Coming Clean

Spring has indeed sprung and so, it is time once again, to clean out the old stuff. This notion probably never crossed the minds of the infamously hoarding Collyer brothers who left 103 tons of garbage behind in their Harlem Brownstone when they died. Keeping them in mind, I was determined to be absolutely fastidious perhaps even merciless. So, the first stop during my spring cleaning was the shelf of cosmetic products. Before I began I read Stacy Malkin's Not Just a Pretty Face (The Ugly side of the Beauty Industry) which led me to the informative Skin Deep database where I was able to check the safety of the more than 42 beauty products I own. The most shocking part wasn't seeing how toxic hair dyes are (which I already knew) but, how many sunscreens are filled with stuff you'd never want to rub all over your skin. Of the eight sunscreens I had leftover from last summer and an early winter trip to the Caribbean, I am only keeping one. The rest have too many toxic* chemicals or are just not effective enough to protect against the sun. (*Causing Neurotoxicity, Cancer, Allergies/immunotoxicity, Organ system toxicity, Endocrine disruption.)

The reason I bring all this up is because the self-regulating beauty industry is allowed to put in anything they deem safe enough for us to use. No testing is required. The FDA has very little say in what goes in to cosmetics and the USA is years behind the European Community when it comes to higher standards in beauty products. Example: phthalates (used as a plasticizer and fragrance stabilizer) have been banned in Europe but not here. They have been shown to cause birth defects in the genitalia of infant boys. Yet, they are still used in many products ranging from perfumes, fragrances in skin lotions and shampoos, pet toys, children's toys, sex toys, nail polish, vinyl car seats and the list goes on. If they are banned in the EU then, we probably need tighter regulations on beauty products sold in this country. The problem is that in the USA we wait until people start getting sick or being born deformed before we think about doing anything about it. But the number one most effective way of combating unscrupulous companies in a money-driven society is to educate ourselves and not buy their products. The Campaign for Safe Cosmetics has a list of companies who have signed the Compact for Safe Cosmetics.

It's worth checking out.

Bad Doggie!

This may explain why Long Island drivers act the way they do. They are real dogs! Using the unpaid family pet to chauffeur one around town is truly a new low. Next, they'll be painting houses, landscaping and becoming nannies and there go all the low-paying service jobs superwealthy Long Islanders love to tell themselves they give to illegal aliens as a form of third world charity. (But, it's really because they're cheap.) In this case, you really get what you don't pay for: this guy was unnecessarily aggressive and his language was atrocious. And his breath? Just like a dead squirrel.

Impetuosity

You know those times when you just want to give yourself over to the thrill of thoughtless action? To surrender to the dizzying high of unadulterated impetuousness? Well, it looks like that's what happened here.

Possible monologue: "Damn! I hate this stupid car! Nuffin' in it works right anymore! I'm gonna get rid of it right now!

Hey, at least they didn't litter.

Sprung!

On a recent visit to Wave Hill in the Bronx, I witnessed the most extraordinary thing: cross-pollination between a woman and a flowering cherry tree. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . All seemed to be going quite well between the two.... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . the tree certainly looked happy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Alas, two adolescent interlopers came upon the scene and frightened the young woman away. (As they approached, it seemed as if they were trying to look up her skirt!) No fool she, the lass quickly took her leave. The doofs sat in the exact same spot but, the tree just ignored them.

