emilyrems.com

Thumbs Up, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

Happy Halloween!
Gentle reader - I swear I would not tell you this if it weren’t 100% true. O.M.G. Last night LCF and I joined the new 24 hour gym on our block, and then promptly broke in their new equipment late night style. We had the whole place to ourselves, which was rad, so we spent an extra long time trying out all the new stuff. Around 1 AM, we started to leave when I noted a familiar scent wafting down the stairs. “Dude!” I whispered to LCF. “Someone in this gym is totes eating fried chicken!” He stared at me like I was insane, but sure enough, when we got to the top of the stairs where the reception desk is, the two dudes holding down the late shift were going house on a bucket of the Colonel’s finest Original Recipe. I was all like “No Way! I could totally smell your chicken!” Which I guess is kinda rude to blurt out while strangers are eating, but I just thought it was hilarious that the whole reception desk of my new gym was slathered in greasy fried goodness. The dudes tried to play it off, but when I whipped out the ole digi-cam for a hilarious photo-op, young Snyder pictured above became very nervous that he would get in trouble, so he said I could take his picture outside instead. I played along, but as you can clearly see on the left side of the photo, the bucket is sitting tall and proud right there on the desk. Thankfully I was able to resist the olefactory temptation that assaulted us at the conclusion of our workout, but sadly LCF was not so lucky. BY 1:30 AM he was happily ensconced on our couch with a three piece, biscuit and fries. Now in the garish ligt of day, I can’t decide if this little poultry incident makes my new gym awes or lame, but it definitely made me laugh.

PS - Look for me in the Village Halloween Parade! LCF and I will be marching with the Green Party as weird pollution fairies!

Kim & Pye, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

Saturday was madness. First, I slept in and had an insane dream that I was performing with Royal Pink at a giant house party in the country somewhere. Only problem was, when they announced our band, I walked out and found that my drum kit had been totally taken apart and was lying in a heap next to the audience along with the parts from about six other kits, so while everyone stared at me, waiting for the show to begin, I had to try and sort out the parts from my kit and put them together as quickly as I could. Things got harder when a bunch of dudes from the audience came over to “help” me and ended up taking apart everything I had put together and replacing it with a monstrosity made from all different kits that they then hoisted up into some kind of loft where I couldn’t reach it. I ran out of the room, found a staircase and climbed up hoping to gain access to the loft on the second floor so I could drag the kit back down, but when I got to the second floor I realized I was in a department store in the baby furniture department. In every direction on the second floor were cribs, and in the middle was a big crib with my drum kit sitting inside of it! Looking at my drums were an Indian woman and her two small kids, a boy and a girl. The girl had a Cabbage Patch Kid, but instead of a face, the doll just had a plastic anus in the middle of her round head. The boy was pointing at something in the crib, and when I got closer, I saw that there was a small pile of crap next to my drums in the crib, as if the kit had actually taken a dump. Seeing this made the kids’ mom drag them away. Then I woke up covered in sweat.

Later that night, LCF and I broke all boundaries of reasonable human behavior when we sat through the entire Witch Movie Marathon at the Pioneer. Five movies back to back. Five. 9PM-7AM (including daylight savings, which fucked us up even more). We watched Haxan, Night of the Demon, Bell Book And Candle, The Witchmaker and The Haunted Palace before staggering out onto Avenue A together at dawn and making a beeline for breakfast at Odessa. Of the five, my fave was Bell Book and Candle, because Kim Novak (pictured above with her familiar Pyewacket) was the bomb. My only complaint is that Jimmy Stewart was so super-square in this film, I didn’t think he was worthy of the sultry witch’s affections. In an ideal world, Kim Novak would have found love in the sexy embrace of Vincent Price from The Haunted Palace and turned him away from his wicked ways.

bUSted, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

A few weeks ago while discussing out guiltiest pleasures and secret indulgences, I let it slip to LCF that I was secretly obsessed with celeb gossip rags. I feel bad supporting such an invasive and needlessly cruel industry, and my interest in ‘bloids is even more ludicrous considering I don’t have TV, so I don’t know who ANY of the peeps in it are unless they were famous in the ’80s. (Case in pont - when I saw the above cover, I swooned and thought “Gosh - Patrick Dempsey sure was dreamy in “Can’t Buy Me Love!”) But the truth is, I don’t need to know who they are. I’ll listen to gossip about anyone, anytime, anywhere. I don’t care if you’re a stranger talking on a cell phone behind me on the bus, or someone who hastily scrawls trash talk on bathroom walls - I am your intended audience. Enquiring Minds Want To Know. I have always been like this - a quiet, sneaky listener. A hoarder of information. A thrilled voyeur of the human experience. So when I found out today that LCF had secretly bought me my very own home-delivery subscription to US Weekly, I almost wet myself. It was a very sweet gesture, and I suspect he did it because he likes the idea of appealing to my baser impulses. I just hope that having all of this magnificent bathroom reading material doesn’t totally warp my brain. If I start repeating the things I read in US in public as if they are actually factual, somebody please slap the shit out of me.

