Stars and the Moon

Stars and the Moon. That was the name my friend Rachel and I gave to a boy a grade above us in grade school. His birth name is Aaron Star, but with our clever code we could talk about him (as he was the object of my affection) without him having ANY idea. The crush was incredibly short-lived, in fact not sure it lasted much past us coming up with the cryptic code name. Anyhow, he went off to boarding school and I moved on as well.

The summer after my freshman year in college I lived in the Outer Banks with some friends. I had an ill-fated job as a kayak instructor which had the huge upside of cash tips which could be given directly to my "of age" downstairs neighbors for beer. One day at work, who do I see? Good old Stars and the Moon, Aaron Star. We chatted a few times throughout the summer and that was pretty much that.

Fast forward to present day, I live in Philadelphia and see this kid everywhere!! Walking to work in the AM, at the train station, on the street. Last night we saw him when we were sitting outside eating dinner and then AGAIN on the way home. After having already had one chance encounter with this kid I feel like another would be too much and too awkward for me to handle. So I hide, turn away, or cover my face whenever he walks by. Not too different from when I was in 7th grade and had a crush on him.

Update

My tennis lessons have continued, and I think most would consider my progress to be "slow but steady". It seems that each area of my game that I improve, reveals another area in need of even more attention. My forehand improvements seem to come directly at the expense of my backhand.

One thing that has surely suffered in this process is my temper. I fear I may need to take a class in remedial tennis etiquette. I have yet to throw a racquet, but I think it is still probably frowned upon to call your opponent a "stupid mother fucker" when he hits a shot you can't get to. My outbursts are made worse given that my practice court is at a school where kids and families are usually hanging out sharing quality summer time together.

Things get really bad when my coach starts cackling at and counting the consecutive shots I miss. The scene quickly resembles what it would look like if Quentin Tarantino made a movie about tennis...with dialog to match.

The lesson ended on a high note and I am undeterred in my pursuit of tennis greatness.

He Needs to Get a J-O-B, Just Like Everybody Else

I finally gave up on my commitment to complete my $25 chic lit impulse bye. I saw no need to impose such suffering upon myself during what is supposed to be a leisure activity. Instead, I have moved on to David Sedaris' new book "When You Are Engulfed in Flames". Like his other books, it is a collection of essays so it is great for reading just a little bit at a time...like I did today during my lunch. I was sitting outside, enjoying the lovely weather, and reading about Mr. Sedaris' field trip to the county morgue. It was as fascinating as it was disgusting.

I have a tendency to be pretty engrossed in what I am reading, usually to the exclusion of everything else that is going on around me. This habit has caused me to nearly miss a flight while sitting directly next to the ticket agent. Today, though, I think I reached new heights in realizing the transcendent powers of reading (those monks could really learn quite a bit from me). I was sitting on some steps outside when right across the street (25 ft. maybe) a full blown crime went down. A guy tried to steal a lady's purse and was then tackled to the ground by 2 on-lookers whom were quickly joined by police. I just kept on reading. I realized something was afoot only when a movie-like flood of people began leaving their lunch perches to get a closer view of the scene.

I joined too. It was there I learned that initial reports of gunfire (overhead as people were whizzing past me) were unfounded. Floored by the audacity of this mid-day heist, the public had many comments. The most astute of which was 'you don't steal purses. he needs to get a j-o-b, just like everybody else'. word.

Let Me Call You on My Land Line

Today’s post comes after a very insightful question posed by one of my American readers: What makes me more mature getting a house phone or getting engaged? Tough call in my opinion. Sure the engaged thing certainly sends signals about commitment and “settling down”. But a land line? That’s a real step!

Since college and my long distance PIN, I have relied exclusively on cell phones for communication. I am sure the decision had as much to do with cost as anything else. Upon graduation I was certainly in no financial position to be paying for redundant technologies. I probably would have also told people that I didn’t need a house phone anyways, I’m like never home. “work is crazy” “I went out 6 nights this week!” Home was a place for sleeping, not casual chats on the phone.

I, too, have recently taken the land line plunge. My move came under duress as those monopolistic bastards at Comcast practically shove the “Triple Play” down your throat. But I do like it. In theory I can buzz people in from downstairs, which is awesome. Perhaps I’ll even start using it for non-transactional phone calls. As I have grown more matur,e I have found myself with a much lower tolerance for the walkie-talkie like pace of cell phone conversations. And have grown increasingly annoyed by having conversations where the other person is shopping, driving, walking dog. I can sense their distraction. The land line really could be the answer!

