I've become a Knicks fan by default. At least there is only one New York team to pick from in basketball - unless you want to count the Nets, who will eventually be in Brooklyn. I chose the Yankees because I like their uniforms better, and a Giants fan was born on December 29 because I sat in the stadium and watched the underdog put up a good fight against the undefeated Patriots. All very girly reasons to root for one particular team over another.
So at last night's game with Iris, Cassie and a friend of hers, we were delighted when they beat the 76ers, which isn't a big deal, if you let real sports fans tell it. But hey, our tickets were free (courtesy of one of the team's coaches); thanks to the Giants, I now know that I love drinking beer and actually paying attention at a live sporting event; and I'm a Knicks fan by default!
How many hockey teams does New York have? Do I have to pick between more than one?
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Friday, January 25, 2008
Restaurant Week Winter 2008 - Aspen
I met with Annisha, Gina B., Debasha and Tasha at Aspen last night to enjoy their $35 Prix Fixe Menu for NYC Restaurant Week Winter 2008. I chose the Warm Goat Cheese & Arugula Salad, Tasha and I shared the Pan Roasted Chicken and the Wild Salmon, and I ended up eating the remainder of everyone else's desserts ... so Snow Capped Cupcakes, Sorbet/Gelato and Pumpkin Flan. Add a few bottles of wine and lots of laughter. Equals another one of those New York nights that I always wanted.
At some point, as the last bottle of wine was drying up and some were on their third or fourth glasses of sangria, and I was picking the dessert crumbs off of everyone’s plates, I suddenly thought of Annalisa. I’m not sure why, but I remembered a promise I had made to her via a blog comment. I had promised that I would have a drink for her one night in New York City.
“So guys,” I said, as soon as there was a break in the laughter. “There is a woman in California, who reads my blog [this sounded super nerdy to say out loud, but none of my friends snickered or raised an eyebrow] and has always wanted to live in New York, but she began a life as a mother instead. I promised her awhile ago that I would have a drink for her in the city. So can we toast Crazy Mom of Three?”
"Sure!" everyone said. Odd requests are generally not questioned by my crew once the adult beverages begin to flow.
I raised my glass and my friends raised their glasses without hesitation.
“To who again?” Gina asked, her eyes glazed over by her sangria.
“To Crazy Mom of Three,” I replied, holding my glass aloft.
“To Crazy Mom of Three!” we all said in unison.
We live in a world where technology has the capability to connect across continents people who have never met. It’s kind of amazing. So are my friends.
At some point, as the last bottle of wine was drying up and some were on their third or fourth glasses of sangria, and I was picking the dessert crumbs off of everyone’s plates, I suddenly thought of Annalisa. I’m not sure why, but I remembered a promise I had made to her via a blog comment. I had promised that I would have a drink for her one night in New York City.
“So guys,” I said, as soon as there was a break in the laughter. “There is a woman in California, who reads my blog [this sounded super nerdy to say out loud, but none of my friends snickered or raised an eyebrow] and has always wanted to live in New York, but she began a life as a mother instead. I promised her awhile ago that I would have a drink for her in the city. So can we toast Crazy Mom of Three?”
"Sure!" everyone said. Odd requests are generally not questioned by my crew once the adult beverages begin to flow.
I raised my glass and my friends raised their glasses without hesitation.
“To who again?” Gina asked, her eyes glazed over by her sangria.
“To Crazy Mom of Three,” I replied, holding my glass aloft.
“To Crazy Mom of Three!” we all said in unison.
We live in a world where technology has the capability to connect across continents people who have never met. It’s kind of amazing. So are my friends.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
"Things I Love" Thursdays - My Friends
I just want to take a moment to blog about how much I love my friends. How lucky I am. How I love this New York life, despite the outrageous cost of mediocre-to-poor living conditions, the horrific commutes and city grit. Because out of the ruff of it all, I have great friends to fill it with all of the cliché moments that make you love life.
When I returned from England last Sunday and my cell phone reconnected with Verizon Wireless towers for the first time in a over a week, I had 11 voicemails and 77 text messages. Jessica and Kamata sang "Happy Birthday" together. Jamario and Stephanie left a joint birthday voicemail. Daphne left her trademark oration regarding the blessedness of my day. Those were the ones that definitely stood out.
Roughly half of the texts were from New York club promoters sending mass messages regarding nightly Manhattan hot spots. Various versions of: "Free entry and comp bottle service on my list at the door." A cellular salute to the aquisitively exclusive New York nightlife. But the other half were from friends who thought of me on my birthday or couldn't wait for me to get back to New York.
Some of my favorite text messages:
"Happy Birthday 2 u, happy birthday 2 u, happy birthday dear K8T, happy birthday 2 uuuuuu! If we aren't married by the time we turn 30-I'm asking u 2 marry me:-)"
"We're missin our girl! Hurry up and come back!"
"Happy Birthday girl! We're doing it up big when you get back to ny."
"Ur gay ass Giants earned themselves another ass kickin by the Patriots on Feb 4th! Go Randy Moss!>!:->"
And now I am leaving to join five girlfriends at Aspen on West 22nd Street for our Restaurant Week reservation. Good food, fine wine, great friends and a fabulous Manhattan.
"Things I Love" Thursdays are inspired by "I Love New York" (BNY, February 14, 2007).
When I returned from England last Sunday and my cell phone reconnected with Verizon Wireless towers for the first time in a over a week, I had 11 voicemails and 77 text messages. Jessica and Kamata sang "Happy Birthday" together. Jamario and Stephanie left a joint birthday voicemail. Daphne left her trademark oration regarding the blessedness of my day. Those were the ones that definitely stood out.
Roughly half of the texts were from New York club promoters sending mass messages regarding nightly Manhattan hot spots. Various versions of: "Free entry and comp bottle service on my list at the door." A cellular salute to the aquisitively exclusive New York nightlife. But the other half were from friends who thought of me on my birthday or couldn't wait for me to get back to New York.
Some of my favorite text messages:
"Happy Birthday 2 u, happy birthday 2 u, happy birthday dear K8T, happy birthday 2 uuuuuu! If we aren't married by the time we turn 30-I'm asking u 2 marry me:-)"
"We're missin our girl! Hurry up and come back!"
"Happy Birthday girl! We're doing it up big when you get back to ny."
"Ur gay ass Giants earned themselves another ass kickin by the Patriots on Feb 4th! Go Randy Moss!>!:->"
And now I am leaving to join five girlfriends at Aspen on West 22nd Street for our Restaurant Week reservation. Good food, fine wine, great friends and a fabulous Manhattan.
"Things I Love" Thursdays are inspired by "I Love New York" (BNY, February 14, 2007).
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Comparing Ends
Cullowhee, NC. 2003. Rickey and I had not spoken in two weeks. Following a fight over his attempt to illegally fill a forged prescription for pain medication, I had been ignoring his phone calls from Augusta, Georgia. I wanted him to feel like he was losing me, like his behavior was destroying all we'd ever had. And if he didn't get his life together, there wouldn't even be a friendship left. I wanted to make him suffer a little. How immature it seems now. How stupid it seemed immediately after the phone call.
When his father's name flashed the incoming call on my cell phone, I assumed it was Rickey. That his cell phone had been turned off yet again. That he was using his father's phone as he had numerous times before. I remember the last thought I had just before I heard the Earth crack in two: "Ok. I'll talk to him now."
The thing that perplexed me the most after Rickey died is that no one else's world came to a deafening halt. The Western Carolina Men's Basketball Team still left for their WCU Canadian Tour a few days later. My best friend still left North Carolina a few days later for her role in "Mother Divine," which WCU was producing in New York.
After the funeral in Augusta, our friends went back to their lives, and much to my amazement, life went on around me. And my mother temporarily moved into my apartment to fully devote her time to helping me get on with mine. Brushing my hair for me or running my baths whenever the simple act of looking in the mirror would bring me to tears. Giving me pedicures while I stared at the ceiling. Finding shows on television when the remote in my hand idled listlessly on the TV Guide Channel. Forcing me to eat when I actually valued the sharp hunger pangs that dulled the intense pressure crushing my heart. It's like my mind could only accept so much anguish at one time. As if soothing the throb in my stomach, allowed my mind to fully bear the agony in my chest. I preferred to feel hungry.
Much of the day after - and the days in the wake of - his death are blurred in my mind, but some moments are clear, defined in the creases of my memory. I remember laying in the bathtub and listening to a repetitive drip ripple on the surface above my feet. If I focused on the tiny sound of the drip and magnified the echo in my mind, I could make the bathroom tiles stop spinning.
I fought sleep because each time I awoke, I had those first fuzzy moments where I had to realize he was gone all over again. There are few things worse than having a dream where everything is alright and waking up in a reality where everything isn't. And then more tears. I cried so much that I began sobbing to my mother about how I didn't want to cry anymore. It is a painful thing to cry because you can't stop crying.
Terrence, a member of Rickey's former basketball team and a good friend of mine, held fast in his vigil by my side, literally and figuratively. On that first night of the rest of my life without Rickey, Terrence sat in the living room with my roommates all night long while I laid motionless in my bedroom between brief fits of tears and even briefer moments of restless sleep. He sent letters and postcards from Canada during the basketball tour. He called every morning and every night. And when the team returned a few weeks later, I could feel him reading my moods. He and I still wonder how that innate need to take care of me sprung out of no where.
That day, after I received the devastating phone call from Rickey's father and news spread across campus, Terrence was at the foot of my bed immediately after basketball practice. Unlike everyone else who tried to touch me, hug me or offer consoling advice that day, he sat there unmoving in the evening darkness of my room for what may have been an hour. I can't remember how long. I know that he listened to me cry. That he listened to me breathe. And then he listened to me cry again. I know that just before he left my room and joined the growing group of friends and a few university staff gathering in the living room that he said something I will never forget. I have carried it with me since.
New York, NY. 2008. As I walked to work this morning, the front pages of every newspaper featured Heath Ledger. The wake of the day after. And while the world is pausing long enough to read the latest news of his untimely death while they sip their coffee and google updates during breaks at work, I know that other headlines will take his place tomorrow. He'll have a few things that Rickey didn't, like memorial tributes at this year's awards shows, entertainment television documentaries chronicling his last days, and piles of flowers on his Soho doorstep placed delicately by fans. But all of the normal things will continue.
I remember wanting to scream at the world for all the things that I no longer felt mattered. Getting out of bed. Hearing the trash man on the curb. Seeing the postman deliver mail. Life went on.
That's life. It makes history. It repeats itself. It brings back memories. It is what it is, if that means anything at all. I don't always like where it takes me, but I try to hang on through the ride.
When his father's name flashed the incoming call on my cell phone, I assumed it was Rickey. That his cell phone had been turned off yet again. That he was using his father's phone as he had numerous times before. I remember the last thought I had just before I heard the Earth crack in two: "Ok. I'll talk to him now."
The thing that perplexed me the most after Rickey died is that no one else's world came to a deafening halt. The Western Carolina Men's Basketball Team still left for their WCU Canadian Tour a few days later. My best friend still left North Carolina a few days later for her role in "Mother Divine," which WCU was producing in New York.
After the funeral in Augusta, our friends went back to their lives, and much to my amazement, life went on around me. And my mother temporarily moved into my apartment to fully devote her time to helping me get on with mine. Brushing my hair for me or running my baths whenever the simple act of looking in the mirror would bring me to tears. Giving me pedicures while I stared at the ceiling. Finding shows on television when the remote in my hand idled listlessly on the TV Guide Channel. Forcing me to eat when I actually valued the sharp hunger pangs that dulled the intense pressure crushing my heart. It's like my mind could only accept so much anguish at one time. As if soothing the throb in my stomach, allowed my mind to fully bear the agony in my chest. I preferred to feel hungry.
Much of the day after - and the days in the wake of - his death are blurred in my mind, but some moments are clear, defined in the creases of my memory. I remember laying in the bathtub and listening to a repetitive drip ripple on the surface above my feet. If I focused on the tiny sound of the drip and magnified the echo in my mind, I could make the bathroom tiles stop spinning.
I fought sleep because each time I awoke, I had those first fuzzy moments where I had to realize he was gone all over again. There are few things worse than having a dream where everything is alright and waking up in a reality where everything isn't. And then more tears. I cried so much that I began sobbing to my mother about how I didn't want to cry anymore. It is a painful thing to cry because you can't stop crying.
Terrence, a member of Rickey's former basketball team and a good friend of mine, held fast in his vigil by my side, literally and figuratively. On that first night of the rest of my life without Rickey, Terrence sat in the living room with my roommates all night long while I laid motionless in my bedroom between brief fits of tears and even briefer moments of restless sleep. He sent letters and postcards from Canada during the basketball tour. He called every morning and every night. And when the team returned a few weeks later, I could feel him reading my moods. He and I still wonder how that innate need to take care of me sprung out of no where.
That day, after I received the devastating phone call from Rickey's father and news spread across campus, Terrence was at the foot of my bed immediately after basketball practice. Unlike everyone else who tried to touch me, hug me or offer consoling advice that day, he sat there unmoving in the evening darkness of my room for what may have been an hour. I can't remember how long. I know that he listened to me cry. That he listened to me breathe. And then he listened to me cry again. I know that just before he left my room and joined the growing group of friends and a few university staff gathering in the living room that he said something I will never forget. I have carried it with me since.
