Chicken & Waffles

Jose Feliciano - Light my fire

2012-01-21T21:22:00.001-05:00

I have always loved this version.

Role Reversal

2012-01-17T23:38:00.006-05:00

So here's a funny thing.

In the ordinary discourse of meeting people in my new hometown, I seem to be meeting a lot of middle aged men. Most are divorced and flagrantly on the prowl. In a classic role reversal, they are needy, clingy and desirous of moving quickly into a committed relationship. They're like graying teenage girls. The curious thing is that I am living alone for the first time in my life. I am growing to really like this level of independence. I control the remote control to the television. I chose the food that lives in my fridge. I decide the temperature of the house, the lights I chose to leave on and the location where the furniture is placed. i am rather liking this level of sole decision making (and the management of household issues that inevitably arise). As each day passes, I grow reluctant to surrender this newfound independence to anyone.

A few men I have met recently are, uh, pursuing. I am resisting their overtures because I don't want a relationship right now, essentially for the reasons cited above. I don't actually need a man to validate me, financially support me or take charge. I have done all those things for myself. Yet, I am surprised when they call, like lovesick teenage girls. I find it honestly surprising. And even more surprising, the fact that I am behaving towards them like a boorish cad.

The man who handled my home inspection is one example. He's in his late 50s and a man about town. He's very persistent. He's also good fun, charming and reliable for a laugh. He came by this last weekend for a glass of wine. I like him because he's independent in his thinking. So he pressed me about dating. "We'd be good together," he said, "let's go away some weekend," I shut him down. "I think you'd be fun to hang with, " I said, "but if you get clingy, game over. I really don't want a relationship right now." Suddenly this big burly Irishmen looked a little vulnerable, if not wounded. It was fascinating, but I didn't retract a thing I said because, well, I meant it.

I am finding the whole dynamic really rather interesting.

Tell Her No

2012-01-16T22:38:00.000-05:00

I always loved this song from The Zombies. The crazy thing is that the are still touring and sound better than ever.

Having A Moment

2012-01-13T20:05:00.000-05:00

People do.

Explorers

2012-01-11T22:06:00.004-05:00

Maudie and Scout explore the front porch of their new home.

I'm Back

2012-01-10T21:55:00.007-05:00

Hello people, that is, if anyone is still reading this blog anymore.

I had a rather horrendous 2011. My last meaningful post took place after the famous Aunt Bert passed away in March 2011. Within weeks of that sad event, my entire life changed. I am at odds to synopsize these last nine months and I asked Hollaback how I could even venture back into my private haven of blogging. As usual, she was succinct. "Bullet point it," she offered. It's a start, so I will try. Note that as I venture back into this space, I will need to elaborate on these events so pray, don't assume my brevity here is indicative of indifference. This will take me time.

So Aunt Bert passed away in late February. It represented the end of an era of our happy times in New York. And then the shit hit the fan.

-I had been advised a few months prior that my career with my employer of 23 years would be ending. It was not unexpected and in truth, it was time to go; the business had changed and my role was clearly becoming superfluous. I was half afraid and half exuberant to move on to new challenges. Fang encouraged me to see it as a new challenge and to explore new learning and new opportunities and moreso, to take my time in finding the right new job. My tenure was to end in April.

-Fang and I went out to our happy place on the North Fork of Long Island, the place of many peaceful sojourns from Manhattan, to secure a house for rent for the month of June. I looked forward to a month of quiet to reassess my job opportunities, finally get a decent nights sleep and write. We took the dogs with us and met with the owners of the house on April 2nd. We were very excited about the time ahead.

-Three days later, on April 5th, Fang died. I'm not trying to be dramatic, but it was undoubtedly the worst day of my life. When I left for work, he was still lolling about in bed, half asleep. When I couldn't get him on the phone all day, I left work early and found him at home in bed, gone. He clearly hadn't gotten up and heart failure had taken him. He looked peaceful and as if asleep. In fact, I walked into the bedroom, saw him there and exclaimed, "Don't tell me you're still in bed!!" Yes, I did. When I touched him to rouse him, he was ice cold. I called 911 and did CPR because I couldn't face his being gone, but I knew the truth. I was in a state of sheer horror. I remember the paramedics offering to sedate me and I think I told them to fuck off. Fortunately, good friends came to support me so I could deal with the medical examiner and detectives and the like. I only remember bits and pieces now, but Hollaback came and stayed with me and we slept together on the couch. I now see I was in shock and stayed that way for about nine days. I couldn't grasp the changes this would mean.

-I had our bed, our expensive California king bed with the carved mahogany frame and fine bedding, hauled away to the trash the next day. I couldn't walk into the room with it there.

-Fang was cremated. I scheduled a West Coast and East Coast memorial for him. He would have killed me if I had held a funeral for him. He would have hated the memorial but I thought he wouldn't begrudge nice people a few drinks and a get together. I'll write more about this later.

-A week after Fang died, his 92 year old father went into hospital. The death of his only son devastated him. Fang's sister called me and told me doctors were giving him days to live. "Can you come to California to see him?" she asked. I remember speaking to her while on a cell phone standing on Riverside Drive. "What the FUCK is happening to our family?" I screamed in exasperation on the phone (while passerby's looked and then ignored me). Tough town.

-I went to California and saw Marc, Fang's father. He had been moved to hospice. He was at peace. He kept telling me that Fang was standing by the bed telling him, "Come on, Dad." It was a very sad time. I was there for a week. He died a few days later. He was a very grand and joyous man.

-My employer offered to extend the date of my employment departure, which in true fairness, was generous and kind. I passively threw out some resumes but focused on settling Fang's estate. This whole process was a nightmare and worthy of scores of future posts alone. If I had a dollar for every "We're sorry for your loss but we're going to make the transfer of your joint account as simple as giving an elephant an enema," I'd be a rich woman. The process of filing the insurance claim was the worst of all--the final settlement from Fang's employer insurance was not paid until this last November. I was asked for and provided volumes of documentation. I fully expected they would eventually request a stool sample.

-I decided in May that I would leave my job at the start of June, despite the extension offered by my company. I wanted to take the summer off, the first such break I had enjoyed in my life since I was 18 years old (that would be 31 years ago--ahem). Before I could plot out my summer plans, I was contacted by another media company. They did not know I was leaving my current employee. The President was thinking about retiring. Would I like to throw my hat in the ring for his job? You bet your ass I would. I did. I got the job.

-I left my former job in June. It was bittersweet. I loved the people I worked with and I was grateful for the two decades of experience I had gained there. My experience was rich but I knew I had to move on with my life. And so I did. My new job was slated to start in July. I went back to California for a week and settled some loose ends.

-My new job offered a whole new set of challenges, but an improved commute (now, to New Jersey). I did deplore the daily commute to Connecticut. Oh let's be honest, I hated it. This new commute required crossing a new bridge into another state, but it was shorter and more of a realistic reverse commute, But coming home at night to my co-op in Manhattan reminded me nightly of the evening I came home in April and found Fang. It started to haunt me. I couldn't sleep. I honestly dreaded coming home at night. I decided to leave Manhattan. Nothing kept me there anymore.

-I started passively looking for a new home in New Jersey. Norma provided me a referral to a real estate agent, a pistol of a gal named Joanna. I took the train from NYC to NJ for a few weekends to look at houses. Nothing inspired me. I was resolved that the search would have to wait till the market opened up in the Spring. Joanna sent me automated listings for the area.

-On day in September, I received an automated listing for a house in Summit, a city that Fang and I had lived in ten years ago. We had loved it here. I saw the house, pressed Joanna to see it once it went on market and once inside, fell in love. I put in a bid and I got it.

-I partially renovated my NYC co-op, sublet it and moved into my new house in Summit three weeks ago. It offers a whole new set of challenges.

That said, there is much color that much be inserted between these lines. I've aged and matured (two different things) many years in the last 10 months. I'm learning to live a new life alone. I'm proud of what I've managed--things I never thought I could do on my own. Fang always called me his "tough old broad." I think I am his tough old broad. I hope he would be proud of what I did in the face of all this change.

I miss Fang terribly. I miss him everyday. He was most accepting of my natural independence, but perhaps what he never knew was that he was the foundation and the rock of our home. He always made me feel safe and it's taken me months to not feel vulnerable without him. I like this picture of us (above) taken in 2009. He's protecting me, as he always did, in his quiet way.

As 2012 dawned, my life has changed completely. I don't have a clue what it will bring, but I plan to renew documenting it here. Thanks for your patience.

Moody's Mood

2011-06-18T00:35:00.002-04:00

After a rather long absence, I thought I'd stick my toe back in the water with this sweet tune from Mr. Benson.

"I'm Gonna Make You Mine", Lou Christie

2011-03-13T22:00:00.000-04:00

I am freakishly attracted to this video.

Even Bobby Flay Appreciates a Classic

2011-03-13T21:38:00.000-04:00

Ciocia B

2011-02-26T20:34:00.006-05:00

A rather wonderful person left this planet today. The famous Aunt Bert (she of the Queens Aunts and better known by her gangsta name of Ciocia B) slipped away in her sleep in the wee hours of the morning. Bert was exuberant and enthusiastic and full of such buoyant interest in all doings in the life of her loved ones and of her local community. She was the glue, the actual glue, of the family and tonight I have been wrestling with the outcome of her loss not just to the family, but to the many people whose lives she's impacted. She was practically a legend in the Queens community that she lived in for nearly 70 years. I have been incredibly sad today, had a few spontaneous crying jags (one on the streets of the Upper West Side this afternoon--so unseemly!) but I can't imagine how our lives as the East Coast family will cohese without her. She was an ageless imp, a generous soul and someone I loved very much.

There is so much I could and should write about her. I will, but in the meantime I refer you to a previous post written on her birthday in 2008.

Rest in peace, Ciocia. We love you.

So I Sorta Need to Blog Again

2011-02-21T20:54:00.001-05:00

I haven't blogged for awhile. I admit my job, a primary precedent, has come first and can be a demanding mistress. I have adopted two dogs under the age of one that are rather demanding of my home time. I have yet to engage a housekeeper to alleviate me of the housework that mounts every week. In short, I have no time these days for the luxury of blogging.

