TotalCliché.com

Clap If You Believe in Donuts!

2009-12-07T15:11:00.007-05:00

Inspired by Bitch Cake's wonderful blog that shares her love of Greenpoint, Brooklyn, a new friend and I made our way to Peter Pan Bakery yesterday. Unfortunately, our timing put us there after church had let out, and the racks were all but cleaned out. Greenpoint has a large Polish population and according to my friend J., who grew up in mostly-Polish Detroit, post-church Poles are like donut locusts. Church, Then Donuts; that's the ritual. Who knew? I had been looking forward to racks full of pastel icing and sprinkles and so many to choose from! and it was not to be. Still, there were two Red Velvet Donuts left [see above; again, who knew?!] and one sour cream old-fashioned to share, and they were awesome. I'll come back!

Measuring my life in espresso spoons

2009-11-30T17:27:00.004-05:00

I wanted to do something fun after my trapeze lesson so I stopped into the nearby Stumptown Roasters café at the Ace Hotel and enjoyed a tiny, precious macchiatto made by a cute young hipster dressed like a dandy. It's been fun seeing (and tasting) how people make espresso drinks now that i know how to make them myself. Stumptown takes their beans oh-so seriously and this guy was a craftsman; he may have been friendly, but his product was all snobby artisan. Now, I always do my best as a barista (my colleagues recently named me Most Improved Foamer!) but my efforts are not nearly so highfalutin: If Stumptown beverages are like coddled Italian Greyhounds, mine are like big dumb yellow Labs. But both have their appeal!

Meanwhile, that twee little cuppa blew a caffeine shotgun blast right through my sternum. Shazam!!

That coffee is for me, by the way

2009-11-25T09:55:00.008-05:00

I'm about three months late on this but it was fun making a Mad Men avatar this morning.

I've never seen even one episode, but I like the samba playing on the site.

Dude, I'm so Baked

2009-11-19T10:28:00.009-05:00

It's funny how your life can change. A few weeks ago I was looking around in Dean and Deluca, and deciding I wanted a treat, I randomly picked up a "Sweet and Salty" brownie. I don't usually go for a brownie, but it seemed interesting and cost as much as I wanted to pay. I didn't even look at who made it, I just stuck it in my purse and took it home.

And then.

Oh, sweet Jesus, the goodness. Having had this brownie, I will never be the same. I'm a fan of chocolatey/salty from way back before Obama made it so and I was eating a perfectly-textured combination of rich, fudgy and tangy. Now I was interested in the label: it was made by Baked, and a quick google search told me they were in Red Hook, Brooklyn.

Thus, a field trip was born. How was I going to get there and what was I going to have?

I went on late morning Tuesday, to beat the crowds and because I can. I had an open mind, but I really wanted to try a cupcake, maybe that same Sweet and Salty, maybe the Malted. My recent trip to Cake Man Raven was holding me for Red Velvet, so I would leave that alone. I took the F train to Smith St./9th and took the B77 bus from there. I got off the bus prematurely when we got to Van Brunt St., but the bus drops you right across the street. Look in the right window, you can see my reflection, in the blue coat. Hi!

It was full but not crowded, and everything they had displayed looked delicious. The young man working behind the counter was extremely friendly, I told him I wanted a cupcake and he walked my through my options. From left to right: Sweet and Salty, Aunt Suzie's pistachio, Malted, chocolate with vanilla buttercream [back], chocolate with chocolate buttercream, Red Velvet, vanilla with chocolate buttercream, vanilla with vanilla buttercream.

He was very enthusiastic about the Sweet and Salty, and of course that was the combo that had brought me here in the first place, so that's what I chose, with a regular coffee. The cute plate was a nice touch:

Yeah, it was stupidly, head-rollingly good. Moist cake with a pleasantly crunchy crust, a salty ganache center, and frosting that was lightly whipped but densely flavored. It packed a punch but was petite enough to encourage seconds; I gave serious thought to a Malted, but erred on the side of the better health choice. Not a problem, I'll definitely be back.

Ch ch ch, wah wah wah

2009-11-13T10:41:00.003-05:00

Jason, we hardly knew ye. I'm sure I'll watch at least five minutes of at least one of these movies today.

Red Shoes, red hots

2009-11-10T19:06:00.009-05:00

I went to see the restored print of The Red Shoes this afternoon

with a bag of red hot candies in my purse.

Mo' Brooklyn

2009-11-09T18:15:00.009-05:00

I've got the time to explore, I'm taking it. Today I walked over the Williamsburg bridge for the first time.

After my trapeze lesson [that's another post] I took the L to Williamsburg, walked over to Caracas Arepa Bar, [I've been dying to try this place but the East Village location is tiny and usually packed, last time I tried to get in the hostess was a jackass and it put me off trying for awhile. The Brooklyn location is definitely better.] had a delicious lunch and chatted with the friendly waitstaff. The guy behind the bar gave me directions to the bridge, he said he went over almost every day on his bike or skates, with his Venezuelan accent this sounded like "back or skets." I found it easily and had an extremely pleasant stroll over to the Lower East Side.

Arepa, with beef, beans, cheese, and plantains. Delicious!

Heading across:

Manhattan side view:

Brooklyn/Jersey side view:

Back home! Great day!

Brooklyn from 6 to 9

2009-11-08T09:06:00.010-05:00

I went out to BAM last night to see the 1962 Agnès Varda film Cleo from 5 to 7. A few weeks ago, on a friend's recommendation, I'd seen Big Dance Theater's Comme Toujours Here I Stand, which was based on the movie, so I was excited to see the original.

The story is simple: a beautiful but vain and spoiled singer travels around Paris for 2 hours while she waits for hospital test results that will tell her if she has cancer. There are fabulous costume changes and kittens and singing and a bedroom swing, but ultimately it's about mortality and living in the present. I loved it.

Traveling around Fort Greene in my own present, I got my BAM ticket early then paid a visit to a new independent bookstore that opened recently in the area, Greenlight Bookstore. It was clean and very well-lighted place, beautifully stocked with friendly staff, and I had a happy browse.

