8 Manhattan Must-Haves

1. Headphones. I mean really now, do you think I could bear to listen to all the mundanely annoying sounds on this little island? As much as I love the city, I need some sort of shield of armor from the masses slash tourists slash undesirables.

2. A HUGE bag (preferably Louis Vuitton). Although my (new) apartment is a mere 2 subway stops away from my office, during workdays, I feel physically unable to leave for the day unless I have every single item I  might possibly need during the morning, noon or early evening hours stuffed into a much-too-heavy tote on my shoulder. Seriously, I don't kid myself to think I could get through an entire 9-5, er I mean 9:30-6:30, day without the essentials inclusive but not limited to the following:

- Phone, iPods, & chargers for both of the aforementioned.
- 2 pairs of glasses. A girl's gotta switch up the eye accessories from time to time.
- Both heels and flats. I, after all, need to be able to run like a speeding bullet into and out of the subway like a true New Yorker and also then seamlessly transition from flying city rat to elegant advertising gal in heels.
- Checkbook. I really hate writing checks but you never know when you just might encounter a situation in which you need one right?
- Work notebook. Although I'm really uncertain why I continue to lug this heavy item home night after night only to have it sit in my enormous heavy bag, I continue to do it.

And I mean, there is always a chance I will get stuck at work until the late evening hours, in which case I might want to apply more make-up or wash my face or maybe even go straight to the gym from being antsty from sitting too long. So in that case, I need gym shorts and a third pair of shoes, which, might I say, really does the whole thing in. The sneakers take the bag from huge to a total ridiculous enormity.

That was a really long #2.

3. Sunglasses. This is inextricably linked to #1. If headphones are the audio suit of armor, sunglasses are the visual one. There is nothing worse than a day started by forgetting one's shades at home and being forced to be totally open for all the little Manhattan dwellers to stare at. I have been known to sport shades no matter the weather.  #iwearmysunglassesatnight

4. A smartphone to bury your face in as you walk down the street to fit in with all the others in the rat race who almost get run over by cars, trucks and automobiles every morning and night. I mean, after all, we all just want to fit in right?

5. A metro card. Obvi.

6. The HopStop app. Please refer back to #5 for explanation.

7. Hobbies. Manhattan is possibly the smallest big city you'll find. But although its square footage is considerably less than most U.S. metro cities, it has the potential to eat you up and swallow you whole if you don't find your own space to carve out. And that space is NOT just your cubby or office at work -- it's that proverbial space where you feel content, at home and authentically you. Nothing will do that like doing something you love.

8. A sense of relativity. Anyone who lives in Manhattan knows that things here cannot be objectively evaluated. "A 500 square foot apartment for $2,500 a month? Amazing bargain!" "Wow, dinner and drinks for only $150 a person? Total steal." "$112 a month to get around on public transportation? Well, it could be worse." Word to the wise: do not share your "bargains" and "steals" with those unfortunate enough to live outside of Metro NYC. Who wants to hear the sobering truth of the outside world anyway. Seriously, though, friends, it's all relative. Even in Manhattan.

Kinky Boots' Secret to Success

Note, in no way did I make up the inspiring words below, however given their startling ability to raise my spirits, I thought I would publicize. Read, enjoy and apply these "12 steps to success in just 6"

1. Here's to the truth.

2.  Learn something new.

3. Accept yourself and you'll accept others too.

4. Let love shine.

5. Let pride be your guide.

6. You change the world when you change your mind.

Just be who you want to be. Celebrate yourself triumphantly.

Things I Would Like to Not Have To Do ... Ever Again

Put on eyeliner. Given that it's been established I resemble a washed up zombie in its absence, it would really be ideal if it could just permanently, like, be there. Without me having to apply it every single day. Is that too much to ask?

Visit the dentist. I know I've said this before BUT it's just such an arduous buzzkill to any day such visits occur. No matter WHAT previous or post events take place on the shoulder of a dentist visit, they are inevitably tainted by the impending or preceding violating oral visit.

Stuff the overflowing garbage bag into that tiny little space in the garbage compactor. It just inevitably negates any trace of cleanliness that I may have previously felt. Additionally, why can't that damn thing stay open on its own anyway?