Fras, blow me up on my house line later!! (I’ll send you the number in another letter, my Mexican readers would never stop calling…oh and I have to ask my roommate for it b/c I don’t know it)

I Am a Global Sensation!! Yo soy un sensacion global!!

My morning routine goes something like this: 1. get coffee 2. check gmail 3. check blog to see if anyone has commented since I last checked 20 minutes ago while I was eating breakfast 4. download blog traffic report from google analytics. I learned some amazing things this morning while performing task 4.

For those of you who don't know, google analytics is some techie thing I put on my blog so I can track and measure your love of me (or more specifically how many people visit the site and how many total visits there have been.). There are LOTS of cool reports you can run to measure things like "viewer loyalty" and stuff like that. WELL there is also a map overlay feature that lets me see where my viewers are. I checked it out for the first time today and was astonished at what i found. People in 6 countries have viewed my blog! I am like the new Selena in Mexico where there are 9 dedicated mexicans who have visited the carly pumpkin site. I also have fans in Argentina, Brazil, Finland, and Germany!!! I may need to go on tour and do blog readings in coffee shops.

I tried to put a picture of the google analytics map on here as proof but it didn't really work. you will just have to take my word on it.

A Worthy Goal

For a few weeks now I have been reading a blog on the New York times website called "The Climb". It's this guy chronicling his transformation from average joe weekend cyclist dude to "i rode a mountain stage of the Tour de France" dude....in about a month. Initial posts from readers on the blog ranged from cautiously supportive to pleas for him to consider how much he valued living before attempting such a ridiculous feat. The author details his training plan, nutrition, gear etc. Cycling is a topic in which I have some interest but that alone does not explain my fixation with this blog. I think it is more about the idea of committing to a challenge so immense that has forced me to read every post.

Which brings me to my next point and an explanation for the photo of a shoe next to a post about cycling. I want these shoes. I really, really want them. Though I am conflicted as to whether I would like myself more or less if I had them (more b/c I would obviously be more attractive and more people would like me ...less b/c it would signal utter fiscal stupidity and put me in danger of homelessness). To make them seem more reasonable I decided maybe I could set a goal for myself and the get them as a reward for accomplishing said goal. I don't think the Tour de France thing is going to happen, but it has gotten me thinking.....

A.O. Scott is Dead to Me

I saw a poster for "You Don't Mess with the Zohan" yesterday and nearly puked. I was duped into seeing this movie last weekend by the usually reliable New York Times (I should have listened to my father when he told me that it was a left-wing propagandist rag). The reviewer A.O. Scott does not lavish praise on films easily. He thoroughly trashed the little gem "27 Dresses". I was then understandably led astray when he touted Zohan as "the finest post-Zionist action-hairdressing sex comedy I have ever seen". Though my exposure to this genre of film is admittedly limited, I know enough to say confidently that this movie is the pits.

As I drifted in and out of consciousness I looked at the time as frequently as I did the movie screen. John McCain may disagree with me, but this film was pure torture.

Where the hell are Meg Ryan and Julia Roberts? Cinema needs them!!

Match Point

My first round of intensive tennis instruction began this weekend. The picture here shows my newly hired tennis instructor*. Despite evidence to the contrary I do not believe my instructor has been signed by Nike (though I don't think it would be out the question). I also think he has a fighting chance at being cast as one of the Blaine's friends in the remake of "Pretty in Pink".

Under his tough but thoughtful instruction, I really think my game improved. We worked on some forehands, backhands, volleys, and finished up with some pointers on my serve. Of particular focus was footwork. Although I feel like I am scurrying all over that court from corner to corner, my instructor tells me I actually have a very sedentary style of play. hmmm. The lessons are scheduled to continue throughout the summer and if successful I should be smoking my 50 + year old aunt off the court by August (my ultimate goal and purpose for these lessons.)

* Being that I am a real high-society type my tennis instructor is live-in.