But I kinda need to blog. There is alot going on and this is really my only outlet.

So as my friend Mamela suggests, I'll bottom line it for you all:

-So excited about Spring fashion. I love the excessive displays of white, platform wedge heels, jewel color palettes, nudes and leather.I need to go shopping.
-Almost bought a shearling jacket yesterday. It was Euro-trash fabulous, but I bought a wool jacket instead. Tahari, on sale for $79.00. A steal.
-The dogs are taking over my home life. They've trashed the apartment and chewed up all of my Persian rugs. On the upside, they are incredibly popular among the doormen, neighbors, transients and bodega owners on the block.
-I decided to compile my resume. The last time I did so was ten years ago. It's really hard to remember what you were doing during the Millennium, besides panicking.
-I had a pedicure. Because the winter has been cruel, it took the technician an hour to razor all the dead skin off of my heels.
-Did I mention that I have two dogs? Yeah, I am sleeping four hours a night.
-And now the youngest dog is humping my leg. And it's a female.
-I just read that Marcus Samuelsson just opened a branch of his Red Rooster restaurants in Harlem. I must go. Soon. Very soon.
-Starting my kickboxing again. I expect my first foray into grappling will result in a proper ass kicking. Give me time.
-I still hate, no, deplore, male drivers in BMWs with New Jersey plates. You bastards wil burn in Hell.
-There's a joint in Harlem that names its chicken & waffles entree after the Rev. Al Sharpton. I agree. Stacked high and full of additives

And on to another week.

Attitude

2011-01-07T20:11:00.000-05:00

For some reason, on this week back to work when the majority of my colleagues have had ten days or so off for the holidays, tempers are at a fevered pitch and people are leaping into conversations demonstrably hostile. Really? What's that about? Please, people. This is only the first week of a very long year. Save your angst up for the things that might actually matter in the full year. You will probably need it.

Since I'm not feeling your bluster, I'll let NWA do the talking for me.

I Discovered Glenn Gould Last Night

2010-12-28T19:59:00.000-05:00

Thanks to a fascinating epsiode of "American Masters" last night, I discovered the eccentric genius that was Glenn Gould. OK, so he was Canadian. But Lord, the brother could play.

Snow-Tastic

2010-12-27T15:35:00.007-05:00

We had one of the worst blizzards to hit Manhattan in recorded history (or so New York 1 News says). 20 inches of snow and 50 mph winds engulfed this gentle island, swirling large quantities of icy flakes onto the City overnight.

I had a dentist appointment in Chelsea at 9:00 am today. For those of you not acquainted with the geography of the Island, that meant I had to go 138 blocks downtown to get to my appointment. I never break appointments and I am never late to appointments so to accommodate the inclement weather, I left my building at 7:45 am.

The roads had yet to be plowed. The sidewalks were even worse. Stepping out onto the street, I stepped into a snowdrift and dropped in past my knees. Walking in the middle of the street was the only recourse to getting to the subway. It seemed a sound idea--there was no traffic on the street at all and many other hapless pedestrians attempted to do the same thing.

When I reached the subway, the steps were coated with snow and ice. I gripped the railing with both hands and inched my way down, like a hiker would descend Everest. Once in the station, I was exasperated to see that the station floor and the subway platform (this being indoor) was covered in a layer of snow. I went to the station agent, sequestered behind a thick layer of glass in the station booth. When I complained about the liability of injury sure to occur and the possible lawsuits that would be inflicted on the MTA, she nodded indifferently. Really? Really?!?

I made my way to Chelsea. Upon exiting the subway, I was greeted with a winter wonderland.

The roads were empty so I walked down the center of 19th Street, passing a few people making their way down the street, some on skis. At one point, a snowplow came up behind me and I clamored onto a snowdrift to get out of the way. I became trapped in the drift (entrenched mid-thigh) but the charity of a large, handsome young man who offered me his hand soon had me safely on a small portion of cleared sidewalk. I pressed on, arriving at my dentist's office at 8:50 am. The steps were covered with snow. The lights were off. The door was locked. Then my cell phone rang-the receptionist was calling (presumably from her home) to tell me that the dental office was closed and they would need to reschedule my appointment. Really? Really?!?

I continued to walk to 5th Avenue. There were a few stalwarts laboring up the street. I saw a man and his young daughter sledding down 6th Avenue. An errant plow made its way down 21st Street. I stole into the only open establishment I could find: one of those New York delis that offers you everything from egg sandwiches to pizza to filet mignon dinners. When I walked in, there were only two people working there. The food cases, usually aplenty with sushi and sandwiches and pre-mixed salads, was empty. I ordered a bagel and coffee. I tried to buy a NY Post but the weather had prevented any newspapers from being delivered so instead, I read a week old Village Voice.

I ventured out again. By now, there were copious workers on the street clearing sidewalks and spreading salt. I made my way to 23rd Street and caught the subway to the Upper West Side. After all my morning duress I needed a manicure.

No. Such. Luck.

The subway steps at 86th Street were even more treacherous. I saw a woman slide down a portion of them and fall hard. Several commuters (including me) helped her up. She seemed in pain. In my thoughtless wisdom I said to her, "Sue the MTA." She nodded. I hope she'll do it, poor thing.

On the streets of the Upper Westside, I was alarmed to see the streets looking even more dismal than in my neighborhood. The snowdrifts at the intersections were voluminous. Scaling them required ice hooks. I wandered around the neighborhood but a great deal of establishments were closed. I tried three nail salons--all closed. I went to my usual cafe for coffee--closed. The news stand was closed. The groceries were all closed. I finally stumbled upon Zabar's, mercifully open. I purchased some items there to make dinner and headed home.

After carefully scaling the steps at the subway, I headed home. I do like the snow but please--what's an urbanite to do on a day like this?

Scout's First Snow

2010-12-26T18:49:00.002-05:00

Scout (at 8 months) is experiencing her first walk in snow. Welcome to East Coast living, my furry companion.

No Scrubs

2010-12-17T21:37:00.000-05:00

I've always liked TLC--this song is a particular favorite.

Only in New York

2010-12-17T21:15:00.004-05:00

A new Charmin (as in toilet paper) concept store opened up in Times Square today. It offers toilet space for visitors to the area. The overall space smells like talcum powder and the stalls are equipped with, of course, copious amounts of Charmin toilet paper.

Don't feel like waiting on line? This gentleman can accommodate you.

Family History

2010-11-27T17:29:00.007-05:00

Recently, I have developed a lovely interaction with my cousin Luke on Facebook. Luke is a college student in the UK. He's on the light side of 20, tall, dark and very handsome. He has the good fortune of inheriting the best genes from both of his parents. He's thoughtful, sensitive and rather adorable. I have grown quite fond of him. We were never exposed to one another during my many family gathering trips to the UK but now, thanks to the power of social networking, we've now connected and become quite good friends.

Our shared family history is complicated. I never actually articulated it but during an exchange on Facebook chat recently, I had a sense that maybe Luke didn't know the whole history of our family. So I'll try to explain it here.

My maternal grandmother, Hilda (above), was one of the strongest women I've ever known. She had a bluntness that would cut through mere mortals like a knife but she was also a person who was fiercely loyal, deeply loving and as protective as a lioness. Hilda operated a cafe in the New Cross section of London in the 1930s. Her husband (and my grandfather) Albert Edgar was traveling on a yearlong world tour playing football/soccer on behalf of HRH King George. It was clearly the defining period of his life.

In his absence, Hilda held the fort in London with my mother and aunt. World War II and the Blitz of London took place. I heard horror stories throughout my childhood of homes being bombed out, of dismembered bodies in the street, of hunger, poverty and fear. I remember all of these tales and felt grateful that I had safety, comfort and sustenance every night. I remember all of her stories still--quite vividly.

Hilda was a tough old broad and I adored her. She lived with us many years in our home in California. I never quite understood about her husband(s), but when I was old enough, the truth came out.

Edgar (as she called him) came back from his glorious world tour to a wife and children in a war-torn London. He had met another woman, a young girl named Phyllis. Phyllis was very young but apparently had a charm that was irresistible to Edgar. She soon became pregnant.

When Hilda learned of this great matter, she said (in her usual frank fashion), "Well, Edgar--You've simply got to marry the girl." He divorced my grandmother and married Phyllis. It was a marriage that yielded three children and became a lifelong and very happy marriage.

So what did Hilda do? She married again, a man named Fred Wheeler. It was by all accounts a happy marriage although she soon saw her daughters marry an American (my dad) and a Dutchman (my uncle) And soon after, her daughters moved to California. Hilda couldn't bear the separation from her daughters. When the daughters encouraged her to move to California, she implored Mr. Wheeler. He was unmoved--he would never leave Britain. And in true Hilda fashion, she left Mr. Wheeler, packed her bags and moved to America. Permanently. She never returned to Britain for the rest of her life. I have no clue what happened to Mr. Wheeler or if they ever divorced, but I do know this--my Grandma was my hero. That woman had balls.

I grew up with Hilda in the house. She could be harsh and she could be loving. It didn't matter. I adored her completely. She was frank in sharing the hardships of her life. She told me war stories that kept me awake for days. I loved it when she would make a cuppa (tea) and we'd sit in the kitchen and talk. We'd putter together in the garden and she taught me so much about plants and flowers.She was a woman who didn't go beyond the 6th grade in school, but she read Webster's Dictionary as part of her daily progress and endeavored to complete the New York Times crossword every day. She usually killed it.

I was on a fight from California to New Jersey when I heard she had died at age 87. I screamed out in anguish at Newark Airport. It was a bad moment but I was beyond distraught to lose such a pivotal force in my life.

She was cremated and buried in a rather pristine vault in a mortuary in Palm Springs, California.I visit it occasionally when I get to the West Coast. Her physical remians mean nothing; her lessons mean everything.

They always will.

Hello, holidays.

2010-11-26T22:37:00.002-05:00

The dog has already eviscerated a stuffed Rudolph. And it's not even December.

The Clash - Rock The Casbah

2010-11-26T22:33:00.000-05:00

If you can get past the commercialism, enjoy this perfect 80s standard. Agreed--don't think it's kosher.