Commute from the stupid FDR to work. Oh wait, I don't have to! I heart 7 minute commutes.

Overhear annoying Manhattan mothers talk about their prodigy child's private school drama. Affairs of the New York City younguns should be kept in the home. Er, apartment.

Walk through Times Square. I don't encourage violence but traipsing through the most overcrowded place in the city simply cannot be done without kicking a few tourists in the heels. I think I turned into one of those proverbial "real New Yorkers" the second I stepped foot into Times Square.

Take connecting flights. Is there really any need to go into details on this one? #puretorture

Live anywhere but NYC. 

J.B.J. not a Belieber

From an objective standpoint, Justin Bieber's week could not have been better. On Sunday night, he raked in the "Milestone Award" at the Billboard Music Awards.  He was also nominated for a slew of Teen Choice Awards, topping the nominations within the teen music segment. Two significant accomplishments within a relatively short-lived young career if you ask me.

But while reigning supreme in professional merits, the more personal side of his career was not quite as rosy. To start, when Bieber accepted his Miletstone Award, he was greeted with resounding boos from the audience. Not quite the reception he had likely hoped for. To add insult to injury in a less-than-complimentary week, Bieber was publicly slammed by consummate musician Jon Bon Jovi.

Earlier this spring, 19-year-old Bieber showed up tardy to a slew of his concerts, forcing fans who had paid to see him perform to wait significantly longer than necessary for the show to commence. This sort of late behavior is offensive from any professional artist... and given Bieber's teenage-skewing audience, the act exhibits just that much more disrespect. Apparently Bon Jovi agrees. In a public display of anti-Bieber-dom, J.B.J. warned that Bieber risked being an a-hole for his disappointing behavior toward his fan base.

His comment came after Bieber was slated to go on stage at London's 02 Arena and waltzed onto stage nearly two hours later at 10:20 PM. And he did this not once... but repeatedly.  "Do it once," Bon Jovi said, "you can be forgiven. Do it enough times and shame on you."

He went to describe matters of disrespect in the entertainment industry, exhibited particularly frequently by young starlets. “They run the risk of disrespecting their audience members who have worked hard to pay for their ticket, to give you the permission to take two or three hours of their lives — or in that kid’s case, 80 minutes of their lives,” Jovi shared in an interview with the London Evening Standard.

If disapproval from a seasoned music legend as epic as Jon Bon Jovi doesn't indicate a need to change, I don't know what does. Hopefully Bieber sees it that way as well.

http://thewire.sheknows.com/2013/05/23/bon-jovi-not-a-belieber/

Courageous Miss Jolie

http://thewire.sheknows.com/2013/05/14/angelina-jolie-opens-up-about-double-mastectomy/

Meeting Miss M

There is really no way for me to do justice to the events that took place today. And since we are in these late hours in which my brain slash writing capacity are not at their fullest, I will leave the bulk of this momentous occasion to be recorded tomorrow. Having said that, it is not possible for me to venture into slumber without Bunnyloguing one of the most truly momentous life occasions to date.

The incomparably Divine Miss M (or to those unfortunate souls who do not know her by colloquial nick name, Bette Midler), is doing a stint on Broadway after nearly 40 years of theater absence. She embodies the late William Morris agent, Sue Mengers, in a nearly 90 minute one-woman show "I'll Eat You Last" with ease, charm and absolute fucking hilarity. I am fortunate to have a mother who, besides being amazing, understands and shares my love for the Divine. There is no other soul who could have taken on the role of the outrageously brash Mengers with such naturalness; Miss M literally was Miss Mengers.

As absolutely fabulous as the show was, it was needless to say, the apres-show that took the cake of the day. Excuse me, of life. Nearly 60 minutes of waiting outside the Booth theater stage door at last materialized into veritably one of the most amazing moments when Miss M exited the theater.

I have spent the better part of twenty years adoring, admiring and loving Bette Midler. At eleven years old, C.C. Bloom appeared on the screen of my television and that was it. I was forever changed. I spent years devouring every moment of her every movie, CD, book, obsessively attending every concert tour multiple times. And then, today, there she just was. All 5 feet 2 inches of her standing right there in front of me. I don't totally remember the words I uttered to her... likely due to my total overwhelmed state of being.

