Pimpin' since the 70s!

Jillachetti



Cousins Tina and Michael



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Jillachetti Strikes Back

I'm back. Did you miss me? I missed you! And you! And you! And...

Hey.... who are you?

And you?

And...

New people! I LOVE NEW PEOPLE!

Hello, new people! I'm Jillachetti. I'm the one who's really in charge here. I mean--no, she doesn't know I'm really in charge. I just am.

Sorry I've been gone so long. But I'm featured in this new play and Miss Artistic Director of this Blog wouldn't let me out of the script. I told her, "Missy, without me, there wouldn't be any script! I should have freedom of movement on the premises. I want catering! I don't ask for much. Just strawberries and strawberry ice cream. Is that really so difficult? Oh, and credit above the title."

She wasn't happy with that. She wasn't happy at all.

So while she was in the shower, I logged in to some accounts, borrowed some permissions--what, you didn't think a pre-schooler could know about accounts and permissions? Siiiiiiggghhhh. You adults have a lot to learn.

Anyway, I am now an official Author of This Blog. Miss Big Shot Artistic Director of This Blog, JillWrites, is lacking in the writing department again. I mean, lacking. Alas, I had to make my return. This is going to be more fun than roller-skating.

Well, maybe not.

Roller-skating's been pretty cool since I learned how to balance.

By the way, whatever anyone tries to tell you about what a big kid you are, scraped knees are never fun. Not even when they try to bribe you to shut up with ice cream.

You can't shut me up.

Oh, I'll eat the ice cream all right, but I still refuse to shut up.

Great! So now, how are you all doing?

Dramatis Personæ

Hello. I'm Jillachetti. I'm in charge here. Miss Artistic Director...

...Jill Writes--she seems to think that she runs the place. But she's not doing too good of a job. She confuses people. She lets this one...

...the one that babbles--take over indiscriminately. That's right. I said "indiscriminately". What, you think just because I'm not old enough for pre-school, I don't know big words? A lot you know. I know enough to realize that someone needs to set things straight around here. And our "fearless leader", trying to juggle the play and the poetry and the expository stuff, she confuses people. She is vague. She is ambiguous. She writes random posts directed at God-knows-who--

I'm not God.

What?

I said, I'm not God.

Well of course you're not God. You're a chick from a Renoir.

Well, yes, I'm that. But I also know who JillWrites writes about. You said "God-knows-who", but I know who. And I'm not God.

Oh really, Miss Smarty-Impressionist-Pants!

Muse will do. You can drop the "Miss."

Uh, wait. I thought he...

...was our muse.

He is.

Not so easy to keep it straight, now, is it?

I didn't hear any one talking to you.

I was. You're me, kiddo. You were confusing yourself. Thus, you were talking to me.

Us.

Us.

So you're our muse?

I'm the head muse. I found him.

Why does he get the iPod avatar?

Because.

That is so not an answer.

Well it's a better answer than--

You're bickering with a fictional character.

What do you expect when she acts like you?

I expect you to remember which one of us is which.

You can't even keep it straight. I bet if Damon and I were both standing--

Someone call me? Hey man, what's up?

Wow.

Ambiguity. Ambiguity is up.

What do you have to complain about? You know exactly what's going on here.

Wow.

What?

And now you're male bonding with a fictional character.

Wow.

He's not fictional. He's me. Sorta.

I didn't think it was possible for you both to be in the same place, but... Wow.

This is not the time!

Are you kidding? This is the only time. This is the hottest thing I've ever seen.

I would have to agree.

Of course you agree. You're the one that gets us into these messes.

I would hardly call a well-developed appreciation of the male form and the male aura a mess.

What would you call it, then?

I think I'm too young for this.

Limitless inspiration.

You rang?

OH

MY

GOD.

I thought you'd see it my way.

Avatars courtesy of:
"Limitless Inspiration": Flandrin's Young Nude Male
"Muse": Detail from Renoir's Luncheon of the Boating Party
"Damon": Detail from Tillmans' portrait of Moby

Bridges

This photo stole my heart.

