Bangerang

- Big Momma's House 4: Big Momma Still in Da House

- Big Momma's House 4-Real: A Big Momma Christmas: You Going to Eat That Turkey Leg? PS. Big Momma Loves to Eat

- Big Momma's House 4: The Return of Big Momma: This Momma Just Got Bigger! Big Momma Returns

- Big Momma's House 5: Did it Just Get Sassy in Here? Big Momma Got Something to Say

- Big Momma's House 5: Big Momma v. Shark: "Ain't no Jaws bigger than mine": The Revenge of Big Momma

- Big Momma's House 5: Big Momma Drinks A Ginger Ale on the Porch: Sunday Afternoon Big Momma: Big Momma Takes A Little Nap

- Big Momma's House 6: Big Momma Fights Them on the Beaches: Time-Traveling Big Momma

- Big Momma's House 6: Big Momma Loudly Demands More Fries With That: Big Momma Loves to Eat 2: Big Momma's Big 'Cause of All that Fat!

- Big Momma's House 6: Big Momma in Space: Ain't No Rocket Strong Enough: The Adventures of Big Momma: Big Momma's Learns Humility Before Science: Big Humbled Momma

There's probably going to be more of these.

Now that I'm done drinking two months worth of tea, I can resolve to update this blog more often, if only to keep Chris Dingwall happy.

Which brings me to the first order of business: Chris Dingwall.

What's with that guy, anyway?

One thing that is definitely with him is memories of Thanksgiving. You may want to forget them, Dingwall, but I've got a photo essay. Read it and weep.

(Please don't weep.)

THURSDAY MORNING: REUNION



Chris arrived at 4:30 in the morning on Thursday because he had heard a lot about this "Newark place" and how it was "cheaper" to "fly into it" at "12:30am" and have his flight be "delayed" on top of "all of that", not to mention then having to take "Amtrak" to "Penn Station" before even beginning his "subway" travel all the way to "Bed-Stuy". All of the words in quotation marks are, naturally, sexual euphemisms. I would go into what really went on, but this is a PG blog.

Anyway, as the above picture illustrates, I had to smoke a lot of crack to stay conscious long enough to answer the door. That's why there's a big ol' crack doobster hanging out of my mouth here. Incidentally, I was also eating a crackER, which was what provided the sound effect.

THURSDAY AFTERNOON: INDULGENCE

The next day, we ate so much food and drank so much alcohol that we deemed effort to be overrated. Hey, it was Thanksgiving! That's the day where Americans give thanks that the rest of the world already expects them to be fat, so they may as well dig in, get gassy and bloat somethin' crazy. It is an important cultural experience. Let up, already.

I think we also went for a walk to see the ol' Ol' Dirty Bastard mural down at Franklin and Putnam and we may have gone to see that crazy man's house from Dave Chappelle's Block Party too. I took pictures of Chris in a blond woman's wig, but he won't let me post them because he feels they're a threat to his masculinity. I guess he's got to draw the line somewhere, but that seems like an arbitrary place to me.

Other than that, I remember the day being mostly characterized by daring our bodies not to vomit.

FRIDAY: CONFLICT



Speaking of threats to Chris' masculinity, check out how comfortable he looks at the corner of Gay & Christopher. Not very!

We went walking around Greenwich Village and SoHo and I pointed to the school where I work/study. Have you heard of it? It's New.

We also went to Flushing Meadows/Corona Park because I'm completely obsessed with it. If this park were a human being, I would give it free reign over me. If it wanted to punch me in the box, well, I guess I'd just have to have a bruised box.

Here's Chris hanging out next to the Unisphere, looking like he just don't give a damn.



We went to the Upright Citizen's Brigade Theatre that night, where the Stepfathers used their magical punchlines to coax laughter from us. Other things transpired, and when we got back home, it was late and we were drunk. Which resulted in this catastrophe:

VRS.
Two sequels, both surpassing the genius of their forebears, both endowed with unparallel cultural significance, both starring charismatic personages with sexual harassment charges against them and kid-centered comedies ahead of them. Both on at the same time. Things became complicated when Chris declared he was all for Hot Shots and I defended my loyalty to T2. It became pretty bitter, especially because he was controlling the remote and kept changing back to the Sheenster just when the most exciting parts of Judgment Day were about to go down. You know that whole scene where Sarah Conner escapes from the mental institute? Exciting, but not climactic. Of course, when the second showdown between the T-1000 and the Termie is just about to happen at the end of this scene, Chris decides that it's time to see who's farting in Hot Shots Part Deux. Our friendship is almost torn asunder.