If the Shoe Fits

Last night I got a call from bride-to-be Brie who asked me to help her out with some wedding planning issues. Instead of being delegated to do something lame (though I would have done it anyway, i promise) I was charged with picking out the bridesmaid's footwear! A fabulous assignment which I was sure I could tackle with savvy and style. I was well prepared for the task as I spend an inordinate amount of time during my workday doing online window shopping. I love cruising through J.Crew.com and filling up my shopping cart with abandon as I go. I usually don't end up buying anything (well, except for maybe today when I did) but it is really satisfying nonetheless.

So the shoe goal was great. I had specific criteria to meet and I think I did it. Fashionable, occasion appropriate, and reasonably affordable. I hope I get mentioned in the wedding program!

Job or Blog

That is my dilemma. This "job" thing is really occupying far too much of my time and thoughts and I think my blogging has really suffered as a result. It is a challenge to come up with fun and exciting posts when my thoughts are consumed with thinking evil thoughts about.... This morning on my walk to work I engaged in new job day-dreaming. What else could I be doing in my life? As usual, I was unable to get much past my new career as a "powerball winner". I entertained a career shift to "lady of leisure" but I am not so sure homeless (which is what I would be if I stopped working due being sorely deficient in the trust fund department) technically qualifies as "leisure".

So those are my thoughts for today. Suggestions for new career tracks are always welcome. Tonight I will be drinking wine while reading "Bureaucracy!" (exclamation point added by me). Perhaps that will inspire a new blog post or career idea...I would be happy with either!

I Have Never Been So Tired

On account of my debilitating fatigue I am just going to post a quick little something. I realize that this blog is a partnership and that I must keep up my end of the bargain here.

I would like to say for starters that it is hot as balls here in Philadelphia. I took a cab home from the train station tonight and thought it best to have him drop me at Wawa so I could pick up some ice cream. I need something to take the edge off!

Hmmm...other than that I have been thrown headlong into Facebook. I initially joined it much as I did MySpace: reluctantly and only so I could spy on others. I don't know if its my blogging or generally increased cyber social-savvy...but I have really been getting into it! And it has been so nice exchanging notes with people whom I know I would have never spoken to again otherwise. so yay facebook!! What's the deal with linking my blog to facebook? How does one do that? Is that normal, or would it be viewed as what it actually is: a desperate attempt to see a spike in my google analytics numbers????

What the Hell Am I Going to Do Until August

A few months ago I laid out an ambitious plan for myself: To watch all 4 seasons of The Wire. I accomplished my goal triumphantly. I grew to know, love, and respect those po-lice and hoppers. McNulty, Bunk, Dookie, Stringer, Brody. They were great. And being able to watch them all successively and at my will, without the hindrances of waiting for Monday night or a new season to start, was intoxicating and addictive. It became a ritual of sorts. Well, in a few short months I tore through 4 years of Wire programming and am now left with a void that has proved difficult to fill. Season 5 (the final season) will not be released on DVD until August. I have done all I can and placed it in my queue. I have attempted to order other DVDs to watch. Dave Chappelle is funny (hell yeah i suck toes) but the show fails to engender the compulsion that the Wire did. I will keep trying. shiiiiiit.

A final note about the French open. My boy Rafa made of fool out of Federerererer and demonstrated to me the many areas where my game needs some fine tuning. Namely racket speed and jumping...those pros just seem to jump so much more than i do, i think its really what's been holding my game back. Oh that and running... tennis involves a lot more movement than I initially thought.

Me Gusta!!!

I have been getting through this day with visions of me, Rafa, Parker, and a beverage spending a quiet evening home alone together. Through utter mastery of today's technology I instructed my television to record the French Open semi finals. If the TV obeyed, I will come home to enjoy watching Rafa totally routing Djokovic in straight sets. (Though my powers of clairvoyance are impressive, the prediction of the straight sets victory was informed by the NYTimes.com ...without a spoiler alert i might add).

Nevertheless, I can't wait to go home and watch. It will likely be more enjoyable to watch knowing the outcome as I won't have to suffer through anxiety-induced nausea.

Finals are on Sunday. Bon Chance Rafa!!!!

Obnoxious or Organic?

Despite record high readership in the last few days, someone has brought to my attention that the commenting on the carly-pumpkin blog has declined (and by declined I mean fallen to zero). I would like to think ALL of this can be explained by vacations, work obligations, or spotty internet service. SOMEONE though suggests the drop-off has come as a result of the recent DMB posts which SOME people have said came across as self-aggrandizing and boastful. (Moi?!?!?). Anywho, where the commenters at?