And this one's pretty sweet, too.

Brooklyn, 1983. I am in the 3rd grade. My social studies teacher assigns us to memorize all of the major bridges and tunnels in New York City. Our neighborhood is moments away from the Verrazano Narrows Bridge; we all know that one. I personally have been over it hundreds of times; my family owns a business in Staten Island. I also know the bridges that, once in Staten Island, will get you to New Jersey. We do a lot of driving in my family.

Our teacher assigns us to each make a poster of the five boroughs, depicting the bridges, tunnels, and major architectural and tourist attractions. I already have piles of brochures--the Statue of Liberty (the torch is under construction so we can't climb all the way up); the United Nations (Little Brother is too young to go in the museum, but at least we've looked around); the World Trade Center (my uncle jokes that he will tie a handkerchief to the television antenna of his house and we shouldn't leave the observation deck until we find it). We do a lot of urban wandering in my family.

It is the 100th anniversary of the completion of the Brooklyn Bridge. I take special care to color fireworks in magic marker above its photo. I love my markers; I love the Brooklyn Bridge.

Brooklyn, 1988. My parents announce that we are moving to Staten Island. I apply to Catholic high schools in Staten Island.

Brooklyn, 1989-1992. I commute across the Verrazano Bridge every day. I have won a scholarship to a very competitive high school, but still we haven't moved.

Staten Island, 1992. We move to Staten Island. I am accepted early decision to New York University, my first choice. I accept, but am convinced not to take out student loans to pay for housing. I decide to live at home and commute.

Staten Island 1993-1997 (college); 1997-1998 (first job); 1998-2000 (graduate school); 2000-2001 (next job). I commute across the Verrazano Bridge every day, in the other direction.

Staten Island, 9/11/2001. Bridge traffic is halted and I can't get off this damn island. Don't know where I'd go, but I don't like knowing that I can't.

Brooklyn, later 2001. My regular bus is boarded by National Guardsmen just before the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel in a "routine check" of a "suspicious person" with "suspicious baggage". I decide maybe it's time to take a break from commuting.

Verrazano Narrows, 2004. Aboard a cruise ship returning from the Caribbean, I am, for the first time*, underneath the Verrazano Bridge. I've been across this bridge thousands of times, but I've never seen it from this angle. I take many photos. For a variety of reasons, I never upload them to my desktop.

Staten Island, today. Looking at ChickyBabe's photo blog, am once again mesmerized by the Sydney Harbour Bridge. I want desperately to share the new perspective I gained of my bridge--well, one of my bridges. I search everywhere for the missing photos of the Verrazano that I just know I took; realize they are still on the camera--the camera I was using in 2004. The batteries are dead; the particular wire is missing. I can find two fresh batteries though the camera requires four, but I can't find an appropriate wire. I use the battery life to click through and look at the pictures I can't currently access. The batteries die.

There's a fresh perspective in there. I've seen it--I know.

Now I just have to get back to it. It took Sydney Harbour to remind me.

*Technically, the return voyage would have marked my second time underneath the bridge, but on the way out of New York Harbor, I was much more interested in ascertaining the size of my room's shower, and figuring out how soon I could eat dinner. Oh yeah, and scrutinizing the Cruise Director's headshot.

Commence. head-scratching. now.

purple is a fly i never thought i'd own. it's a blammerific fabulousity that my mother never doubted suited me. WHY? because purple was always her favorite color. carpet-purple-curtains-purple-dresses-purple-myrtle-purple-people-eater. it begs the question.

dif-fur-ent-ly than blue begs the love of my life-love, cookie monster. "oh, for the love of cookie monster," would my grandmother exclaim! "for the love of cookie monster!"

NO. Scratch that.

Scratch what?

"go scratch your ass," gramma might actually. say, that is. might. actually. say. familyism. 40 in a kitchen on a sunday afternoon. maybe brooklynism, going nether to scratch. maybe 66th-street-ism. 4th from the corner.

or all things 1159.