My next stop was to Cake Man Raven to sample his famous red velvet cake. I thought I'd eat my sweet while I watched the movie, but it was too crowded to publicly chow on such a large wedge comfortably. Really, it's a huge piece, my seat neighbors did not need to see or smell me working on this:

I had a few bites before I went in [and texted my friend J. a review: "delicious!"] and then saved the rest for home. I gobbled up half—total yum—then dumped the leftovers. It was a gift to myself for that night only.

Lattes of love

2009-11-04T10:45:00.013-05:00

I am procrastinating about working on a post about my first 6 months of unemployment. Please stand by.

Because it would feel negligent to not use at least some of my now-copious free time for good, I've started volunteering at the Housing Works Bookstore. I'm a barista in the café for four hours a week, a pretty glamourous gig as far as free work goes. I've been taught how to use their old espresso machine [I call it Fredo], I'm working on improving my foaming technique and not scalding myself repeatedly. Every time I make a customer a cappuccino and they don't spit it out, it's a victory.

I like the customers. The bookstore itself is a charitable organization, the books are all donated and the staff is almost entirely by volunteer. Thus, visitors to the café are generally pretty chill, relaxed about services and product rendered. We're in Soho but we're not in "Soho," and everyone who comes to my counter seems to understand that. Of course I'll give them my best, but for me, the relaxed vibe presents the opportunity for a more social interaction. Remember in The Wrestler when Mickey Rourke goes to work in the supermarket deli and he just comes back to life being around people again? He flirts with the old ladies and makes football jokes with the guys, being in service gets his light shining again.

That's me in the café. It's so fun to play with people and flirt and make them happy. I haven't become a hermit since i've been out of work but I've missed how much I can shine when I'm working with others, when I can perform a service and make someone smile. Here bubbie, have a brownie, we just made them. Let me bring your espresso to you, sir. The Wifi password today is "danceparty." I've started wearing red lipstick for my shift, it makes me feel that much yummier, and for four hours I can be a lush and happy dispenser of sweets. I'm doing good, and it's doing good for me.

Wasting money

2009-10-27T14:54:00.004-04:00

I bought a large tea with milk and sugar for $1.50 from the bodega across the street even though i have tea bags at home, because it tastes better with whole milk and because i wanted to have it made for me.

*Eye roll*

Pizza, due

2009-10-17T14:17:00.005-04:00

I was close enough to Artichoke this morning and I went back for the margherita slice. There was a line this time and it was fun, I enjoyed everyone's enthusiasm and how something so simple felt like an event. The pizza itself was good, but unremarkable; unlike the dip slice, is not worth making a special trip for. My heart still belongs to my local, Sacco.

Okey Dokey Artichokey

2009-10-16T15:55:00.004-04:00

Finally got down to Artichoke for the spinach & artichoke slice my friend S. has been going on about for weeks. He knows i love spinach artichoke dip and he claimed it was just that, on pizza dough. And it was! Mine wasn't as gooey as the pic shown above, the crust was actually more well done than I like. Still, delicious, and vaguely obscene, like having ice cream for your meal instead of dessert. So rich that it feels a little naughty.

Of course the guy pulled a fresh pie out the minute I'd finished gobbling my slice down, it looked outrageous but no could do, too heavy on mah belly for a double. I'll be back—was worth a special trip, and I need to try the margherita.

RIP, Irving Penn

2009-10-07T21:35:00.008-04:00

This week's second devastating loss. I loved his work like I loved my Nano, but longer.

About 15 years ago I wrote him a fan letter, I bought special paper at Kate's for the task: heavy and translucent with silvery stars. Dreamy paper for my dreamy words. I was embarrassed, but I was afraid he would die and I'd regret not doing it; I never heard back but now, I don't regret it at all. In 1997 I flew to Chicago to see his work at the Art Institute, the first time I would travel for art.

Rest in peace, sir. I'll really miss you.

[shown above: Truman Capote, New York, 1965]

Be Here Now

2009-10-07T12:40:00.010-04:00

I've started a meditation practice this week. I figure learning how to be present and grounded in the moment can come in handy now, when I'm prone to making terrifying mental leaps to a bleak, impoverished future. I've made a few feeble attempts at meditation in the past but couldn't ever seem to quiet the jibbering thoughts the Buddhists call "monkey mind" and the physical fidgets that would set in within what felt like the first minute. But I'm feeling really tolerant of myself lately, squishy and open to new experiences and feelings, and I feel comfortable finding my own way to just sit there. That's all it is, really—just sitting there. I went to an intro "class" at a local meditation center this weekend and I felt frustrated by how goal-oriented my fellow sitters were, overly concerned about how they should do it and what was supposed to happen. I felt like they were missing the point entirely: you're just sitting there, present in the moment. That's all that happens. Does it really matter if your eyes are open or closed, or where your hands are? It's not mattering to me right now. I sit up straight and make myself comfortable, close my eyes and Just. Sit. There. For 15 minutes, I let my stomach hang out, breathe through my nose, and remind myself that I'm right there on that pillow. Grounded like a tree, there and then, totally tolerant of whatever happens. I give myself gentle corrections when my thoughts zip off into the future or the past, I try to ignore the passing of minutes and my dog who sits up in front of me, mirroring my posture, wanting my attention. I'm just sitting there, and when I'm done, I feel quiet, relaxed, and gifted. I gave myself 15 minutes in the moment. I hope with continued practice I can give myself more, that I'll learn to tolerate more.

But that's jumping ahead.

RIP, Nano

2009-10-01T17:12:00.004-04:00

My Ipod died today.

It was nearly 4 years old, i got it as a Christmas gift about 3 weeks after i'd started at Women's Health. I remember thinking this must be a pretty good place to work if they were dispensing such generous, cool gifts. I was seeing someone new and I already had an Ipod, so i made a generous, cool gesture and offered it to my beau. He turned me down, and much later he confessed that it had made him uncomfortable, was too much too soon. So I kept it, good thing, because i eventually lost the other one on a trip to Mexico City. I got a lot of use from it, and a lot of good memories: walking to work, laughing out loud from podcasts of This American Life; all the times i danced to myself, sometimes quietly, sometimes less quietly, always joyfully; all the times i hit play/repeat/play/repeat for songs that i loved; after i lost my job when i laid on the floor of the gym and sobbed out of fear and defeat, courtesy of "Eye of the Tiger." I loved that little 2GB.