New York, NY. 2008. As I walked to work this morning, the front pages of every newspaper featured Heath Ledger. The wake of the day after. And while the world is pausing long enough to read the latest news of his untimely death while they sip their coffee and google updates during breaks at work, I know that other headlines will take his place tomorrow. He'll have a few things that Rickey didn't, like memorial tributes at this year's awards shows, entertainment television documentaries chronicling his last days, and piles of flowers on his Soho doorstep placed delicately by fans. But all of the normal things will continue.
I remember wanting to scream at the world for all the things that I no longer felt mattered. Getting out of bed. Hearing the trash man on the curb. Seeing the postman deliver mail. Life went on.
That's life. It makes history. It repeats itself. It brings back memories. It is what it is, if that means anything at all. I don't always like where it takes me, but I try to hang on through the ride.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Endings on Repeat
The news of Heath Ledger's death spread like wildfire in our office just moments ago. Already, his death date has been updated on Wikipedia. The speed of information technology is amazing.
My coworkers perused TMZ, MSNBC and other celeb/news sites for the latest breaking news. I was not so much shook by the fact that a young (my age, in fact) Oscar-nominated celebrity had died, but that he died in an apartment downtown. Suddenly it made New York seem really small knowing that someone I've noticed in films since 10 Things I Hate About You had died just hours ago and only a few miles from where I currently work at my desk.
I vaguely overheard one of my coworkers say something along the lines of, "Apparently Michelle [Williams] is completely inconsolable. But she had kicked him out for excessive drug use. Why would you be that torn up over losing a drug addict that you weren't even with anymore?"
I just turned away while the chatter continued and went back to my desk. I didn't say anything, but I do know why.
My coworkers perused TMZ, MSNBC and other celeb/news sites for the latest breaking news. I was not so much shook by the fact that a young (my age, in fact) Oscar-nominated celebrity had died, but that he died in an apartment downtown. Suddenly it made New York seem really small knowing that someone I've noticed in films since 10 Things I Hate About You had died just hours ago and only a few miles from where I currently work at my desk.
I vaguely overheard one of my coworkers say something along the lines of, "Apparently Michelle [Williams] is completely inconsolable. But she had kicked him out for excessive drug use. Why would you be that torn up over losing a drug addict that you weren't even with anymore?"
I just turned away while the chatter continued and went back to my desk. I didn't say anything, but I do know why.
Monday, January 21, 2008
The London Post
"... And all them other cats you run with, get dumb with, dumb quick,
How the f*** you gonna cross the dog with some bum shit?
There go the gun click, nine one one shit
All over some dumb shit, ain't that some shit
Y'all n***** remind me of a strip club, cause every time you come around ..."
On Sunday, January 13, I looked at Terrence and raised an eyebrow. Pointing upward at the speaker system in the Birmingham Indoor Arena (NIA), I said, "They're playing the unedited version of this song?"
On the court below, top seeded teams of the BBL Cup 2008 were warming up for the final game. Terrence had just finished shooting in the Molten Three-Point Shootout with nine of the other "finest 3-point shooters in the BBL," and we were sticking around to watch the championship match. He didn't win the grand prize, which we could have used for our trip to London the following Tuesday, but I'm sure he was honored to be among the 10 league players in the contest.
As children ran up and down the aisles of the arena, waving #1 foam fingers and team banners, Terrence replied, "Yea. I was shocked the first time I realized that, too. But it's kind of like how there is porn on regular TV."
We discussed how there seems to be less offense taken to arbitrary things over here. Americans generally seem more conservative, which is somewhat ironic given our basic freedoms. That's probably why things like alcohol, sex and swearing might be more appealing to young people in the U.S.; there is such a taboo attached to them. This could be argued either way, of course, but we chose to find humor in the afternoon.
"But that couldn't have been the issue,
Or maybe they just sayin that now cause they miss you
Shit a n**** tried to diss you
That's why you layin on your back, lookin at the roof of the church
Preacher tellin the truth and it hurts"
"They're playing DMX ... unedited ... at a sporting event ... with families ..." I said, half talking to Terrence, half thinking out loud. He nodded, "Yep."
"That's awesome."
Moments, later Dr. Dre and Eminem came over the loud speakers. Terrence and I looked at each other and just started laughing. With every curse word or inflammatory remark, we laughed harder and harder until I was almost in tears.
It reminded me of when I studied in Spain for a semester in college, and my American classmates and I were amazed that an extremely erotic sex scene of a movie was playing on every television screen in the electronics section of a high-end department store. We were the only ones in the crowd who actually stopped and paid attention.
Since landing in London on the afternoon of January 12 (following a 3-hour delay the prior evening at JFK because of suspicious luggage), I had already experienced a handful of eyebrow-raising moments. After Terrence's home game that Saturday evening, the team gathered for the post-match meal and cocktails at a nearby hotel restaurant and bar. While I mingled with some of the other players and their wives and girlfriends, Terrence was sitting across the room with the head coach and his wife.
"I know what was wrong tonight," she said to him (the team had just lost). "When was the last time you saw that young lady over there?"
"September," Terrence replied.
"No wonder," she said. "That is what you should have done before the game."
Other things I noticed while in England:
- The British take basketball very seriously.
- The F-word is roughly equivalent to "damn."
- Sidewalk is pavement, bathroom is toilet, game schedule is fixture, call is ring, cell phone is mobile, trunk is boot, gasoline is petrol, pants are trousers, french fries are chips, potato chips are crisps.
- The exchange rate from U.S. dollars to pounds sucks.
- A lot of people drive Bentleys (Leceister and London), Maseratis and Aston Martins (London); Mercedes and BMWs are common; generally a smaller, practical car is preferred.
- 90 miles an hour on the highway is slow.
- The English may be second in alcohol consumption to the Irish.
- Chicken Mayo Bacon & Sweet Corn (breast of chicken & Dutch bacon mixed with sweet corn & bound in rich mayonnaise) is my new favorite sandwich filling.
- Sometimes round-abouts make sense, but often they don't.
- The wide staircases and hallways of The Park Lane Hotel on Piccadilly [where we stayed for my (early) birthday present: a sightseeing trip to London on Tuesday, January 15] are almost like those in The Shining; and it's an old building so it's creepy and fun (T took pictures of me at the end of a long hallway with my hair hanging over my face like the girl from The Ring).
- Leicester has a severe addiction to stop lights; I challenge anyone to drive through the town without hitting red lights within 50 feet of each other.
- It rains a lot.
I turned 28 on Friday (January 18) - my second year into my Late 20s. Twenty-seven in New York City and 28 in England. Not so bad for this life. A year ago tomorrow, I had a conversation with a coworker about life decisions, specifically my long distance relationship with Terrence and the separate lives we were choosing.
For a few days last week, I felt like I could drop my New York life entirely and follow Terrence around the world on his overseas adventures. But when I saw the halos over Manhattan glowing under the purple night sky on the return descent into JFK, I was reminded of why I chose to become a New Yorker.
As I disembarked from the plane, I thought about how Terrence and I have become a commuter couple in a relationship filled with last looks. New York-Atlanta; New York-Sacramento; New York-Seattle; New York-Florida; New York-Leicester (England).
I passed through customs, claimed my bags and looked toward New York.
How the f*** you gonna cross the dog with some bum shit?
There go the gun click, nine one one shit
All over some dumb shit, ain't that some shit
Y'all n***** remind me of a strip club, cause every time you come around ..."
On Sunday, January 13, I looked at Terrence and raised an eyebrow. Pointing upward at the speaker system in the Birmingham Indoor Arena (NIA), I said, "They're playing the unedited version of this song?"
On the court below, top seeded teams of the BBL Cup 2008 were warming up for the final game. Terrence had just finished shooting in the Molten Three-Point Shootout with nine of the other "finest 3-point shooters in the BBL," and we were sticking around to watch the championship match. He didn't win the grand prize, which we could have used for our trip to London the following Tuesday, but I'm sure he was honored to be among the 10 league players in the contest.
As children ran up and down the aisles of the arena, waving #1 foam fingers and team banners, Terrence replied, "Yea. I was shocked the first time I realized that, too. But it's kind of like how there is porn on regular TV."
We discussed how there seems to be less offense taken to arbitrary things over here. Americans generally seem more conservative, which is somewhat ironic given our basic freedoms. That's probably why things like alcohol, sex and swearing might be more appealing to young people in the U.S.; there is such a taboo attached to them. This could be argued either way, of course, but we chose to find humor in the afternoon.
"But that couldn't have been the issue,
Or maybe they just sayin that now cause they miss you
Shit a n**** tried to diss you
That's why you layin on your back, lookin at the roof of the church
Preacher tellin the truth and it hurts"
"They're playing DMX ... unedited ... at a sporting event ... with families ..." I said, half talking to Terrence, half thinking out loud. He nodded, "Yep."
"That's awesome."
Moments, later Dr. Dre and Eminem came over the loud speakers. Terrence and I looked at each other and just started laughing. With every curse word or inflammatory remark, we laughed harder and harder until I was almost in tears.
It reminded me of when I studied in Spain for a semester in college, and my American classmates and I were amazed that an extremely erotic sex scene of a movie was playing on every television screen in the electronics section of a high-end department store. We were the only ones in the crowd who actually stopped and paid attention.
Since landing in London on the afternoon of January 12 (following a 3-hour delay the prior evening at JFK because of suspicious luggage), I had already experienced a handful of eyebrow-raising moments. After Terrence's home game that Saturday evening, the team gathered for the post-match meal and cocktails at a nearby hotel restaurant and bar. While I mingled with some of the other players and their wives and girlfriends, Terrence was sitting across the room with the head coach and his wife.
"I know what was wrong tonight," she said to him (the team had just lost). "When was the last time you saw that young lady over there?"
"September," Terrence replied.
"No wonder," she said. "That is what you should have done before the game."
Other things I noticed while in England:
- The British take basketball very seriously.
- The F-word is roughly equivalent to "damn."
- Sidewalk is pavement, bathroom is toilet, game schedule is fixture, call is ring, cell phone is mobile, trunk is boot, gasoline is petrol, pants are trousers, french fries are chips, potato chips are crisps.
- The exchange rate from U.S. dollars to pounds sucks.
- A lot of people drive Bentleys (Leceister and London), Maseratis and Aston Martins (London); Mercedes and BMWs are common; generally a smaller, practical car is preferred.
- 90 miles an hour on the highway is slow.
- The English may be second in alcohol consumption to the Irish.
- Chicken Mayo Bacon & Sweet Corn (breast of chicken & Dutch bacon mixed with sweet corn & bound in rich mayonnaise) is my new favorite sandwich filling.
- Sometimes round-abouts make sense, but often they don't.
- The wide staircases and hallways of The Park Lane Hotel on Piccadilly [where we stayed for my (early) birthday present: a sightseeing trip to London on Tuesday, January 15] are almost like those in The Shining; and it's an old building so it's creepy and fun (T took pictures of me at the end of a long hallway with my hair hanging over my face like the girl from The Ring).
- Leicester has a severe addiction to stop lights; I challenge anyone to drive through the town without hitting red lights within 50 feet of each other.
- It rains a lot.
I turned 28 on Friday (January 18) - my second year into my Late 20s. Twenty-seven in New York City and 28 in England. Not so bad for this life. A year ago tomorrow, I had a conversation with a coworker about life decisions, specifically my long distance relationship with Terrence and the separate lives we were choosing.
For a few days last week, I felt like I could drop my New York life entirely and follow Terrence around the world on his overseas adventures. But when I saw the halos over Manhattan glowing under the purple night sky on the return descent into JFK, I was reminded of why I chose to become a New Yorker.
As I disembarked from the plane, I thought about how Terrence and I have become a commuter couple in a relationship filled with last looks. New York-Atlanta; New York-Sacramento; New York-Seattle; New York-Florida; New York-Leicester (England).
I passed through customs, claimed my bags and looked toward New York.
Friday, January 11, 2008
This is Katie signing off in New York City.
Leaving shortly to catch an 11:45pm flight from JFK to Heathrow (I booked car service with a portion of the $100 in cash that my boss left in a birthday card on my desk this afternoon; how many times can I say how cool my boss is?). More from England ... or from Harlem when I get back.
Leaving shortly to catch an 11:45pm flight from JFK to Heathrow (I booked car service with a portion of the $100 in cash that my boss left in a birthday card on my desk this afternoon; how many times can I say how cool my boss is?). More from England ... or from Harlem when I get back.
Eternal Battles of the Insatiable Appetite
To further embrace the healthier lifestyle I have been more-fully adopting since August 2007, I substituted whole grain over the “everything” for my Friday morning bagel with Lox cream cheese after I left the gym. And I chose an orange over the Friday morning nonfat café latte from Starbucks, which my wallet appreciated, and proceeded to the office.
And then moments ago, Sam appeared outside my cubicle: “There is pizza in the kitchen.”
Damnit …
And then moments ago, Sam appeared outside my cubicle: “There is pizza in the kitchen.”
Damnit …
Thursday, January 10, 2008
I Know How You Like [It]
Regarding a clean bathroom, that is the sweetest thing a man can say to a woman with undiagnosed mild OCD. I called Terrence this evening to let him know that I could not find the XXXXL items from Foot Locker that he wanted me to bring to England. I had been to two different Foot Lockers in the city and could only find up to XXXL on the days that I went.
“That’s because all the short dudes, who don’t really need them, want to wear big clothes,” he said. At 6’9” with a 7’1” wingspan, clothes shopping can often present a challenge. After some brief chitchat regarding my travel preparations, I said, “Let me call you later so I can enjoy this pedicure.”
