, and my iPhone weather application. I compare each of these sites, which often vary wildly. An hour before a snowstorm, one site may claim that there is 0% chance of precipitation while another asserts a playing-it-safe 50% chance. I’ve checked the weather while it’s raining/snowing and witnessed a report of 0% chance of precipitation. How can the high temperature be lower than the actual temperature outside? What does it mean when the icon is a question mark on top of a cloud? How can it be 30 degrees outside, but feel like 11? Who determines what 11 degrees feels like? Where is the uncertainty coming from?

This meteorological chaos trickles down into many aspects of my life. How many layers do I need to wear when I leave the house? Is one pair of pants enough? Should I be slipping on my snow boots, rain boots, combat boots, Chucks?

Almost daily, I find some innocent friend or acquaintance to vent my frustrations about the inaccuracies in weather reporting. (If nobody else is around, Joe ends up hearing my rants. I just can’t let this go.) It’s a problem with an obvious solution: stop looking at the weather. Live in the moment.

Late at night, I lie in bed and report the weather to Joe. I’m thinking about creating a podcast or a video diary in which I rely on charm to win over an audience as confused as I am. There’s no harm in admitting that as weather people, we just don’t know.

“This is Gili, coming to you live from Brooklyn, New York. I’ve got good news and bad. The good news is that you’re alive and it’s a new day. The bad news is that it will most likely be cold for the next few months. Bundle up, wear your long underwear, and keep your feet warm and dry. Expect more useful tips about staying sane this winter in the coming days. As always, thanks for tuning in to my dependable forecast. This is Gili, reminding you not to pay attention to numbers, percentages, or predictions. I’ve been studying the weather for years and it’s as much a mystery to me as it is to you. You are not alone. Check back in tomorrow morning for more support from a person just like you. I make mistakes; heck, we all do. But you won’t have any phony clairvoyance from your old pal, Gili. Find yourself a fireplace, a good book, and a cup of coffee. At some point, winter will be over.”

No more unicorns for brunch

Goodbye Cafe Royal. We made an awesome whipped unicorn steak with vegan mash. Closing your doors wasn't a surprise to anybody.

It was fun knowing you.

Another Trip Upstate

First a stop at our beloved Sweet Sue's.


After a visit to the vet where little Nukah weighed in at 44.4 pounds, we spent the afternoon with Charlie.


He was delighted to have his little buddy back in town.


We tired ourselves out, watching them wrestle.

Home again to a quiet night with the family.