When it couldn't be resuscitated, when ITunes claimed it no longer recognized it, when it fritzed and blinked repeatedly through a cycle of nonsense messages before fading back out, I knew it was time to let go. I took it out of my apartment, thanked it, kissed it, and sent it down the garbage chute. Be well in your next life, tiny one.

After a proper and respectful mourning period, I'll be ready to move on. Maybe to a shiny new blue one.

Furniture, or "Where Am I?"

2009-09-24T13:09:00.006-04:00

I'm in the chair by the window, it's a 50's-style square-shaped club chair with an ottoman, the colors of the two pieces don't match because the ottoman was sold out in the same shade and since they were both supremely on sale I told myself non-matching but complimentary colors would work just fine. The chair is a light gray-blue, it came from a Crate and Barrel set with the sofa. The ottoman is charcoal gray and that they're not the same color is very flattering, actually. A good choice on my part. I got all these pieces last summer, the first "real" pieces of large furniture I've ever bought. I had an old sleeper sofa and love seat that were handed down from friends of my parents when i moved into this apartment, i kept them covered with chenille throws to hide where the off-white fabric became grubby but when the sofa started springing holes it was time for an upgrade.

Despite the fact that i had overnight guests once a year at most, i liked having that pullout option so i looked online for sleeper couches like the one i had. They were all boring or too expensive but i didn't imagine myself as someone who had more unique furniture, I live in a small space and wanted something that blended in, not something i had to redesign around. I'm not creative like that. But during a visit to Chicago, I asked my friend Jennifer if we could look in the Crate and Barrel we were passing on Michigan Avenue, I saw my swingy new pieces there live for the first time. Not a sleeper! Modern cut! And light blue!!! Could I go there? Could I be that person? We looked at some of the dowdy alternatives i'd checked out on their website but we were pulled back to club land. So much more fun! My friend had couch envy, even! And that was that, I came home and ordered them up, made my non-matching decision and then my new furniture, my new chapter, was on their way.

But what to do with the old pieces? I don't live in the suburbs, where my husband would drag the items to the curb for a friendly garbage man to tote away. If I could even get my super to help me drag the sleeper and the love seat downstairs, there's no guarantee they'd get picked up: they could become a rotting eyesore on the sidewalk and my super could get fined. The Salvation Army pickup truck had a too-long wait list and wouldn't take the sleeper for fear of potential bedbug threat [I wonder if this happens in the suburbs]. After calling and being rejected by several other charitable organizations—which infuriated me, I'm trying to help here!—I finally paid some guy named José $200 cash to just get that shit out of my apartment. He was just leaving when the elves from Crate and Barrel flew in, did they bit of assembly, and ta dah! New furniture! New life!

I could see immediately I would need a new coffee table. That came the following week, also from Crate and Barrel. Dark wood with curved legs and a shelf underneath, very sturdy, very adult. I managed to drag my old shite Ikea one to the curb where, according to my doorman, it was hauled away by some guy in less than 10 minutes.

I think I can, I think I can...

2009-09-23T18:14:00.004-04:00

I'm having a hard time committing to this writing practice. Making new posts feels satisfying and righteous and productive—but I'm not doing it. Why not? I open a new page and all that comes out is little personal burps about my day that are better suited for a written diary or my more facile online journal. When I'm not looking for work I spend too much time reading others' online journals, and then Facebook, and then Twitter and then blah blah blah the day has passed and the summer has passed it feels like I've got nothing concrete to show for it.

Well, fall is here—for real!—and I'm making a concerted effort to take myself back to school. I've pulled down Julia Cameron's The Right to Write from the shelf, and I'm opening myself to writing exercises and memory recollection and whatever have you. I'm going to hold the critic and the editor back and let it flow. It's the effort that matters and it will—just as long as, as my friend Jill would say, I'm banging the keys.

Remembering Caroline

2009-09-16T13:03:00.006-04:00

I'm communing with the late Caroline Knapp today. I've pulled her books from the shelf [two of them are actually under my alarm clock] and am in my chair by the window rereading my favorite passages from Pack of Two, Appetites, The Merry Recluse, and Drinking, A Love Story. And feeling sad that this incredibly gifted writer died way too young at 42. Her struggles to recover from anorexia and alcoholism become so much more poignant when read knowing what I know, that Death is just ahead. I feel her mortality, and my own, more significantly. Life is short, we must reach out, get help. Though I sympathize with those particular challenges, I can more specifically relate to her questions about loneliness and lifestyle choices: her wonderings about how much time alone is too much, how much love for one's dog is too much, how does one know they're living their life the "right" way, especially when it looks different from everyone else's. These can be painful and confusing feelings and Knapp gave them the most tender and eloquent voice. In sharing her weaknesses she became strong, and I know I'm not the other one who read her work gratefully thinking they'd found a kindred spirit. I know now I'm not the only one, period. I am most thankful for what she was able to articulate while she was with us, and she is much missed.

Observing silence

2009-09-11T13:37:00.007-04:00

This is all I feel like saying today. It's raining, the nation is mourning, and I'm in a mood.

A Dutch treat

2009-09-10T16:51:00.005-04:00

I generally keep pretty well abreast of current museum exhibitions but was pleasantly surprised to be in the Met for today's opening of their Johannes Vermeer show. The Milkmaid, on loan from the Rijksmuseum, is the stunning centerpiece and several other lesser-known but still inspiring works are featured. I first saw this painting when I visited Amsterdam with my mother in 2005—I have the milkmaid's likeness on a refrigerator magnet, my mom got her on a trivet—seeing it again this afternoon made me very happy. It really is an incredible piece in any context, but knowing Vermeer was able to achieve that representation of light and those colors with homemade paint always makes my jaw drop. Totally edible!

The Vermeers will be at the Met until November 29.

Valderiiii, valderaaaa

2009-09-09T14:26:00.008-04:00

A knapsack on my back!