"11:59!" screameth the mozzarella mob before ball-dropping. before the bells. 1159. a house of yesterdays.

rendezvous on the white wall. hide behind the garbage cans.

duck.

Ducky is coming. And he's going to tease me.

but scratch "for the love of cookie monster." scratch. off the scorecard. (Henderson and his god-for-effin-saken hammie, what's the good of season tickets with a team of prima donnas? next year, get a puppy.) or down his back. hiiiiiis. back. MINE. Replace with:

more likely Meema-sim, "what's that got to do with the price of fish?" what, indeed.

Reply: "fat gives you fat," crusty-burnt potatoes are worth a flying elbow.

brats.

AND

it has everything to do with the price of one pair of yellow-wheeled rollerstakes. and a poster of Miss Piggy.

tutto.

Stir and enjoy.

Same As I Ever Was

A few weeks ago, a fellow blogger asked me, via email, "Jill, what are you like?" I drafted a response or two, but the words didn't really say what I wanted them to.

Then today, I was thinking about one of my cousins, Jenna, a kindergartener. (Technically, we are first cousins once removed because her father and my mother are first cousins, though my parents are actually her father's godparents because her father is actually much closer to my age than my parents'. Just go with it, okay? Because, frankly, that's one of the easier relationships to understand in my family, and if you're going to hang out at JillWrites through the holiday season, which I truly hope you do, it's going to get a bit more complex. Or, I could just refer to nearly every person I speak of as "my cousin" and perplex you with vagueness.)

Anyway, back to Jenna. I was thinking about her because I'm fascinated with how people's personalities develop. You see, with Jenna, all signs point to "heartbreaker." And every time she tosses her shiny auburn ponytail and bats her frilly eyelashes at a man once, twice, five times, ten times her age, I like to watch her dad's face as it flits back and forth between unconditional love and sheer terror of what the next fifteen years are going to bring.

(To all you parents out there who want to curse my sadism: don't worry, my mother does it weekly. "You laugh," she warns, "but you're going to get one just like yourself. May you get one just like you." So don't worry, folks. Connie's got it covered.)

Thinking about Jenna got me wondering. Could a trip back to Jill:The Early Years help me draft my answer to the magic question?

I like books.

And am often very introspective.


But I also like fashion.
Any catwalk will do.

Go to Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Same As I Ever Was, Volume 2

I am also something of a tomboy.
And a geek.
Check out those Batman flipflops!


I have one brother, so I have spent a lot of time playing with "boys' toys."



Though my status as a Yankees fan apparently pre-dates Little Brother.


I mean, I did grow up around a lot of men.

Back to Part 1
Go to Part 3 Part 4

Same As I Ever Was, Volume 3

Which might explain why I find it so easy to befriend those of the male persuasion where ever I go.

All right, fine. There were a lot of women in that picture as well. And--not to perpetuate sexist stereotypes--I did learn to cook from them.


I like to bake yummy stuff. Yesterday, I baked cupcakes-in-cones for my English class. Yes, I know they are college students. I may have learned to be quite a shrewd businessperson at a very young age,



but I am also very nurturing. And communicative.



Or maybe, it's just that I like the telephone a lot.
Sometimes, I communicate too much...



...and my facial expressions betray me.

Back to Part 1 Part 2
Go to Part 4

Same As I Ever Was, Volume 4

You probably don't want to challenge me on the dance floor, unless you are a professional.



Because I can be quite the diva.



In fact, I sometimes think all the world's a stage. Half-eaten ice cream cone or microphone? One can never be too sure. Especially when I am traveling, because then I am especially happy.



And I can be ready to go at a moment's notice.



But I don't function too well without my sunglasses.

So is it any wonder that I am



Soooooo



NOT



a morning person?

Oh yeah, and I hate socks.

Any other questions?

Back to Part 1 Part 2 Part 3