A few minutes later, he called me back, “Are you ok?”
It is generally easy to gauge my moods, but I was reminded of how he can read me like no one else can – even from across the Atlantic Ocean, “Just a little stressed.”
“Why?” he asked. I replied that I was just trying to wrap up everything at work, run my own errands and get the list of United States items he had requested [e.g. Texas Pete hot sauce, a framed photo collage of me (a belated-Christmas/birthday present per his specific request, which I have felt like a total narcissist creating), Lupe Fiasco and Cassidy’s newly-released CDs, in addition to the long-sleeve thermals].
“Let those be the last of your worries,” he said, “If you can’t get it all, don’t worry about it. Enjoy your pedicure and relax. I’m going to go clean this bathroom (he shares a 4-bedroom house with three of his BBL teammates).”
“Don’t forget to scrub under the toilet seat,” I laughed.
“I’ve got this,” he replied. “I know how you like the bathroom to be. I’ll call you later.”
I spent the rest of this evening at my apartment with Ra (a shoe designer from Orlando) and Mayra (an international manufacturing, research and multimedia supervisor from Ecuador by way of NC – yet another Carolinian up here), who came up to Harlem to enjoy cheap manicures and pedicures, a large bottle of Trader Joe’s wine and take-out while I packed for my trip. At some point during the random girl talk, Mayra said in her gorgeous South American accent, “I am so glad I found good friends in New York. I was so afraid I wouldn’t.”
I thought of my blog and all the young, unmarried women like us, striving to make it in New York City because we couldn’t find the life we wanted anywhere else. Queue cliché quote from my favorite episode of “Sex and the City”:
"It would be childish of us to deny that our lives weren't changing. But for this night, none of us were going anywhere. That's the thing about really good friends and a really great Manhattan."
~ Carrie Bradshaw
New York knows how I like it.
“That’s because all the short dudes, who don’t really need them, want to wear big clothes,” he said. At 6’9” with a 7’1” wingspan, clothes shopping can often present a challenge. After some brief chitchat regarding my travel preparations, I said, “Let me call you later so I can enjoy this pedicure.”
A few minutes later, he called me back, “Are you ok?”
It is generally easy to gauge my moods, but I was reminded of how he can read me like no one else can – even from across the Atlantic Ocean, “Just a little stressed.”
“Why?” he asked. I replied that I was just trying to wrap up everything at work, run my own errands and get the list of United States items he had requested [e.g. Texas Pete hot sauce, a framed photo collage of me (a belated-Christmas/birthday present per his specific request, which I have felt like a total narcissist creating), Lupe Fiasco and Cassidy’s newly-released CDs, in addition to the long-sleeve thermals].
“Let those be the last of your worries,” he said, “If you can’t get it all, don’t worry about it. Enjoy your pedicure and relax. I’m going to go clean this bathroom (he shares a 4-bedroom house with three of his BBL teammates).”
“Don’t forget to scrub under the toilet seat,” I laughed.
“I’ve got this,” he replied. “I know how you like the bathroom to be. I’ll call you later.”
I spent the rest of this evening at my apartment with Ra (a shoe designer from Orlando) and Mayra (an international manufacturing, research and multimedia supervisor from Ecuador by way of NC – yet another Carolinian up here), who came up to Harlem to enjoy cheap manicures and pedicures, a large bottle of Trader Joe’s wine and take-out while I packed for my trip. At some point during the random girl talk, Mayra said in her gorgeous South American accent, “I am so glad I found good friends in New York. I was so afraid I wouldn’t.”
I thought of my blog and all the young, unmarried women like us, striving to make it in New York City because we couldn’t find the life we wanted anywhere else. Queue cliché quote from my favorite episode of “Sex and the City”:
"It would be childish of us to deny that our lives weren't changing. But for this night, none of us were going anywhere. That's the thing about really good friends and a really great Manhattan."
~ Carrie Bradshaw
New York knows how I like it.
Bankers at Play
After reading about the Bear Stearns squash tournament iin Grand Central Station on Joe.My.God, the following email correspondence ensued.
From: (Me) [mailto:(email removed)]
Sent: Thursday, January 10, 2008 1:31 PM
To: (Name Removed) [mailto:(email removed)@bear.com]
Subject: Ummmmm?
What the heck are yall up to over there?
http://joemygod.blogspot.com/2008/01/morning-view-squash-in-grand-central.html
***********************************************
From: (Name Removed) [mailto:(email removed)@bear.com]
Sent: Thursday, January 10, 2008 3:11 PM
To: (Me)
Subject: RE: Ummmmm?
That’s all we do over here, play games…
From: (Me) [mailto:(email removed)]
Sent: Thursday, January 10, 2008 1:31 PM
To: (Name Removed) [mailto:(email removed)@bear.com]
Subject: Ummmmm?
What the heck are yall up to over there?
http://joemygod.blogspot.com/2008/01/morning-view-squash-in-grand-central.html
***********************************************
From: (Name Removed) [mailto:(email removed)@bear.com]
Sent: Thursday, January 10, 2008 3:11 PM
To: (Me)
Subject: RE: Ummmmm?
That’s all we do over here, play games…
"Things I Love" Thursdays - NYC Bloggers
I love that there are millions of us experiencing this city in different ways and living to blog about it. But I also love that sometimes a few of us are blogging about the same damn thing at the same damn time. Then again, it is a city of 8.2 million residents living within 322-square miles (all boroughs withstanding) and a large portion of those 8.2 million working within the 22.7-square miles of Manhattan, 5-7 days a week. The odds are in favor of running themes throughout NYC blogs.
MTA (general incompetence)
A Casual Look (Dec. 10)
This is a No. 2 Express Train (Dec. 7)
The long, slow trek from Coney Island to Jamaica brings home a C-minus* (Dec. 5)
MTA (performers)
Subway Hottie* (Dec. 23)
Subway Gymnastics (Dec. 21)
MTA (rush hour)
Please Use All Available Doors ... If You Can Get There Before I Shut 'Em (Jan. 7)
The 1 Train Sucks Lately* (Jan. 7)
Applause on Subway platform (Jan. 3)
Weather
Yet Again, 1 Train Makes Me Want to Kill Kittens (Jan. 10)
A Post-Holiday Carol (Jan. 9)
Random Musings (Jan. 9)
Winter Temps Revisiting Retirement (Jan. 9)
Corporate Calories & Gift Exchanges (well, that's everywhere) / Holiday Party Overload (more likely in the city)
Corporate Holiday Spirit (Dec. 22)
Cabs are Nice (Dec. 20)
Don't Count Calories (Dec. 20)
What I Love About New York (Dec. 20)
Karma (Dec. 19)
AYO! I'm Tired of Using Technology
"Happy New Year" is a presumptuous phrase, no?" (Jan. 2)
Ringing in the New Year in Times Square (Jan. 2)
Me Phone Knows Me Too Well ... It Must Be Destroyed (Dec. 26)
Blogger Happy Hour (because some of us decided to be in the same place at the same time ... on purpose)
Blog Business Cards (Dec. 19)
Morning After Blogger Beers & Secret Service Soiree (Dec. 19)
What, your happy hours don't last until 11pm? (Dec. 19)
Things I Regret from Last Night (Dec. 19)
*Granted, these are subway blogs
"Things I Love" Thursdays are inspired by "I Love New York" (BNY, February 14, 2007).
MTA (general incompetence)
A Casual Look (Dec. 10)
This is a No. 2 Express Train (Dec. 7)
The long, slow trek from Coney Island to Jamaica brings home a C-minus* (Dec. 5)
MTA (performers)
Subway Hottie* (Dec. 23)
Subway Gymnastics (Dec. 21)
MTA (rush hour)
Please Use All Available Doors ... If You Can Get There Before I Shut 'Em (Jan. 7)
The 1 Train Sucks Lately* (Jan. 7)
Applause on Subway platform (Jan. 3)
Weather
Yet Again, 1 Train Makes Me Want to Kill Kittens (Jan. 10)
A Post-Holiday Carol (Jan. 9)
Random Musings (Jan. 9)
Winter Temps Revisiting Retirement (Jan. 9)
Corporate Calories & Gift Exchanges (well, that's everywhere) / Holiday Party Overload (more likely in the city)
Corporate Holiday Spirit (Dec. 22)
Cabs are Nice (Dec. 20)
Don't Count Calories (Dec. 20)
What I Love About New York (Dec. 20)
Karma (Dec. 19)
AYO! I'm Tired of Using Technology
"Happy New Year" is a presumptuous phrase, no?" (Jan. 2)
Ringing in the New Year in Times Square (Jan. 2)
Me Phone Knows Me Too Well ... It Must Be Destroyed (Dec. 26)
Blogger Happy Hour (because some of us decided to be in the same place at the same time ... on purpose)
Blog Business Cards (Dec. 19)
Morning After Blogger Beers & Secret Service Soiree (Dec. 19)
What, your happy hours don't last until 11pm? (Dec. 19)
Things I Regret from Last Night (Dec. 19)
*Granted, these are subway blogs
"Things I Love" Thursdays are inspired by "I Love New York" (BNY, February 14, 2007).
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Winter Temps Revisiting Retirement
The warm weather is back ... in my second January in New York City (last year's January 5th colleague reactions).
The ads for the Scottsdale Take Pitty on Me! Contest, which currently line the wall adjacent the Times Square shuttle to Grand Central, tend to lose their appeal in this warm wintery weather.
From the contest website:
"Tired of shoveling snow? [No.] Ready to wave bye-bye to wind chill? [Could always do without, but haven't had to deal much.] Done with frozen nose hairs and snotsicles? [Meh. I always look forward to those.] As temperatures plummet in the north this winter [or once or twice in January], Scottsdale will be enjoying sunny blue skies and warm winter days. Enter the Take Pity On Me Contest and you could win a trip to thaw out in Scottsdale! Just submit photos or a video of yourself suffering in the worst winter weather conditions [can I Photoshop myself into an Antarctica scene?] and you could win a trip to sunny Scottsdale!"
Visit http://www.pleasepityme.com/ for more information*
*Unpaid advertising opportunity under the pretext of editorial content.
The ads for the Scottsdale Take Pitty on Me! Contest, which currently line the wall adjacent the Times Square shuttle to Grand Central, tend to lose their appeal in this warm wintery weather.
From the contest website:
"Tired of shoveling snow? [No.] Ready to wave bye-bye to wind chill? [Could always do without, but haven't had to deal much.] Done with frozen nose hairs and snotsicles? [Meh. I always look forward to those.] As temperatures plummet in the north this winter [or once or twice in January], Scottsdale will be enjoying sunny blue skies and warm winter days. Enter the Take Pity On Me Contest and you could win a trip to thaw out in Scottsdale! Just submit photos or a video of yourself suffering in the worst winter weather conditions [can I Photoshop myself into an Antarctica scene?] and you could win a trip to sunny Scottsdale!"
Visit http://www.pleasepityme.com/ for more information*
*Unpaid advertising opportunity under the pretext of editorial content.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Phone Photo Op - NYC Real Estate: You Do Not Get What You Pay For
The giant, leaking hole ... in the hallway ... across from the front door ... to my 350-square foot studio apartment ... for which I pay $1200 in rent ... every 30-31 days.
Monday, January 07, 2008
Please Use All Available Doors ... If You Can Get There Before I Shut 'Em
Dear MTA,
I understand that rush hour is a busy and hectic time for your staff. However, if your conductors are going to instruct passengers to use all available doors and then immediately thereafter shut the doors promptly before one can get to the next nearest available door, maybe the conductors should consider leaving the closing doors open a few seconds longer so that passengers can use the other available doors.
Regards,
BNY
P.S. And please stop telling me that there is another train directly behind this one ... when there isn't.
P.P.S. And about that other thing ...
I understand that rush hour is a busy and hectic time for your staff. However, if your conductors are going to instruct passengers to use all available doors and then immediately thereafter shut the doors promptly before one can get to the next nearest available door, maybe the conductors should consider leaving the closing doors open a few seconds longer so that passengers can use the other available doors.
Regards,
BNY
P.S. And please stop telling me that there is another train directly behind this one ... when there isn't.
P.P.S. And about that other thing ...
Thursday, January 03, 2008
The Moments That Make the Ride
Have you ever wanted to run through the streets of New York screaming? I have and I did. As I recall, very few people paid any attention to me. And granted, it was the one night of the year when 90% of the city's population was looking, doing or watching what would normally be considered weird by society’s standards.
And just like on Halloween, my best friend did it again. She tricked me into believing that her late-night phone call was just an average chat. It was indeed not an average chat, and now I am wide awake, can’t sleep and am up blogging.
“You sound like you’re already in the bed,” she had said when I answered my cell. I was (and thinking of the 5:30 a.m. alarm prepped to send me off to the gym) but for her I make exceptions so I responded, “I am. What are you doing? You back in Jersey?”
“No, still in Atlanta [three days each week, she is filming new episodes of ‘Tyler Perry’s House of Payne’ scheduled to air sometime in the near future]. I just got back from having dinner with Shameika and Scott,” she replied, “How’s your 2008 been so far?”
I think I said something like lovely or fabulous, and I had a quick flashback of my all-night-and-into-the-next-morning New Year’s Eve/Day. For a second, I wondered if I had returned her New Year’s midnight phone call, which I had missed because of Veuve Clicquot (this hot French guy I know). Then, I remembered that I had left her a voicemail shortly thereafter. Rather than relay first-of-the-year details, I just yawned: “How about yours?”