Did a lot of hiking this summer. I joined the group Outdoor Bound on a few of their day trips, and took several treks with friends who have a car. Said friends and I both have copies of the excellent resource book "60 Hikes Within 60 Miles" and we'd each got a chance to choose the destination.

I love this pic, taken on a 4th of July hike with Outdoor Bound, to Terrace Pond in Wawayanda State Park in New Jersey [that's me in the orange shorts, third from the top]:

I took the Full Moon Hike with Outdoor Bound, as well as a memorable Hikes and Hounds trip where dogs were included. [Alas, Biscuit is not a hiker, but he was represented with a photo on my pack.]

My friends and I hiked most often on Mondays [free weekdays, yay!], sometimes we took advantage of the prolonged daylight hours and set out later in the afternoon. At my peak I went out four times times in 10 days: the full moon hike [5 miles], Storm King mountain [6 miles], the dog hike [7.5 miles], and the Teatown Lake Reserve [5.5 miles]. After a short vacation, this past Monday we went out to Jenny Jump State Park in New Jersey a walked a very pleasant 5.5-miler.

It's incredible that you can drive out of Manhattan and an hour or so later be in the deep woods. The ferny greens and craggy outcroppings are transportive and other-worldly, I've been known to repeatedly exclaim “this is very Peter Jackson!” Even when you're watching your feet while scrambling over rocks, it's so soothing, and quiet. Nature sounds instead of city sounds. Green instead of granite. Even when it's really hard, huffing up a steep incline, it's heavenly. Looking forward to more this fall!

Val-dera-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!

Back from the deep

2009-09-08T14:50:00.003-04:00

Yeah yeah, i said i was going to be posting more regularly and I haven't. Late August got right sleepy for job searching so I packed myself and the pup off to the beach until the 31st, best decision ever. Here's my collected daily FB posts from that lovely, lovely time:

Deep Island Day 1: the watch is off.

Deep Island Day 2: two birds doing call and response outside my window early this morning, sounded like "Secret, Secret, Secret, Secret!" "Cheeseburger, Cheeseburger, Cheeseburger, Cheeseburger!"

Deep Island Day 3: Hurricane Bill is making tumultuous surf. At some point i'll get in there beyond the old lady dip and splash.

Deep Island Day 4: making chocolate lunch cake this afternoon. Will need to diet upon return to the mainland.

Deep Island Day 5: Took my morning coffee Otis Redding-style, sitting on the dock of the bay.

Deep Island Day 6: Going out to dinner tonight, will have to put on shoes.

Deep Island Day 7: Dog and cat have forged a peaceful co-existence. It's all good.

Deep Island Day 8: Aye, storm's a-brewin'. Ominous, dark storm clouds over the bay, but pink, tranquil skies over the ocean. Let's watch.

Deep Island Day 9: Romantic rainy...Friday? It's Friday, right?

Deep Island Day 10: I'd be laughing all the way to the beach if it wasn't raining.

Deep Island Day 11: back in the sarong again.

Deep Island Day 12: Cool morning beach walk under streaky apricot sky. The real world beckons, but not until 5:30.

Happy birthday!

2009-08-13T10:58:00.003-04:00

Yesterday it was my birthday

I hung one more year on the line

I should be depressed, my life's a mess

But I'm having a good time

OK, so my birthday was really two days ago. But I think this Paul Simon lyric is incredibly apt—I'm still feeling pretty sunnyside up for someone with no job and no real income. I like to spread my birthday celebration out over several days and this year it was even sweeter for having the free time to have bistro breakfast with a friend one day and an afternoon hike and picnic lunch another. I've stayed late at the beach, gone for afterschool cupcakes, and lingered at Starbuck's, still believing that opportunities lie just ahead. Hope and gratitude are alive and well.

It's going to be a good year.

Into the woods

2009-08-06T14:46:00.005-04:00

Dig my new flashlight:

I'm going on a full moon hike tomorrow night and I'm responsible for my own lighting, the small skinny one i keep at home to fish dog toys out from under the bed isn't going to cut it out in the woods. I'm terribly excited, we're going to roast marshmallows—haven't done that in years, I prefer mine just lightly tanned—and we're invited to take a midnight swim. Not sure about the latter: on one hand it would be an incredible tactile experience; on the other, it's just soooooo Friday the 13th. Everyone knows it's the midnight lake swimmers who get it!

Today's small pleasure

2009-08-04T20:28:00.004-04:00

A much-needed pedicure, and Jelly Apple polish. I love when you can't stop admiring your feet.

Whoopie!

2009-07-29T13:32:00.007-04:00

On Wednesdays and Saturdays from May through October a small farmer's market sets up across the street from my apartment. Taking up just one side of one block, [nothing like the scale and grandeur of the Union Square market] it nonetheless has beautiful things and gets a decent amount of traffic, and has become a very enjoyable feature of my community. With my days now free, I like to take Biscuit and my coffee over to sit and people/produce watch; I love how that simple activity feels so lovely and rich: enough, as if it were a day's event. Biscuit putters around nibbling on the grass and I sit, with the sun on my back on a good day, thinking that life is wonderful and I'm the luckiest girl on earth. I don't usually buy much—though last summer i got into a bit of a Boston lettuce habit—I usually just like to soak in the sights and smells. I've become friendly with a woman who works there named Liz; she's usually at the cooking booth, making something with fresh ingredients and sharing the recipes with the passersby. Last Saturday she had peach salsa, today she had a cool pasta primavera, both were delicious. The corn was especially fragrant today, I tried some yellow watermelon, and the Amish dairy farmer had pumpkin whoopie pies—which, as high on life and simple foodie pleasure as I was, I could not pass up.

Though I was originally struck by the pumpkin I felt it would be negligent to not also try the chocolate, so this sampler was perfect. Both were outstanding [made by Amish farmers, how could they not be? Really!] but the pumpkin was superior, as special and celebratory as I wanted it to be.

Bizzee Bee

2009-07-26T13:14:00.006-04:00

I've been slacking off here, sorry! I hiked on the 4th of July, went to the beach for a few days, then had my niece in town for week for what turned out to be an extensive and exhausting tour of the city. Limped back to the real world in time to get sick with a cold. But this creative process has been important to me so I'm [re-!] making it a priority, I'll be back to work here Monday morning, just like the rest of the world!