SATURDAY: RESOLUTION

We forgave each other for the previous night's sequel-induced tension, though I think we both knew who was right. Or, at least, I knew I was right. We headed out to the Lower East Side for a little tenement touring. I made lewd comments to Chris concerning my desire for our tenement tour guide, who was tenement tasty. I think he really liked me too. After years in the game of love, I've learned that when a boy is really hot for you, he tells you all about how everyday life was for Prussian-Jewish immigrants in the 1870s or Italians fighting for the American Dream in the middle of the Great Depression. He may even make eye-contact with you as he asks, his voice low, his eyes half-closed, "What do you think this little gadget was used for?", motioning to some old piece of crap on the counter. "Wouldn't you like to know?" I would answer, and he would smile, looking almost confused with longing.

While I was pretty struck by our guide, I was less impressed with these people's supposed "poverty". It didn't seem so bad. I mean, it's New York, you know? Space is limited. Deal with it like everyone else, immigrants. Am I right? Who's with me? You, old Lower East Side synagogue?



The synagogue completely agrees.

After the tour, we headed up to Madison Square Garden for a little bit of Knicks vrs. Bulls action. More conflict arose. Boy, I knew the Knicks suck, but whoa. They suck. The worst part was that the Bulls seemed to be toying with them, allowing them to catch up every so often before just annihilating them again. It was demoralizing, and to top it off, some loud New Yorker behind us compared Brighton Beach to Greece. Chris got his own back for being so utterly misguided the previous night. Here's some pictures of him looking all cocky because his town is winning the game. He also looks kind of blurry. I blame his jittery nature.



Chris and Gennie met after the game, and she wrapped herself around him like bacon on a fillet mignon. Were they joking? It remains to be seen.

SUNDAY: DENOUEMENT

Before Chris went back to "Newark" to catch his "afternoon (de)flight", Laura, he and I went on a walk to Prospect Park which resulted in this remarkable picture.



Yep. That pretty much sums up both of them. Though this picture of Chris wearing the famed pants and intimidating Martin perhaps goes one step further.



Chris' may or may not have said, with regards to this photo, that he was a "treasure and like "Apollo, sexually reposed and yet intellectually poised, the cat both fears and loves him". May or may not, but he definitely did.

There was no reason for this photo to be taken. My friends, Janine and Dave, offered to take it, and I panicked, and then this happened.  There was no relationship between me and the hats. There was no inside joke. I just wanted to be in a photo. I can see that I'll be wearing that same attention-starved expression and look-at-me-I'm-slightly-zany pose in many photos for the rest of my life. At weddings. At funerals. Next to Stephen Colbert. Grim. But somebody's got to stand around, implying the phrase, "And what's with [blank]. Am I right?"

I have spent almost four months living in New York, and I'm liking that fine. I'm coming back to the West Coast on the 22nd, and I'm liking that fine. Other things I like fine are: chocolate chip cookies, Sandy Koufax and certain imported beers. I haven't decided if Xinjiang is one of those beers, so stay on your toes, X. Czechvar, you can relax, because you are delicious.

I have not posted in a while, so I'm a bit at a loss as to what specifically should be recounted. Hmm. Gennie and I went to Janine's party last week in her hipster pad (converted Chinese noodle factory, sadly all the noodles had to be relocated). Her place is right next to the Williamsburg Bridge, so close that you can see people in the JMZ train from the window. They look bored, mostly. There is also this giant unrenovated room next to her apartment, with a skylight and enormous windows and probably the best view of Manhattan I've seen so far, barring from the Brooklyn Bridge. I was pretty overcome with the awesomeness. Gennie and I celebrated by eating and drinking lots, and then going to a club in Park Slope where I briefly believed I could dance. That was good, until I realized I could not dance. That was bad. I think it's also important to note that Chris continues to stalk Gennie with carefully crafted sentences. By the way, Dingwall, your last one ("I know you're thinking of me, Genevieive. I'm sorry to tell you this, but it won't ever stop") was greeted with a decidedly sassy "Good. I don't even want it to."

