Gas Prices Hit Home

The Boy and I have been reveling in the fact that our move to New York has reduced our carbon footprint and removed the necessity to spend $$$ to fill up the tank of my SUV each week. So while we've noticed the increase in the prices for food and other things, the gas price crunch hadn't really affected us personally until yesterday.

I was traveling to Penn Station to catch a train to Boston. I grabbed a cab outside our apartment to get there. After a harrowing ride with no AC in sweltering weather, we finally arrived at the station. When I paid the fare, I gave the cabbie a dollar tip. In an ballsy move previously unprecedented, even for cab drivers, the cabbie stopped and begged for an additional dollar of tip because of gas prices, etc etc.

Now I know there are some discussions going on with the cab union to determine if taxi patrons should be paying a fuel surcharge. Some people say yes, in order to cover the cost of extra fuel. Others say no, afraid that the increase in price will deter customers. I guess this guy made up his mind. He's soliciting that fee after every fare.

Korean Barbecue!

My friend Little Roo is heading off to business school, so she held a week of celebratory events including a happy hour, prom (complete with prom dresses and 80s music), and Korean Barbecue in Korea Town in midtown.

It was loud and bright, and the barbecue chicken rocked! They also served some kind of shot drink in pure ice shot glasses. I thought they were just cold shot glasses until mine melted and the shot ran all over the table! 

The Bride Isn't Keeping Her Name Anymore

When I was living back in Texas, I would read the New York Times every weekend and dream about moving to the big city. I remember reading the Weddings section back in the late 90s and noticing how many of the wedding descriptions noted that the bride was keeping her name.

I compared that with the wedding descriptions in The Houston Chronicle. A note about the bride keeping her name was a rare occurrence. Even more telling, I was the only person I knew who had kept her name when I got married. In fact, when my 10-year class reunion came around, I had heard there was some speculation that I had divorced since I still had my maiden name.

Fast forward 8 or 9 years, and here I am in New York, still lovingly pacing my way through the New York Times each weekend.  But what I've noticed in the Weddings section is a change. It seems there are fewer notes about the bride keeping their names in the descriptions. 

Is it a sign of these turbulent times that people are going more traditional? Or are these young gen y'ers simply so secure with their standing in the world that this gesture no longer seems important or necessary? 

Summer Nights

Central Park features prominently in my tales of the city this summer. Indeed, one of the reasons we chose our apartment was its proximity to the park. Hardly a day goes by that I don't visit the park to run or cycle. It is an extension of my home. It is my backyard. 

We celebrated summer in our back yard the other evening with several thousand of our close new york friends, each vying for a square of grass to listen to the New York Philharmonic play.

It was a perfect night, a week or so before the searing heat and humidity arrived. The Boy and I, the Diva D, The Little Nolita Lady and Professor Yang all assembled for our night under the stars. I had planned my menu for weeks - fresh roast beef sandwiches with homemade blue cheese sauce and red peppers on rosemary-olive rolls, and raspberry and blueberry cheesecake bars.  Yum. Of course we also had the requisite bottles of wine. 

The music hummed, providing a moving soundtrack to the comfortable night. It was one of those nights when you felt very alive, and giddy, and glad to be amongst friends. 

The perfect evening was punctuated by fireworks which lit up the night sky above the skyscrapers in the distance. 

As The Boy and I walked home with our blankets and empty bottles, I was happy to be here. Last year at this time, we were still living in New Jersey, and had a long commute ahead after the performance. This night, it was only a few short blocks to home, the best ending to a lovely night.

Have Wheels, Will Disco

After catching Batman at a theater near Lincoln Center on Saturday, The Boy and I walked home through the park. We skirted the sheep meadow, and came upon the hippest and happiest spot in the park. The Skate Circle on Skater's Road in the park looks like an impromptu roller disco just sprung up out of the asphalt.  The dance skaters boogie woogie in old-style skates and short-shorts. Makes me nostalgic for the days when the roller rink was my universe. Of course, where I grew up, the roller rink was in an old barn about 10 miles outside town on an old farm road. 

Cat on a Hat

While sitting in a cab at a red light the other night, we saw the strangest thing - a guy walking through the crosswalk with a live cat balanced on his head. Really. We saw it. It was too dark to get a photo, but I SWEAR it happened. Those of you who know Meow understand that if I tried that stunt with her, I'd be taping my hair back to my scalp for a few weeks. This cat seemed perfectly at ease. Weird.