Stop the Torture, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

Sometimes it seems like LCF has a boundless reserve of energy. Brilliantly creative and endlessly resourceful, in my mind he is always in motion, leaving piles of beautifully realized debris in his wake. So I guess it’s only natural that I sometimes forget that he also has a chronic medical condition capable of striking him down without warning and leaving him painfully incapacitated for days at a time. The fact that this is one of those sick times seems especially cruel to me since this is our fave time of the year to do rad spooky shit together. His pain makes me feel furious, impotent, and afraid. He needs me, yet there’s nothing I can do. Trying to comfort the inconsolable is a viscious trap, but I love him, so what other choice do I have? Watching him suffer is so hard for me, I sometimes wonder if I would trade places with him if I could, just to get away from this feeling of being a helpless observer. But honestly I don’t think I’m strong enough to get through half of what he navigates through every day when he feels bad. I just know I would do anything to make him better.

Hansel Gets Amped, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

Over at Errin’s place, AKA Royal Pink HQ, Hansel the cat digs our sound so much that he always sits in whenever we jam, and even likes to make himself cozy on the amp. This leads me to wonder: Should kitty’s wear teeny tiny earplugs when they rock out? Is it even possible to get a hep cat such as Hansel to wear earplugs? Will he scratch our eyes out at the suggestion with claims that he wants his power ballads unfiltered? The world may never know. If y’all out there in internet-land are curious to hear what this discerning feline has already dubbed “the best band evs,” then by all means come and see Royal Pink at one of our TWO gigs in November (11th and 30th). All the deets are on our Myspace page, so become our friend and get in the know. End of Commercial.

Also - I may be slow on this particular curve cuz I don’t have TV, but does everyone else already know that ABC is putting all of the episodes of “Ugly Betty” up on their wesite where you can watch ‘em for free? I did just that today and was very impressed. The show is a keeper, and I totes heart America Ferrara.

Emlyn’s First Photo Evs, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

This beautiful little boy, Emlyn Joseph, was birthed into the world yesterday by my very best friend in the whole world, Johanna, and I was right there in the room with her when it happened. She was incredibly brave and strong and resiliant through her 13 hour labor, and when it was finally done, she and I held hands and cried. Right after he was born, the doctors whisked Emlyn to an observation room so they could get his breathing normalized, and that’s when I snuck over there and stealthily snapped this very first picture ever taken of him through the only unshaded window. I know it won’t fetch the kind of hefty paparazzi ransom that Shiloh and Suri got, but as his honorary Auntie Em, this little digital image is worth way more to me than any kind of money. Watching my closest companion since I was 11 years old become a mother before my eyes was such an emotional experience , I have absolutely no capacity to describe it, other than to say that I’ve always known how amazing Han is, but watching her painfully deliver a brand new life into the world makes me see her in a whole new way. Welcome to planet Earth Emlyn. Hope you have a mighty fine time.

Rock2, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

Last night in Union Square, LCF and I came upon Rock Rockit, a German carnie who LCF used to work with the summer before last at the Coney Island Sideshow. Rock had considerably more tattoos and fewer teeth since the last time I saw him, and he was wowing the tourists by swinging a bowling ball by his stretched earlobes, eating fire, and pulling a latex glove over his head and then inflating it till it popped. If the tourists walked by without leaving a tip in his hat, Rock would stop what he was doing and scream after them that they were “cheap bastards.” I think that was my favorite part. When I met LCF two years ago, Coney Island was officially my favorite spot on earth, and I made every excuse to go out there not just for sun and fun, but also for late night stuff like films and burlesque shows. After LCF and I got together, I went out there to pick him up from work almost every day, and we even talked about moving to a seaside apartment there together. The next summer, however, he decided to quit the sideshow, which proved to be an excellent decision, but we haven’t been back since. So seeing Rock out here kind of makes me a little wistful. After over a year of no Coney, LCF mentioned after we saw Rock that he might like to go back to the sideshow to check out their Halloween Spookhouse this weekend. I don’t want to get my hopes up, but I would love to spend some time out there again. Especially since so many big shot real estste peeps seem to have such big, big plans for the place. I fear it’s charmingly grungy and slightly dangerous days are numbered.

P.S. I also walked past the tree with the mystery keys hanging off of it again last night and the keys are STILL THERE!