As promised, I will delve into "I'll Eat You Last" in a formal review tomorrow but for now, I will leave it at this. Meeting Miss Midler was unparalleled, surreal and life-changing. I truly would be nothing without you. (As I've mentioned before, I flatly refuse to write the words Wind Beneath My Wings anywhere but within the isolated confines of parentheses. But surely you get the gist). So thank you for that and for absolutely everything.

All my love.

Kick Up Your Heels & See Kinky Boots

There's nothing I don't love about a fabulous drag queen. I love me some sequins, big hair, and a good strut no matter the occasion. I am, after all, a gay man wrapped up in the dressings of a straight gal. But let's try not to focus our entire attentions upon me. Moving on. There is good drag... and then there is, what I would appropriately dub not only the best drag show I have seen but truly one of the most fantastic Broadway shows, Kinky Boots.

It is hard to imagine a marriage between Brooklyn-queen-fag-hag Cyndi Lauper and the incomparable Harvey Fierstein as anything but over-the-top amazing.  And believe me when I say, it is just that. Kinky Boots is the outrageous lovechild of two brilliant talents and does not disappoint from start to finish. I have seen my fair share of Broadway over the years and I truly have not experienced an energy like the one I did last night from any other show. Lola (played by Billy Porter), one of the lead characters (although in my opinion the real lead), a drag performer, draws you in from the first moment he/she walks on stage. "Ladies, Gentlemen... and those who have yet to make up their minds," he quips throughout the entirety of the show. The show takes place in Northampton, England, depicting the story of a straight shoe salesman, Charlie Price (played by Stark Sands) who joins forces with the bawdy Lola (Porter) to boost business by creating a line of shoes for a "niche market".The niche market? Transsexual cross-dressers, colloquially and casually known as drag queens. And is it this niche market that lies at the heart of the show.

Lauper and Fierstein are able to craft a show that successfully checks a slew of diverse boxes. Dynamic musical, interpersonal drama, and societal piece. Underneath the big hair, sequins, glitz and six-inch-heels, Kinky Boots also makes a clear statement on gay pride. Interwoven throughout the lyrics of most songs and within character dialogue, the theme is always there. "You change the world when you change your mind." "Be yourself." "Accept others for who they are." These expressions of pride and self-love consistently pop up... and they do so in a manner that is authentic, accessible and most of all, non-preachy. You do not walk out of the theater with a feeling of having been lectured on marriage equality, rights under the law or anything of the sort. You feel a sense of joy and fun that is a result of "out-of-the-box" characters who love themselves for exactly who they are. And in addition to the contagious lyrics, the fabulous costumes and breathtaking talent, it is this acceptance-self-love theme that gives Kinky Boots its true heart.

From a theater-loving gal to all of you, I would say this. If you have not yet had the fortune of seeing Kinky Boots, run, do not walk, to the theater immediately. Whether you are gay, straight or stuck somewhere in the middle, I promise you the show is perfect for you. Don't believe me, though, until you've seen those divine red boots for yourself.

Things I simply couldn't do without

1. Mac black carbon eyeliner. Well, technically, it's a shadow but in my world, it's a liner. Seriously, if I happen to oversleep, forget to line my what are seemingly tired-looking eyes one day, I inevitably get repeatedly reminded of it. "Rachel, are you okay??" "Omg you look terrible, what's wrong?" "Have you been crying?" "Didn't sleep well?" Actually, I'm great, just forgot to do my make-up. #cosmeticfail

2. Contrary to widespread opinion, the tech device I cannot live without is NOT my iPhone but rather by adorable little iPod Touch, colloquially known as Bunster. Why would I enjoy an iPod touch more than an iPhone with cellular capabilities? Well, the answer is simple. I use calling features like waaaay less than I use other, more important features, namely Facebook and other fun-filled apps, and the iPod is just way thinner and lighter. At the risk of sounding like the tech snob that I am, I think I would possibly die without it constantly by my side.

3. Louis Vuitton. I mean really, what is the point of a nice outfit without a nice LV to accompany it. That's like peaches without the cream. Or something.