Thankful

2010-11-25T18:55:00.002-05:00

Another Thanksgiving done and in the books. We went, as we always do, to the Aunts house in Queens. This trio of women are getting on in years (now respectively 89, 91 and 95 years old). They always refuse our offer to host Thanksgiving or to do the cooking for Thanksgiving (and bring it to their house). However, the heavy lifting of feeding a group of people is becoming burdensome so this year (a first) they catered part of the meal. They ordered a turkey, gravy, stuffing, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie from a local Italian place in Maspeth. We went and picked it up on our way in.

However, as expected, they personally cooked a plethora of steamed root vegetables and the dreaded sweet potatoes coated with marshmallow, a foodstuff I will never consume. As we sat down to our meal, we discussed the usual topics: local sports, politics, their recollections of New York during the Aunts' younger years, health issues, flashers on the New York subway and The Purina National Dog Show (coincidentally also on the television; congratulations to the Best In Show Golden Retriever).

The scrutiny of the catered food was the highlight. As people get older, the world gets narrower. The key aspects of conversation focus on the weather, food (their last meal and when one might have their next meal) and health issues. I've learned not to ask Aunt Fran how she's doing. It becomes a 30 minute discourse.

So here are some highlights from the dinner conversation.

Aunt Fran: Oh this turkey tastes strange.
Aunt Stella: (exasperated) Why does it taste strange, Fran? It tastes very delicious.
Aunt Fran: It has some weird spice on it.
Cousin Barbara: I think it has some sage and thyme on it.
Aunt Fran: Why do people need to over spice meat? That whole spicing thing is too much.
Cousin Barbara: Thyme and sage are pretty traditional seasonings for turkey.
Aunt Fran: Not in my day. This is pretty spicy.
Aunt Stella: For Crissakes, Fran! It's traditional turkey. Just eat it.

Aunt Stella: This gravy is very thin.
Aunt Bert: Maybe they forgot to stir it and left all the thick part at the bottom of the pan.
Aunt Stella: It needs more flour.
Cousin Barbara: Maybe they made it more thin. They are Italians.
Aunt Stella: Who needs this watery stuff for gravy? It should be thick.
Aunt Fran: The turkey is over seasoned. The gravy doesn't help that.

Aunt Bert: Who wants pumpkin pie?
Aunt Fran: I do!
Aunt Stella: It looks strange, Bert. It's pretty brown.
(Slices are doled out)
Aunt Fran: Oh, this is awful. It's too sweet.
Aunt Bert: It's a nice crust. But it is too sweet. We should have gotten our pumpkin pie from John's Bakery. The do a nice pie.
Aunt Stella: This is no good.

Aunt Fran: Can I have more cauliflower, please?
Aunt Stella: I'm glad you like my vegetables, Fran.
Aunt Fran: I like this because this is how food should taste. We were poor when we grew up and food was plain and wholesome.
Me: You mean bland?
Aunt Fran: Wholesome. And without all that sage and thyme stuff.

My world. Welcome to it.

Time Does Fly

2010-11-23T18:20:00.003-05:00

It's been two months since I've posted anything to this blog and indeed, I have felt the absence of the routine of my evening writing ritual. I started this process as a means of therapy--to unwind after the mundane stresses of the day, to record those things observed during daily rituals, to recollect meandering thoughts. I've missed this personal discourse. Like all good and grounding things, I've come back to it.

So in the time that I've been absent, a few things have taken place.

-We adopted said dog in my last post. This wily canine, dubbed Scout, has essentially taken over my home, upturned my life and captured my heart. She's a fuzzy muzzled devil who during the course of a routine walk will greet every person and creature on the street with furiously wagging nub tail. To curl up every night in bed with this salt and pepper ball of fur nestled against my belly makes me very happy. Here are gratuitous photos:

-The commute to work still sucks because Greenwich, Connecticut drivers should not be allowed on the highway. Seriously. There is a reason that the Post Road is still open. You people need to use it.

-I've kept all the weight I lost last year off. Miraculously. It must be a tapeworm.

-I still hate the rain. I know it is a critical element for maintaining life on Earth as we know it, but I still hate it.

-I am still incredibly vexed by male drivers in BMWs with Jersey plates. They live up to their reputations everyday.

-I confess, I haven't been to my waxer for months, but honestly, she scares me. She gets crazy with the gauze strips.

-We are thinking about getting a second dog. And a Christmas tree. This could be bad.

-I have resisted purchasing Stuart Weitzman's leopard wedge boots this season. It's killing me. They're fucking fierce.

-In the end, I decided against attending my 30th high school reunion in California. Out of a class of 700+ graduates, 60 people attended. There was not much gossip that arose from those who actually showed up, but I wanted to be there and now I'm rather sad I did not go. I hope I will still be alive to attend the 40th.

-I have a new attendant in the garage where I park my car. His name is Mohamed and he is known for his backhanded compliments (usually about my age). I toyed with starting a blog called "Shit Mohamed Says" but, please,that's been done. More on Mohamed to come in future posts.

-I still have good hair...which helps, since everything else is going south.

-The lure of fried food lingers still, but it's been ages since I've had real chicken and waffles. The Southern Kitchen on 125th and Amsterdam (where they had kick ass pecan waffles and buttermilk fried chicken)has since closed. I am thinking of wrangling Hollaback and Christo for a road trip to Brooklyn (KitchenBar is noted for this intoxicating combo).

-We're going to Aunt Bert and Aunt Stella's for Thanksgiving. Of course we are. My colon needs cleansing. In truth, I love and adore these amazing women. But I am also desperate to cook and host Thanksgiving one time in my life myself. I have reconciled myself to the fact this will never happen until these grand dames pass away. It's okay--I can wait.

-Did I mention we have a dog? There are lots of cute men at the dog run who like my dog. That doesn't suck.

-I still see the silver lining. I think that is probably my only redeeming trait. I'll take it.

Our New Addition

2010-09-10T20:15:00.002-04:00

Tomorrow I will be adopting a new pet: a minature schnauzer, 5 months old, whom we've already named Scout. I've always loved dogs and this little critter makes me very happy indeed. She's playful, social and very affectionate. And this means dog playdates with my pet owner friends. Really, it's all good. Watch this space for gratuitous cute dog photos.

Song of the Week

2010-08-20T20:57:00.000-04:00

I know Kanye can be an ass but I still love this song.

Brunch

2010-08-15T17:42:00.002-04:00

Hollaback and her girl Claudia hosted a lovely brunch today in her fabulous apartment in Inwood (a part of Manhattan that no one seems to know). There was an incredible buffet of food: a massive ham, two kinds of baked egg dishes, multiple salads, a buffet of baked goods and many choices of beverages. It was a warm day and the apartment was packed with fabulous, interesting people. I caught up with former colleagues and fond friends. The only downside--when people asked me about my life, I didn't have much to say. My personal life, my work life--not much to say there. Good thing the conversation focused on things like theater, film, food and culture. That I can talk about at length. And I did, Here are a few of my fondest homies.Christo and Tyrone--two fellows I adore.The fabulous Jewels.My delightful hosts.

The Next Generation of Sandwiches

2010-08-11T20:50:00.003-04:00

Denny's new value menu: Fried Cheese Melt | Nation's Restaurant News Oh. My. God. I don't know if I love these or if I am revolted. Denny's is introducing a grilled cheese sandwich with fried mozarella sticks embedded inside. It sounds like cheesy goodness from the broader view; it sounds like a cholesterol bomb/heart attack from my growing middle age view. Regardless, these $4 Denny's offerings are noteworthy and outrageous enough to warrant the post. So, what do you think? http://eater.com/archives/2010/08/10/the-fried-cheese-melt-from-dennys-sneaks-mozzarella-sticks-in-your-grilled-cheese.php

My Best Childhood Memory Ever

2010-08-08T21:56:00.000-04:00

As Long As He Needs Me

2010-08-08T20:25:00.000-04:00

There Is A Goat In The Living Room

2010-08-07T18:55:00.000-04:00

Seems perfectly natural. There Is A Goat In The Living Room

Vakay

2010-08-06T22:46:00.005-04:00

Gratuitous family vacation pictures featured below.

Family

2010-08-06T22:41:00.002-04:00

A family visit can be exasperating. It requires copious expense to entertain. It requires upturning the very existence you know. It requires patience for the added noise, distraction and mess. And don't you know, it results in missing them quite alot once they leave.

More Smartass than Mensa

2010-07-23T20:53:00.003-04:00

The Washington Post's Mensa Invitational again invited readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition. Here are the winners:

1. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period of time.

2. Ignoranus : A person who's both stupid and an asshole.

3. Intaxicaton : Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.

4. Reintarnation : Coming back to life as a hillbilly.

5. Bozone ( n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.

6. Foreploy : Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.

7. Giraffiti : Vandalism spray-painted very, very high

8. Sarchasm : The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.

9. Inoculatte : To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.

10. Osteopornosis : A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)

11. Karmageddon : It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.

12. Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.

13. Glibido : All talk and no action.

14. Dopeler Effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.

15. Arachnoleptic Fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.

16. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito, that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.

17. Caterpallor ( n.): The color you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you're eating.

My House of Memories

2010-07-21T21:20:00.005-04:00

I grew up in California's Central Valley. My Dad was a third generation member of this community. My grandfather Manuel (affectionately nicknamed "Babe") was also born in Central California. His kin, as much as I know of it, were native Californians. That's a proud history when it comes to California. It's a relatively young state--unlike New England, there are no Mayflower residents with 300 year family histories and rarefied pedigrees. Anyone who can demonstrate three plus generations in California are, I've found, rare commodities. So it was no wonder my grandfather had more than a modicum of Cherokee blood in him. But that's another story (and the stuff of uncomfortable family history).

I set this background because I am watching a biography of Merle Haggard on "American Masters" on PBS. Merle was also a native of Central California (Bakersfield, specifically), a product of a family migrating from the Dust bowl during the Depression. My father was an enthusiastic fan of Merle's songs when I was growing up and hearing them tonight brought back very vivid memories of my father happily harmonizing along with Merle's songs when they played on the radio. I remembered the words to them all.

