Mud, Psorias and Lucy Alibar

This morning I went for coffee with the famous Lucy Alibar at a joint called Mud in the East Village. I have to admit, I occassioned the Mud Truck on Wall Street on a small handful of desperate times--the general mood of Wall Street-- for my requisite morning latte, and I've actually thrown entire lattes away. (Recession Confession!) A painful experience as a) a singular soy latte is one of the top three enjoyable routine moments of my day and b) i have an obsession with food trucks and a desire to have my own slider food truck with dancing girls outside. [oh, and by the way, according to affirmation guru Louise Hay and, thus, my nighttime audiobook lullabye, "my only obsession is with the joy of life," so scratch the food truck thing as obsession. heightened interest. or perhaps food trucks are the joy of life?]

Anyways, after those tragics cups of frosted tar, I expected nothing better from the actual Mud storefront location in the East Village. Despite the unremarkable--and i do mean unremarkable as in I had nothing good or bad to say about it-- coffee, they peeled a banana for me and put it on a plate, which was a charming breakfast detail.


My banana choice was a response both to my lifestyle of "recession" and my recent proactive battle with psoriasis. And i don't mean proactive sans the "e" and endorsed by Jessica Simpson. That was high school. and I did it with accutane. The battle of psoriasis will be won with bananas. Not with pills that have encircled silhouettes of pregnant women with a line through them on the back of the package. As if they were cigarettes.

I am not drinking. not eating meat. not eating sugar. doing yoga at YTTP like it's my full-time job. drinking water that mung beans and pearled barley have soaked in. and coating the psoriasis spots with toxic topical steroids.

Ahem. Let me clear my throat.

Lucy Alibar--another charming breakfast detail. Less of a detail and more the reason why I had a plate with a peeled banana on it in front of me. Honey-sweet, effusive, Georgian. (As in South of the Mason-Dixon, not East of Germany.) The sisterly cousin I've been dreaming of. She's writing the screenplay for a new film entitled Beasts of the Southern Wild. It's set in Southern Louisiana, a recent alteration from the original Southern Georgia setting. Part of her job now involves indulging in the gorgeous nuances of a completely different Southern accent-- Cajun French. And rather than recessionally pouring over youtube clips of Southern Louisianians' home movies, she's gonna hang out there for a while. Sundance Screenwriter's Lab is nurturing this little baby in it's preproduction phases. A dreamy gig.

If I was the king of the forest!

Beyond her virtuosic screenplay and play writing abilities, she is also in the practice of making gorgeous cakes. Look out! Here comes one now!




Lucy was my morning.

the same big animated sky

The cold is bitter and so is my glass of Emergen-C. Last night I drank a grand total of 4000 beers in brown bottles and fell asleep at 6:15 am on a yellow leather couch at Kristyn's. That was after a cab to the east village to an apartment of a stranger who was passionate about collecting opinions on which size flat screen tv he should buy for his wall. He taped two different size representations on his wall, and we were asked to speculate on which one would not "dominate the room."

New York City is a place where a small tv can be a sort of status symbol.
I like it both ways. Wisconsin and New York City.

My parents have a very large television. It suits them, and I like the way they watch tv. We talk about American Idol and Dancing With the Stars. It's like how Fievel's sister knows she and Fievel are wishing on the same big star even though she knows how very far apart they are.



Even if i am watching on a tiny tv in new york, paula abdul is saying the same things to me as she is to my parents.