“I would say it’s starting pretty well considering that today Tyler Perry offered me a role in his next movie.”
I bolted upright in my bed. I am glad I don’t sleep on a loft in my tiny studio. Otherwise my head would have gone through the ceiling. Out of respect for her professional privacy and that of our friendship – as with other good news and discrete moments we’ve shared – I won’t go into the details of our conversation in this blog. Suffice it to say it included a lot of laughing and crying and ended in reminiscence of the last decade.
Tokii: “Can you believe it?”
Me: “Yes! [pause] I absolutely believe it! It’s just that I have been waiting almost 10 years to hear you tell me that you have been offered a role in a major film project.”
[Silence]
Tokii: “Wow. You just put a whole new perspective on this for me ...Ten years.”
I thought of the seemingly endless rehearsals she endured at WCU while I waited for her in our dorm room watching late-night television (I usually didn’t make it to see her return). I thought about how she busted her ass taking more than the customary 15 credit hours each semester so she could graduate in 3 ½ years. I thought of the play she worked so hard to script, direct and choreograph as part of her senior year project; it was a raving success and she received many local accolades. I thought of the nights she spent working as a security guard before she finally auditioned for The Juilliard School. I remembered how confident I was that she would get in. I was almost arrogant about it and had to back off a little for fear that I might jinx her talent. When she told me she had received the acceptance phone call, I was absolutely delighted but barely excitable (I had already gotten over the initial exhilaration of Tokii attending the legendary school for the performing arts when she had first told me she was going to audition). I think I had replied, “Girl, I know.” I thought about the grueling schedule she endured while studying in New York City, which often pushed her close to her breaking point, but would ultimately prepared her for the real, bitter - and often cruel - world of acting. I thought of her fourth-year showcase and graduation with scholastic distinction, a recognition for completion of an honors program for exceptional undergraduate performers and composers who wish to expand their scholarly activity by engaging in an extended independent research project in their senior year. All those thoughts and everything that has happened in New York since her graduation in May streamed through my mind within a matter of 10 seconds.
"We have been through some things," I said as I briefly thought of Rickey and remembered my one-year, three-job struggle to save money to move to New York. Without hesitation, she replied, “Yea, we have.”
"I mean, there will be more things to go through.”
We’re both smart enough to know (and I’ve watched Tokii and her classmates go through enough to know) that an acting career is a roller coaster of peaks and valleys, highs and lows, big breaks and breakdowns.
“Oh, of course,” she said. “That is for sure.”
Laying back on my pillow, smiling at the ceiling, I responded, “But moments like this are what make it all worth it. These are the moments that we live for."
These are the moments that we sometimes create, that sometimes we wait for, and that sometimes just happen unexpectedly. I’m so grateful that I have family and friends who will celebrate mine as eagerly and sincerely as I celebrate theirs, who will be there for each other through every twist, dip and loop of this ride we call life. These are indeed the moments we live for.
“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, martini in the other, your body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming, ‘Woo hoo! What a ride!’”
I hope I am screaming the loudest.
UPDATE: Tokii may not be able to take the role because of a Connecticut-based play in which she is starring.
UPDATE: Tokii was unable to take the role in A Family That Prays, but did take a part in Madea Goes to Jail. You can follow her work under her stage name: Bobbi James.
And just like on Halloween, my best friend did it again. She tricked me into believing that her late-night phone call was just an average chat. It was indeed not an average chat, and now I am wide awake, can’t sleep and am up blogging.
“You sound like you’re already in the bed,” she had said when I answered my cell. I was (and thinking of the 5:30 a.m. alarm prepped to send me off to the gym) but for her I make exceptions so I responded, “I am. What are you doing? You back in Jersey?”
“No, still in Atlanta [three days each week, she is filming new episodes of ‘Tyler Perry’s House of Payne’ scheduled to air sometime in the near future]. I just got back from having dinner with Shameika and Scott,” she replied, “How’s your 2008 been so far?”
I think I said something like lovely or fabulous, and I had a quick flashback of my all-night-and-into-the-next-morning New Year’s Eve/Day. For a second, I wondered if I had returned her New Year’s midnight phone call, which I had missed because of Veuve Clicquot (this hot French guy I know). Then, I remembered that I had left her a voicemail shortly thereafter. Rather than relay first-of-the-year details, I just yawned: “How about yours?”
“I would say it’s starting pretty well considering that today Tyler Perry offered me a role in his next movie.”
I bolted upright in my bed. I am glad I don’t sleep on a loft in my tiny studio. Otherwise my head would have gone through the ceiling. Out of respect for her professional privacy and that of our friendship – as with other good news and discrete moments we’ve shared – I won’t go into the details of our conversation in this blog. Suffice it to say it included a lot of laughing and crying and ended in reminiscence of the last decade.
Tokii: “Can you believe it?”
Me: “Yes! [pause] I absolutely believe it! It’s just that I have been waiting almost 10 years to hear you tell me that you have been offered a role in a major film project.”
[Silence]
Tokii: “Wow. You just put a whole new perspective on this for me ...Ten years.”
I thought of the seemingly endless rehearsals she endured at WCU while I waited for her in our dorm room watching late-night television (I usually didn’t make it to see her return). I thought about how she busted her ass taking more than the customary 15 credit hours each semester so she could graduate in 3 ½ years. I thought of the play she worked so hard to script, direct and choreograph as part of her senior year project; it was a raving success and she received many local accolades. I thought of the nights she spent working as a security guard before she finally auditioned for The Juilliard School. I remembered how confident I was that she would get in. I was almost arrogant about it and had to back off a little for fear that I might jinx her talent. When she told me she had received the acceptance phone call, I was absolutely delighted but barely excitable (I had already gotten over the initial exhilaration of Tokii attending the legendary school for the performing arts when she had first told me she was going to audition). I think I had replied, “Girl, I know.” I thought about the grueling schedule she endured while studying in New York City, which often pushed her close to her breaking point, but would ultimately prepared her for the real, bitter - and often cruel - world of acting. I thought of her fourth-year showcase and graduation with scholastic distinction, a recognition for completion of an honors program for exceptional undergraduate performers and composers who wish to expand their scholarly activity by engaging in an extended independent research project in their senior year. All those thoughts and everything that has happened in New York since her graduation in May streamed through my mind within a matter of 10 seconds.
"We have been through some things," I said as I briefly thought of Rickey and remembered my one-year, three-job struggle to save money to move to New York. Without hesitation, she replied, “Yea, we have.”
"I mean, there will be more things to go through.”
We’re both smart enough to know (and I’ve watched Tokii and her classmates go through enough to know) that an acting career is a roller coaster of peaks and valleys, highs and lows, big breaks and breakdowns.
“Oh, of course,” she said. “That is for sure.”
Laying back on my pillow, smiling at the ceiling, I responded, “But moments like this are what make it all worth it. These are the moments that we live for."
These are the moments that we sometimes create, that sometimes we wait for, and that sometimes just happen unexpectedly. I’m so grateful that I have family and friends who will celebrate mine as eagerly and sincerely as I celebrate theirs, who will be there for each other through every twist, dip and loop of this ride we call life. These are indeed the moments we live for.
“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, martini in the other, your body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming, ‘Woo hoo! What a ride!’”
I hope I am screaming the loudest.
UPDATE: Tokii may not be able to take the role because of a Connecticut-based play in which she is starring.
UPDATE: Tokii was unable to take the role in A Family That Prays, but did take a part in Madea Goes to Jail. You can follow her work under her stage name: Bobbi James.
"Things I Love" Thursdays - The Gym
I love going to the gym in the morning before work. However ...
While I commend the 2008 road to fitness paved with good new-gym-membership intentions, which many New Year’s Resolution-ists are currently attempting to trudge, I am looking forward to the months when the new crowd begins breaking their initially determined and earnest pledges. The mirrors and hairdryers were crowded this morning, and I was almost late to work.
I am sure the 2006 regulars felt the same way about me when I joined my company’s corporate gym membership with Equinox in January 2007 and began crowding the regulars’ informally claimed areas. And consistent with the natural cycle of gym life, eventually a few of this year’s newbies will become oldies with the rest of us, and we will again share the annoyance of the temporary gym attendance surge when the 2009 New Year's Resolutions kick in.
While I sincerely encourage overall health and wellness for the general population (especially my family, friends and coworkers), the odds of continued overcrowding in the locker room are in favor of the regulars' comfort and ability to apply makeup without elbowing someone else in the ear.
From MedicineNet.com:
“Between 55% and 65% of new gym members drop out in the first three to six months, according to a 2003 study published in the European Journal of Sports Science.”
Equinox knows this so I doubt they’ll be remodeling to enlarge the women’s locker room anytime soon. In the meantime, I guess this gym rat will just have to wake up a little bit earlier.
"Things I Love" Thursdays are inspired by "I Love New York" (BNY, February 14, 2007).
While I commend the 2008 road to fitness paved with good new-gym-membership intentions, which many New Year’s Resolution-ists are currently attempting to trudge, I am looking forward to the months when the new crowd begins breaking their initially determined and earnest pledges. The mirrors and hairdryers were crowded this morning, and I was almost late to work.
I am sure the 2006 regulars felt the same way about me when I joined my company’s corporate gym membership with Equinox in January 2007 and began crowding the regulars’ informally claimed areas. And consistent with the natural cycle of gym life, eventually a few of this year’s newbies will become oldies with the rest of us, and we will again share the annoyance of the temporary gym attendance surge when the 2009 New Year's Resolutions kick in.
While I sincerely encourage overall health and wellness for the general population (especially my family, friends and coworkers), the odds of continued overcrowding in the locker room are in favor of the regulars' comfort and ability to apply makeup without elbowing someone else in the ear.
From MedicineNet.com:
“Between 55% and 65% of new gym members drop out in the first three to six months, according to a 2003 study published in the European Journal of Sports Science.”
Equinox knows this so I doubt they’ll be remodeling to enlarge the women’s locker room anytime soon. In the meantime, I guess this gym rat will just have to wake up a little bit earlier.
"Things I Love" Thursdays are inspired by "I Love New York" (BNY, February 14, 2007).
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
First (Maybe Only) Freeze of '08
It is so cold outside right now (at least for this New York transplant who has yet to experience a truly harsh New York City winter thanks to the "earth-warming gremlins who've been hired by Al Gore to win him awards*"), my entire face chapped during my evening commute. I just finished lathering my face with Vaseline.
Quite a contrast from this last year.
However, I did warm up while laughing at this in my not-warm-enough-because-the-building-management-is-stingy-with-the-heat apartment.
*BNR Theory
Quite a contrast from this last year.
However, I did warm up while laughing at this in my not-warm-enough-because-the-building-management-is-stingy-with-the-heat apartment.
*BNR Theory
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
On the Brink of 2000-Great
"On the Brink of 2000-Great"
Last night's theme and multiple plays on words per our circle of NYC friends and associates
After shots, schmoozing and the televised Times Square countdown to midnight champagne toasts at Kevin’s gorgeous Bleecker Street apartment, my girls and I left the West Village around 2:30 a.m., argued with some drunk chics over a cab on Seventh Avenue, checked out an after-hours party at Kush on the Lower East Side, almost joined friends at Puck Fair at 4 a.m., but instead found ourselves speeding through the Lincoln Tunnel in a black Suburban around 5 o'clock and in a random New Jersey diner around 7:15. I finally made it back to Manhattan around 6:30 tonight.
Clicquot camera phone photo op. My nail polish matched my dress, which was pretty awesome since I found my New Year's Eve dress yesterday with only a few hours to spare after I had already gotten a manicure.
Last night's theme and multiple plays on words per our circle of NYC friends and associates
After shots, schmoozing and the televised Times Square countdown to midnight champagne toasts at Kevin’s gorgeous Bleecker Street apartment, my girls and I left the West Village around 2:30 a.m., argued with some drunk chics over a cab on Seventh Avenue, checked out an after-hours party at Kush on the Lower East Side, almost joined friends at Puck Fair at 4 a.m., but instead found ourselves speeding through the Lincoln Tunnel in a black Suburban around 5 o'clock and in a random New Jersey diner around 7:15. I finally made it back to Manhattan around 6:30 tonight.
Clicquot camera phone photo op. My nail polish matched my dress, which was pretty awesome since I found my New Year's Eve dress yesterday with only a few hours to spare after I had already gotten a manicure.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Again
I can't believe it has been my first full calendar year in New York City. I knew 2007 was going to be a good year for me, full of all the clichés that I won't let myself openly admit I came to seek in New York. There weren't any celestial prophecies; I just like odd numbers.
It was a year of good, bad and ugly moments, from the 2007 countdown in Times Square with 1 million other people to last minute preparations for tonight’s New Year’s Eve 2008 party at an apartment on Bleecker Street with 30-40 friends and acquaintances (kudos to Iris for finding me a great dress at BCBG a few hours ago). And I have appreciated every moment.
Between recent holiday parties and the New York club scene (of which I have taken full advantage since the office has been closed since December 21), I haven't been as reflective on 2007 as I was nearing the end of 2006. A year ago, I had finally found an apartment and just secured a permanent position with a multimedia company; I was trying to understand how to fit into the new lifestyle I had chosen for myself, and I was slightly fearing that (paraphrasing MMINYC here) I might never have the kind of life and friends that I had left behind in North Carolina.
I guess I was still trying to find my place in this huge city. Fast forward to now, I am all dressed up and waiting to meet a few amazing friends in Harlem for the trek to the West Village, where we will join the other fabulous people that New York City has weaved into my life.