My father's favorite song was "Okie From Muskogee." Ironically, the term "okie" was a derogatory term in my house. It was applied to those people who were considered country-folk, essentially non-sophisticated people who wore polyester and ate white bread and Tuna Helper. Growing up, I never made the distinction of this snobbery nor did I recognize the true genus of the term till I was in my late teens.

Native Californians take much pride in their place in the landscape of their state. They resent interlopers. The intrusion of the migrating Midwesterners during the Depression created many generations of resentment.

When I was teenager, I had a bumper sticker on my car. It read: "Welcome to California. Now go home." The message at that time was (for me) my personal protest at the rapidly growing population of the Golden State and the resulting traffic, housing price explosion and the like.

My dad once commented on the sticker and we discussed the population explosion in the state. "The same thing happened during The Depression," he said. It made me realize that one's homestead is never exclusive. I'm living proof. I've since invaded multiple states myself and know the feeling of being initially an interloper, but soon after, part of the natural landscape.

This PBS program is stirring up some strong memories for me tonight. And if you were wondering, "My House of Memories" is a another wonderful Haggard standard.

They Love Me In Japan

2010-07-20T20:48:00.002-04:00

Pardon the indulgence, but I need to have a private word with my Japanese contingency.
私は失礼であることを望みません、しかし私はスパマーが好きではありません。もしあなたがスパマーでなくて、そしてこのブログを楽しむ読者であるなら、あなたは英語で親切にコメントすることができますか？

Roscoe's Revenge

2010-07-19T19:38:00.003-04:00

We had a bed bug crisis in my apartment building last year. I was impressed that the apartment management rose so quickly to the crisis and utilized the services of a professional bed bug service. The service employed a bed bug sniffing beagle named Roscoe who quickly sussed out problem areas that were immediately treated. In a course of a few months, the building was deemed clean. Thank you, intrepid Roscoe, for your skills in helping a 222 unit building eradicate this crisis.

Roscoe had his revenge today.

A note was slid under my apartment door from the building Board of Directors. Apparently, the cost to resolve this problem was nearly $80K and our current maintenance payments aren't exactly going to cover it. The Board had apparently voted to impose an easement for three months to all tenants to cover this incremental cost. So, hello, please add an additional $800 a month to your current maintenance to cover our costs and with our thanks.

If I get so much as an ankle itch in the next weeks, there will be hell to pay.

Street Food

2010-07-18T18:22:00.002-04:00

I grew up as squarely middle class so street food was a normal experience for me. Food cooked on the street on a mobile flat top grill tastes good. I haven't had a sausage, a gyro, a falafel, shish kabob or a fish and rice combo plate that I haven't enjoyed. I am a fan of the NYC Halal food wagon experience.

I discussed this with a few of my Connecticut based colleagues recently. They opined that the idea of eating from a street wagon was repulsive. They felt it was a recipe for salmonella. I found this exasperating--I am living proof that street food won't kill you. This is tasty, soulful, delicious food. It just happens that it is cooked in a venue that is visible to the consumer.

You people don't know what you're missing. I am enjoying grilled chicken and peppers from a street wagon tonight for dinner and it is absolutely delicious.

Fascinating

2010-07-16T23:10:00.003-04:00

Ptak Science Books: Selling to Simple Women, 1939: "She's Not Interested in Bloody Meat"

No Bridge

2010-07-15T21:29:00.003-04:00

Fang and I are watching a reality dance show. This is the results show so the producers are dragging out the program in order to flesh out the hour. Various sundry artists are performing in order to flesh out the program. One performer (whose name I don't remember) performed a song that originally debuted on this show. This performer had been a waitress and her song, performed a week prior, had elicited 100K downloads of the song (by virtue of her exposure on the show). Great success story, no?

I objectively listened to the song. It was sound. But the song was pieced together by virtue of a mish-mash of the verse and the chorus. I'm no musical genius but I do know this...without a catchy bridge, you got nothing. And this had nothing.

I always loved that bit in "This Is Spinal Tap" when the character Nigel Tufnel said, "It's part of a trilogy, a musical trilogy I'm working on in D minor which is the saddest of all keys, I find. People weep instantly when they hear it, and I don't know why. "

That saddest note, that change, would be The Bridge.

California Gurls

2010-07-14T21:59:00.002-04:00

I'm proud to be a California Girl. And I appreciate this summer anthem and validation of our kin. But I'm posting the video mostly because I know The Fisherman will like all the skin and obvious sexual references.

Back in the Saddle Again

2010-07-13T20:25:00.003-04:00

Softball season is now in full gear. I'm a mediocre player at best, but as I always say, what I lack in talent I make up in enthusiasm. I enjoy the simple bonding with my colleagues, working together to make some attempt at defensive play and actually making contact with the bat. We enjoy each other as friends and appreciate the time to get together as a cohesive team.

We've played two games so far. The opponents from our first game were ringers. I guarantee it. It was a painful slaughter, calling forth the mercy rule in the fourth inning. Final score: 22 to 1. We played again last night and here, we exhibited better hitting and somewhat improved defense. After seven innings, the final score was 22-40. Yes, you read that right.

I originally played catcher but was moved to second base because my catching skills are considered reasonable. I batted four times and had 3 RBIs. I was tagged out once at first base. I did hit the base but their baseman was there and called the tag so the umpire checked the call. In truth, I was tagged a split second before I hit the base and the evidence was the dust covered hand print from the first baseman on my thigh. I had to acknowledge it when called out. Reluctantly.

On two occasions that I was on base, I ignored the "hold" instructions from the base coach and advanced. And on both occasions, I was safe. The Man in Plaid instructed me on both cases and in both cases, I first took a sip of his beer (for he base coaches with a beer) and then promptly ignored his advice and ran. He gave me happy grief on this all day today. I gave him grief back--I mean, after all, I scored. I go with my gut and the team coach agreed. Props for the chicken.

Everyone played with great heart and conviction. And while we didn't win, we sustained some minor injuries (me included) but added a renewed determination to win. I don't know why, but damn, this is an awful lot of fun.

If I Were a Rich Man

2010-07-11T17:06:00.002-04:00

My favorite store in the City is Gracious Home. It's a wildly overpriced venue with luxurious home goods. They have Tumi luggage and expensive lighting; 900 thread count sheets and Swarovski encrusted silver frames. I buy candles here (at $35/each) because the scent is so gorgeous. And when I went there today to browse and fantasize, I was overcome by a staged bed with a deluxe embroidered silk white duvet, sequined pillows and faux fur throws on an antique brass bed. My Lord.

If my ship ever comes in, it will be spent at this establishment.

Mo Money, Mo Problems

2010-07-09T23:26:00.000-04:00

Damn, I miss Biggie. This song is a favorite.

Physical

2010-07-09T22:29:00.003-04:00

I'm hardly the athletic type but I do enjoy sports. I am fully appreciative of exercise but I appreciate exercise more when I don't know I am doing it. That's perhaps been my objection to joining a gym. I have joined gyms in my life and have diligently participated in a routine, if only to assuage my personal guilt for the large monthly fee I have paid to be there. But rote routine is not interesting to me and for that very reason, I eventually resign my reason for attending.

In my life, I have had periods of physical regime that has provided enjoyment while providing the exercise one attributes necessary to reasonable fitness. I spent seven years dancing with a folk ensemble, which required bi-weekly rehearsals and weekly paid performances. That was arduous work and it kept me in rather fit shape. Once that was over, I spent my spare time playing tennis. I did that for several years and developed a serviceable forearm. After that phase, I took up yoga. This was something I was well suited to, being fairly flexible by nature. I still enjoy it when I take the time to do it. Following this, I engaged in kick boxing. I really enjoyed boxing and especially, grappling (a form of martial arts wrestling). I was quite adept at grappling and the women I trained with refused to partner with me because I was too rough. When my tenure was in its halcyon days, I would train with men. And some of them, I beat. I loved beating the men. I admit it.

And now I'm ready for my next sport. I do play softball with the company team. I'm not a natural at it but as I always say, what I lack in talent I make up in enthusiasm. The truth is, I have a great interest in taking up golf. It's not wildly physical but the pastoral aspects and the physical control of the game does interest me. And I would walk the course. That's 18 holes of exercise. I'm already investigating training.

Half Century Reality Check

2010-07-07T21:00:00.003-04:00

When I was 18 and freshly prepped to head off the college, I had compiled a rather ambitious list of what I wanted the broad parameter of my life to be. My list was rather decisive and now, 30 years on, I remember it still.

It was quite specific. I felt in those halcyon days that I could easily accomplish the following:

-To be the editor of the New York Times.
-To marry at age 25 and honeymoon in Venice, Italy.
-To have three children, all sons, who were all artistic geniuses and devoted to me.
-To retain my figure at a size 6.
-To have multiple residences and to travel extensively.
-To work 9 to 5 only and to enjoy my vacation time and weekends as fully as my parents did.
-To write The Great American Novel by the time I was 50 (thereby launching a new career).

I am now 48 years old and I haven't accomplished any of these lofty goals. Specifically:

-I veered from the path of journalism (to my Father's disappointment) in favor of making a salary that actually paid the rent. I figured a stint in sales would eventually be abandoned in favor of the noble pursuit of content excellence. I haven't made my way back, sadly. I do rue that I resigned this path, but I was tired of substituting coffee filters for toilet paper and I needed to make a living. I don't think I especially excelled in sales, but I was a natural for financial management and building business relationships and these skills did portend a path into corporate management. In the rare moment of personal introspection, I think I did this job well.

-I didn't marry until I was 30 years old. The wedding was unconventional and the honeymoon, non existent. I still haven't seen Venice.

-I did not have children, to my very deep disappointment. But if I did, I know they would have been artistic geniuses.

-I haven't been a size 6 since high school. I knew it wouldn't last.

-So I do have multiple residences: a house I'm renting in the San Francisco Bay Area and a co-op in New York City. And should there one day be a fruitful real estate market again, I would sell both these residences in a heartbeat and buy a farm in Vermont. And a few dozen goats.

-I have traveled extensively. That I am grateful for. I would like to travel more.