Stocky, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

This picture is a reasonable approximation of what deadline feels like for me this week. I’m trapped. Trapped like a rat in understaffed journalistic hell. The pic was actually taken last weekend at my friend Lily Cox Richard’s family farm in VA. Every October they have a mammoth fall festival, so I stopped by with LCF before Bubbles’ wedding and clearly, wackiness ensued. My favorite thing about Cox Farm is that when I was in High School, they had some bumper stickers circulating around for awhile that said “You Can’t Lick Cox For Fresh Produce.” Genius. Also, if you look closely you will see a band-aid on my right thumb. That band-aid is in fact covering a mighty blister I got from drumming SO FUCKING HARD at Otto’s last Thursday. If you don’t believe me, you can check out the live audio from the show here. Rock ‘n’ Rooooooooollllllll!

Bubbles’ Wedding, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

Pictured above is the marital union of Bubbles and Rachael as supervised by his all grrrl crew of “groomsmen” aka Cara and Me. Do we look supportive? Supervisory? Groomsman-y? LCF came down to DC with me for this one, and we had an action-packed weekend that included riding the Washington Deluxe, eating the best hummus this side of Tel Aviv at the Lebanese Taverna, checking out some NYC photography at the National Gallery with my dad, LCF’s very first visit to a Cracker Barrel, a crazy morning running around snapping pics of baby animals at the Cox Farm Fall Festival, Dim Sum with Min ‘n’ Matt ‘n’ Audrey, hoofing around Georgetown while I pointed out all the places that used to be cool but now are sucky chain retailers, and much horsing around on the super-steep staircase where they filmed that scene in The Excorcist where the priest fell down a million stairs and died. Oh, yeah, and we went to the wedding too. Highlights included drinking wine with almost the whole high school crew (Min, Dan, even my ex-BF Jimmy was there all the way from Seattle), seeing Bubbles be all happy and stuff, and the bizzarre experience of being provided with a pirate hat at a formal event. Low points included dry chicken, a feedback-y mic I was trying to use to MC the event, and a long after-wedding photo sesh that resulted in me missing quality cocktail time. Weird point of the night was definitely turning around and seeing my boyfriend deep in conversation with the guy who plucked the flower of my virginity when I was 17. I’m not sure why, but I was horrified and totally sure they were talking about my vagina, until I got a little closer and realized they were talking about the odd posters tacked up all over the East Village that say DAN SMITH WILL TEACH YOU ROCK AND BLUES GUITAR. Whatevs, they probs changed the subject when they noticed me listening.

El Cantinero, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

The rest of this month is going to be an insane-yet-stressful love-fest starting now. In an hour I’m leaving work to set up the big Dunc-A-Palooza benefit I’m throwing for Alison’s campaign at Otto’s Shrunken Head because I love her, then tomorrow I leave for DC so I can ably perform my duties as “Groomsman” for Bubbles’ big lovey wedding on Saturday, then back to NY for deadline (obvs a labor of love) , then up to MA to attend the birth of my most beloved best friend’s first child. I’m freaked out just typing it. Feels like I’ve got a long obstacle course of heart-shaped hoops spread before me, and I’ve got to focus if I’m gonna be able to leap through each one without falling flat on my face.

Bowling Balls, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

Bowlmor sucks. Check out these fucking ads they have plastered all over my nabe. In retaliash, I’m planning my own ad campaign, in which I shall don my geekiest hipster glasses while staring at some dude’s tighty-whitey-clad crotch, with a caption that reads: “It’s strange, but I can’t stop thinking about sinking my teeth into Hebrew National Kosher Franks.” I think It’s a wienner.

Mystery Keys on 5th Ave, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

Walking down 5th Avenue with LCF, I spied this mysterious bundle of keys hanging from a nub on a tree, and it reminded me of a strange key I found in Boston when I was a senior at Emerson. I was just clawing my way out of what experts would deem “A Very Bad Time” involving a dramatic breakup, a complete fucking meltdown, and a luxurious mini-vacation in the local nut hut, when I found this key. I was crossing a wide intersection just north of the Boston common when I saw it gleaming in the middle of the street, and had to dodge a turning truck to grab it. Once I had it, I carried it around with me everywhere and kept trying it it random doorways hoping not to get shot at, but rather to discover my destiny. Of course it never fit anywhere, until one day, I realized I had locked my keys inside my dorm room at 6 Arlington St. I was just about to alert the annoying RA, when I remembered the found key, and lo and behold, it fit right in. I was glad I didn’t have to pay for someone to break into my room, and was mystified that the random key I had found fit my own lock, but I was also kind of pissed that there was no prince charming behind the door it opened. Just lots of sadly familiar black clothes, and a hand-me-down futon with dubious stains on it.