Ignorance is Bliss

2009-07-03T15:37:00.014-04:00

Man, that place isn't called "Bliss" for nothing.

I pretended I wasn't worried about my dwindling income this morning and had a spa day. In my own defense, I paid for a decent chunk of the treatments I chose with a generous gift card; but really, does pampering need to be defended? I got that card almost two years ago, I'd held on to it for exactly this kind of occasion: when it would really be a welcome treat. Nothing necessary, not routine maintenance, but a real, sensual, relaxing, transporting treat. The New York Times is reporting the unemployment rate has risen to 9.5% and my severance checks are about to run out, but fiddle dee dee, I'm having a facial! La la la la la, I can't hear you! I'm having a seaweed mask applied! I don't have a job but my skin has fabulous elasticity, dammit! I took in the gratuitous compliments, the foot massage, the fresh lemonade and brownies in the lounge, the plush robe, and the hot rain shower like the balms against harsh reality that they are meant to be, and was happy to overpay handsomely for them. Because sometimes you should, even if you probably shouldn't. Because sometimes it's worth it to feel like a princess instead of a pauper for a few hours. Because, aaaaahhhhhhh...

This kiss you give, is never ever gonna fade away

2009-06-30T12:37:00.003-04:00

I burped my last motherfucking burpee today. I counted down the last 10, 9, 8, 7... and then quietly said "fuck you" after my last one.

"Enola Gay," one of my favorite songs of late 1985, was playing over the gym loudspeaker and as I stood there huffing I took the occasion to think back on my former 19-year-old self, dancing with my college boyfriend, both of us with silly hair; I considered my current self, pushing determinedly through this workout, a concern I never would have imagined 23 years ago; and of course I thought about being done, and the freedom I would feel once this chore was off my plate. Past, present, and future come full circle courtesy of a snappy synth pop song overheard between my last-ever burpee sets. A very sweet accomplishment indeed.

The day the 70s died

2009-06-26T12:56:00.010-04:00

Two celebrities I've felt fondly about since childhood passed on the same day.

Rest in peace, Michael and Farrah.

Hi from the High Line!

2009-06-25T15:33:00.008-04:00

The sun finally came out today and so I visited the High Line, the new elevated park that runs along the West Side from Gansevoort to 20th Streets. I entered at the north end via stairs on 20th Street, walked the whole length and then returned to street level the way I'd come. It's a very pleasurable stroll: there's beautiful plantings amid railroad tracks, remainders of the park's former life; great views of the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty; and the elevation provides fresh views of some of the newer local buildings. I was surprised to see how modern and geometric the architecture has become, has become a bit like Legoland down there. And where was I when the Standard Hotel went up? I felt bittersweet overlooking the meat-packing district at the south end, I used to live nearby when it was more Tranny Hooker than Helmut Lang, I find the current high level of expensive hip much too exclusive. Still, a bit of grubby patina remains in those cobblestone streets and I was glad to be standing there. I'm not sorry to see the sun after so much rain, but I'm hoping further construction creates more shady spots, it felt a bit roasty up there, and though I'd brought a book I wasn't comfortable sitting out in such direct blaze. I'd considered bringing Biscuit but was relieved I hadn't: sadly, there's no dogs allowed on the High Line at this time.

Dem bones

2009-06-24T13:45:00.018-04:00

I like an animated skeleton.

I went to MOMA today to see a painting by James Ensor called Skeletons Trying to Warm Themselves:

[it's hard to see here but the inscription on the stove reads, in French: "No fire. Will there be any tomorrow?"]

as a bonus, I also found Skeleton Looking at Chinoiserie:

I don't consider these paintings or myself morbid, I enjoy the hint of macabre. Spooky can be fun, and skeletons are just cool. A few of my other bony favorites:

The sword fighters from The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad

The Richard Avedon series "In Memory of the Late Mr. and Mrs. Comfort."

Mexican "Day of the Dead" folk art

Jack Skellington, from Tim Burton's The Nightmare Before Christmas

And hey, you learn something new: while Googling images i found this neat bit from artist Tessa Farmer.

That's a real bee and animal bones, she uses a microscope to create her pieces. Cool!

What I Ate and What I Learned, or There Was Butter (kind of)

2009-06-23T14:40:00.010-04:00

In order, starting from about 7:30 AM:

• salted caramel, chocolate graham cracker, peanut caramel. First two are outstanding, last is just OK.

• one small and one large coffee with milk and sugar

• 2.5 Pillsbury Homestyle Buttermilk biscuits: one with butter, one with butter and melted cheddar cheese, half with butter and honey. The cheese one takes it, amazing.

• stack of pancakes [from mix] with butter and syrup. I'm slowed down at this point, thus the decision to make them at home rather than going out. Is ruled that mix pancakes are in no way as good as out pancakes.

• second large coffee with milk and sugar, 3 more chocolate grahams, more salted caramels.

• Chinese food lunch: General Tso's shrimp, shared scallion pancakes, shared crispy dumplings, white rice. I give my friend the rest of the chocolate grahams and the peanut caramels.

• Cape Cod Buttermilk Ranch potato chips and 2 Diet Cokes. Never had these before, good stuff.

• reheated biscuit with melted mozzarella cheese

• big plate of spaghetti with red sauce and melted mozzarella

• remainder of the salted caramels

Curtain.

Gluttony is a sin--purposeful gluttony is I don't even know what--and so there's has to be lessons learned. First, I don't actually have a multi-chambered cow stomach; I got full and needed breaks throughout the day. It was a chore finishing that plate of spaghetti and yet i felt like I was on a mission to do so. Which brings me to: Second, the fact that i won't actually eat the house down even if I'm allowed to--my actual desires turn out to be more moderate than my fantasy desires. Humbling but true. And while I'm coming to terms with my foibles, full disclosure: It wasn't real butter. It was Smart Balance. Oh, the humanity!