4. My Metro Card. Well, I suppose I could technically live without it if living is defined as going broke.

5. Salsa. Best condiment ever.

6. Snarky blogging slash writing. Hashtag obviously.

7. At the risk of sounding totally and completely psychotic, the gym. To this day, I truly cannot understand those souls who take the "I-don't-work-out" stance in life. Forget muscles or being thin, I simply have waaaay too much adrenaline for my own good. If an actual person had to bear the torture I inflict daily upon that treadmill, G-d help them.

8. Premium Cable, namely HBO and Showtime. I will spare y'all of the emphatic feelings I have on this topic. Oh wait, you already know.

9. Peanut Butter Nips. Highlight of my daily post-meal-experiences. Yummmm.

Ecard du jour

My Ten All-Time Favorite TV Characters

At the risk of sounding like a veritable television addict on my blog as of late, here they are:

10. Elaine Benes (obviously). She set the stage for female awesomeness on the small-screen. She could hang with the boys, rival their quick-witted sarcasm and jokes, dance (ha!), and still remain a quintessential girl. Eeeeeee-laiiiine.

9. Carrie Bradshaw. Another obviously. Between her men, her unparalleled to-the-moment fashion, and of course, enviably fabulous writing career, she was the woman all women wanted to be friends with.  Or be.

8. As long as we're on the Sex and the City theme, Mr. Big. Chris. Noth. Is. The. Sexiest. Man. Alive. His charming aloofness throughout the series combined with the love he carried (no pun intended) underneath it all was the perfect storm of masculinity. Mmmm.

7. Carmela Soprano. Since I've previously gone into detail on this topic at length, particularly as of late, I will keep this one to the point. A family-centered mob wife with a panic-attack-stricken mafia husband trying to balance the dichotomy of her life, all the while maintaining her strength and dignity. I'll forgive the fingernails, Carm.

6. Dr. Melfi. Again with the Sopranos over-done-ness here, I know. But what's good is good. Although I'm not much of a Jungian myself, she was indescribably believable as a go-to psychiatric expert. The facial expressions, the blank stares amid the silence, and the oddly whiny-yet-comforting amazing voice that seemed so apropos for a mobster's shrink. Brilliant work, Ms. Bracco.

5. Mary Richards. I heart Mary Tyler Moore. Her whimsicality and fluffy light-heartedness really did make you feel like you were going to make it after all.

4. Carrie Mathison. How anyone wouldn't be drawn in by a CIA secret agent carrying on an affair with a United States terrorist while popping bipolar disorder green pills and saving the world, is a mystery to me. Homeland would be nothing without you, Carrie.

3. Needless to say, Nurse Jackie. Edie Falco morphing from butch-looking-pill-popping-don't-give-a-shit-addict to raw, vulnerable, divorced single mother. Enough said?

2. Brenda Walsh. Admit it or not, we all loved to hate the 90210 witch create drama in both the on-and-off-screen Hills.

1. Jerry Seinfeld. His absurdly hilarious Jewish neuroticism combined with an incomparable sense of humor made him the penultimate sitcom favorite. And, as we know, I am not a sitcom gal so this speaks miles coming from me.

Odd Events of Today

Woke up this morning. Did not have a blue moon in my eye.  Had to get that in... clearly I'm still in Soprano mode.

Witnessed a girl running on the treadmill in a pink fuzzy bathrobe.

Returned home from gym to a slew of emails about my "office building badge violations". Guess I should keep better track since I'm now banned from getting a new one. #imabademployee

Got to work. Neither my old phone nor shiny new one would make calls. It's a strange irony working in communications and not having a communicatory device on hand.

Ate first meal of day at 3p. My to-do-list overfloweth. Alas.

Walked into my building only to have my jerk-off doorman hurl a spat of attitude straight in my face. "Hi Sonny." "The door's already open Rachel." "Did I ask you to open the door? All I said was hi." *Bitter doorman rolls his eyes*

That's all she wrote. Cheers to tomorrow.

Chris Christie's DL Lap Band Surgery

Way to go, CC. #jerseygetsthin

http://thewire.sheknows.com/2013/05/07/chris-christies-secret-weight-loss-surgery/

10 Reasons I am certain I was born in the wrong decade

10. Bette Midler, Barbra Streisand and Cher topped my list of favorite musical artists when I was a small child. I realize the previous sentence indicates I am also a gay male in disguise. But that is beside the point.