Moving right along, I signed up today for a local organic delivery service called Door to Door Organics . I tried to do a farm share earlier this spring but they were all sold out. This place, too, lets me try out the service without committing to a full subscription. I get my first delivery next week! I feel healthier already. Additionally, I think that minimizing trips to Whole Foods will also be budget friendly as well. Saving money and the world all at the same time!!

** All references in this post to "somebody", "some one", "some people" etc. should be interpreted as "my roommate"

Dave Did Not Disappoint

I guess I'll start with the bad news first, I did not get to meet Dave and interview him for the carly-pumpkin blog as I had hoped. Nevertheless, the evening was a blast and I DID make it onto a tour bus. Our seats were great and Dave is way more fun up close and without blurred vision and compromised balance. Highlights of the evening included: "Crazy", "Dancing Nancies", and the violin dude Boyd. I knew he existed before but I was never close enough to really see him in action. He really goes to town on that violin!!!

The photo on the top was taken by my roommate from our seats and the one on the bottom was my attempt at using the Mac Daddy to take a picture of my backstage pass without getting my hands in the photo as well.

In other news, if I had three wishes they would be 1. to only get tired when it was time to go to bed 2. to never have to blow dry/brush/style my hair ever again 3. unbelievable wealth (which I would of course use for good) ...just what I was thinking about on my walk to work this morning.

My High School Self Would Be So Jealous

On most days, I am not sure the above statement would be true. My HS self would most definitely NOT be jealous of having to come to work everyday. She would be further dismayed to learn that said "work" involved neither a pool nor a whistle. Though she may enjoy living without parents, my high school self most certainly would not envy monthly rent payments...or cell phone, grocery, tuition bills.

Tonight, however, my high school self would be sick with envy. I am going to the Dave Matthews Band concert. Not only am I going on a school night, but I will not be sitting in the lawn. My HS self would shriek with glee to learn that I will be backstage at tonight's concert (one of the many perks of having my current roommate).

I will report back tomorrow what the DMB experience is like not sitting on the grass, drinking vile alcoholic concoctions out of a water bottle, and being able to recall more than the first and last two songs performed.

To Chicago I Go!

This spring my cousin Lizzy abandoned NYC and heeded the call to "Go West!!". West is a relative term here as she only went to Chicago. But, nonetheless, she peaced out on east coast cool for a more wholesome mid-west lifestyle...or maybe it was the prospect of a puppy, a Porsche, a house, and a charming boyfriend.

Luckily, her new digs afford me my very own pied a terre, the midwest outpost of the Pumpkin Patch. **

I have just booked my flight to make my first stay there Aug. 8-10 (I want to give the designers plenty of time to put the finishing touches on my Lakeview retreat).

I am looking forward to a weekend of cousins, Cubbies, and cupcakes. Maybe my roommate will even come too!!

** Despite several requests from the author of this blog, Cousin Lizzy has not forwarded along photos of my Chicago pied a terre for me to post.

Roommate vs. David Blaine

I forgot to mention one more thing about the weekend in the country. David Blaine may have held his breath in this stupid bubble thing for a while but my roommate accomplished a feat previously unknown to man and swam 3 laps underwater without coming up for air in my aunt's pool.

I was so proud.

Baby Talk

My birthday fete continued this weekend with a fun-filled stay in the country. There were dogs, delicious dinners, family, friends, and all manner of birthday cake. The whole weekend really was a blast.

In addition to the Mac Daddy I also received several really thoughtful books from my roommate, including one on blogging. The book called "Nobody Cares What You Had for Lunch" offers pages and pages of inspired blog ideas. I thought of today's post though all on my own!

Remember Cindy Brady and her lisp and how the kids at school teased her for using "baby talk"? My roommate and self-proclaimed speech therapist diagnosed me with a lisp in the car ride home last night. And then grilled me on whether or not I had ever received speech therapy (all the while cackling wildly whenever I said something with an "S"). Is it possible that I have gone all this time with an undiagnosed speech impediment? Or is this something that can develop later in life? I would hate to think that I have spent a lifetime developing perfect grammar to have it all undermined by a lisp! Whatever, if Drew Barrymore can lisp so can I.