Lastly, I wouldn't do it again. I didn't enjoy the extremity of the off/on, or feeling like I had to eat a huge amount just because the window was open. I felt overstuffed by the end of the day and slept like crap, I'm still now trying to get my physical bearings back. It was a worthwhile experiment but I'd like to find more middle ground with my food freedoms from here, get more comfortable with moderation. A smart balance, if you will. Stay tuned.

Morning has broken

2009-06-20T08:10:00.015-04:00

My dog turned me into a morning person. I used to need the jaws of life to get out of bed for work, hitting the snooze alarm 8 or 9 times; on weekends I would sometimes sleep until noon. Once at the beach I slept until 1:30, though i'm pretty sure Ambien was involved. And then I got a morning dog and suddenly i was up at 6:00 every morning without an alarm, but with a gentle paw tapping. Dink dink dink, you need to get up now. You can't ignore a small animal who needs to go to the bathroom, it's just not morally possible. And he doesn't keep weekend hours. So up and out for walkies we went, like postmen, even in the dark, the cold, and the rain.

And I've come to love it. It's a whole different day when you start early. We both adapted our schedules a bit and now we're out before 7:00 most mornings--I'm often amused that 8:00 A.M. now feels late to me. It's so peaceful in the early morning, the streets are quiet and leisurely and the sky is often lovely. We walk and get coffee and I feel alert and productive. Now that I'm not working there's a delicious sense of starting out yet not having to be anywhere in particular, and I can write, go to the gym, check in with friends online [one friend gets up really early, what i consider to still be nighttime, and I usually have a greeting from her waiting for me when i log in], listen to the morning news radio, all languid and unhurried. It's a soothing warm-up that I enjoy thoroughly every day.

Biscuit just has his breakfast and goes back to sleep. *Eye roll*

Soon you will be mine, continued

2009-06-18T14:17:00.008-04:00

Today's post is dedicated to the memory of Steve Kessler.

The all-day cheat is coming! I bundled myself against the pouring-ass rain and headed out to Brooklyn to get those chocolate-covered graham crackers. [I'd planned to order them online but the FedEx shipping charges were ludicrous, and hey, I don't have anything else to do. Adventure!] Atlantic Avenue is not charming, cobblestone-street Brooklyn, but the Nunu Chocolates store was delightful. It was empty--not surprising considering the weather--and a young woman working there named Rachel had lit some candles and was working on a laptop at a large farm table in the middle of the room. We chatted, she told me about the owner Justine, who made the chocolates, and their renovation plans to create an on-view production station and a bar; customers can come in a have a drink and watch chocolate being made. Not bad, right? I asked her if she'd gotten sick of munching on the product and she admitted she hadn't, she could still make a decent go of it.

Of course i wound up buying more than just the graham crackers. At left, peanut butter caramels, at the top, salted caramels.

I'm going to share, I swear!

Adventure Bag

2009-06-16T09:24:00.007-04:00

"Do you realize if we played by the rules right now we'd be in gym?"—Ferris Bueller

First there was a cryptic email from my dear friend J.: "Do you like dragons or modernistic pink blobs?" J. is crafty [a trait I admire as i am totally not] and so I had some idea where she was going with this. I answered "dragons." A few weeks later, and a few days after I'd lost my job, her package arrived. She'd made me a tote bag from scratch, and included a card that read "Happy Spring!" It had been mailed before I got the axe, so the card didn't say "Here's something I made with love to cheer you up at a sucky time!" but that's what i read.

Here it is:

In my new life at a strange time, her gift has become my Adventure Bag. It's roomy enough to carry my writing/scrapbook, a magazine or other reading material, and a bottle of water, but is light enough to not feel cumbersome. Adventure Bag was born from creativity and now stimulates my creativity. Adventure Bag turns a relatively simple excursion into something special: an hour spent reading at Starbucks, a trip to a museum, an afternoon movie is now an adventure because Adventure Bag make me feel free and expansive. They're adventures because wherever I am at that time is a place i wouldn't have been before, because I would have been at work. I'm off the grid now, I'm not playing by the rules anymore. I'm Ferris Bueller, having adventures! Adventure bag helps me feel alive and optimistic and incredibly grateful. Happy Spring!

Two biscuit haikus

2009-06-14T11:12:00.005-04:00

When i pick you up

you'll drip from all the butter;

one week to my mouth

Tiny dog lives in

my house and deep in my heart.

The chewiest bear.

Puck yes!

2009-06-13T08:48:00.005-04:00

Congrats to the Pittsburgh Penguins, who took the 2009 Stanley Cup last night. I didn't follow this series, or any for the last 10 years, but now I miss watching hockey. I started following the pucks, as my dad calls it, in January 1994, not knowing the next six months would become the most excitingly nail-biting, obsession-inducing, TV-riveted period in hockey history as the NY Rangers ascended to Stanley Cup victory. And when I say I "started following" I mean one morning I picked up a newspaper at a diner and started reading the scores. Just like that, totally out of the blue. The sports section was foreign territory to me until this point, but my father and brother are long-time puck fans so I'm convinced a genetic switch had suddenly kicked in. I was meant to watch the pucks, and what an incredible ride it turned out to be; made that much sweeter because I shared it with my family. It was all we could talk about, on the phone two or three times a day as the series progressed. I shared it with my city, too, at that fantastic victory parade. There's been a few times when I've felt especially proud to be a New Yorker, and that was one of them: over a million joyous fans showed up to toast their team, and it was beyond thrilling. What a gift.

Those players have all since retired and I now read the newspaper on a laptop, but maybe this October I can get some puck magic back. The genes are still there, lying dormant but still ready to be called into the game. Let's go Rangers!

There Will Be Butter

2009-06-12T13:18:00.009-04:00

One unfortunate side effect to being laid off is the financially prudent cutting of services. My first-tier whack reduced my Pilates training and Biscuit's dog walking schedules, and is the reason for the impending breakup with the online trainer i've been working with for a year. As part of wrapping up our time together, I have agreed to a Two Weeks No Cheats challenge, which means i eat ONLY the meals he plans for me and nothing else for fourteen days. My prior record was eight days, so it will actually be challenging.