Night Lights

Traveled out to Prospect Park in Brooklyn over the weekend to celebrate Easy E's birthday.  As twilight approached in the beautiful sister of Central Park, I began to notice some strange flicker of light that I'd never seen before. At first I couldn't figure out what it was. I finally realized what I was seeing was fireflies. I have no memory of every seeing fireflies before, so it was a banner celebration event. 

New York Triathlon - Check

Checked off another milestone yesterday. The Little Nolita Lady and I competed in the Flat as a Pancake Triathlon in Staten Island.

It was my first in a while - definitely not my best - but it did trigger the tri bug.

It was a warm day, but a great race - quarter mile swim, 12 mile bike and 5K run. The swim was in Raritan Bay on Staten Island, and the run ended on the Raritan Bay Board Walk.

We celebrated that night New York style with dinner, drinks and dancing.

One Of Those Days

It was one of those days when everything just didn't go quite right. I had the 'great' idea to do a long bike ride from our place in Manhattan to Coney Island. So we rode downtown via the West Side Highway bike path, and met The Little Nolita Lady at the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge.

From there, we rode into Brooklyn, around Prospect Park, and then down Ocean Boulevard all the way to the boardwalk.

Along the way we encountered heavy traffic and bumpy roads, and The Boy was almost sideswiped. The bike path along Ocean Boulevard was puncuated by stop lights every 400 yards or so, so it wasn't a relaxing ride. Just a long and dangerous one.

The best part of the day was stopping on the boardwalk and having a hotdog at Nathan's Hot Dogs.

On the way home, The Little Nolita Lady had a minor crash that resulted in an impressive and colorful bruise. We got lost - several times - and I was reminded why i don't want to compete in any reality adventure shows. I don't handle stress on the road very well. Not pretty.

When we finally made it back to the city (a nice lady let us follow her to the Manhattan Bridge after we made yet another wrong turn), we got rained on all the way up the West Side Highway. Wet but relieved that we were almost home, we were cruising on 72nd street near The Dakota apartment building, when the ride turned almost catastrophic. On the nearly empty street, a car with out of state plates made a crazy u-turn in the middle of the road an nearly took The Boy out. Yikes! Then I don't what they were doing, but somehow I was in their sights and I was backed against the curb screaming, "Stop, Stop!" Fortunately, they moved away, and I escaped unharmed.

But The Boy had had enough. He went up to the driver side window and rapped on it. "Roll your window down," he said. The driver had both hands on the wheel and looked straight ahead, as if The Boy wasn't there. "Roll your window down," The Boy demanded. And you know what? The crazy guy did.

The Boy proceeded to tell the man, "You can't just come to New York and make crazy turns in the middle of the street. You almost hit me and you almost hit my wife. You have to be careful."

The man, older, traveling with his wife, said evenly, "Thank you for that information," and rolled his window back up.

We peddled away and finally made it all the way home. If we ever go back to Coney Island, we're taking the train.

Give Her Regards To Broadway

One of the great things about moving to a new place is meeting new people. The Boy and I have met a number of cool people over the last year and a half, and it is exciting to continue to learn new things about them. 

I thought I knew it all about The Little Nolita Lady. Like how much she likes participating in - and excelling at - sports. Like how she likes composing her own music. Like how she loves karaoke. This last one really made no sense to me. The one and only time I had experienced karaoke was New Year's 1992. I was visiting a friend. Our New Year's plans fell through, and we ended up at a sushi restaurant where some untalented bloke was singing a Mac Davis song at midnight. Now maybe it's because I had never eaten sushi before, or used chopsticks or slurped sake, or that my date was a jackass, or maybe it's just that the Mac Davis wannabe was really, really bad, but I didn't have a good time that night. My perception of karaoke was forever tainted.

But because The Little Nolita Lady is my friend, The Boy and I acquiesced last night to hit one of her fave karaoke bars - 2nd on 2nd - after dinner.  When we arrived, the cheese factor was circa my 1992 experience. The skill level was about the same, too.

Now, The Little Nolita Lady shared with me that judging karaoke performances has 3 dimensions.

1. Song Selection
2. Performance and Charisma
3. Vocal Ability

To her, the first two are most important and can make up for deficiencies in actual singing ability. At least that is what she told me when trying to persuade me to try my hand at the microphone.  I always have contended that the only people who like karaoke are the ones who can actually sing. My hypothesis was borne out, allright.  About 30 minutes into the scene, The Little Nolita Lady was called to the stage where she belted out a Proud Mary that gave me goose bumps. She chose a great song. She chit chatted with the crowd. Danced with drunk revelers. And those pipes. Seriously, I'm embarrassed even to SPEAK in front of her after that. The chick can really sing! And perform. And pick cool songs. She is the karaoke trifecta.