Hellth Nuts

Hell Foods. As the price of Whole Foods stock continues its six-month decline so apparently, has civility within its doors. Having shopped both Boston and New York stores during this period, I can attest that many of Whole Foods patrons are a rude, angry and mean-spirited bunch. Some wear their iPods and take no notice of others around them. They blithely leave their carts in the middle of aisles while they rock out and wander off to shop elsewhere. Others chat loudly and nervously into their cell phones sharing the contents of their private lives and aggravations with anyone within earshot. Then there are the mean, impeccably dressed and bejeweled moms who wield their precious cargo and their groceries like grenades blowing away anyone in their path. Could all this angst and pushiness be due to Whole Foods phasing out the use of plastic shopping bags? No, that can't be it. These rude folk just love the new reusable bags with the Whole Foods logo splashed across it. They proudly wear these bags even when not shopping at WF. It tells the world, "I'm pure. I'm right-minded. I care about the planet. Now, get out of my way!" If one is elderly, or uses a cane or just happens to not be feeling so well and unable to move quickly enough for these neurotic entitlistas then beware. Like Miss Havisham's wedding banquet in Great Expectations, the spread at Whole Foods is impressive. But, the rats have taken over. These newly-pious adherents to a healthy lifestyle have traded the Golden Rule to pursue the Golden Fleece. (Though to be fair, they would never actually wear the fur or eat the meat of the golden ram unless it were grain-fed and free of antibiotics and hormones.) As they fill up their SUV's and Volvo station wagons with the organic booty they've procured, they drive off fairly confident that they've simultaneously done their bit for world peace and their families alike. But, don't step off the curb just yet, gentle reader. There is every chance in the world they've forgotten the one thing they came for and they will pull a uey through a red light and head straight for you in one last desperate effort to save their souls and their palates from anything less than the very best.

Holy Cow!

I was just kidding about all that "mythical lost city" stuff. But, by 7am Saturday morning the entire city had just disappeared.

New York at Night

This is what you look like when you sleep. Brooklyn knows. We see you disappear into the fog and the mist of all mythical places. At 3 o'clock in the morning Brooklyn is still here. We listen to the horns of passing ships on the East River, the hum of occasional planes overhead. But you Manhattan, have taken off your wigs, your lashes, your fine clothes, your jewels and have joined the ranks of Atlantis, Lemuria, and Mu. You exist only in your own dreams and nightmares.

Friends Don't Let Friends...

...show asscrack.

Yesterday I took this photo in the Warren Tavern, a historic Charlestown pub, fully aware that by doing so I am tempting the karma gods who without fail, seem to bestow upon me any pain or humiliation I cause others. So, please, dear friends: if you ever see me unintentionally baring my pitooty, pull up my pants already. I don't care if I get a wedgie.

Obamamania!

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This isn't my thong. But, it might be appreciated by Obamaites: It comes from another blogger and it's a feral cat attacking George Bush.

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I want Obamamania. Everyone but me seems to have it. It reminds me of the old-timey 1970's fads: yo-yo's, pet rocks, the Dorothy Hamill hair-do. There was a sweet optimism that these things could for a brief time, distract us from the residue of the Vietnam War, Watergate and Killer bees. I want to be swept up in the hope and the promise that has captivated so many of my intelligent and talented friends. In the meantime, while I sit and ponder what Dennis Kucinich is up to these days and how Elizabeth Edwards is feeling and who out of the top three condenders would make the best first lady or husband, I'll share an Obama story of my very own with you:

About a year and a half ago, my husband and I were at a hotel in Arizona for a gathering of magazine editors and Barack Obama was staying in the room right next door. He lost his room key and one of his security men knocked on our door and asked if he could go through our room so he could climb over the balcony wall and let Mr. Obama in. I wasn't there at the time but, my husband let the guard in forgetting that I had left some laundry drying outside in the hot Arizona sun. I was thrilled to later learn that my very clean thongs were only one degree away from the eyes of Barack. 

I had just learned who Obama was the day before and he cuts a very dashing figure. He is tall and lean and the first time I saw him he was walking across the hotel grounds. He was striking in the way that few people are. (Okay, the fact that he was one of a handful of hotel guests who didn't have the pasty pallor of a wintertime New Yorker may have unduly impressed me.)  I turned to my husband and said, "Who is that?"

"That's senator Omamba" My husband replied, garbling the poor man's name. "He's going to run for President."  "He already looks as if he won." I said. And it was true.