The reward? I'm considering this a final exam of sorts and an homage to Trainer's support over the year, and I get to say "it was hard but i did it!" And hopefully I'll make enough progress to keep me motivated to continue working hard on my own. But the real reward? One whole day eating whatever I want. Whatever. I. Want. There's a physiological benefit behind his instruction, a reduction phenomenon called a refeed that i don't quite understand and don't really care to. When your trainer says "free day!" the only answer is "yes, please!" A guilt-free, totally sanctioned Augustus Gloop fest is going to go down.

I'm thinking the first meal will be pancakes, with lots of butter and syrup, and soft-cooked bacon on the side. The place across the street from me does this decently. [You can screw up a pancake. Overcook it and serve it with cold butter pats, bleh.] Coffee with milk and lots of it--this will be going on all day. Then maybe i'll bake up some biscuits, or if i can't wait i'll pop some out of a can. They will be buttered liberally. Lunch time! Grilled cheese. Or macaroni and cheese. Something with cheese. Israeli couscous with cheese! And butter! OK, I might need a short break here. Then eventually I'll roll myself downtown for dinner at Momofuku, my current favorite place in town, for the insane steamed pork buns and other piggy goodness. You have to love a place that baldly states "We Serve No Vegetarian Fare." And then the pièce de résistance, Milk Bar cookies for dessert [these need an essay unto themselves, to come]. I'll see if i can fit in any peanut M&Ms and/or Twizzlers anywhere, and then i think that'll do it. You've been refed!

Random memory exercise, for Dad

2009-06-11T11:44:00.010-04:00

My dad, my older niece, Grace, and I went to pick up my younger niece at the child care place where she went for preschool. There were a lot of security codes and sign-in protocols to deal with which surprised me although it shouldn't have; eventually we made it through to a small, enclosed outdoor playground where about 15 four- and five-year olds were horsing around. My niece, Sydney, spotted us--or rather, spotted my dad--and yelled out "Grandpa!!" She ran over excitedly and jumped up into his arms. And apparently, the word and figure of "Grandpa" has such power to small children as a symbol of benevolence that all the kids came over, like they were magnetized, circling around him. Grandpa. A Grandpa is here. We must go to him. It was like the end of "Close Encounters" when the little aliens are clamoring around Richard Dreyfus, eager to touch and experience him. I don't think my dad or Grace took special note of it but I know I was standing there with my mouth hanging open. Sydney giggled and told Grandpa her friends' names.

They let us leave and I asked Sydney what she'd had for lunch that day and she said "cheese." I asked what kind of cheese and she said "yellow."

No pain, no gain

2009-06-10T09:12:00.009-04:00

Behold the current bane of my existence: the Burpee. Also referred to as the squat-thrust. And for four sets of 12 reps, the most dreaded part of my week. I count down toward emancipation and mumble a lot of Nike-esque affirmations to myself while i'm lying there huffing on the mat and then finally, I'm done. Done for the week and in three more weeks, done for eternity. Because as god is my witness, I will never do another burpee again. *cue "Gone with the Wind" soundtrack*

But.

There's a lesson here in doing shit you hate. I laid there yesterday trying not to stroke out and lectured myself about how reaching one's goals isn't always fun. That there's strength to be gained in pushing through unpleasantries and sacrifice. Growth, even. My trainer is in Toronto, i could have gotten up and left any time I wanted--but i didn't. It didn't even occur to me. Does this make me a better person? In a small way, yeah, it kinda does. The next challenge is always around the corner, and becoming expert in Sucking It Up can only serve me well. And if I can get through burpees--unsupervised!!--well then hell, I can get through anything.

Great moments in boozing history

2009-06-08T16:17:00.009-04:00

Since we're celebrating.

• The first time i enjoyed red wine: at dinner with a Spanish houseguest and her parents, who didn't speak a word of English. Houseguest and I were also stoned. Super fun night ensued.

• The perfectly made, ice cold dirty martini I had at Cité after an all-day work conference. It went down like Fresca and remains the yardstick for every DM i've had since.

• My 40th birthday party beverage: Sucka Punch. I have no idea what was in it but it was delicious. Fantastic day.

• Champagne on the Met roof deck and then drunk at the Ivan Albright exhibit. Like being in the museum at night wasn't exciting enough.

• My first Bloody Mary, enjoyed with good friends during a post-ski trip layover at the Denver airport. A love affair is born: This is the only drink i really miss. *sniff*

• Getting served banana daiquiris at the South Street Seaport when i was in high school. Gag. Yet thrillingly illicit.

• Cotes du Rhone on a particularly good date at Lucky Strike; Sancerre and early evening on Fire Island.

• Spending so much time at the Cowgirl Hall of Fame after I'd first moved to NYC that I'd get served a vodka tonic without asking. I got phone calls there twice.

You don't have to go home but you can't stay here

2009-06-08T11:06:00.005-04:00

Last call. I haven't had a drink in 12 weeks.

I've sometimes used the expression "sober" but something about that feels insulting to those who stopped drinking because they've struggled with alcohol. I haven't struggled at all, I don't drink that often and I'm a total lightweight when i do. I'm not drinking now but I assume I'll go back to it, so again, "sober" doesn't feel quite right.

Maybe "indefinitely sober?" "Intermediate sobriety?" Whatever. I'm not drinking now and I haven't for 84 days. What started out as a diet and workout aid has taken on a life of it's own. In my current unpredictable life state, it's one constant. I may not always make the right choices at the gym or with my food, but this is a decision i've refused to unmake. It feels good to stand steadfastly by this one commitment.

I've gotten lots of raised eyebrows, a few pats on the back, a few dismissive shrugs. Some people make subtle, defensive grips around their glass like I'm going to suggest they stop drinking too, right now! Again, whatever. This isn't college anymore, ultimately no one is that interested in my consumption or lack thereof.

But today is an anniversary, so let's celebrate. A club soda with lime, please.

You are still in the running

2009-06-07T07:54:00.009-04:00

News this week about the death of actor David Carradine, apparently from erotic auto-asphyxiation gone wrong. If you're found hanging naked in a Bangkok hotel room with your junk tied, you're obviously keeping some things secret, and if the context appears to be too much for Quentin Tarantino to talk about, you are not screwing around. Dude liked to get his freak on.