-In today's world, there is no such thing as a 9 to 5 work schedule. Thanks to today's technology and the new workplace dichotomy, there is no such thing as uninterrupted vacations. That world is gone and my parents are spinning in their graves. I'm glad, at least, that they enjoyed this aspect in their lifetimes.

-I have two years left to pen my tome. I haven't surrendered this objective just yet. I'd like to do so on my goat farm in Vermont.

A girl can still dream. I still do.

Hot Summer Day

2010-07-06T21:05:00.002-04:00

It was a true hot summer day--one worthy of the sluggishly soulful classic from Sly & The Family Stone's "Hot Fun in the Summertime." I had to work, of course, and I did so in the comfort of a sterile and insulated office environment which featured central air conditioning. However, I did have to come and go in the swelter to get to work.

I wore a whiff of a sleeveless sheath dress and flip flops to work. When I exited my building for the four block slog to the garage, the heat was already palatable. I turned onto a side street. The garbage collection trucks were already there, collecting piles of black plastic bags of waste. The refuse collectors saw me and waved, wishing me a good morning. "Drink lots of water today" one yelled at me with a wink, "it's gonna be a hot one!" And indeed, he was not kidding. It was already 88 degrees at 7 am. The collected garbage on the street smelled oppressive. I caught the scent of rotting food and coffee and dog shit. It was horrific. And there was no hint of breeze. I walked as fast as I could uphill to get to the garage.

There's a hard and fast rule which is true. The parking garage where I house my reliable Angus is ten degrees hotter in the Summer and ten degrees colder in the Winter. It was oppressive when I walked in this morning. My dress clung to every part of me like a piece of Saran Wrap. Any make up that I had applied had dripped off my face. I was sweating in places I didn't know a person could sweat. All I know is that I wanted to get in my car and blast the AC at sub-zero temperatures. Immediately.

I was approached by the current garage attendant, Mohamed. He was in a chatty mood. Me, not so much. I was soaking wet. As he rambled on in his usual stream of consciousness way, I felt the urgency to be abrupt. I said I was late (a lie) and had to go. Truth is, I was about to faint in a pool of middle aged sweltering.

Once within the comforting and air conditioned confines of Angus, I felt better. I looked like shit with all my make up sweated off, but I felt better.

I spent the day in relative comfort in the office. I knew hydration would be important today so I drank 100 ounces of water throughout the course of the day. I confess I was peeing like an incontinent but I was confident I was replenishing appropriately. When I landed back in Manhattan tonight, it was nearly 100 degrees at 7:30 pm. When I arrived at the garage, Mohamed was there. Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the Donkey they rode in on.

Mohamed attempted to engage me in idle conversation in that sweltering garage which felt like Satan's Sauna. He was complaining about the heat and his discomfort. I finally blurted out, "Yes, it's hot. Which is why I need to leave this fucking garage. Right now." I don't think he appreciated that. He frowned in that rather earnest but reserved way that polite foreigners do.

As I walked home, I saw fire hydrants opened at every block and children cavorted in joyful fashion in the fanning spray. I saw four hydrants opened and water flowing rhythmically down the streets to the Hudson in a rather pretty dance.

And my goddammed dress was stuck to me like Saran Wrap.

Bermuda

2010-07-05T19:43:00.006-04:00

Well after the fact. It was a fantastic vacation.

Summertime

2010-07-05T19:32:00.002-04:00

In my hood, when the mercury soars, the only real relief comes from the vigilante action of opening a fire hydrant. Today the temperatures rose to nearly 100 degrees and my neighbors did what came naturally. The water flowed down Riverside Drive like the Colorado rapids. People cavorted in the cold flow of rushing water. I even dangled my feet for a moment and it felt glorious. So here it is--summertime.

Independence Day

2010-07-04T18:11:00.003-04:00

Hello Fourth of July. We spent the day in Queens ministering to the Aunts and eating Polish food. I made a red velvet cake which I decorated as the American flag--I consider this my personal homage to Jasper Johns. Hope your day was glorious.

I'm Just a Dandelion

2010-07-02T21:24:00.000-04:00

I am watching "The Wizard of Oz" tonight for perhaps the 98th time. And here is the reason I watch it every single time...Bert Lahr's over the top performance as the Cowardly Lion. Pure genius.

Fire Island

2010-06-27T22:19:00.006-04:00

I love this special sanctuary. However, I can barely move after two days of beach yoga.

A Breaky-Break

2010-06-24T21:57:00.002-04:00

All work and no play makes this chicken a rather dull piece of poultry.

Enter our friend Boychick and his delightful spouse S-S-S-S-Sylvia. He invited Fang and me to a getaway to their weekend home on Fire Island. Don't ask me twice. I am packed. I have four swimsuits at the ready. And in the am, I am getting a bikini wax. Am I beach ready? Oh, you bet your ass I am.

There will be beach yoga at the crack of dawn on Saturday. There will be bike rides along the island parameter. There will be a cookout of seafood. There will be the march to the shore with evening cocktails on Saturday night. And I hope there will be peace of mind as the ferry steams back to Long Island on Sunday night.

I've already bought a bottle of Grey Goose, several bottles of Pinot Noir and French Rose. I have a food basket of kosher deli items for lunches. And I'm so lucky to have such special friends who want to share their home with us this weekend.

Can't wait to go.

The Intimacy of A Moment

2010-06-23T21:16:00.003-04:00

There's a gorgeous moment when you're in a crowded group and you catch someone, usually unintentionally, in an intimate moment. It's a special moment and the catch is--you relish it personally as they embrace it personally. And the object of this observation has no realization of the impact they impart.

I had this experience today and I rather savored it. In a rare occurrence, I was working in the City and rode a subway jam packed full of humanity in the evening. With the distractions of many people of many sizes in multi-colored hues of attire and accessories, I spied an unremarkable young man. He was perched on a seat deeply engrossed in a thin tome. That's right--a bona fide book. Not a Kindle, not an iPad, nor a Sony Reader, a Kindle DX or a Mivizu. A real book with pages and binding and--shock of all shocks--a hard back.

He was not distracted by the scores of people pushing on and off the train. He caressed the volume and read deeply. I studied his face, fascinated by the absolute engrossment of the story he was consuming. And then, the best moment of all. He began to smile. The corners of his thin mouth turned up and suddenly, he laughed out loud, completely unconcious of the masses around him. A reader in the moment.

I have done this myself, many times. If a story is so engrossing and well written, you're bound to be drawn in and become part of the scene itself. I have a memory of crying copiously while reading "Ethan Fromme" on the 1 train. People moved away from me.

After this young man reposed from his moment of mirth and set to return to his reading, his eye caught mine. Of course, I was trained on his reading (and I did so with jealously for his ability to detach and entrench himself in another world for the duration of his commute). I felt intrusive for imposing on his moment but I managed an acknowledging smile. He smiled back at me. He then returned to his book. And continued to read, reacting, enjoying, retreating into a world that clearly gave him a great deal of pleasure.

Now that I think of it, I should have written down the name of his book.

Reclaiming My Territory

2010-06-22T21:21:00.002-04:00

Hello, blog, my old friend. I've missed you.

I haven't actively blogged for a few months. I can't explain why. I can say my time has prioritized work necessities first and as a secondary release, for random pithy postings on Facebook. That's hardly an excuse. It would be easy to blame technology and 24/7 accessibility that starts to reshift one's priorities. There's truth there, but I am hardly blameless. I have re-prioritized and my life has become rather one sided.

However, I miss the freedom of expression that this blog provided me. It was my evening therapy session after work. It is my outlet to express that view which could rarely be shared in a work or politically correct environment. I'm stuck on the word "cathartic" tonight..and perhaps there is a reason why.

My good friend The Fisherman reminded me tonight that I need to keep contributing to this space, if only to keep entertaining the few people who come here to occasionally roost. That resonated. The discipline resonated. The release this provides resonated. I need to reclaim my minuscule portion of the blogosphere.

And God knows, I can't let my Asian audience down.

So I'll be doing some catch-up in the next few days. Be warned: this will include gratuitous holiday photos. Humor me.

Thanks for your support.

We're All Alone

2010-06-19T22:36:00.000-04:00

Genius.

This Is Why I Watch

2010-06-19T18:18:00.002-04:00

I have a serious addiction to "The Real Housewives" series on BRAVO. The final season of the New York version was beyond. The three part reunion was memorable; this send up is a little too close to the real thing. And who doesn't love that?

Joe Cocker - A Little Help From My Friends - Woodstock 1969

2010-05-28T20:19:00.000-04:00

Joe Cocker is a hero of mine. And hello, this is true soul (courtesy of his performance at Woodstock). Righteous.

Oh, why not?

2010-05-28T20:13:00.000-04:00

White funk. And why not?

Every Day Is Shatner Time

2010-05-21T21:53:00.000-04:00

Pair with a glass of wine and you're happily entrenched in Camp Central.

Flip Flops to Church

2010-05-20T21:41:00.004-04:00

What's wrong with society these days? There's no structure, there's no respect for social protocols and hello, fuck any standards of traditional ettiquette. I saw on "30 Rock" tonight that this metaphoirically translates to people wearing flip flops to church. Wow, that's good.

We're in a new world, people. And Emily Post is spinning in her grave.

Foolishly, this is prompting me to assume a personal and potentially useless new crusade. Everyone needs a hobby.

Pure Imagination

2010-05-19T22:29:00.000-04:00

When I was young, Raold Dahl's "Charlie & The Chocolate Factory" was an important book to me. I was reading it for the first time when my grandfather died. I have a clear memory of reading it while sitting vigil at my grandmother's house the day my Grandpa died. The fanciful characters and silly imagination was a welcome contrast to the shock of my first family death and that weird cold feeling from stilted dialogues in the wake of the body being taken out of the house. I was ten years old. I'm convinced that this book saved me from certain early-age trauma.

I re-read it many times over, including its subsequent sequel, but I always came back to the original book. I had vivid images in my mind of the characters and scenes, always appreciative of the absurdity of the context. It has a fond place in my heart.

Recently, some tech product commercial introduced a song from the 1970s musical film version of "Charlie & the Chocolate Factory." I liked the film when it came out (for it captured the surreal silliness of the novel that I loved) and I have watched the film several times over the past few years. The song utilized in the commercial was one of my favorites in the film and it made me sentimental for this comforting story.