And so tonight's the night the world begins again [again]. I close the chapter of Katie & New York City 2007 with an open door into 2008.
It was a year of good, bad and ugly moments, from the 2007 countdown in Times Square with 1 million other people to last minute preparations for tonight’s New Year’s Eve 2008 party at an apartment on Bleecker Street with 30-40 friends and acquaintances (kudos to Iris for finding me a great dress at BCBG a few hours ago). And I have appreciated every moment.
Between recent holiday parties and the New York club scene (of which I have taken full advantage since the office has been closed since December 21), I haven't been as reflective on 2007 as I was nearing the end of 2006. A year ago, I had finally found an apartment and just secured a permanent position with a multimedia company; I was trying to understand how to fit into the new lifestyle I had chosen for myself, and I was slightly fearing that (paraphrasing MMINYC here) I might never have the kind of life and friends that I had left behind in North Carolina.
I guess I was still trying to find my place in this huge city. Fast forward to now, I am all dressed up and waiting to meet a few amazing friends in Harlem for the trek to the West Village, where we will join the other fabulous people that New York City has weaved into my life.
And so tonight's the night the world begins again [again]. I close the chapter of Katie & New York City 2007 with an open door into 2008.
NYC has Small-World Syndrome
So, I walked into H&M to look for a cocktail dress to wear to tonight's party at Kevin's apartment. I didn't find one there (that's what I get for waiting until the last minute), but I did come across an old acquaintance from Cullowhee, North Carolina.
As I browsed the racks with Iris, Angie and Natasha, a guy approached me and said, "Is your name Katie?"
I didn't recognize his face immediately, but quickly realized that he is a current Western Carolina student that I had helped get into college during my post-graduation, 3-year admissions counselor stint. A native New Yorker, he is back in the city for the Winter Break. We chatted for a few minutes about mutual friends and the dramatically changing landscape of Western Carolina's campus (the university has been undergoing a multimillion dollar facelift for a few years now).
As we parted ways after musing over our chance encounter, I said to him, "Don't you love this about New York?"
Later, after finally finding a dress at BCBG with about five hours to spare, I was was walking along West 40th Street to Seventh Avenue to catch an uptown train to Harlem. I looked up Broadway at the barricades and crowds gathering in Times Square and couldn't believe a year had passed since Terrence and I had waited there for the ball to drop into 2007.
Just before descending into the subway at 34th Street, I texted Iris, who was already en route to her own apartment to get ready for the 2008 countdown, "Girl. There is no better feeling than walking in the streets of new york carrying a bag containing a gorgeous dress! :)"
As I browsed the racks with Iris, Angie and Natasha, a guy approached me and said, "Is your name Katie?"
I didn't recognize his face immediately, but quickly realized that he is a current Western Carolina student that I had helped get into college during my post-graduation, 3-year admissions counselor stint. A native New Yorker, he is back in the city for the Winter Break. We chatted for a few minutes about mutual friends and the dramatically changing landscape of Western Carolina's campus (the university has been undergoing a multimillion dollar facelift for a few years now).
As we parted ways after musing over our chance encounter, I said to him, "Don't you love this about New York?"
Later, after finally finding a dress at BCBG with about five hours to spare, I was was walking along West 40th Street to Seventh Avenue to catch an uptown train to Harlem. I looked up Broadway at the barricades and crowds gathering in Times Square and couldn't believe a year had passed since Terrence and I had waited there for the ball to drop into 2007.
Just before descending into the subway at 34th Street, I texted Iris, who was already en route to her own apartment to get ready for the 2008 countdown, "Girl. There is no better feeling than walking in the streets of new york carrying a bag containing a gorgeous dress! :)"
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Patriots Make NFL History
And I was there to watch it happen live during Saturday night football in the New York Giants Stadium in New Jersey. The fact that I initially found the stadium’s location baffling as we left Manhattan and drove across the George Washington Bridge speaks volumes to how much I do not watch football. My fraternity brother, who had offered me his extra ticket, found this amusing.
"You really didn't know the Giants Stadium was in Jersey? That's adorable," he had said as we crossed the Hudson River. He would continue to laugh at me throughout the night as I would ask question after question in a genuine effort to understand the game and the Giants' place in New York culture. Sometimes he would chuckle and say something like, "They change the field turf when the Jets play here," or “There are no cheerleaders because it’s a cold-weather team.” Other times he would commend me, "That's a really good question. So if the Giants score here, they're going to try for an onside kick."
This was my first NFL game and the first football game I have ever watched in its entirety, from warm-ups and National Anthem to desperation strategies in the last minutes of the final quarter. At college football games in North Carolina, I was often late entering the stadium because of tailgating festivities and leaving early as a result from side effects of the aforementioned tailgating festivities. The only two games I really ever remember watching were when we beat Appalachian State in 2001 and again in 2005.
As for this renewed attempt to enjoy the gridiron, I think I was the newest member of the Giants fan base before I even crossed the parking lot to the stadium. For someone whose list of active sports-viewing is confined to volleyball, figure skating and gymnastics, this is a big deal. Distinguished by license tags or bumper stickers, an equal sense of camaraderie and competition was thick among Giants and Patriots fans even as the NJ Turnpike traffic slowly bottlenecked into the stadium lots. The desperation of anxious fans holding “I Need Tickets” signs out of their car windows escalated the excitement. We hiked from Lot 29 in a dense crowd of Giants and Patriots paraphernalia mixed with friendly and not-so-friendly banter. The New York versus Boston rivalry exists on multiple levels, even beyond the standard Rangers and Bruins, Knicks and Celtics, Giants/Jets and Patriots oppositions, which only added to the spirited atmosphere.
By the time we found our seats, I was smiling like a kid on Christmas. I didn’t even mind paying $7.50 for a beer. Well, I did mind. But I needed the quintessential hotdog in one hand and beer in the other while I screamed at the field to complete my experience. Jon (dubbed for this evening “The Trader”) was routing for New England while I was remaining faithful to my New York, which made the game even more fun.
“You picked a hell of a game for your first NFL experience,” Jon said before the game began. And it was. Neck-and-neck quarters. Giants ahead in the first half. The Patriots became the first team in NFL history to go 16-0; touchdown passing and receiving records broken by Moss and Brady. As we were leaving, Jon laughed, “That will be the game that you get free on DVD with your subscription to Sports Illustrated, and you can say you were there.”
With phone photo ops ...
"You really didn't know the Giants Stadium was in Jersey? That's adorable," he had said as we crossed the Hudson River. He would continue to laugh at me throughout the night as I would ask question after question in a genuine effort to understand the game and the Giants' place in New York culture. Sometimes he would chuckle and say something like, "They change the field turf when the Jets play here," or “There are no cheerleaders because it’s a cold-weather team.” Other times he would commend me, "That's a really good question. So if the Giants score here, they're going to try for an onside kick."
This was my first NFL game and the first football game I have ever watched in its entirety, from warm-ups and National Anthem to desperation strategies in the last minutes of the final quarter. At college football games in North Carolina, I was often late entering the stadium because of tailgating festivities and leaving early as a result from side effects of the aforementioned tailgating festivities. The only two games I really ever remember watching were when we beat Appalachian State in 2001 and again in 2005.
As for this renewed attempt to enjoy the gridiron, I think I was the newest member of the Giants fan base before I even crossed the parking lot to the stadium. For someone whose list of active sports-viewing is confined to volleyball, figure skating and gymnastics, this is a big deal. Distinguished by license tags or bumper stickers, an equal sense of camaraderie and competition was thick among Giants and Patriots fans even as the NJ Turnpike traffic slowly bottlenecked into the stadium lots. The desperation of anxious fans holding “I Need Tickets” signs out of their car windows escalated the excitement. We hiked from Lot 29 in a dense crowd of Giants and Patriots paraphernalia mixed with friendly and not-so-friendly banter. The New York versus Boston rivalry exists on multiple levels, even beyond the standard Rangers and Bruins, Knicks and Celtics, Giants/Jets and Patriots oppositions, which only added to the spirited atmosphere.
By the time we found our seats, I was smiling like a kid on Christmas. I didn’t even mind paying $7.50 for a beer. Well, I did mind. But I needed the quintessential hotdog in one hand and beer in the other while I screamed at the field to complete my experience. Jon (dubbed for this evening “The Trader”) was routing for New England while I was remaining faithful to my New York, which made the game even more fun.
“You picked a hell of a game for your first NFL experience,” Jon said before the game began. And it was. Neck-and-neck quarters. Giants ahead in the first half. The Patriots became the first team in NFL history to go 16-0; touchdown passing and receiving records broken by Moss and Brady. As we were leaving, Jon laughed, “That will be the game that you get free on DVD with your subscription to Sports Illustrated, and you can say you were there.”
With phone photo ops ...
Thursday, December 27, 2007
"Things I Love" Thursdays - Book Clubs
I love to witness a couple sharing a novel on the train.
As New York Magazine put it in Reason #50 of their recent article Reasons to Love New York, "We are a city of readers, and apparently we start early."
"Things I Love" Thursdays are inspired by "I Love New York" (BNY, February 14, 2007).
As New York Magazine put it in Reason #50 of their recent article Reasons to Love New York, "We are a city of readers, and apparently we start early."
"Things I Love" Thursdays are inspired by "I Love New York" (BNY, February 14, 2007).
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Life, Maybe Death, and Christmas
I think I saw someone die on the subway today. I can't be sure, of course, because 1) I've never seen anyone die, and 2) I wasn't close enough to pronounce him dead.
I had just switched to a no. 2 or 3 express train at 96th Street and had settled into the front end of whatever car I was on, reading Rules for Saying Goodbye ... which is, in some ways, like my psychological biography. The circumstances of the heroine vary from those in my life, but sometimes I feel like she borrowed the thoughts right out of my own head.
I was completely engrossed in Chapter 21: Engagement; or a Hostage Situation and ignoring a very slight commotion in the back end of the car. At 72nd Street, the train paused with the doors open for longer than usual. I didn't look up. A man sat next to me and opened his own book. There was something comfortable about the stranger beside me, both of us reading.
Then an announcement: "We are delayed due to a sick passenger on this train. Please be patient."
A few downtown no. 1 local trains passed across the platform, but I did not feel any need to hurry so I continued reading. More announcements were made. At some point I realized the sick passenger was on our car. I leaned forward slightly, but could only see others standing about and looking down. So, I leaned back and continued reading. And then a final announcement: "Ladies and gentlemen, please transfer to the no. 3 train across the platform."
I shut my book and stood up and as I stepped off the train, I looked toward the back of the car and saw a middle-aged, bald man laying on the floor, his legs buckled under the seat as if he had slumped over while seated. There appeared to be a pool of blood by his mouth, but I couldn't be too sure because I looked away immediately and walked across the platform without looking back.
I have hated the sight of blood since I was young, which is kind of funny since both my parents are nurses. I can't even watch horror movies because all of the blood and gore gives me anxiety. I know exaggerations are how rumors start, but I think blood is what I saw.
As I held onto the pole in the express no. 3, I knew most of my fellow passengers were thinking the same thing regardless of whether or not the man was going to live, "This Christmas is going to be a bad memory for somebody ... if he has anybody."
As the train continued to 42nd Street, where I would switch to a Queens-bound no. 7 to join my titas in Woodside for Christmas, I was reflecting on how quiet our car had been when the man passed out ... or died. The initial commotion had been small enough to keep me from looking up from my book and the onlookers had been deathly still - pardon the pun. Only a few had been crouched down around him, but then again, what could most do in this situation if one were not well-versed in the medical field?
I felt the stranger I had been sitting next to earlier looking at me. I looked down at him briefly and then averted my gaze. I wondered if he had been thinking about the silence, too. The calm of an awkward Christmas afternoon.
I had just switched to a no. 2 or 3 express train at 96th Street and had settled into the front end of whatever car I was on, reading Rules for Saying Goodbye ... which is, in some ways, like my psychological biography. The circumstances of the heroine vary from those in my life, but sometimes I feel like she borrowed the thoughts right out of my own head.
I was completely engrossed in Chapter 21: Engagement; or a Hostage Situation and ignoring a very slight commotion in the back end of the car. At 72nd Street, the train paused with the doors open for longer than usual. I didn't look up. A man sat next to me and opened his own book. There was something comfortable about the stranger beside me, both of us reading.
Then an announcement: "We are delayed due to a sick passenger on this train. Please be patient."
A few downtown no. 1 local trains passed across the platform, but I did not feel any need to hurry so I continued reading. More announcements were made. At some point I realized the sick passenger was on our car. I leaned forward slightly, but could only see others standing about and looking down. So, I leaned back and continued reading. And then a final announcement: "Ladies and gentlemen, please transfer to the no. 3 train across the platform."
I shut my book and stood up and as I stepped off the train, I looked toward the back of the car and saw a middle-aged, bald man laying on the floor, his legs buckled under the seat as if he had slumped over while seated. There appeared to be a pool of blood by his mouth, but I couldn't be too sure because I looked away immediately and walked across the platform without looking back.
I have hated the sight of blood since I was young, which is kind of funny since both my parents are nurses. I can't even watch horror movies because all of the blood and gore gives me anxiety. I know exaggerations are how rumors start, but I think blood is what I saw.
As I held onto the pole in the express no. 3, I knew most of my fellow passengers were thinking the same thing regardless of whether or not the man was going to live, "This Christmas is going to be a bad memory for somebody ... if he has anybody."