9. As much as I think I wouldn't be able to live without my iPhone, when I accidentally left it at home all day today, I felt an odd sense of liberation. I'm sure that feeling would fade, though. Ignore #9.

8. I invited Bette Midler to my Bat Mitzvah. I suppose this is in direct relation to #10 (and makes me seem a whole lot stranger than perhaps I am), but I felt it appropriate to include.

7. If I had to pick one ultimate style icon (excepting SJP of course), I'd peg it as Audrey Hepburn.

6. Other than Beyonce, Flo and the Machine and (obviously) the King Michael Jackson, I struggle to identify one truly amazing music artist originating post-70's. Okay, maybe I could come up with a few decently good ones but you get my drift.

5. I reallllly think I would have thrived at Woodstock.

4. I reallllly love Boogie Nights. I suppose that's partially attributed to Mark Wahlberg but um, yeah.

3. My knowledge of British history is minimal at best. And yet I seem to be overly knowledgeable in the area of Margaret Thatcher. Boy, it sure would have been nice to be able to intelligently wax on foreign politics WHILST they were happening.

2. Stevie Nicks in her prime. #shouldhavebeenthere

1. How much fundamentally cooler does "the seventies" sound than "the eighties"?

The End of Soprano Road

Well, it's been quite a journey. Today marks the official end of my journey into the heart and soul of the Jersey mafia. I am both glad and sad to report that as of this evening, I have completed The Sopranos series in its glorious entirety. From the first moment a mere month ago, I was all-in. Obsessed. Addicted. I raced through the nearly 7 seasons with a determined, desperate fury, unable to relax. I furiously devoured it, it is over, and now here I am.

Quite frankly, there is absolutely no way nor any reason for me to delve into an in-depth analysis of The Sopranos at length. I recognize I am quite a few years behind the times and I am certain no one is holding their breath for a Bunnylogue review of 7 seasons of murderous mafia magic. So as much as I would like to, I will refrain from doing that. What I simply cannot abstain from doing. however, is paying tribute to (I know I may have uttered this a few times before but for real this time), what I can truly say is one of the best premium cable shows I have seen to date.

It is nearly impossible for me to rank the best episodes, the most provoking scenes or sexiest mafia-rific hook-ups with any semblance of finiteness. There are simply too many to recount. But even though it is far too vast and brilliant a series to justly do so, please indulge me while I stream-of-consciousness-ly pay tribute to a few top-of-mind moments of sheer genius experienced along my Sopranos journey.

Season 1 - College. I wrote about this in a previous post so please accept my apologies for repetitive writing but the chemistry between Carmela (Falco) and Father Phil Intinola (Falco's clear personal comrade Paul Schultze) is electric. The scenes between the two characters are electrifying... an in-home communion over the fire, home-cooked Italian meal shared between the good Catholic wife and her priest combined with altogether too much wine. What an absolutely breathtaking sixty minutes. It was the first that truly captivated me.

Season 3 - Employee of the Month. As if Lorraine Bracco really needed to prove her brilliance on-screen any more than she already had up until this point. Although difficult to watch Dr. Melfi get brutally raped, the depth of character portrayed during this episode was magnificent. Melfi showed a side of herself that we were never previously allowed to witness: vulnerability. I salute you, Lorraine Bracco. You. Are. Brilliant.

Season 4 - Whitecaps. Un-fucking-believable. You always felt Tony and Carmela were one day just going to burst at the seams in rage at each other.  Or should I say, Carmela to Tony. The tension until now was, needless to say, palpable to the point of uncomfort. Tony's never-ending lies, his incessant cheating and temper... you prayed for her to finally lose it at him. And finally, in this hour plus episode, she does just that. The heat of Carmela's anger burned me through the screen of my iPad. If only all acting could be that fucking real.

Season 5 - Two Tonys. As I have no doubt many others did, I always prayed Tony would profess his love and ask Dr. Melfi to be with him. Taboo as we all knew it was, certain as we were she would say no, there was still that somehow guilty desire to watch doctor and patient duke out the off-limits on-screen. Watching Tony desperately plead for Bracco's Melfi to give him a chance as something other than her patient was so oddly fulfilling. Although she predictably turns down the offer, the episode at last quiets the latent desire... both his and ours. And the kiss. Yeesh.