So perhaps this is the power of commercials. That damned commercial pitching a product that I can't recall (OK, so not the most effective advertising) has prompted me to buy the film DVD (thank you, Amazon) and purchase the book to read again (thank you, Amazon). I don't think the advertiser will appreciate this, but Roald Dahl's estate will.

And because I can't get this song out of my head, please enjoy this scene from the film.

B.o.B - Nothin' On You ft. Bruno Mars [Official Video] - In Stores April...

2010-04-30T22:59:00.000-04:00

A Day With Purpose

2010-04-10T20:00:00.003-04:00

There's a lot to do today. I am on the verge of going on vacation and I am starting the day as a woman with purpose.

I got up at 8:00 am. I made coffee. I cleaned the kitchen and took out the recycling and trash. I booted my laptop and pulled out my work spreadsheets. I had some final schedules to compile to submit to my boss. I collated the detail, updated the Excel files, wrote narrative and supplied back up files and sent them off. I replied to emails that I had batched all day yesterday. I activated my work e-mail out of office message. That felt good.

I cleaned the bathrooms. I showered and dressed. I dropped the dry cleaning off. I caught the 1 train downtown. I bought a Venti bold at Starbuck's and got my hair blown out at Jeffrey Stein at 86th & Broadway. I went up to Columbus & 84th and had a manicure, pedicure and bikini wax (and hello, you can have thousands of these--they still hurt). I went to CVS and bought sunscreen. I caught the 1 train uptown.

I picked up last week's dry cleaning. I dusted and vacuumed and waxed the floors. I changed the sheets. I confirmed the mail and NY Times paper delivery was on hold. I fetched out the passports. I re-checked work email and responded to some messages. I went down to my building storage unit and plucked three sundresses, three pairs of shorts, a sarong and two pairs of sandals for my trip. And yes, I flirted with Juan The Doorman.

I only need to pack. And damn, that will be cake.

My First Crush

2010-04-10T00:12:00.002-04:00

I may have been all of eight years old when I first zeroed in on Bobby Sherman in the early 70s. Checking out this video many decades later, I think I was dead on. He's a rather sexy motherfucker.

Coffee

2010-04-07T21:50:00.002-04:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pUx5z9O2ZGkWhat do I value most about my husband? At the top of my list? He brings me coffee in bed. After 20 years, that ranks.

In A Week...

2010-04-06T22:05:00.001-04:00

I will be here. And I can't be here soon enough

Easter in Queens

2010-04-04T18:28:00.005-04:00

The beauty of nature in tandem with holiday decoration zeal. You gotta love Queens.

My Happy Place

2010-04-02T22:32:00.002-04:00

I quite like this gent's version of Jorge Ben's version of "Mas Que Nada." It captures the gentle simplicity of bossa nova.

Spring!

2010-04-02T21:30:00.003-04:00

Sweet melodies in the street. Flowers aplenty. Ice cream for everyone. It's offcially Spring!

Yes, It's Still Raining

2010-03-30T21:05:00.004-04:00

If this fucking rain and gale force winds don't end soon, I will hurt someone. Or shave my head. Or both.

Salt N Pepa - Shoop

2010-03-29T20:49:00.001-04:00

This classic song remains a personal favorite of mine. These girls like to talk about sex as much as I do.

This Was A Good Day

2010-03-28T18:04:00.004-04:00

The weather is dreary. It's cold and rainy and windswept. I went downtown for a blowout and my stylist told me that her 11 year old son had been arrested for bringing a switchblade to school. Artie's Diner was out of matzo ball soup. I couldn't find my favorite soy crisps at Whole Foods. The 1 train wasn't running on a regular schedule because there was a police incident (two people killed on the line this morning) so I had to walk 10 blocks to catch the train uptown. My favorite wine store still doesn't have Mas de Gourgonnier rose in stock. And I'm between clothing sizes--nothing fits right so I can't go shopping. It's pointless. I'm going home.

I walked into my building and my favorite doorman, Juan, was just walking in for duty. He was still in his street clothes and I couldn't help but notice the fly on his jeans was unzipped.

This was a very good day.

Broke Ass Holiday

2010-03-24T21:24:00.001-04:00

My new favorite song,

Bookmark This Site

2010-03-23T21:25:00.002-04:00

From You Park like an Asshole:

Your shrink appointment’s at 4 p.m. You leave the house at 3:20 p.m. and live approximately 22 minutes away (HopStop says so).

So why are you late? Because Moron Cantdriverstein took a whopping two spots for his Range Rover, and there’s no space for your dumb smart car. Time for him to die.

It’s not worth going to jail. Give him a message from youparklikeanasshole.com instead. Just head to the site and print out some PDFs with phrases on them like: two spots, one car; ummm … a little too close; that’s a compact?; And over the painted lines. When the situation arises, check the appropriate boxes and leave the note on the violator’s windshield.

While it won’t fix your current predicament, it will mitigate your rage. And keep you out of anger management.

Check it out at youparklikeanasshole.com.

Paintng Landscapes With Bob Ross

2010-03-22T21:19:00.001-04:00

Damn, I miss this guy. He was like PBS sponsored relaxation therapy.

We're ..Siblings.

2010-03-21T19:28:00.011-04:00

My brother Marv. God knows, he tolerates me. So when I discovered a site that allows me to insert his face into a series of photos, I'll do it. And then email it out to all his friends. He's going to kill me.

He does make a rather fetching Mona Lisa, don't you think?

Buziness

2010-03-19T18:18:00.003-04:00

I have always been fascinated by the use of buzzwords in business patois. Usually, the term is introduced from the head of the business and it spreads virally like an airborne infection. Everyone incorporates it as part of everyday speak and it morphs into the language of the business culture. A great example here is "transparency."

In business today, we routinely use words like: analytics, bandwidth, best practices, dovetail, circleback, core competencies, drink the Kool-Aid, granular, knowledge process outsourcing, metrics, long tail, mission critical, sustainability, offline, client-centric, convo and agnostic.

Looking at the new breed of buzzwords, I see a few head turners. Specifically:

Baste the Turkey - To attend to a task that has been ignored for sometime
Bizmeth – shortening of "business method"
Boil the Ocean - To take on a task with an overwhelming and impossible scope
Eat their own dog food – Also known simply as "dog food", meaning to use a product yourself which you sell to others
Open kimono - To be open and transparent in discussions
Siloed - Completely separated with no communication between
Herding Cats -a task that is extremely difficult or impossible to do, due to one or more variables being in flux and uncontrollable
Umbrella Wawi (I don't have a fucking clue what this means but I'd love to drop it in a conversation)

I like this collection of rhetorical hyperbole. I'm determined to find a way to introduce one of these expressions in an upcoming meeting...if only to see if it will virally spread.

Until then, I will endeavor to add this to my client penetration dialogue.

The Penultimate Hate List

2010-03-18T21:24:00.002-04:00

I don't hate many things in life. That's a strong word. I'm really a rather carefree soul. However, over the years I have accumulated a list of very specific things that really and truly make me crazy. Because these items have remained constant, I'm prepared to cite my top 20 list:

1. People who refer to themselves in the third person. Trust me, lesser persons than Beyonce have done so. Copiously.

2. Sluglike dill pickle spears trundled alongside a takeout sandwich in paper.

3. People who love to talk, talk, talk but simply have no interest in listening. They are usually in sales.

4. Those assholes in my neighborhood who refuse to pick up dogshit. Shame on all of you.

5. Tailgaters on the Bruckner Expressway.

6. Those vapid New York types who lollygag in front of the doors at Barnes & Noble while in the middle of a self absorbed conversation while making the rest of us wait to enter the freaking store.

7. Tomatoes. I want to love you, I do, but I can't.

8. Sarah Palin. I just know she's evil incarnate.

9. White middle aged men. In BMWs. From New Jersey.

10. Bangers and mash.

11. That sweet Indian woman at my eyebrow threading salon who always insists "You should take care of that moustache".

12. Hot flashes.

13. Rain. I know rain contributes to the balance of the planet, the evolution of the ecosystem. photosynthesis and the progression of the seasons... but I still hate it.

14. Plastic surgery guilt. I hate it when people tell me it's time for me to invest in Botox/Restalyne/lifts/tucks/etc...I know I look like an Aztec ruin but I also know that I look like me. And I'd like to continue to look like me. I'm no beauty, but I look like ME.

15. The toilet paper rolling out on the underside.

16. Freaking C-SPAN. Fang loves to watch C-SPAN. To me, it's like paint drying.

17. The bedding section at Bed, Bath & Beyond. Always underwhelming.

18. That wet dog smell on the subway.

19. Darien doyennes who back up the order line at the morning Starbuck's stop by ordering non-fat, chai decaf bullshit beverages and then don't have the correct change but insist on counting the coins out from the bottom of their Birkin bags.

20. The Cross Bronx Expressway. In my life story, I expect this to be my Waterloo.

New York State of Mind

2010-03-16T18:39:00.004-04:00

For the past two years, I admit that I've been neglectful of my regular medical appointments. It's hard to find time to schedule these and honestly, I work in a different state than I live in--my healthcare providers are in the state/city that I reside in. Unless I take a day off to attend to medical appointments, I don't get to them.

My annual mammogram is currently 16 months overdue. I need to get my eroding eyesight checked. I haven't been to the dentist for a regular check up for two years. And my primary care physician no longer accepts my insurance plan and I've yet to find a new internist. I haven't had a physical in three years. I decided a short time ago that I need to step this up.

Today, I did. I took the day off and went this morning to my eye doctor. She prescribed me new contact lenses that allow me to see clearly both far and close. I'm test running them but so far, they could mean the end of my reading glasses. And that would be good.

One down, my next medical appointment was hours away. I had time to kill so I lumbered through Madison Square Park. The sun was finally out and it shone clearly across pristine blue skies. I lollygagged at the enclosed dog park. I people watched at The Shake Shack. I reposed in the sun. I was in no rush so I decided to pick up some lunch. Hello, Fifth Avenue Epicurean!