As the train continued to 42nd Street, where I would switch to a Queens-bound no. 7 to join my titas in Woodside for Christmas, I was reflecting on how quiet our car had been when the man passed out ... or died. The initial commotion had been small enough to keep me from looking up from my book and the onlookers had been deathly still - pardon the pun. Only a few had been crouched down around him, but then again, what could most do in this situation if one were not well-versed in the medical field?
I felt the stranger I had been sitting next to earlier looking at me. I looked down at him briefly and then averted my gaze. I wondered if he had been thinking about the silence, too. The calm of an awkward Christmas afternoon.
Monday, December 24, 2007
My Favorite New York Holiday Story
My favorite post from Joe.My.God to celebrate the joy of the season. Merry Christmas!
Dance of the Sugar Plum Lesbians
From its 4th Annual Appearance on JMG (and the second or third on BNY)
Grand Central Terminal functions as the mechanical heart of midtown New York City, pumping out several thousand workers and tourists on one beat, then sucking in several thousand more on the next.
The rhythms of the terminal are fascinating.
Beat. Four thousand, inbound from New Haven.
Beat. Three thousand, outbound to Westchester.
Worlds collide on the main floor.
The tourists gawk up at the gloriously ornate ceiling and uselessly flash their digital cameras at objects hundreds of feet away. The commuters rush up to the track displays to determine their track number, then dart across the terminal floor, dodging the milling tourists, heads down, like running backs heading for the end zone.
It's mesmerizing. It's majestic.
And sometimes, like tonight, it's magical.
I'm walking through the massive main room just as the holiday laser show begins on the ceiling. To the tune of Take The "A" Train, the laser depicts two trains arriving from different directions. The trains stop opposite each other, and a reindeer leaps out of each one and crosses over to the opposite train.
The laser traces the outline of one of the zodiac constellations painted on the ceiling, and the Cancer crab leaps to life and becomes the Crab Conductor, waddling down the center aisle of the car, punching the reindeers' ticket stubs with his claws.
I move over to the edge of the room, near the entrance for Track 25, so I can watch the reaction to the show. As usual, I'm more entertained by watching the audience than by watching the actual show.
At the ticket windows, standing in front of signs that say "Harlem Line" or "Hudson Line", commuters tilt their heads painfully back to view the show directly overhead. The tourists cluster in delighted circles, holding each others' elbows for balance as they nearly bend over backwards.
Some people move to the edges of the great hall, as I have, to remove themselves from the traffic flow while they watch. Among those that come to join me on the perimeter of the room is a lesbian couple. They stand quite close to me, the taller woman behind the shorter one, with her arms wrapped around her, supporting her a bit, as they both lean back on the marble wall.
The shorter woman is stout, with a large firm chest. Her hair is short and brushed back into what might have once been called a ducktail. She has an ornate tattoo on her left forearm, and she has a leather wallet protruding from the rear pocket of her jeans, attached to her leather belt by a short silver chain. She has more than a passing resemblence to Tony Danza, her big boobs nothwithstanding, so naturally (in my head) I name her Toni.
Toni's girlfriend is blond, her short ponytail dangles just above her collar. She is wearing long Christmas tree earrings which nearly brush her shoulders. Her lanky, sinewy limbs are bound in a tight running outfit, over which she is wearing a school athletic jacket. I imagine that she might be a coach at Yale or Harvard, perhaps a girls lacrosse coach, or maybe track and field.
Coach is squeezing Toni tightly and they bounce together to the music a bit. Coach looks over at me and catches me smiling. She nudges Toni, who looks over at me too, and we all grin goofily at each other for a moment.
Overhead, a new show begins. The familiar opening notes of Tchaikovsky's Dance Of The Sugar Plum Fairies ring out as the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building sprout arms, bow to each other, and begin waltzing across the ceiling.
I look around the room and it's as if time was frozen for just a second, every person stopped in mid-stride, eyes cast upward, mouths open in silent joy.
Toni pushes away from Coach, turns around and delivers her a bow as deep and as elegant as the one just depicted overheard."Madame, may I please have this dance?" she asks Coach.
Coach looks around a bit awkwardly, "You are TOO much!" And she giggles.
"Madame, I must insist!" says Toni, as she takes Coach's hands into hers.
Coach relents and she and Toni begin a beautful, slow waltz, moving in half-time to the music. As you might have guessed already, Toni leads.
As they dance, their eyes remain locked on each other. Toni is giving Coach an intense look, her lips tightly curled into a satisfied smile. Coach is grinning from ear to ear, and again she giggles.
All around Coach and Toni, the tourists, the businessmen, the students, the conductors, even the guy with a broom, they're all watching. Some are expressionless, but more are smiling, and some of them...some of them are frantically fussing with their cameras, eager to capture this magical New York Moment.
Serendipity prevails, the tune ends, and Toni dips Coach backwards with a dramatic upsweep of her free arm as a firestorm of camera flashes erupt around them. Toni pulls Coach up and close to her, and they hug. There's another camera flash, and the crowd begins to move along.
Then."Hey, look!"The laser show is being concluded with giant sprigs of mistletoe appearing over our heads. This time, it's Coach who bends down and plants a long tender kiss on Toni's non-lipsticked mouth. There's another flash of cameras from the delighted audience.
Toni takes Coach's hand, and they begin to move off towards the exit."Oh, don't stop!" says a disappointed woman, still rummaging for her camera.
Toni looks back over her shoulder and says, "I never will."
The mechanical heart of New York City, Grand Central Terminal, beats again, but this time I hear a different rhythm. This time I hear a double beat.
- Joe.My.God
Dance of the Sugar Plum Lesbians
From its 4th Annual Appearance on JMG (and the second or third on BNY)
Grand Central Terminal functions as the mechanical heart of midtown New York City, pumping out several thousand workers and tourists on one beat, then sucking in several thousand more on the next.
The rhythms of the terminal are fascinating.
Beat. Four thousand, inbound from New Haven.
Beat. Three thousand, outbound to Westchester.
Worlds collide on the main floor.
The tourists gawk up at the gloriously ornate ceiling and uselessly flash their digital cameras at objects hundreds of feet away. The commuters rush up to the track displays to determine their track number, then dart across the terminal floor, dodging the milling tourists, heads down, like running backs heading for the end zone.
It's mesmerizing. It's majestic.
And sometimes, like tonight, it's magical.
I'm walking through the massive main room just as the holiday laser show begins on the ceiling. To the tune of Take The "A" Train, the laser depicts two trains arriving from different directions. The trains stop opposite each other, and a reindeer leaps out of each one and crosses over to the opposite train.
The laser traces the outline of one of the zodiac constellations painted on the ceiling, and the Cancer crab leaps to life and becomes the Crab Conductor, waddling down the center aisle of the car, punching the reindeers' ticket stubs with his claws.
I move over to the edge of the room, near the entrance for Track 25, so I can watch the reaction to the show. As usual, I'm more entertained by watching the audience than by watching the actual show.
At the ticket windows, standing in front of signs that say "Harlem Line" or "Hudson Line", commuters tilt their heads painfully back to view the show directly overhead. The tourists cluster in delighted circles, holding each others' elbows for balance as they nearly bend over backwards.
Some people move to the edges of the great hall, as I have, to remove themselves from the traffic flow while they watch. Among those that come to join me on the perimeter of the room is a lesbian couple. They stand quite close to me, the taller woman behind the shorter one, with her arms wrapped around her, supporting her a bit, as they both lean back on the marble wall.
The shorter woman is stout, with a large firm chest. Her hair is short and brushed back into what might have once been called a ducktail. She has an ornate tattoo on her left forearm, and she has a leather wallet protruding from the rear pocket of her jeans, attached to her leather belt by a short silver chain. She has more than a passing resemblence to Tony Danza, her big boobs nothwithstanding, so naturally (in my head) I name her Toni.
Toni's girlfriend is blond, her short ponytail dangles just above her collar. She is wearing long Christmas tree earrings which nearly brush her shoulders. Her lanky, sinewy limbs are bound in a tight running outfit, over which she is wearing a school athletic jacket. I imagine that she might be a coach at Yale or Harvard, perhaps a girls lacrosse coach, or maybe track and field.
Coach is squeezing Toni tightly and they bounce together to the music a bit. Coach looks over at me and catches me smiling. She nudges Toni, who looks over at me too, and we all grin goofily at each other for a moment.
Overhead, a new show begins. The familiar opening notes of Tchaikovsky's Dance Of The Sugar Plum Fairies ring out as the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building sprout arms, bow to each other, and begin waltzing across the ceiling.
I look around the room and it's as if time was frozen for just a second, every person stopped in mid-stride, eyes cast upward, mouths open in silent joy.
Toni pushes away from Coach, turns around and delivers her a bow as deep and as elegant as the one just depicted overheard."Madame, may I please have this dance?" she asks Coach.
Coach looks around a bit awkwardly, "You are TOO much!" And she giggles.
"Madame, I must insist!" says Toni, as she takes Coach's hands into hers.
Coach relents and she and Toni begin a beautful, slow waltz, moving in half-time to the music. As you might have guessed already, Toni leads.
As they dance, their eyes remain locked on each other. Toni is giving Coach an intense look, her lips tightly curled into a satisfied smile. Coach is grinning from ear to ear, and again she giggles.
All around Coach and Toni, the tourists, the businessmen, the students, the conductors, even the guy with a broom, they're all watching. Some are expressionless, but more are smiling, and some of them...some of them are frantically fussing with their cameras, eager to capture this magical New York Moment.
Serendipity prevails, the tune ends, and Toni dips Coach backwards with a dramatic upsweep of her free arm as a firestorm of camera flashes erupt around them. Toni pulls Coach up and close to her, and they hug. There's another camera flash, and the crowd begins to move along.
Then."Hey, look!"The laser show is being concluded with giant sprigs of mistletoe appearing over our heads. This time, it's Coach who bends down and plants a long tender kiss on Toni's non-lipsticked mouth. There's another flash of cameras from the delighted audience.
Toni takes Coach's hand, and they begin to move off towards the exit."Oh, don't stop!" says a disappointed woman, still rummaging for her camera.
Toni looks back over her shoulder and says, "I never will."
The mechanical heart of New York City, Grand Central Terminal, beats again, but this time I hear a different rhythm. This time I hear a double beat.
- Joe.My.God
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Phone Photo Ops - Corporate Holiday Spirit
Our office closed yesterday, and I am on paid holiday leave through January 2. I will be spending the Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa etc. season in New York and enjoying a week and a half of corporate-less bliss. It's like being on winter break in college all over again. In the meantime, a photo essay to summarize the joy of the corporate holiday.
I know this is a holy season across many cultures, but I have a theory that pure evil is behind the sugary and salty forces of the holiday waistline bulge. Call it Satan, if you will. But whatever demon is behind the caloric debauchery that has been invading our office over the past three weeks is dissolving six months worth of 4-days a week/6 a.m. workouts. Back into the darkness, I command you!!!
However, whatever sacred force was behind the purchase of this gift from my boss, I commend you, oh, Ghost of Christmas Present!
And a holiday card signed by the Cayman Islands Department of Tourism, which our office found quite funny. Just a little advertising humor - second only in corniness to IT humor.
More treats from Google and other partners and vendors all addressed to me. It sure is nice to assist the VP.
I know this is a holy season across many cultures, but I have a theory that pure evil is behind the sugary and salty forces of the holiday waistline bulge. Call it Satan, if you will. But whatever demon is behind the caloric debauchery that has been invading our office over the past three weeks is dissolving six months worth of 4-days a week/6 a.m. workouts. Back into the darkness, I command you!!!
However, whatever sacred force was behind the purchase of this gift from my boss, I commend you, oh, Ghost of Christmas Present!
And a holiday card signed by the Cayman Islands Department of Tourism, which our office found quite funny. Just a little advertising humor - second only in corniness to IT humor.
More treats from Google and other partners and vendors all addressed to me. It sure is nice to assist the VP.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Phone Photo Op - Subway Gymnastics
I generally despise most subway performances and other attempts made in an effort to relieve me of whatever cash I may be carrying at any given time. I got over all of the homeless, terminally-ill, and candy-selling spiels within my first month of living in New York. However, sometimes I see the subway dancers from the Bronx, who somersault, flip, cartwheel, and hang upside from subway poles just above your lap (quite literally) ... and often on a fairly crowded train. I always give them a dollar.
When I Grow Up ...
My boss just emailed me the following YouTube video with the words "your career" in the subject heading.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
“Things I Love" Thursdays – What I Love About New York
“What I love about New York is …”
Over the past year and a half, I have heard that sentiment - in varying grammatical structures - initiated without my prompting and completed in dozens of different ways.
Last night, my coworker David and his boyfriend Christopher hosted a holiday party in their gorgeous Upper West Side apartment. This was the fourth or fifth holiday party I've attended this month, and it was my favorite for two reasons: 1) I received a set of four Williams-Sonoma All-Purpose Balloon Wineglasses in the gift exchange, and 2) the party was at David and Christopher's. Their one-bedroom, for which they pay well over $2000 a month, is my favorite of all of my friends and coworkers in Manhattan. It probably doesn’t hurt that it has the exquisite decorative touches of a not-too-trendy, fashion-forward gay couple. But the layout is just right for two people with all of the quintessential New York effects: exposed brick on opposite walls, tiny kitchen off of the shared living and dining space, bricked in fireplace, and the faint outline of the black fire escape through transparent curtains.