mj 2002, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

If I’d dreamt of being married to Michael Jackson back in the ’80s when I used to kiss his yellow sweater-vest poster every night before bed, I would have been super-psyched. Unfortunately alot has changed for poor MJ since then, so the dream I had of being married to him last night was definitely a nightmare. We were in a giant middle-eastern compound (probs in Bahrain). It was Michael and I, my mom who was visiting us and pretending to like Michael, and tons and tons of kids of every nationality from all over the world. Michael had the gleam of religious zealotry in his eyes, and told me he intended to save every one of these children’s souls by teaching them about Jesus. He reminded me that in the country where we lived, girls had to be segregated from boys, so it was my job to minister to all the little girls while he went off to spend quality time with the little boys. I didn’t feel good at all about leaving him alone with all of those little boys, but I was intimidated by MJ. He was incredibly rich and powerful, and he had the upper hand in this country because he was (barely) a man and had the legal right to kill me if I disputed his authority. I decided that I would try to flee the country with my mom and all the little girls from many lands, and would figure out where to eventually return the kids once we got out of there. I was watching, waiting, and planning for a while as Michael rounded up all the boys to adjourn to some kind of playroom. My heart was pounding, he left the room, I gave a signal to my mom and was about to make a break for it when I woke up covered in sweat.

From Atlantis With Love, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

Contrary to popular belief, my life isn’t all big girl hip hop dance classes and fat girl flea markets. Nobody lives in a constant state of body affirmation, nor do I think we need to. Sometimes on the best days, the greatest feeling you can have is not to be really conscious of your body at all. Such was the case on Friday. LCF picked me up after work, it was a beautiful night, and we started strolling around. We hung out in Washington Square for awhile and then walked south until we hit Madame X, the beautiful red-velvet draped bar where we had our fateful first date lo those many moons ago. We went in and nostalgically drank minty mojitos and flirted with each other made each other laugh till I was afraid I’d fall off my stool. Then when the time came to soak up our cocktails with some sustenance, I suggested we go get what I refer to as “the secret sandwich.” Under cloak of darkness, sometimes this native american dude with a big cart painted with the words “From Atlantis With Love” parks around the corner from CBGBs on Joey Ramone Place and makes the most magically delicious wraps in the city. I’ve been there a few times and have a good rapport with the dude, who likes to regale me with the health benefits of all the fresh vegetables he’s cooking while he grills them, but LCF had never been there, so hand in hand, we hit the spot. Just as I had promised, the dude was there with his magical cart overflowing with vegetation and delicious smelling smoke. LCF was into it right away, so we both started chatting up the dude while he grilled our wraps. Mid-way through his schpiel about the health benefits of his vegetables, the dude asked me what I did for a living. I told him I was a magazine editor, and then all of a sudden he got all overstimulated and started suggesting ways I could write about him for the magazine. I’m pretty used to this kind of thing, so I began implementing one of my many strategies for gracefully changing the subject when he burst out with, “I know! You could eat my food and we could show before and after pictures like Jenny Craig!” This idea not only delighted him but cracked him up. I tried to play it off but the damage was done. I had been having such a fun, romantical, and decidedly un-neurotic evening with my boyfriend, and then suddenly there I was, standing on the street with flaming cheeks while the wrap dude pointed out what a good “before” picture I would make for his fucking sandwich truck. “That wasn’t cool,” LCF muttered as we walked away with our wraps and gave me a squeeze, but I pulled away because I was afraid the hug would make the tears pop out of my eyes and actually start rolling down my suddenly very fat-feeling face.

Room 18, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

Errin’s dad is in town, and we can’t have band practice at her place while he’s around, so the Royal Pink crew converged instead on Funkadelic studios last night to practice for our big gig. Being at the studio was super-fun. It was full of cute rocker boys who stared at us like they’d never seen a girl band in their lives. They were so comfortable with the mostly guy environment in fact, that one needed only walk past the mensroom’s inexplicably propped open door to determine each dude’s trademark urinal stance. Pot smoke was curling out from under practice room doors and cymbal crashes permeated soundproof walls. We found that having to pay for our practice time by the hour made our band much more focused, so in a scant three hours we managed to play all of our songs and arrange two new ones. Aw yeah!!! Hopefully by next week we’ll have a tight six-song-set that will have the crowd begging for more.

I never expected being in a band to feel like this. It’s not like being in love exactly, but it shares certain side effects. I find myself getting lost in thought imagining things for the band, making wishful plans for the band, replaying our past triumphs and giddy good times over and over again in slo-mo. I email my bandmates almost every day, and count the days until we can all get together to jam. Also like in love, I’m paranoid of being let down. I dwell on sad fantasies of it all falling apart, and I get jealous when band members talk about doing other projects. I’ve promised myself not to be a psycho-girlfriend to my all-girl band, but I love them so much, sometimes it’s hard not to hold on tight.