So while I am elated at having a friend who is so talented, I'm also feeling a bit vindicated. No wonder I don't like karaoke. I don't want to expose my screeching instrument to the world! The Little Nolita Lady can and should do karaoke every night of the week. In fact, she is one of those few people to whom you would never mutter, "Don't quit your day job," after a turn at the mic. Indeed she SHOULD quit her day job and go sing on Broadway or try out for American Idol or start her own band. I, on the other hand, will stick to writing. It is soundless.  : )

Crane Your Head

I think many of you heard about the crane collapses here. I still can't believe they made national news, but that's another story.

Anyway, when I was walking around today, I saw this big bad boy, and it really blew my mind. I think because this building is so narrow itself, and the crane is so high - probably 50 or 60 stories. It inspires awe at both the ingenuity that enabled cranes to be developed, as well as the potential for disaster we now know is possible. They are doing new construction on my street, but thankfully it's only a 5 story building. Like many in other neighborhoods, I would be less than thrilled to have this in my back yard.

Education Transportation

Was on the subway in late morning today because of a dentist appointment. There was a group of jr high or high school kids on the subway with their teacher - on a fieldtrip perhaps? Anyway, there was a load of them, and they were being loud and obnoxious, so at first I was annoyed. Then I realized that the teacher was quizzing them on geometry rules and theorems. They were clamoring all over each other to be heard shouting out the answer. It was the coolest thing ever. In between the answers, they were cracking wise, and the teacher was completely non-plussed and just kept going. He helped steer anyone who gave a wrong answer to the right conclusion. I felt really lucky to see something like that in action.

Later, I was walking through City Hall Park. They have tables set up with checkerboards on top. There were a couple of dudes playing chess - an old grizzled dude with a jaunty hat on his head, and a younger, taller, beefy dude. They were going at it, clicking the timer and making their moves. Unfortunately, I couldn't stick around to see who won, but my money's on the older dude.

Which is interesting. Apparently I'm not really in sync with the "inexperienced" whether they are chess players or mathletes. Guess that's why I was supporting Hillary, even though as a Gen Xer, I should have been turned on by Obama's subtle message of hope. Maybe I'm so cynical I don't really believe things can change, and just want someone I know can play the game. Like the old grizzled dude.

Market Mania

One of the benefits of living in the city is the variety of specialty shops - the butcher, the cheese shop, the bakery, the fruit stand. In my idealized view of the city, I would make time each week to visit these vestiges of the past and thoughtfully select my groceries for the week. 

The truth is, I hardly ever do this. There is a butcher who rents space in the bottom floor of my building, and I rarely visit! There are at least 4 small, New York style groceries on my way home from the subway, one right on my block. However, I usually forgo all of this to exercise one of the other benefits of the city - they deliver everything. Therefore, just about once a week, I receive a thoughtfully-selected bounty from Fresh Direct. It is more convenient, and I'm actually less apt to buy a bunch of stuff I don't need - or worse - forget to buy the stuff I do need.

And while I do appreciate the benefits of getting my groceries delivered this way, I sometimes wonder if I am contributing to the demise of "New York City - the hard-scrabble land of dreams" and contributing to "New York City, the Disney theme park."

Texas-Style Weekend

Temperatures soared into the 90s in NYC this weekend, and along with high humidity, brought a profoundly Texas feel to the weekend.

I paid a visit to the Union Square Greenmarket on Saturday morning, while the oven was just pre-heating. Picked up some beautiful beets and lettuces and cheese from nearby farmers which made a delightful salad later that evening. There were vendors with all kinds of herbs and plants for sale, making me wistful for my mom. She loves that stuff and would have enjoyed the morning.

Later in the day, The Boy and I met up with The Little Nolita Lady at the Big Apple Barbecue Festival in Madison Square Park. I wanted a taste of Texas 'Cue, and there were two vendors on hand from the Lone Star State. I wanted to hit The Salt Lick Barbecue from Driftwood, Texas for the beef brisket and beef sausage and slaw.  It had passed the 90 degree mark by then, and to my dismay, the line for The Salt Lick was at least an hour long and snaked around the sweltering pavement of Madison Avenue and 26th street.  2 people fainted while I was in line. With sweat rolling down my back in rivers, fainting seemed like a reasonable plan for fast-tracking the line, and getting a frozen washcloth and some free food. 

