Starfire at Night

Except it’s not starfire, it’s my damn neighbors and their incessant fireworks.

Not that I’m finally fed up with the nonstop fireworks for the past two weeks.

Really, though. We’re still in June. Someone(I have yet to identify the culprit) has been setting off fireworks in the middle of the night. FOR TWO WEEKS.

I’ll admit I’m a bit of an insomniac, so sleep isn’t the biggest concern for me personally. But I also like to open my window and hear the birds. Except instead of birds, I am inundated with constant explosions, which are broken up by brief moments of silence to lull me into a false sense of security.

Last I checked, the Fourth of July has not occurred in the past two weeks, unless my calendar has been dramatically inaccurate this whole time.

And yes, I’ll grant that angrily ranting about it on a blog is the epitome of passive-aggressive internet behavior. But I would really just like to understand what possesses someone to think, “oh it’s midnight, right about time for some extremely loud explosions to terrify the pets and insomniacs of the neighborhood. Awesome!”

I’m starting to turn into an angry old woman, aren’t I? It’s like a flashback to my knee injury, where I was stuck on the Mediterranean coast unable to leave the house because it would require descending two flights of steps, and I became increasingly irritated with the obnoxious 11 and 12-year-olds zooming past my window on ATVs threatening to run down the inhabitants of the surrounding villas. I waved my cane at them at one point. I may or may not have also been wearing a massively loose housedress.

Aging will DEFINITELY not suit me, that’s for sure.


Reenacting Sex and The City 2, Anyone?

As we mark the fifteenth anniversary of a show I grew to love over the years, it seems fitting that I contemplate my own fixation with New York and its magic.

I have been a New Yorker my entire life, even though I’ll cop to having grown up on Long Island, which is its own sad little niche if ever there was one. My heart, however, rests squarely in the city and not really in my own uninteresting suburban hometown. Sex and The City is to me the quintessential, “I’m coming to New York to lead a glamorous life full of fabulous shoes and marvelous success and romance” story, one which wooed more than a few of the girls I knew. Suffice it to say I have heard more than one SATC ringtone in class during my years in college (I prefer to embarrass myself in class courtesy of my TARDIS ringtone, judge me however you please).

As a New Yorker who is as much enamored with the bustle of Manhattan as with writing(and, to be perfectly honest, shoes. I’ve endlessly contemplated the various contraptions to organize my shoes in beautiful shelves of materialistic giddiness), I find myself in an odd predicament. I have started contemplated leaving New York.

This is not to say I never entertained fantasies of moving to London and basking in my own Anglophilia and drinking as much tea as my body will allow. My tea-drinking is an issue for another post. Yet suddenly I find myself seriously considering the distinct possibility of working and living elsewhere. Namely, the  UAE.

Hence, SATC2. Except I hardly one to make a stereotypical mockery of both Arab and American cultures. Not because I am myself cultivated in both cultures, but because I am a reasonable individual. If you haven’t seen Sex and The City 2, good for you. Seriously. I didn’t make it through, quite honestly. While a quick scan of IMDB could just as easily tell you, the film sees our favorite foursome jet off to Abu Dhabi and, as any cloying movie synopsis would have it, “hijinks ensue!” Except no hijinks for me. Well, maybe that’s not an accurate statement, considering my personal history. Suffice it to say, Arab society and I have a strange and complicated relationship. Just ask my neighbor in Cairo(I don’t live in Cairo, but I visit frequently enough to cause trouble, apparently).

I am as yet unsure about whether I will even end up in the UAE, but the possibility has me thinking, as is always the case for me. What happens when you stir of the background and location upon which so much of my essence is based upon? Presumably, not much, aside from my complaints about a lack of good pizza and missing Washington Square Park and the museums. The more interesting question is arguably, what would happen if I were to live in the Middle East, after years of insisting I would hardly consider the possibility. What with my questionable wardrobe and liberal politics and all. There are always cities like Dubai and Beirut(let me make clear that I know full well Beirut is in Lebanon and not the UAE) where I would likely have a pretty reasonable adjustment. Yet for someone whose own self-identification is murky at best, it’s a difficult idea to confront.

If it seems a good ida, however, I will consider regaling the Internet with tales of said “hijinks.” Stay tuned.

Introductory Post, Anyone?

Well, hello there!

This post is, as the title suggests, an introduction to my new site. So, away with the background information before I simply start posting/uploading, etc. My initial idea for my newest blog was narrowly what I invented to be called “LiteraryCriChic,” i.e., using some of my favorite old and new reads to inspire outfits. I’ve decided to widen my scope, but my first legitimate post will be just that. The name of the site was in fact coined by someone quite dear to me, and that attitude is precisely my driving force from this point.

For info on who I am and what it is I’m doing, refer to “About Me,” because that’s why it’s there in the first place(common sense is fun, don’t you think?) and stay tuned. Until next time(which will in fact be quite soon), farewell and so long.