This was my old lunchtime stable. I haven't been in here in two years. As I walked in, I spied the regular old counterman, Mark. He saw me and without losing a beat he said, "Hey, hey, hey! Nice to see you! Where ya been? How are our Mets going to do this year?" Some things will never change.

I ordered my usual: grilled portabello mushroom, fresh mozzarella and pesto on ciabatta bread. I took my lunch and ate it slowly in the park enjoying the view of the Flatiron Building,. I watched exuberant dogs running amok and people soaking up the sun. I watched the meandering lines of people at the Shake Shack. There was also a filming of a commercial there (the extras were speaking Japanese) which was a pleasant and interesting distraction.

I then made my way Uptown. I was tempted to stop at the Museum of Sex which offered an exhibit on the history of condoms. That would have been good but time was a-wasting.

I got to Herald Square and here I decided to repose. I plopped down right in front of Macy's in a sectioned area that is reserved for pedestrians. There are flimsy folding chairs set up and I stole into one and soaked up the sun, Granted, it was 56 degrees but the sun was strong and pure and the warmth on my skin felt like an injection of life. I sat silently and eavesdropped on conversations. I watched a young man inject himself into the crowd--he was wearing an exaggerated ballet tutu and he carried a tin foil embossed star wand which he hit unwary pedestrians with. Voila--a modern day Cupid.

I watched people embrace. I listened to people kvetch. I watched people soak up this weird and wonderful world that we call New York. Really rather wonderful.

I then went for my mammogram. I hardly enjoyed the required necessary compression of the exam but I made up for it by making friends in the waiting room. On my walk down to Penn Station, I saw a young man on the street lobbying for funds--his pitch? "Please open your heart. I'm out of work. I need some money. I need to get some weed. Help a brother out." Hmm. Original, yes, But critical? Not so much.

Today restored my faith in New York. I'm ready to leave this crazy place for a quiet place I can call my own, but that absolutely doesn't negate my appreciation for it. See for yourself.

Check Your Kids' Homework

2010-03-14T17:01:00.002-04:00

And the mother's response:

Dear Teacher,
I wish to clarify that I am not now, nor have I ever been, an exotic dancer. I work at Home Depot and I told my daughter how hectic it was last week before the blizzard hit. I told her we sold out every single shovel we had and then I found one more in the back room. Several people were fighting over who would get it. Her picture doesn't show me dancing around a pole. It's supposed to depict me selling the last snow shovel we had at Home Depot. From now on I will remember to check her homework more thoroughly before she turns it in.
Sincerely,
Mrs. Smith

Cruisin'

2010-03-13T17:20:00.004-05:00

I will be here (that is, on this ship and not looking longingly from the Manhattan shore) in a little less than a month.

Something struck me these past few weeks--I'm weary, I'm fried, I'm swerving towards burn out. I need a short stretch of time to recharge. And two weeks ago, I felt determined to find an opportunity to reclaim myself. I admit that I feel guilty taking vacation. My boss doesn't seem to take vacation and I am fearful that it might appear a weakness should I perhaps want to take one myself. I've thrived on that notion for a very long time and have forsaken a lot of earned vacation time over the years in order to be a good corporate citizen. I now know this was a mistake.

My friend Hollaback once said to me, "The company will never love you back." She's right, of course. I have confused the value of personal loyalty with necessary business decisions. Not taking my vacation will hardly elevate my value as an employee. So, fuck it, now I'm taking it.

I announced to Fang that we were taking a vacation. I planned it--a cruise to Bermuda from Manhattan in April. I had planned for late April but a financial quarterly forecast interfered. So I moved it to the second week of April.

We booked our room and here, Fang prevailed. We don't vacation often but when we do, he goes big. He wants spacious comfort, amenities and expense be damned. We booked a full suite on the top level at the front of the boat. As usual, all I was concerned about was size of the pool.

I'm excited now and looking forward to the trip. And so ready to go, go, go.

Parting Glance

2010-03-12T21:21:00.001-05:00

My dear friend Jewels and I commuted together to Connecticut yesterday. On the drive home, we curiously talked about parting statements one might make should they be laid off of their job. Playing along, I asked Jewels what he would say. He paused for a very long time and then he suddenly burst into this song, Fully channeling Jennifer Holiday. I nearly lost control of the car. I do love Jewels.

Guilty

2010-03-03T22:01:00.001-05:00

I fear I have participated in awkward dancing at business functions. I recognize it and while laughing on the inside at my idiocy, externally, I am horrified that I would display such white girl awkwardness. But I have, kids, I have.

I hope I am not alone.

Close to Home

2010-03-02T21:44:00.002-05:00

I am forsaking "American Idol" tonight to watch a staggering documentary on PBS's Frontline called "The Suicide Tourist." It's shocking and difficult to watch--the issue of assisted suicide in our country is not a comfortable topic. Having personally dealt with this (both the frustration of the patient struggling with a debilitating terminal illness and the legalities surrounding the ability of the patient to make an end of life decision for themselves), it's devastating. Agree or disagree with this controversial topic, I found this documentary incredibly compelling. Here's a clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MeZvM34H5so

The Olympics Closing Ceremonies

2010-03-01T19:00:00.004-05:00

I stayed up and watched the closing ceremonies of last night's Olympic games in Vancouver. Perhaps my standards are far too exacting, but inflatable moose (and inflatable undetermined rodents), women in abbreviated Canadian Mountie garb, group sing alongs to "Oh, Canada!" and errant fireworks left me cold. We've been previously exposed to such surprising visuals in broad performance art. I am amazed that so little of this was utilized during this ceremony. Beijing had this down cold.

That said, Vancouver is a very lovely place to visit.

Cabin Fever

2010-02-28T19:42:00.001-05:00

If this fucking snow doesn't end soon, my husband will end up as chop suey. It's bad news when I can relate to Nicolson.

Closing Ceremony Worthy

2010-02-27T18:52:00.001-05:00

Direct from the Vancouver Olympics: this is the Norweigian alpine skiing team sharing their homage to Michael Jackson. I don't think I could do such funky moves on a mountain top, so I gotta give them props. As someone who is half Scandinavian, I'm delighted that Nordic types can get down with their bad selves.

Snowtorious B.I.G.

2010-02-26T18:32:00.007-05:00

Yeah., so we had a snowstorm here in New York. And I was reminded why I pay to park my car in a garage. Pity these poor car owners.

The Kindness of Strangers

2010-02-25T20:50:00.006-05:00

It was a surreal adventure driving from rainy Connecticut today into the slippery and snowy mire of the Bronx and Manhattan. However, this adventure did beget a surprising story of humanity from my fellow New Yorkers so I have to share it.

Driving across the MacCoombs Damn Bridge from the Bronx into Manhattan, cars were fishtailing all over the road and traffic was backing up. As traffic moved forward, I realized that my front wheels had locked up and despite accelerating, I was stuck. The wheels were spinning but not moving. I got out of the car to investigate (while trying to avoid the traffic driving around me on the narrow lanes). A woman in a car in a northbound lane (also stuck in traffic) rolled down her window and hollered at me, “Are you OK?” I explained my dilemma. “Put it in four wheel drive,” she offered. I explained that I didn’t have 4 wheel drive. She shrugged sympathetically. At the same time, another man rolled down his window and offered advice. And then another. Nothing worked.

Suddenly a man in a truck on the northbound lane jumped out of his car and ran over to me. He told me that I should let some of the air out of my front tires and with a gauge in hand, he did just that for me. I put the car in low gear and tried to move forward. I got a little traction but could still not move. At the same time, another man with a truck in the northbound lane jumped out of his truck, pulled a bag of salt from his trunk and set to salting the area around my front tires. “Try it now,” he said. I did and I was suddenly moving forward. I shook his hand and thanked both men profusely. The man who had salted the front of my tires then said, “Honey, you keep driving to get where you need to go and if you can, try not to stop.”

I did make it (slowly) to the safety of my parking garage and I have several good Samaritans to thank for that. So the next time you generalize about the rude nature of New Yorkers, think again.

Here was my world when I got home tonight. This is the road. It is treacherous.
Downned trees. Due to the heavy wet nature of the snow, there were more than a few.

The Truth Comes Out

2010-02-24T21:13:00.003-05:00

I should add there is a rather superficial reason why I hate winter. Despite what you may see portrayed on the pages of Harper's Bazaar, REAL winter fashion is not particularly appealing. In this I mean serious winter fashion. No person in their right mind is going to gallivant around in tights, a mini skirt and a fur shrug. That's practically inviting hypothermia. Real winter fashion is functional and life saving and in truth, rather fucking unattractive.

Take a step into my world. Enter the subway when it's 30 degrees outside, 18 degrees with wind chill. The attending participants on my subway car are wearing Michelin Man down jackets, thick scarves, Elmer Fudd hats with askew fur adorned ear flaps, heavy Northern Face snow boots, complexions that haven't seen the sun in months and dull, palid expressions. Yeah, sell that look to Anna Wintour.

As a transplant, I must echo that I appreciate the drama of the seasons. Snow is still something of a miracle to me. But I'll also readily admit that I appreciate the seasons that ensure my maintenance program is consistent (read: pedicures, leg shaving and waxing). It becomes very simple during this harsh time of year to neglect these aspects. And don't even get me started on the desire to have some contrasting color in my neon white skin tone. Besides this, I like wearing shoes and clothing that actually expose some extremities and is reduced to a single layer.

I'll say it again. Bring on the goddamn Spring.

I Hate Winter

2010-02-23T21:34:00.002-05:00

I don't actually hate the winter, but this constant dreary weather and its accompanying death-like landscapes are starting to wear thin. Today was another stormy day; days when cheap umbrellas from the drug store were whipped inside out from the merciless wind gales and rendered useless within minutes of stepping outside. A day when rains bore down and ruined expensive hair blowouts within minutes of exposure. A day where a crowded subway smelt of wet dog and mildewy feet. These things all seem the hallmark of the furtive nature of Winter.

I was in our New Jersey office today and saw Christo. He's utterly fed up with Winter. He expressed the same frustration as cited above and I get it. After a few years of trading Californian winters for the reality of East Coast living, I understand the nature of living though a different kind of winter. It can be brutal, depressing, dark.