I'm doing an entire separate post on Chris and Becky's Thanksgiving Adventure. It's coming soon. After I make some tea.

So, currently The Mysteries of Pittsburgh is being filmed in...Pittsburgh. It stars Sienna Miller as Jane, Jon Foster as Art Bechstein, Mena Suvari as Phlox and Peter Sarsgaard as Cleveland. I kind of noticed the conspicuous lack of Arthur on IMDB. This is disturbing because he is the strongest character in the book barring Art and this lead me to reluctantly led me to read the tagline: "During his first summer after graduating from the University of Pittsburgh, Art Bechstein (Foster) falls into a romance with a married couple". Hmm. I hope that's IMDB's mistake, because that's definitely not the plot of the book. Not. Happy. About. That.

Meanwhile, Natalie Portman, as far as rumour can tell, is pegged for Rosa in the filmic Kavalier and Clay while every other character is still up in the air (if they miscast Joe OR Sammy - which is pretty much impossible to avoid, if you ask me - I will slide off the chair I am currently sitting on and sob, possibly while gently cuddling the dormant air conditioner under my desk). But some plans for the movie are very encouraging, judging by Chabon's comment on his website:

"Tests [are being] conducted by a number of top-drawer animation studios (for the comic book elements). Quick answers (as of this date): Golem: yes. Antarctica: yes. Gay love story: yes. Ruins of World's Fair: no. Long Island: no. Orson Welles: no. Salvador Dali: yes. Loving reference to Betty and Veronica: no. Stan Lee: no."

I mean, it's obvious to put a lot of effort into the comic book parts, but I'm still comforted to know it's being seriously considered. Totally a shame about the World's Fair ruins though. That was one of my favourite parts.

Anyway, both films are set to come out in 2007 and I find this to be...unsettling. I just can't seem to avoid being annoyed by the idea of sharing Chabon's stories with others (because being consistently on the best-seller list and winning the Pulitzer gives us no indication of how popular he already is). It's another rehash of what I learned in preschool when I got extremely upset with another girl for also choosing "horse with wings" as the animal she'd most like to be: I don't always like people liking what I like. I've learned how to share a lot of things since then, but Michael Chabon's books still aren't on the list. Neither is any manifestation of chocolate, for the record.

I'm probably mostly uneasy about these productions because I'm no way involved and as one of Michael Chabon's hugest fans, this is a frustrating position to be in (if anyone feels their fandom is more corpulent, contact me and we can duke it out using flowery sentences and Jewish/homosexual themes). Maybe I'll have something to do with the launch of the Escapist movie series, which has got to come along at some point. Maybe the Escapist and The Fortress of Solitude's Aeroman can team up. See? I'm full of ideas.

That's actually my only idea, and I'm pretty sure those two superheroes wouldn't get along.

So, apparently Simon and I are the most unphotogenic people in the world. What the shit is this picture? I look like I've just been Rufied! And Simon? He looks like he just Rufied me! And my neck? It's looks like it's been Rufied with steroids! I thought this might just be a bad camera angle, but according to the equally unflattering photo below, I do, in fact, have an gigantic neck. How unfair that this should be the only thing I have in common with Superman.



I guess I must have a heavy head because my brain is soooo huge.

Or my skull is sooooo thick.

Hmm. I don't think I like self deprecation after all. Anyone else want to do the honours?

I have had a busy week, which is more than I can really say about the weeks before it. For one thing, I helped Laura out with her job at the Clinton Global Initiative. That made me feel quite important. I had to get a photo ID and adhere to a "business casual" dress code. I also had to wear a scarf designed by Save the Children, which featured small caricatures of people of different nationalities. The Canadian one was an Inuit with a bright pink overcoat. The American one was a blonde girl in overalls. They were all offensive in their own special manner. I guess the Israeli one was kind of sexy, in a Jewish stereotype way.

Despite the scarf, volunteering for the initiative registered high on the rad scale. I got to walk around in the same hotel as several heads-of-state, major CEOs and Brangelina. I snuck in to see Bill Clinton and Bill Gates talk about NGO operations, and that was really great. I also wrote drafts of talking points for Clinton and Madeline Albright. Chris suggested mentioning in the latter's talking points that I should include the question, "Why didn't you do more in Kosovo?" I mention this because a) it is quite droll, and b) Chris enjoys being mentioned in blogs.

