Thursday, December 21, 2006

Seen in Chelsea

While The Boy and I were walking to a party near Union Square a few weeks ago, we happened upon a gang of Santas - men and women all dressed like Santa Clause's or Clausettes. They were parading through the streets with their red, white and velvet, beards blowing in the wind.

We paused for a moment to take it all in when a coven of female santas in frilly santa skirts walked toward us wielding kindergartner-sized candy canes. They arched the candy canes over our heads and ordered, "Kiss, kiss, kiss." We were more than happy to oblige. We didn't want any trouble.

The Best of New York

10. You don't have to drive to get where you need to go.
9. You can go out and have a few drinks and don't have to worry about driving home.
8. You get to see lots of weird and varied people on the subway.
7. You can get a lot of reading done on your commute.
6. There are tons of cool restaurants to try.
5. There are tons of cool shops to shop at!
4. There are great cycling trails just a half hour from the city.
3. You have an excuse to buy lots of coats and footware.
2. You don't have to worry about buying more furniture!
1. You can spend quality time with your hubby while you commute home - no tv or other distractions.

Monday, December 04, 2006

First Snow

The first snow is supposed to appear this week. Yippee! Do you think I'll be as excited about it when the second snow arrives?


Does living in New York now provide me with an excuse to be rude? All my life, I’ve heard the stereotypes about rude new Yorkers. Their colorful candor is almost expected. So recently I’ve noticed that when someone is walking too slowly up the stairs from the subway or they stop short on the sidewalk, I have the sudden and disturbing urge to play the rude New Yorker card. So far, I’ve suppressed the urge. And rationally I believe that this kind of behavior just isn’t right! But where does this come from? What is this need to hide bad actions behind a perceived expectation? To stand in the shadow of a stereotype and exploit it – just to be mean. And why do I want to do it? Especially when my own experiences with the city so far have been nothing akin to the stereotypes. Where’s my head?

Perfect Days

Vietnamese brunch in downtown Jersey City . . . shopping all day in manhattan . . . sample sales . . . designer clothes at Scoop and Jeffrey . . . late afternoon coffee and a much needed rest . . . drinks on the roof of a bar in the meatpacking district.

Brunch at the Boathouse in Central Park . . . shopping at Ralph Lauren . . . meeting new friends on the Upper East Side.

Wardrobe Malfunction

I've learned that location doesn’t just have an impact on your neighborhood and amenities. It also has a bearing on the types of clothing choices you make. I’ve talked about the need for practical shoes and handbags. In Houston, for example, I could easily wear high heels to work and carry a small purse. In New York City – not so much. The city is also less forgiving of ill fitting clothing choices as well. In Houston, I could have easily have gotten away with wearing ill-fitting clothes. But in New York, such a choice can have an embarrassing effect.

Take this experience a few weeks ago. The cooler weather in NYC provided the opportunity to pull some of my old tights from the back of my sock drawer. I hadn’t worn them in over 10 years (!) but they were still good, so I thought, what the heck.

Well, their good condition was misleading. The years in the drawer had reduced the elasticity of their fibers. That meant that my tights just weren’t tight enough - they didn’t have quite the staying power necessary for walking about town.

As soon as I left the house looking fashionable in a grey sweater, black skirt and black tights, I knew the rest of the day would be a challenge. Almost imperceptibly at first, and then more urgently, the tights began inching their way down. I would discreetly pull at them, paw at them, pretend I was scratching my leg or adjusting my coat. But my efforts didn’t have much effect. At one point I was afraid the crotch would appear below the hem of my skirt or worse, that the tights would come slithering down with uncontrollable speed as I ran to catch the train.

I spent much of the day trying to keep my tights above see-level. Just another hard-won lesson in the city.