Which brings me to my own freaky secret indulgence, one I'm not proud of but feel helpless to stop. It's not raining, and i'm not sick, but I'm going to watch TV today. For several hours. On purpose.

Yes. America's Next Top Model.

Don't look at me.

I freaking love this show. The Oxygen network shows seasons in full as a marathon, so i can glut myself bender-style on an entire narrative arc in one sitting. Oh, the glamour! The camp! The pseudogravitas! Tyra teaches me I should model through my pain, y'all. I could smile with my eyes all the time.

You can understand why I might want to keep this enthusiasm under wraps: I'm well out of their target demographic--I'm older than everyone except the former supermodels they resurrect as judges--and you know, it's not exactly PBS's Pride and Prejudice. There are many, many other productive ways I could spend a Sunday. But there must be others like me out there, sophisticated women [and gay men!] my age who know who Miss Jay is and aren't ashamed. Let's find each other at that next dinner party and let our freak flags fly.

Nom, nom

2009-06-06T10:32:00.008-04:00

There's a memorable scene in Thomas Harris's book "Red Dragon" [which was made into a movie twice: Manhunter in 1986, and Red Dragon in 2002; i preferred the former, done pre-Anthony Hopkins as Hannibal Lecter franchise] where the villain Francis Dolarhyde, insane and obsessed with the dragon in the William Blake painting The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with the Sun, travels to the Brooklyn Museum and poses as an art researcher. He arranges a private viewing of the watercolor--which is so fragile that it's not on display--and once there, chloroforms the curator and eats the painting. Eats it. Fantastic.

~Let me take a brief aside for a moment to compare the portrayals of Dolarhyde in the two movies. Before eventually becoming a cartoon, Harris's Hannibal Lecter was a scary motherfucker. But I've always thought Dolarhyde was a creepier character. He's portrayed in the first film by the golem-like Tom Noonan [who i find pretty creepy in anything he's done] and in the second by Ralph Fiennes, who is a fine actor and makes a respectable effort but is just too pretty to be that scary. A simple comparison can end this argument pretty quickly:

Right?

OK, let's get back to eating paintings. This chilling scene stuck with me the way it did because I too have had the urge to eat a piece of art that moves me visually. A feeling comes over me when i'm particularly touched by a painting, like just seeing it isn't nearly enough; I have a visceral urge to actually consume it, to take it in in the most powerful and literal way. This only seems to happen with paintings. I've been moved terrifically by photographs and sculpture but both mediums present enough of a cool, mechanical distance to impede the desire to meld with it organically. I've wanted to take them into my brain but not my stomach. Are you still with me?

I've wanted to eat Schiele, Kahlo, Klee, Freud. I wept over Van Gogh's shoes in Amsterdam and wanted to smuggle them home in mah belly. A small Vermeer would go down easy, pop! Bonnard. Picasso. Cezanne, yes please. Oooh, Miró. I stood swaying like a dieter in front of an ice cream sundae over this Bacon at the current Met exhibit:

and this one, yum:

Alas, the passion doesn't always strike. Sometimes an exhibit is just an exhibit. Very nice, even beautiful, but without craving. I like Hopper quite a bit but i've never wanted to eat anything of his. A Chuck Close is just too big. Basquiat, meh. Pretty, but too pointy. But that feeling is so sublime, such an out-of-body high, such a rich pleasure, that I'll go back again and again in search of it. Who doesn't want to be moved like that? Maybe Thomas Harris was onto something, having his characters consume their desires. With fava beans and nice chianti.

A pitcher of lemonade

2009-06-06T07:29:00.006-04:00

Shortly after being laid off i started a series of plucky Facebook posts about the new advantages of freedom I was discovering, based on the adage "when life hands you lemons, make lemonade!" I had several people tell me I should spin this into some kind of regular feature, but they became repetitive and as panic over finding my next job has set in, my thoughts have leaned a bit more toward absinthe.

The Lemonade List still has potential to grow, but in the meantime, here's a compendium:

Making lemonade #1: The gym is so nice after the morning rush!

Making lemonade #2: Now I'm home at 5:00 to watch Barefoot Contessa. I love Ina!

Making lemonade #3: it's easy to get a table at Balthazar for a Tuesday afternoon!

Making lemonade #4: i'm in no rush to get anywhere after Pilates, time for the Milk Bar! And the Union Square Greenmarket!

Making lemonade #5: being able to enjoy my family without work stress hanging over my head. Happy Mother's Day!!

Making lemonade #6: I can see the new Terminator movie that afternoon! I can't resist Christian Bale in a big loud summer blow-up.

Making lemonade #7: now have ample free time to build a time machine to take me to 1957 Paris. Get to the Avedon show at ICP, everyone! Is to die.

Making lemonade #8: no post-holiday weekend dread.

Re: All Day Cheat

2009-06-05T14:29:00.005-04:00

Chocolate-covered graham crackers with sea salt from Nunu Chocolates in Brooklyn. Soon you will be mine.

Yes, I know

2009-06-05T11:28:00.007-04:00

"Recently unemployed person starts a blog!" is straight out of The Onion. But hey, it's raining today, i have nothing else planned and why not use some of my new-found free time on creative pursuits? Can easily fit in Blogging alongside Going Out to Lunch, Coffee Runs, and Museum and Dog Park Visits.

Funny about writing: i was trained to be a journalist but writing on demand fills me with anxiety. I wrote both for my college paper and a magazine I used to work for and on every occasion i'd have the dry heaves before turning my assignments in. So perhaps we'll consider this a polishing-up exercise.

I've starting keeping a written journal again after online journaling for the last several years and have had fun with it turning it into a scrapbook of sorts, collecting souvenirs from my daily adventures around town: Starbucks receipts, restaurant cards, etc. YOU ARE HERE.

Ironically, with all this eating out talk i have in fact committed to a Two-Week No Cheats diet challenge with my soon-to-be Ex-Trainer. I start this Sunday 6/7, so stay tuned for plenty of moaning about that. I do get to follow it with an All-Day Cheat, so that will be fun to plan.

Food, Diets, Job Pursuits, Writing, Art, and of course, The Dog. Woooo hooooo!