While you wait to be buzzed into the building at the top of five stone steps, you can look west to Broadway and east to Amsterdam on a tree-lined street sprinkled with restaurants, cafes and neighborhood bars. Then you enter a tiny foyer with a large, ornamental mirror and proceed beyond a row of embedded, steel mailboxes. Because I know they are looking to buy something on the Upper West Side, I’ve told David and Christopher on many occasions that if I have a live-in boyfriend or a husband (or am in any situation creating dual income) by the time they move out, I would love to take over their lease.
As I stood at the party balancing my glass of Cabernet and a plate of veggies and dip, gourmet crackers with brie cheese, spring rolls and dumplings, I was somewhat absentmindedly listening to a conversation between Christopher and my boss. I don’t immediately recall what they were talking about, but I distinctly remember Christopher saying, “That is what I love about New York.”
When their discussion had ended shortly thereafter, I said to my boss, “I love that there are people all over the city at any given time saying, ‘That is what I love about New York.’”
They’re at holiday parties; they’re in restaurants, bars or cafes; they’re in parks, walking on sidewalks or waiting for trains; they’re sitting in the backs of cabs; they’re meeting friends for happy hour or shopping or at the gym; they’re in night clubs or lounging in tiny apartments (or larger ones if they’re lucky) on couches, futons or even bean bag chairs; they're visiting museums, gallery openings or going to the theater; they're listening to live music, laughing at local comedians and not caring about how many celebrities they pass on the street or spot in Duane Reade (or at least pretending). They’re in any given place in this city and at any given time they are saying, “What I love about New York is …”
This week, my boss’s issue of New York Magazine arrived in the office. The featured cover story: Reasons to Love New York Right Now. This morning, I flipped to the table of contents and read the prologue to the article:
Reasons to Love New York Page 33
Literate 4-year-olds. Illegal immigrants who won’t be handed over to Mitt Romney. A massage-therapy student who hit it big thanks to her smooth, beautiful feet. These are just a few of the reasons that, for the third straight December, New York has come out at the top of our list of the best cities on Earth (better luck next year, Boston). Within, we look at 48 more, from the high-minded (a bike-loving transportation commissioner and other great achievements in urban planning) to the romantic (four couples who met on the subway) to the enterprisingly decadent (a truck that parks on Astor Place to serve waffles). Plus, for the first time, we’ve solicited ideas from our readers. (For even more public commentary, and the contributions of a smart-mouthed blogger who panned our list last year, check nymag.com.) So, for a somewhat-democratic and by-no-means-comprehensive reminder why you’re paying top dollar to cram into a city whose weather is currently doing its best imitation of winter on the Baltic Sea, read on.
And, of course, the camera phone photo op.
"Things I Love" Thursdays are inspired by "I Love New York" (BNY, February 14, 2007).
Over the past year and a half, I have heard that sentiment - in varying grammatical structures - initiated without my prompting and completed in dozens of different ways.
Last night, my coworker David and his boyfriend Christopher hosted a holiday party in their gorgeous Upper West Side apartment. This was the fourth or fifth holiday party I've attended this month, and it was my favorite for two reasons: 1) I received a set of four Williams-Sonoma All-Purpose Balloon Wineglasses in the gift exchange, and 2) the party was at David and Christopher's. Their one-bedroom, for which they pay well over $2000 a month, is my favorite of all of my friends and coworkers in Manhattan. It probably doesn’t hurt that it has the exquisite decorative touches of a not-too-trendy, fashion-forward gay couple. But the layout is just right for two people with all of the quintessential New York effects: exposed brick on opposite walls, tiny kitchen off of the shared living and dining space, bricked in fireplace, and the faint outline of the black fire escape through transparent curtains.
While you wait to be buzzed into the building at the top of five stone steps, you can look west to Broadway and east to Amsterdam on a tree-lined street sprinkled with restaurants, cafes and neighborhood bars. Then you enter a tiny foyer with a large, ornamental mirror and proceed beyond a row of embedded, steel mailboxes. Because I know they are looking to buy something on the Upper West Side, I’ve told David and Christopher on many occasions that if I have a live-in boyfriend or a husband (or am in any situation creating dual income) by the time they move out, I would love to take over their lease.
As I stood at the party balancing my glass of Cabernet and a plate of veggies and dip, gourmet crackers with brie cheese, spring rolls and dumplings, I was somewhat absentmindedly listening to a conversation between Christopher and my boss. I don’t immediately recall what they were talking about, but I distinctly remember Christopher saying, “That is what I love about New York.”
When their discussion had ended shortly thereafter, I said to my boss, “I love that there are people all over the city at any given time saying, ‘That is what I love about New York.’”
They’re at holiday parties; they’re in restaurants, bars or cafes; they’re in parks, walking on sidewalks or waiting for trains; they’re sitting in the backs of cabs; they’re meeting friends for happy hour or shopping or at the gym; they’re in night clubs or lounging in tiny apartments (or larger ones if they’re lucky) on couches, futons or even bean bag chairs; they're visiting museums, gallery openings or going to the theater; they're listening to live music, laughing at local comedians and not caring about how many celebrities they pass on the street or spot in Duane Reade (or at least pretending). They’re in any given place in this city and at any given time they are saying, “What I love about New York is …”
This week, my boss’s issue of New York Magazine arrived in the office. The featured cover story: Reasons to Love New York Right Now. This morning, I flipped to the table of contents and read the prologue to the article:
Reasons to Love New York Page 33
Literate 4-year-olds. Illegal immigrants who won’t be handed over to Mitt Romney. A massage-therapy student who hit it big thanks to her smooth, beautiful feet. These are just a few of the reasons that, for the third straight December, New York has come out at the top of our list of the best cities on Earth (better luck next year, Boston). Within, we look at 48 more, from the high-minded (a bike-loving transportation commissioner and other great achievements in urban planning) to the romantic (four couples who met on the subway) to the enterprisingly decadent (a truck that parks on Astor Place to serve waffles). Plus, for the first time, we’ve solicited ideas from our readers. (For even more public commentary, and the contributions of a smart-mouthed blogger who panned our list last year, check nymag.com.) So, for a somewhat-democratic and by-no-means-comprehensive reminder why you’re paying top dollar to cram into a city whose weather is currently doing its best imitation of winter on the Baltic Sea, read on.
And, of course, the camera phone photo op.
"Things I Love" Thursdays are inspired by "I Love New York" (BNY, February 14, 2007).
"Things I Love" Thursdays - And More
The more I read these, the more I love my 8 million neighbors ... #95 and #98 have essentially summed up everything I've ever written in my blog over the last year and a half.
From "Your Reasons" at http://nymag.com/news/articles/reasonstoloveny/2007/42046/ and http://nymag.com/news/articles/reasonstoloveny/2007/42353/:
7. “I love New York because we order pizza from the Italian place across the street and have our laundry delivered. We take a taxi to the gym. We know exactly what we want out of life and careers, but can’t decide where to eat brunch. We make plans and don’t keep any of them. We think a studio for $1,500 a month is a steal, but get pissed when the coffee guy raises his prices 25 cents. We fight with cabbies about their driving skills, but we are 35 and have never had a driver’s license.”
-Alexis DeSieno
14. “I love New York because you can date five people at once and never get caught.”
-Neva Alsheik
95. “I love New York because the anonymity is thrilling. It’s truly incredible to walk these streets, teeming with life and culture and richness and beauty, and know that no one knows or cares who I am, where I have come from, or where I am going. I love to wander for hours in the East Village, winding between 1st, Ave A and Ave B, looking into each tiny little intimate restaurant, not knowing or caring who is inside, but envying their intimacy all the same. I love leaving work and walking a new route home every single day. I love that my coffee cart guys see me across the street, know my order, and have it ready for me for $1 by the time I get there. I love that the subway can be absolutely packed to the brim during the morning commute, yet it’s so quiet that you can actually hear people flipping the pages of their books. I love that no matter how many people do it, it still feels special to do touristy things, like ice skate in Rockefeller Center, or tour Ellis Island, or take a hop-on hop-off bus, or get a hot dog from a vendor. I love that even though I curse not being able to commute in a car every time it rains, that nothing would ever truly make me leave this place. I love flying back into the city after traveling and still getting that excited flutter in my stomach seeing the skyline. I’m obsessed. :)”
-Jenny Heisler
98. “Because people actually feel sorry for you if you own a car. Because every New Yorker hates LA, even the ones who have never left New York. Because you’ve flown out to California more times than you’ve left Manhattan. Because one of the four times you’ve left Manhattan was because you fell asleep on the subway and ended up in Brooklyn. Because some people’s dogs have a fancier wardrobe than you. Because tourists probably know more about New York than you. Because despite people complaining about the frigid winters and sweltering summers, inherent to the city’s spirit is its four-season cycle of life. Because the official sign of the arrival of spring is when restaurants begin spilling out onto the sidewalks. Because we avoid Times Square at all cost, while the rest of the world dreams of seeing it just once. Because the ultimate sign of chivalry is when a guy looks out for stiletto-heel-gobbling grates for a girl to avoid while walking down the perilous city streets. Because a 5-course meal from a local Chinese restaurant costs less than buying basic ingredients for a sandwich. Because of how proud New Yorkers are of their neighborhoods. Even midtown New Yorkers. Because people can tell you’re not from New York simply because you smile a lot. Because you never really have to go anywhere to visit friends. They all end up in New York sometime during the year. Because it’s possible that Saint Patrick’s Cathedral is actually your local church, and the MOMA is your neighborhood gallery. Because of holiday windows during the Christmas season. Because as annoying as hordes of tourists on Fifth Avenue are during the holiday season - it reminds you that you used to be one too. Because you can drop $1695 on a snakeskin handbag at Barneys and still feel okay about haggling over a $4 pair of gloves in Chinatown. Because there are hidden gems and treasured moments around every corner - you just have to find them.”
-Jen Hsiao
103.
“1. I love New York coz it has Stuyvent Duuyveil in Williamsburg, the place with multitudes of great beers. And where you can easily meet new people and mingle. The atmosphere is laid back and chilled, where you can sit alone without feeling awkward.
2. I love New York coz everybody smokes weed.
3. I love New York because each street shows different sceneries.
4. I love New York because I can pick different gourmet restaurants 365 days an year.
5. I love New York because I can tell people I am from New York.
6. I love New York because everyone finds their identity here.
7. I love New York because you might run into one person, and life changes completely.
8. I love New York because money can buy anything.
9. I love New York because you can run into some European hotties.
10. I love New York because I can never forget the time while I was there. Now my life plan centers on how to stay there forever. ( I am an Alien.)
dang my eyes r teary now...”
-Elaine Hsieh
108. “Because when your boyfriend breaks up with you at 2am on a Tuesday night, you can always find a bar that is full of hot people with a bartender that will feed you shots and a cute boys that you can make out with.”
-anonymous
125. “I am a New Yorker, and I love it because everyone here has a story. A story of whey they’re here, where they’re from, what they do, who or what they’ve seen! As long as you keep your ears open, you can learn just about anything about anyone.”
-ANNASAXTON
136. “I love New York because I live around the corner from Whole Foods Chelsea, which is by far the very best place to spot my reality-TV faves (like past Project Runway designers and a slew of America’s Next Top Model judges) shopping for matzo ball soup and organic cheese.”
-Stephanie Tannenholtz
138. “I love New York because I don’t have to feel bad about being bitchy or rude on the street…people expect it here. I love New York because there are tons of other successful, attractive women who are single here…so it’s not just me. I love New York because at night, the lights of the city are mesmerizing. I love New York because I don’t have to own a car. I love New York because non-New Yorkers assume your life is fabulous just by living here.”
-Anonymous
143. “Because no one makes fun of you for having an old-lady shopping cart. Because the art of shoe cobblery is alive and well throughout the city. Because only in New York City does a ‘regular coffee’ equal a coffee with milk and two sugars. Because the subway runs 24 hours a day, allowing you to be both poor and drunk at the same time. Because NY Post headlines are poetry (examples: ‘Axis of Weasels’; ‘Puff Baddy’). Because no matter how long you’ve lived here, there is always a new neighborhood to explore. Because NYC Metro TV is highly addictive. Because 24-hour Duane Reade on 86th Street in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn has saved my life on many occasions.”
-Indira Xiomara Goris
150. “Because Edward Norton winked at me on Columbus Avenue.”
-Sam
157. “Because just by moving to a different neighborhood in the city it changes your New York for you. Because after living here you will never be the same.”
-Amy Anderson
160. “I love New York because of the awesome communication going on everywhere you look. And by that I mean the non-verbal communication we exchange…”Damn, you’re hot,” “Fuck off,” “I want those shoes,” “What the fuck is that smell?” “Are you really standing that close to me?” “Thank you,” “I needed that,” “I’m going to cut you”…etc. I could write a book.”
-Jenna Martinez
I love that I am sharing the same Manhattan love affair with millions of other people, and I'm not jealous.
"Things I Love" Thursdays are inspired by "I Love New York" (BNY, February 14, 2007).
From "Your Reasons" at http://nymag.com/news/articles/reasonstoloveny/2007/42046/ and http://nymag.com/news/articles/reasonstoloveny/2007/42353/:
7. “I love New York because we order pizza from the Italian place across the street and have our laundry delivered. We take a taxi to the gym. We know exactly what we want out of life and careers, but can’t decide where to eat brunch. We make plans and don’t keep any of them. We think a studio for $1,500 a month is a steal, but get pissed when the coffee guy raises his prices 25 cents. We fight with cabbies about their driving skills, but we are 35 and have never had a driver’s license.”