Season 5 - Marco Polo. This brilliant episode marks the end of the what-we-know-will-be-temporary separation between Tony and Carmela. You can feel the reconciliation building during the sixty-minute birthday barbeque. You know it is coming... and when it finally does (in the pool mind you), all you can do is sigh. How could you take him back, Carmela? But in the end, you know you couldn't wait for  it to happen.

Season 6A - Cold Stones. Carm and Ro do Paris. The raw emotions. The stunningly breath-taking Parisian scenery and psychological symbolism. Just wow.

Season 6B - Blue Comet. So much occurs within this we're-almost-there finale precursor. Doors that we don't think will ever close, do. RIP Bobby. A.J. returns to chez-Soprano from the psych ward after his unsuccessful suicide attempt. But the undoubted most provoking plotline lies in psychotherapy. The first jaw-dropper (at least to those with an inkling of psychology protocol) comes when Elliot, Dr. Melfi's own therapist, betrays the identity of his "favorite patient Soprano"at a dinner party. Bracco's Melfi is shocked, revolted and bewildered at the psychological no-no. But the most intense, and much anticipated, moment occurs between Melfi and Soprano behind the familiar walls of her office. In an attitude-ridden spat of therapeutic and human frustration, Dr. Melfi veritably fires Tony. "I don't think I can be of help to you." Disgusted by his relentless arrogance and disrespect and with the knowledge she cannot fix his sociopathy, she cuts him off for good.  She stares, then slams the door as he makes his final exit from her office. The scene finally breaks the doctor-patient eggshells that have existed for 7 long years. It is sheer on-screen brilliance.

Season 6B - Made in America. The final episode. No. Words. Needed.

I suppose I went against my initial assertion that I would not do a series review. But what I said above was not intended as an analysis. Really. It is true heartfelt praise for some of the most adeptly-written-and-acted stuff I have seen. While I am sad I have reached the end of my Soprano road, I am encouraged and for the most part, fulfilled. David Chase, a true hats off to you. So that's it, I am finished... but definitely not the same. Ciao. For now.

Couldn't help myself

Top 10 Weirdos at my Crap-ass Gym

Every morning without fail, I see the same annoying freaks in the dingy hole that I call the gym. Disclaimer: this particular gym will no longer be my place of exercise post May 15th so please bear with the temporary negativity.

10. Woman who takes OFF her shoes before mounting the stairmaster.  Maybe I'm just too conventional but isn't it standard operating procedure to put ON shoes before starting a work-out? Once she's done with her shoe-less climbing excursion, it's upside-down time. Yes, that's right, she stands on her head for approximately 10 minutes in the middle of the cardio room. Mmmm yeah.

9. Black-haired-bitch and blonde-haired-bitch who talk at such high decibals to each other that even my headphones fail to drone out their way-too-loud-for-any-indoor-space mindless and annoying chatter. Really now, ladies, no one needs to hear about your gynecological issues nor how unripe that mango was. Trust me, no one. And for that matter, if you're talking that much, chances are you're NOT getting enough exercise so just do us all a favor and go somewhere else.

8. This one isn't a person but a situational set-up that is equally offensive. In one of the two "cardio" rooms, the machines are set up not in the normal gym-fashion-row-style. That would be too logical. But no, they are set up in a circle, facing each other. Not only do I have to realize I'm surrounded by freaks, I have to stare right at them while I'm doing my damnedest to forget they are there. Awkward world.

7. Guy who wears a polo shirt, khaki shorts and loafers while doing both cardio and weights. I would hate to see those nice looking Sperrys fall victim to sweat stains.

6. Slow Walker. Every single day, she walks into the gym at the pace of a dying turtle. I would refrain from judging her slow pace were she suffering from some sort of injury... but she ends her slow walk when she starts RUNNING ON THE TREADMILL. Perhaps a more apt  nickname would be Ironic Girl.

5. Guy who does the same exact freaking workout routine every single day but has to follow it in order on a notepad. Think that sentence is pretty much self-explanatory.

4. Gray-haired-bitch. I have never seen someone look so consistently angry or disquieted during a work-out. It must take a lot of effort to glare at every single person around you while riding the bike. Then there was that time she yelled at me for taking up too much space on the mat and that other time for "not sufficiently wiping up my sweat." Geez, lady, if you're this high-strung WHILE working out, I wouldn't want to see you at work. Oh wait, ever.