When I first moved here in the late 90s, natives told me that we "earn the spring." I confess when I first heard that, I assumed my narrators were wimps. How bad can a bit of snow can be? Snow for me was a novelty (it still is, actually). Having lived through multiple winters, I now comprehend the concept. One must suffer, in an almost Boris Pasternak fashion, to truly appreciate the rebirth of the earth. When the first buds start to sprout come late April there's such a feeling of exhilaration and of surprise. To see new green growth is joyous. I am almost there now. And obviously, this is how we earn it.

I'm looking at the rain pouring down. I feel the chill in my bones. I also see the nights growing longer and I am hopeful.

Strolling Down Nostalgia Lane

2010-02-22T21:04:00.003-05:00

This week, I have been feeling weirdly nostalgic. I hear the theme songs from the commercials of my childhood (the Producers Dairy and Olberti Olives theme songs in particular). I have been thinking about the unique attributes of the quality of my life then. I know it's impossible to contrast the media messages in those innocent, halcyon days contrasted with a far more complex, dog-eat-dog existence but somehow today I do. I sorta miss my life then.

When I think of perfect happiness, I can isolate it to a moment. That moment takes place when I am not yet 18 years old. I am outside on a late summer evening in the patio of our family home in the Central Valley. It is quiet, save the random passing of a car and the onset of the automatic lawn sprinkler system. The air is still and thick with the scent of night blooming jasmine. There is the sweet coo of a dove that comes in unexpected starts but it's such a pretty melody that it is deeply comforting. Crickets chorus. The breeze wipes along the expanse of one's arm. The eucalyptus trees sway like ballet dancers in half time motion despite their great size. And I watch the stars race in a factual synchronized dance. The sky is so dark and so pure, but it's not threatening. It's rather inspiring. I hated to go inside that night. Of course, I eventually did.

I still think of that night. If I could recapture that same level of happiness of my life again, I do think I will have found my own Valhalla.

Politically Correct Ice Skating

2010-02-15T18:46:00.003-05:00

From Gawker.com. Reflections on the pair skating from The Olympics:

One of the Olympics' few black figure skaters will perform Out of Africa with his white partner. And then there are the censored Russian ice dancers whose "Aboriginal dance" used to include brown skin suits, fake eucalyptus and warpaint.

Should we take offense or take it with a grain of salt?

Olympic diversity is, after all, stunning: Diversity of bodies, culture, and language, intermingling in a happy zone of sportsmanship and brotherhood. But with 82 nations parading through Vancouver this year—each angling for its moment of glory—multiculturalism may err on the side of trite. (See: Opening Ceremony, Parade of Nations. Natives beating drums! Bermudans in Bermuda shorts!) In no sport is this minstrelsy of nations more apparent than in kitschy, gimmicky, stage-crafted world of figure skating. Two examples from this year's masquerade on ice, and whether you should be offended:

Exhibit A: Mixed-Race German Pair Chooses an Awkward Song
Tonight, the Olympic's only medal-contending black figure skater will fling a petite blonde woman in time with music from the movie Out of Africa. Here's a preview of Aliona Savchenko and Robin Szolkowy's Out of Africa routine, which led them to a first place finish at the 2009 ISU Grand Prix:

Savchenko and Szolkowy are currently ranked second in the pairs figure skating competition. My gut instinct upon seeing them and reading the title of their upcoming Long Program was "Uh oh," but the music is of the muzak variety, which dulls all outrage to a low, slow snore. (Then again, if it's aurally forgettable, why not choose something with a less-awkward title?) "Black" also may not be how Robin Szolkowy sees himself—he is the multiracial son of a Tanzanian doctor and German nurse, born and raised in Germany. (Which once colonized Tanzania! But mostly it was the Brits.) So now I feel like I'm having one of those not-totally-racist-but-not-comfortable-either "No, Grandpa Harry, nobody says 'negro' anymore" conversations.
Conclusion: Don't be offended, but do avoid making eye contact with Grandpa Harry during this routine.

Exhibit B: Russian Ice Dancing Champs Perform 'Aboriginal Song'
World ice dancing champions Oksama Domnina and Maksim Shabalin first horrified international audiences when they donned brown skin suits, war paint, and eucalyptus leaves to perform an "Aboriginal Song" for an Original Dance in January:

Indigenous Australians protested that the routine as "very offensive," "cultural theft," and embarrassingly juvenile. Plus the didgeridoo was all wrong. After some bureaucratic haggling, Domnina and Shabalin agreed to split the difference: They'll ditch the costumes, but will use the original music and choreography for their Olympic performance next Monday. The pair say they meant no harm, they just didn't want to do "another Slavic dance." In an athletic field where women routinely don flamenco negligees to sashay like a gypsy to Carmen, where illusion netting is never quite the right shade, and in a nation where they don't have aborigines, you can sort of see where they're coming from, right? And yet, no, you can't, because how could a well-traveled world-class Olympian possibly think using a "skin suit" to alter the color of his "skin" is a good idea?
Conclusion: Be offended, and pity the victims of cultural relativism. There are a lot of them.

Update: Roberta.a.baker notes that France's Yannick Bonheur and Vanessa James are the first-ever black pair in the Olympics. They are competing this year and they met online.

The Yound Chickies

2010-02-12T22:06:00.003-05:00

The Glamazon was in CT on Thursday and generously offered me a ride home to Manhattan. I accepted, if only for some girl time to catch up (and to save me a long ride on the cross town bus from 125th Street to the West side). She has poor night vision and was worried about black ice on the road, so we left before 6 pm.

On the ride home, The Glamazon waxed rhapsodical on a number of subjects. When we got to the inevitable subject of men, The Glamazon offered that she was not interested in dating. "Why should I?" she said with exasperation. "I mean, it seems older men only want young chickies. It's tiresome."

I pressed her and she said she preferred a mature man. Someone who is older than her. Someone who is stable and reliable and at peace with himself. I got that. But apparently the older, stable, mature man wants to drive a Corvette and date 20 year olds. At least the ones she's met.

When I got home, I shared this with Fang. Oddly, it provoked a discussion.

Fang: So if you were dating now, wouldn't you want some young stud?
Me: (honestly) No, I'd prefer an older man.
Fang: Seriously? Why?
Me: I want someone who is intellectually stimulating, someone who wants a steady relationship, someone who has the breadth of life experience, someone who makes me laugh and someone of a certain age. And if he has a first family, that would please me. I always wanted to have kids.
Fang: You assume the younger man is not capable of any of this. You're doing them a disservice.
Me: I think a younger man digs the attention he gets from a sex starved middle aged woman. But of course, he'll inevitably lose interest and leave. If that's what it is, fine, but don't assume this is a standard satisfactory plan for the second part of a woman's life.
Fang: And if I dropped dead. What would you do?
Me: I'd probably look for my next husband. And I'd target an older demographic.
Fang: Hmm. But I still don't understand why you'd want stability. Why not have some fun and go for the boy toys? I hear this is quite the thing now... that whole cougar thing.
Me: I have no interest in being with someone who is prettier than me.

Fang called me out on it. There it is. I am middle aged and not exactly secure in my appearance. I'm not spectacular enough to hang onto a younger man. Juggling a boy toy would leave me in a constant state of uncertain anxiety and probably make me miserable. The sex might be terrific, but I outright refuse to support a man. I suspect I would have to support a younger man.

At the heart of it, I find younger men nice to look at, but if I were in the position to chose a new partner, I'd select an age appropriate fellow. Regardless of Fang's perceptive observation, I hold to my original standards.

I always say to Fang, "I'm ten pounds away from my next husband." And trust me, he WILL be older. The problem is, he'll probably want a younger woman.

Someday We'll All Be Free

2010-02-11T20:41:00.001-05:00

I'm watching a Black History Month concert from Washington, DC on PBS. Jennifer Hudson just did a version of this classic Donny Hathaway song. I liked her version, but my favorite version was performed by Alicia Keys for the September 11th concert family fundraiser. I have to say, this version is fairly genius.

And After

2010-02-10T21:21:00.002-05:00

Good Lord. It's not stopping.

Let it snow!

2010-02-10T18:55:00.003-05:00

We have an ongoing blizzard warning here in New York City. This photo was taken this morning--the onslaught has doubled since then. The snow will continue through tomorrow morning. I am already thinking about the realism about driving to work tomorrow.

Those logistics aside, it's glorious to see the world around me like living in an exaggerated snow globe. Pretty fantastical.

My Favorite Commercial

2010-02-09T02:49:00.001-05:00

There were some rather inspired commercials during last night's Superbowl. In the end, this was my favorite. I sometimes imagine my colleagues in their underwear (to that old anology, to dispel nerves), and can I say--in my imagination, they look better than this.

Swap Meet

2010-02-07T18:15:00.003-05:00

In the end, Fang had to work this weekend and we didn't go to Vermont. I was rather bummed and spent most of Saturday stewing about it. I was sick of being trapped in a gray concrete jungle and had dearly wanted to spend a few days away enjoying good company, bucolic nature and a break from the stress of everyday life.

Fortunately, I did have a back up plan. The owner of a salon I frequent in Chelsea was hosting a clothing swap meet in her salon. The premise was simple--bring in clothing, jewelry and accessories you no longer wear. Peruse the items that others have brought in. Take what you like and the rest is donated to charity.

When I arrived, there was wine and hors d'oeurves and many chic, delightful women. It was a classic girl's outing. We tried on clothes, drank and flattered one another about our choices. In the end, I donated five jackets, four skirts, 16 blouses, several pieces of jewelry, three purses, two pairs of shoes and eight pairs of pants. I came away with much less, but they were good gets: a Club Monaco turtleneck, a Michael Kors cashmere sweater, an Armani cashmere wrap sweater, a silk Theory blouse and a fantastic Mac & Jac blue patterned car coat. I also picked up a vintage turquoise ring and silver cuff.

It certainly made up for what could have been a lost weekend.

For Ken

2010-02-06T16:44:00.001-05:00

I got your Bollywood right here, my friend.

Drag Race

2010-02-05T22:06:00.002-05:00

Maybe it says too much about me, but I am so excited about this new show.