-Alexis DeSieno
14. “I love New York because you can date five people at once and never get caught.”
-Neva Alsheik
95. “I love New York because the anonymity is thrilling. It’s truly incredible to walk these streets, teeming with life and culture and richness and beauty, and know that no one knows or cares who I am, where I have come from, or where I am going. I love to wander for hours in the East Village, winding between 1st, Ave A and Ave B, looking into each tiny little intimate restaurant, not knowing or caring who is inside, but envying their intimacy all the same. I love leaving work and walking a new route home every single day. I love that my coffee cart guys see me across the street, know my order, and have it ready for me for $1 by the time I get there. I love that the subway can be absolutely packed to the brim during the morning commute, yet it’s so quiet that you can actually hear people flipping the pages of their books. I love that no matter how many people do it, it still feels special to do touristy things, like ice skate in Rockefeller Center, or tour Ellis Island, or take a hop-on hop-off bus, or get a hot dog from a vendor. I love that even though I curse not being able to commute in a car every time it rains, that nothing would ever truly make me leave this place. I love flying back into the city after traveling and still getting that excited flutter in my stomach seeing the skyline. I’m obsessed. :)”
-Jenny Heisler
98. “Because people actually feel sorry for you if you own a car. Because every New Yorker hates LA, even the ones who have never left New York. Because you’ve flown out to California more times than you’ve left Manhattan. Because one of the four times you’ve left Manhattan was because you fell asleep on the subway and ended up in Brooklyn. Because some people’s dogs have a fancier wardrobe than you. Because tourists probably know more about New York than you. Because despite people complaining about the frigid winters and sweltering summers, inherent to the city’s spirit is its four-season cycle of life. Because the official sign of the arrival of spring is when restaurants begin spilling out onto the sidewalks. Because we avoid Times Square at all cost, while the rest of the world dreams of seeing it just once. Because the ultimate sign of chivalry is when a guy looks out for stiletto-heel-gobbling grates for a girl to avoid while walking down the perilous city streets. Because a 5-course meal from a local Chinese restaurant costs less than buying basic ingredients for a sandwich. Because of how proud New Yorkers are of their neighborhoods. Even midtown New Yorkers. Because people can tell you’re not from New York simply because you smile a lot. Because you never really have to go anywhere to visit friends. They all end up in New York sometime during the year. Because it’s possible that Saint Patrick’s Cathedral is actually your local church, and the MOMA is your neighborhood gallery. Because of holiday windows during the Christmas season. Because as annoying as hordes of tourists on Fifth Avenue are during the holiday season - it reminds you that you used to be one too. Because you can drop $1695 on a snakeskin handbag at Barneys and still feel okay about haggling over a $4 pair of gloves in Chinatown. Because there are hidden gems and treasured moments around every corner - you just have to find them.”
-Jen Hsiao
103.
“1. I love New York coz it has Stuyvent Duuyveil in Williamsburg, the place with multitudes of great beers. And where you can easily meet new people and mingle. The atmosphere is laid back and chilled, where you can sit alone without feeling awkward.
2. I love New York coz everybody smokes weed.
3. I love New York because each street shows different sceneries.
4. I love New York because I can pick different gourmet restaurants 365 days an year.
5. I love New York because I can tell people I am from New York.
6. I love New York because everyone finds their identity here.
7. I love New York because you might run into one person, and life changes completely.
8. I love New York because money can buy anything.
9. I love New York because you can run into some European hotties.
10. I love New York because I can never forget the time while I was there. Now my life plan centers on how to stay there forever. ( I am an Alien.)
dang my eyes r teary now...”
-Elaine Hsieh
108. “Because when your boyfriend breaks up with you at 2am on a Tuesday night, you can always find a bar that is full of hot people with a bartender that will feed you shots and a cute boys that you can make out with.”
-anonymous
125. “I am a New Yorker, and I love it because everyone here has a story. A story of whey they’re here, where they’re from, what they do, who or what they’ve seen! As long as you keep your ears open, you can learn just about anything about anyone.”
-ANNASAXTON
136. “I love New York because I live around the corner from Whole Foods Chelsea, which is by far the very best place to spot my reality-TV faves (like past Project Runway designers and a slew of America’s Next Top Model judges) shopping for matzo ball soup and organic cheese.”
-Stephanie Tannenholtz
138. “I love New York because I don’t have to feel bad about being bitchy or rude on the street…people expect it here. I love New York because there are tons of other successful, attractive women who are single here…so it’s not just me. I love New York because at night, the lights of the city are mesmerizing. I love New York because I don’t have to own a car. I love New York because non-New Yorkers assume your life is fabulous just by living here.”
-Anonymous
143. “Because no one makes fun of you for having an old-lady shopping cart. Because the art of shoe cobblery is alive and well throughout the city. Because only in New York City does a ‘regular coffee’ equal a coffee with milk and two sugars. Because the subway runs 24 hours a day, allowing you to be both poor and drunk at the same time. Because NY Post headlines are poetry (examples: ‘Axis of Weasels’; ‘Puff Baddy’). Because no matter how long you’ve lived here, there is always a new neighborhood to explore. Because NYC Metro TV is highly addictive. Because 24-hour Duane Reade on 86th Street in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn has saved my life on many occasions.”
-Indira Xiomara Goris
150. “Because Edward Norton winked at me on Columbus Avenue.”
-Sam
157. “Because just by moving to a different neighborhood in the city it changes your New York for you. Because after living here you will never be the same.”
-Amy Anderson
160. “I love New York because of the awesome communication going on everywhere you look. And by that I mean the non-verbal communication we exchange…”Damn, you’re hot,” “Fuck off,” “I want those shoes,” “What the fuck is that smell?” “Are you really standing that close to me?” “Thank you,” “I needed that,” “I’m going to cut you”…etc. I could write a book.”
-Jenna Martinez
I love that I am sharing the same Manhattan love affair with millions of other people, and I'm not jealous.
"Things I Love" Thursdays are inspired by "I Love New York" (BNY, February 14, 2007).
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Morning After Blogger Beers & Secret Service Soiree
I joined fellow NYC bloggers for the first time at one of their happy hour gatherings last night. As I left work and ventured downtown on the D train to a bar on West 4th Street, I couldn't help but feel a little apprehensive. It almost felt like I was meeting about a dozen people for a blind date.
Upon entering the bar, I surveyed the scene trying to see if I could recognize anyone from the photos posted in our private New York Bloggers' Happy Hour blog. I searched for BNR, who had assured me that he looks exactly like the avatar on his blog, and I would eventually find them at the beerpong table in the back. I decided almost immediately that I was going to like them (listed in my characteristic-OCD alphabetized order):
An Irish and a Jew
Blog Name Removed
DrunkBrunch
East Village Idiot
No Stop Till Brooklyn
Second Avenue Sagas
Tales of a Delectable Redhead
The Brooklyn Boy
Zombie Fights Shark
Note: The above list will likely undergo revision as I try to remember/figure out who I drank with last night. I think some latitude should be permitted here since BNR has had me in his Drinking Buddies blogroll since last spring and has twice commented in my blog: "Did I drink with you last night?"
I have to admit that I continued to feel awkward for an hour or two, but I found that the more everyone downed the $6.50-happy-hour-special pitchers, the more I began to feel like we were old friends. Alcohol has a funny effect like that, along with making you feel more attractive. BNR has a pretty thorough delineated recap of the evening with photos from DrunkBrunch.
I learned that An Irish and a Jew are just as funny in real life (some people don't always translate from paper to person) and I make a pretty damn good wingman [-girl] for Fiesty Red, even though the guys we were checking out turned out to be like 22 (I especially love her three-day phone number deletion rule). The Brooklyn Boy and I have some major six degrees of separation parallels. East Village Idiot has blog business cards. BNR's newlywed wife is super hot (or so I heard more than once), and he does indeed look exactly like his avatar.
By 10:30 p.m., I had been telling BNR for an hour that I had to go home if I wanted to be able to wake up for the gym at 5:30 a.m. After 20 minutes of reassuring BNR that I wasn't going to hate him in the morning while trying not to fall asleep on the treadmill, I finally closed out my tab and headed for the D train. But just as I was about to descend the staircase into the subway, my secret service buddy called.
"Where are you?" he asked. I replied, "On West 4th Street. Going home."
"No!" he said, "Come to [undisclosed location for national security purposes]. I have to buy you a drink to celebrate your recent accomplishment."
So I agreed to a drink and found myself at [undisclosed midtown bar] with about 60-80 (I'm not really good at estimating) secret service agents, who were gathering for after-hours drinks following their agency holiday party. For the record, I would like to release confidential information regarding the overall attractiveness of my secret service buddy and his colleagues - not to mention the increased sexual appeal of men in black suits with guns strapped to their ankles.
Ladies, if you ever want to find yourself surrounded by dozens of handsome men for the sole purpose of innocent eye-candy or in the pursuit of a life as a government groupie, find out where the secret service is partying. At the very least, if terrorist activity were to go down while you're sipping your trendy cocktail or knocking back shots of Patrón, you'd be in good hands.
I finally walked into my apartment at 2 a.m., double-checked my alarm for 5:30 a.m., and went to sleep. Did I make it to the gym?
Yes! And I actually had a good work-out and felt very well the rest of the day. My eyes were hurting a little bit as I exited the subway station on my way to the gym and accepted a copy of amNY from my favorite newspaper hander-outer; however, thanks to my secret service buddy, BNR can rest assured that it was not him that I was hating when my alarm went off at 5:30 a.m.
This afternoon, my friend Jeremy asked what I did last night. His reply to my brief text message summary was: "... i want to kick it with blogger people. I was just saying yesterday how i could really go for the company of some bloggers and ur practically living my dream. Im so jealous."
BNR, didn't we illustrate a similar scenario between bloggers and "civilians" last night over a pitcher of regular beer masquerading as light? :)
Upon entering the bar, I surveyed the scene trying to see if I could recognize anyone from the photos posted in our private New York Bloggers' Happy Hour blog. I searched for BNR, who had assured me that he looks exactly like the avatar on his blog, and I would eventually find them at the beerpong table in the back. I decided almost immediately that I was going to like them (listed in my characteristic-OCD alphabetized order):
An Irish and a Jew
Blog Name Removed
DrunkBrunch
East Village Idiot
No Stop Till Brooklyn
Second Avenue Sagas
Tales of a Delectable Redhead
The Brooklyn Boy
Zombie Fights Shark
Note: The above list will likely undergo revision as I try to remember/figure out who I drank with last night. I think some latitude should be permitted here since BNR has had me in his Drinking Buddies blogroll since last spring and has twice commented in my blog: "Did I drink with you last night?"
I have to admit that I continued to feel awkward for an hour or two, but I found that the more everyone downed the $6.50-happy-hour-special pitchers, the more I began to feel like we were old friends. Alcohol has a funny effect like that, along with making you feel more attractive. BNR has a pretty thorough delineated recap of the evening with photos from DrunkBrunch.
I learned that An Irish and a Jew are just as funny in real life (some people don't always translate from paper to person) and I make a pretty damn good wingman [-girl] for Fiesty Red, even though the guys we were checking out turned out to be like 22 (I especially love her three-day phone number deletion rule). The Brooklyn Boy and I have some major six degrees of separation parallels. East Village Idiot has blog business cards. BNR's newlywed wife is super hot (or so I heard more than once), and he does indeed look exactly like his avatar.
By 10:30 p.m., I had been telling BNR for an hour that I had to go home if I wanted to be able to wake up for the gym at 5:30 a.m. After 20 minutes of reassuring BNR that I wasn't going to hate him in the morning while trying not to fall asleep on the treadmill, I finally closed out my tab and headed for the D train. But just as I was about to descend the staircase into the subway, my secret service buddy called.
"Where are you?" he asked. I replied, "On West 4th Street. Going home."
"No!" he said, "Come to [undisclosed location for national security purposes]. I have to buy you a drink to celebrate your recent accomplishment."
So I agreed to a drink and found myself at [undisclosed midtown bar] with about 60-80 (I'm not really good at estimating) secret service agents, who were gathering for after-hours drinks following their agency holiday party. For the record, I would like to release confidential information regarding the overall attractiveness of my secret service buddy and his colleagues - not to mention the increased sexual appeal of men in black suits with guns strapped to their ankles.
Ladies, if you ever want to find yourself surrounded by dozens of handsome men for the sole purpose of innocent eye-candy or in the pursuit of a life as a government groupie, find out where the secret service is partying. At the very least, if terrorist activity were to go down while you're sipping your trendy cocktail or knocking back shots of Patrón, you'd be in good hands.
I finally walked into my apartment at 2 a.m., double-checked my alarm for 5:30 a.m., and went to sleep. Did I make it to the gym?
Yes! And I actually had a good work-out and felt very well the rest of the day. My eyes were hurting a little bit as I exited the subway station on my way to the gym and accepted a copy of amNY from my favorite newspaper hander-outer; however, thanks to my secret service buddy, BNR can rest assured that it was not him that I was hating when my alarm went off at 5:30 a.m.
This afternoon, my friend Jeremy asked what I did last night. His reply to my brief text message summary was: "... i want to kick it with blogger people. I was just saying yesterday how i could really go for the company of some bloggers and ur practically living my dream. Im so jealous."
BNR, didn't we illustrate a similar scenario between bloggers and "civilians" last night over a pitcher of regular beer masquerading as light? :)
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