3. Girl-who-runs-miles-with-her-hair-down. Why? Ew. Hair ties exist for a reason, honey.

2. Morning-worker-outter-who-forgot-to-take-off-her-robe. This was a new one. Yesterday this particular breed of oddity waltzed into the gym, looking like she had just rolled out of bed. In she walked, sneakers on feet, headphones in ears... with a fuzzy pink robe as her outer garb. #somethingsshouldbeleftathome

1. Head bopper. She tops the list. This girl does only the elliptical machine, otherwise known as the I'm-too-lazy-for-a-real-work-out-so-I-use-this machine, every single day. The way she moves her body while on it, however, is probably the oddest thing I have seen... ever. She bops her head as if she were bowing in prayer while simultaneously swaying from side to side so much that she invades her gym neighbors' personal space. I instinctively move away when she enters my line of sight. She's like the circus clown at the gym.

Amanda Knox's Oddly Cool Sit-Down with Diane Sawyer

Diane Sawyer sat down for a long-awaited face-to-face interview with convicted killer Amanda Knox last night. This interview came after Knox served nearly four years in an Italian prison for killing Meredith Kercher, her late roommate, while the two were studying abroad in Perugia, Italy. Sawyer asked Knox a range of questions, broaching her feelings towards Meredith’s family, her odd cartwheel-kissing-seemingly-jovial reaction after Kercher’s death and, of course, remorse. Knox maintained a pretty consistent emotional range throughout the 60-minute interview, only veering slightly course at times, from sadness to anger.

Knox told Sawyer that even after living through years of hell in prison and Italian courts, she maintains “only fond memories” of Meredith and would “like to visit her grave some day.”  Hmmm.  Kercher’s family has yet to respond to a request of the sort.

Knox recounted the incident that took place nearly six years ago as if she were an innocent bystander, a victim herself. ”I was stunned by her death, completely bowled over because it was unfair. She was my friend, and I lost a friend.” The fact is — yes, Kercher was indeed lost to the world. The question that still remains of course, though, is that of responsibility.

Sawyer delved into the details of the day of the murder, flat-out asking Knox if she killed Kercher.  A definitive “no” resounded. Knox detailed the same inconsistent recount of her whereabouts that night that she has already: She and her then-boyfriend, Raffaele Sollecito, were at his apartment for the night. That is what she had claimed in the initial days after the crime took place (and told Sawyer last night), but just days later, changed her tune. She conceded at that point that she had indeed been in the apartment in the kitchen, “covering her ears as Knox screamed.” Knox claimed her boss, bar-owner Patrick Lumumba, had killed Kercher and later told her not to come into work.

Amanda Knox, the aptly nicknamed “she-devil with an angel face,” told Sawyer her personality has changed since the trial began six years ago. She is “more guarded and less outgoing” than she was pre-Kercher-scandal. I would imagine so.  A small price to pay, wouldn’t you say?

Although Knox’s words throughout the interview felt moderately sad and at times remorseful, another feeling more heavily prevailed throughout: stoicism.

At one point, when remembering her mother’s and sister’s tears in reaction to the indictment, her voice did audibly crack, betraying a slight sliver of seemingly real emotion. ”For all intents and purposes, I was a murderer, whether I was or not. And I had to live with the idea that would be my life. I would be one of those people who suffered an incredible, mind-boggling injustice,” she stated. Other than this, however, her demeanor remained almost uncomfortably cool and collected.

In Knox’s newly released book, Waiting to be Heard, she talks about her contemplation of suicide, living in a prison cell with only a tiny window to the outside world, and what would become of her young adult life once/if she exited. ”I had to grow up in prison for something I did not do,” she asserts in writing. Her family got her through the nearly 1,400 nights in prison, without whom, she says, she would not have made it.

Amanda Knox knows there are plenty of people, namely the Kerchers, to whom she will remain a murderess-she-devil. All that she hopes for now, perhaps unrealistically, is belief in her innocence from as many people possible. We will see about that, Amanda.

http://thewire.sheknows.com/2013/05/01/diane-sawyer-interviews-amanda-knox/