Finally, after the long wait, we settled on the grass in the park with wisps of live music drifting our way, and communed with several thousand of our fellow New Yorkers. The Lady Lawhorn will be happy to know that we spotted several proud displays of horns amongst the crowd. It was a day well-lived, and a nice reminder of home. 

A River Runs Through It

Ventured out with The Boy last weekend on a great adventure on two wheels. We rode our road bikes through Central Park, to 72nd Street, then by the Dakota Lofts, where John Lennon famously lived and died, west to Riverside drive and then north about 90 or 100 blocks to the George Washington Bridge. From the bridge, as you can see, is a great view of the Hudson River, with New Jersey bordering the right, and the island of Manhattan on the left.

From there we ventured to Palisade State Park in New Jersey, where we rode up and down the rolling hills bordering the river.

It was a challenging and sometimes nerve racking ride, but a great way to spend a sunny weekend morning. 

That Stinks

My friend La Bitcha from Houston works for Aramark. Looks like her brethren here in NYC are skeeved about something. They've been on strike for at least a month, lorded over by a giant inflatable skunk. I walk by them each morning on my way to work. They always have 2 foil serving platters full of breakfast. I wonder who is providing the catering. Surely not Aramark?

Chicks Flick

Set out with my girlfriends on Friday night for the 11:30 showing of Sex and the City, the movie. Full of anticipation, we dined at Citrus before we headed to the theatre at Lincoln Center. Women were dressed to the nines - including one who had a feathered bird in her hair -  for the chick flick of the year. 

Little did we know that chicks would actually be flicking, and shoving, and cutting, and cursing, and running to get into the theatre. 

After waiting in a line as long as Samantha's list of sexual conquests, we began moving forward amicably. But then all hell broke loose and large hordes of women began pushing their way forward as if Manolo Blahnik himself was crafting customized pairs of shoes just beyond the double door entrance.

It was a low point in womendom.  And, because of all the craziness ad ruckus, I didn't even dare venture out for popcorn, MnMs and a cherry coke, my movie staple.

Fortunately, the movie itself provided that salty and sweet combination. I just wish there had been a little more sweet and a little less salt within the movie viewing public.

On The Boardwalk

Completed the Brooklyn Half Marathon last week with my friend Hot Brooklyn Mama. The race began on Coney Island on the boardwalk. It was cold and overcast - not good picture weather - so I just took a photo of my feet on the boardwalk. Hot Brooklyn Mama and I ran all the way from Coney Island to Prospect Park - 13.1 miles. What a blast! Afterward, The Boy picked me up in the car. Yes, we still have one car in the city. I was relieved not to have to truck the subway home. Especially after a crazy early morning bus ride out to Coney Island in a ghetto school bus with no shocks!

Seen on the commute home

Girls Gone Mild!

I'm not embarrassed to tell you that I can be a little shallow. I like a nice bag and hot shoes. I adore my diamond wedding ring. And I love reading about celebrity exploits at all the cool clubs around town. Between that and Sex and the City reruns showcasing the breathy excitement of what's inside, I decided it would be a neat idea to have a club night with all my gal pals.

The key to club night is actually getting into the club. I have heard countless stories of cranky and demented doorment who execute a perplexing decision-making process to determine who gets in. I abhor waiting in lines. I was willing to pay a little to get on a list or have some assurance of VIP treatment.

We first made some calls to the Pink Elephant, but it was going to cost us something like $300 a person. I wasn't sure if I actually wanted to pay that much. Fortunately the Little Nolita Lady had some connections, and we were able to secure our names on a VIP list for the opening of a new club called The Mansion.

Club night started at about midnight (gasp). The line to get in the door wasn't really a line at all, but a mob scene. Exasperated club staff hulked up and down the sidewalk yelling at all the frivolity seekers to form one single line. Which they didn't. For awhile, we couldn't even find anyone in charge to confirm our VIP status. Then it seemed like EVERYONE in the line around us thought they were a VIP too. We thought our whole plan had gone down the tubes. But a few recon missions later, and we were in, baby. And while it was good to be in, it wasn't what I expected. The idea of it was much better than the reality. Nevertheless, we had a fun night dancing and getting wired on vodka and Red Bull.

At around 4 am, we tried to change the scenery a bit. But after waiting in another line - one in which there was no VIP pass waiting for us at the end - we decided to hit the road. Our Sex and the City night was a blast. But I'd rather cuddle up with my greatest accessory - The Boy.