One Trevor Gilks also visited this week. We saw some dinosaurs at the Natural History Museum and ate several pretzels. For the record and for those don't know this already, I fucking love tyrannosaurs. I think more than a post-pubescent girl should about having a tyrannosaur friend. The one at the Natural History Museum will do until I get one that's more...fleshy.

We also saw the squid and the whale though they were on display separately, like Noah Baumbach's parents.

The next day, we went to Staten Island which was actually pretty nice. The ferry ride there is awesome AND free. We also visited the Museum of TV and Radio, where you can watch an hour of anything they have in their extensive library. Of course, they have the moon landing, coverage of Kennedy's assassination and the Berlin wall, the Beatles on Ed Sullivan - basically every important event in the last fifty years. Keeping this in mind, Trevor and I selected the series premiere of The Jetsons, The Smurfs episode where Smurfette is introduced, an episode of Street Cents and Adam West's Batman. We learned that Batman and Robin are unable to enter a women's changing room without covering their eyes and that George Jetson is a sexist bastard. Unfortunately, they had no episodes from The Raccoons.

Over the weekend, the roomies and I headed down to Baltimore for the Virgin Festival. While I was disappointed in an obvious lack of virgins, I was pleasantly surprised that many of my favourite bands were playing. Yes, I squealed and danced like a gay man during Scissor Sisters' set. I wish I could have a penis for a day so that Jake Shears would be interested in me.

More stuff happened, like my bike ride to Coney Island as an homage to the Warriors, but it occurs to me that I should probably be doing some work.

So...how are you?

I went to the first ever Brooklyn Book Festival today, and I met Jonathan Lethem. Well, "met" him in the sense that I shoved my copy of Motherless Brooklyn at him, which he magically converted into a signed contract stating that he, the famous and talented Jonathan Lethem, grants me, Becky, "all best wishes". All best wishes, which, I might add, is a lot of wishes (in fact, all of them), not to mention that I get the best ones. I feel bad for all those other suckers in line, who probably got "a couple of mediocre wishes" or "some wishes that I've been meaning to throw out" but I mean, when Jonathan Lethem offers you all best wishes, you don't turn him down, right?

In order to keep his attention longer, I asked him about his recent Bob Dylan article in Rolling Stone which I actually found to be disappointing, but I told him I liked it so that he would smile at me and offer thanks. Though I thought it was a pleasant exchange, I was shocked that he didn't divulge the secrets of his literary genius to me, or offer me a chunk of his MacArthur money in return for my disciplehood. How far does an aspiring female writer's neckline have to plunge before people will treat her with equal respect and dignity?

In his defense, at the talk prior to the signing he read his awesome essay, "Speak, Hoyt-Schermerhorn" from The Disappointment Artist which I have not, at this immediate point in time, read. Hoyt-Schermerhorn fast became my favourite subway stop upon moving here, and I didn't even know it had sentimental value for Jonathan Lethem. I transfer there, and I've only actually ascended its steps into the light of the world twice, so my fondness for it doesn't have much to do with where it is geographically. I also recently found out that I can get to the New School faster by taking the G-train north to the Lorimer stop, where I can catch the L-train pretty much right to school. But see, I hate the L-train and everything it stands for, and I prefer to lose a few minutes provided I am compensated with a little bonding time with Hoyt-Schermerhorn.

Obviously, one of the station's best features is its name. The combination of sounds is aesthetically interesting - even beautiful - and yet it also kind of sounds like someone hocking a loogey. Additionally, I always look forward to it being announced on the intercom because I swear to God, every single subway conductor pronounces "Schermerhorn" differently.

But as Lethem notes, it also looks cooler than other subway stops. It houses four platforms, but only two are in use so there's just these two ghost platforms with their ghost trains and ghost commuters. You should read the essay - he elaborates on this better than me.  He actually saw The Warriors being filmed there, which just enhances the allure so much. And as if it isn't already sufficiently fantastic, it has the most calming combination of colours of any station: the friendly light green of the G-train and the jazzy deep blue of the A/C lines. It's like it's trying to mimic the outside world, to offset the industrial black walls with their yellow lining with colours that universally denote summer. No matter what's going on outside, the grass is always green and the sky is always blue in Hoyt-Schermerhorn.

