Wasting money

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

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

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

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

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

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.