I haven't written in a while because I haven't exactly known what to write in a while. The last two weeks here have been kind of an amorphous blob of being a tourist, attending orientations, and general gallivanting. I can't remember what events happened on what days, but I know I'm having an awesome time. I have fallen very deeply in love with the Times Square Toys R Us, as it has an awesome bulk candy collection and an ENORMOUS model of a T-Rex, which I stood and stared at for a period of time that I think made some of the clerks uncomfortable. It also has Lego versions of the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Tower - a little too close to the tyrannosaur, in my opinion. Don't they know that toys come alive at night?

My roommates are great and have been a huge part of why I felt so comfortable here right away. They are big nerds like me, and so always have an interesting story to tell at the end of every day. Two nights ago, Gennie and I put a condom with hair conditioner in it under the covers of Laura's bed, which was the prank I always wanted to play in residence but never knew who would find it funny. It was funny. Very funny. It was lying limply over one of the shower knobs he next day, which served only to augment the funny.

Other important news for me was my purchase of a very cheap bike. This new one is named Pony, and he and I are getting along great. I found him out on craigslist and picked him up from a friendly Asian guy with a Ukrainian accent on the Lower East Side, which is actually only a 20 minute bike ride from Bed-Stuy. New York is really not that geographically big, and I realized on the ride back that the best way to see it is definitely by bike. I rode from a very trendy and Slavic part of Manhattan, over the Williamsburg Bridge, through the hipster part of Williamsburg, then the Hasidic part of Williamsburg, and finally into Bed-Stuy, where there's a sometimes awkward, sometimes friendly mix of Hispanic, African-American and West Indian cultures. All this in 20 minutes! The speed of a bike is perfect because you can really see how quickly the neighbourhoods change while still being able to take in the individual features of each one. There's also these colourful buffer zones between communities, where the residents are quite mixed, but this never lasts for more than three blocks. Brooklyn is weird.

I'm going to take a bike ride up to Brooklyn Heights today, and get a few pictures of a sunny Manhattan skyline before, that's right, riding the ol' Pony over the Brooklyn Bridge where I'll no doubt become immediately lost. But my vague intention is to ride through Battery Park and see the Statue of Liberty. After that, I have my first class! Much though I'm really happy about being a tourist here, I'm feeling a bit of relief that classes are starting and that I'll get permission for off-campus employment soon, so I can start feeling less like a tourist and more like a real New Yawka.

More soon!

Many of the plans for my fantabulous LAST WEEKEND IN VANCOUVER EXTRAVANGANZA were placed under review, on notice and finally hashed out for hours with my talking E.T. doll until they were morphed into something that worked for everyone. So here, for what I'd like to think is your viewing pleasure, but is definitely my typing pleasure, are my updated plans:

SNAKES ON A BECKY TO THE MAAAAAAX: This will be happening TONIGHT! This choice was due to popular demand, so don't look at me, look at popular and its demands. I'm going to try to muscle my way into the 12:30am Rio Grande show (on Commercial and Broadway) with my friend Josh Bowman, who you might know from being awesome. If Snakes on a Becky forsakes us due to its popularity, I'm still up for tomorrow night. I spent four years building friendships with people who would be ideal companions for viewing this movie, and I'm assed if I'm going to put in that kind of effort with New Yorkers.

BETTING ON HORSES TO THE MAAAAAAX: This thing is still the same. Saturday, 1:05pm. Hastings. We'll find each other, it's not a very large place.

BASEBALL GAMES TO THE MAAAAAAX: The Canadians are going to eat the Boise Hawks for SUPPER! 7:05, Nat Bailey Stadium. Again, we'll find each other.

BECKY'S APARTMENT TO THE MAAAAAX: Bring your own pillow because I won't have furniture! Come after 10:30 to 3075 Prince Edward St (two blocks east of 15th and Main). My buzzer doesn't work so either a) yell at the windows that are facing towards my neighbouring apartment or b) have a cellphone/someone with a cellphone.

HOPE TO SEE EVERYONE TO THE MAAAAAAAX!