Blog of Beane

New websites for my work

2011-06-03T09:58:00.004-04:00

To all my loyal readers:

I've started up a new blog, christinabeane.tumblr.com, which is where I'll be posting the kind of stuff I used to write about here. (Soon the address will just be christinabeane.com, but as you'll see if you click, I'm still getting that set up.)

And for my writing related to healing and yoga, go to ThisIsWheretheHealingBegins!

I'm not deactivating this blog--not many people know about it and so maybe in the future I'll post secrets here--but for the most part, though Blogger has served me well, my internet presence has shifted to Tumblr and Wordpress.

Thanks for reading my words and I hope you'll find me at my other online outlets!

On the excellence of air conditioners

2011-06-01T23:04:00.003-04:00

I am in awe of cool air. It's gushing in from the new metal box in my window, and I am so grateful.

Last summer I simply sweated; I lived somewhere different and it wasn't so stuffy. Cool breezes swept in each morning and a small fan carefully aimed made things bearable in the evenings. But my current bedroom is much smaller and entraps heat, apparently.

I returned from a wedding-themed vacation to find New York had started summer without me. It was cold and clammy when I left; thick and steamy when I got back. I stayed in my apartment just long enough to take a shower before I went out to buy a fan.

The fan sufficed for one night before I realized it wouldn't. Stirring hot air doesn't do much to cool a person off, unfortunately. And once my online research convinced me I wasn't going to singlehandedly cause nor prevent global warming, I vowed to seek out an energy-efficient A.C. and set my sights on coolant-induced relief.

My first resource was Craigslist. Eight emails garnered two offers, one promising but overpriced, the other seemingly ideal. I thought I was all set, but as the hours passed, so did my opportunity. (The Craigslist interaction could really be a blog post of its own; maybe I'll just copy, paste, and let the email chain speak for itself.) Which meant that last night, against my intention, I again slept spread eagle on top of the covers, directly in front of the fan, which did its best to help.

Tonight I went retail. I already knew I'd be paying more than $100; I'd checked out the market the day before, to inform my Craigslist negotiations. But the cheapest models still in stock were more like $140 or $170. I hemmed and hawed, enjoying the chill breeze in the appliance store while I mentally weighed the cost of comfort.

Budget initially got the best of me and I ended up choosing to pre-order a $100 model that should be available in a day or two. But while I waited for the salesman to type up my address, I thought about returning home to my hot and stifling bedroom. I thought about how another night would still pass before I felt the benefits of what I was purchasing. I thought about how much a night in a hotel with A.C. would cost, and about how many nights I would use my new machine, and realized what I was really paying for, and impulsively upgraded to the nicer, pricier, immediately available model.

I'm so glad. And even though I couldn't get it home by myself--no fewer than three New York strangers helped me out, god bless this city--I installed it with only minor assistance, and it's already proved worth every penny.

Sure, it was a drag dropping so much hard-earned money on something I could probably have gotten cheaper another time, but I have to live in the present. And presently it is air-conditioner weather, and I am deeply appreciative of my ability to buy what I want when I need it. I don't take my good fortune for granted; I know I am privileged, and I am grateful.

FB Photobomb?

2011-02-08T16:46:00.002-05:00

Do you ever think it would be fun to dig up old pics of you with old boyfriends or girlfriends, and scan the pics and then post them to Facebook all at once so that the old photos dominate the FB walls of your exes, thus forcing said exes and their current partners to acknowledge ancient history?

Yeah, me neither.

Zippity-do-drive

2011-01-12T15:41:00.002-05:00

I couldn't believe it when I saw that yesterday's Groupon was for a supercheap Zipcar membership. HOW did they know that I had been seeking an affordable method of private transportation?

Call it random chance or the synchronicity of the universe, but that discount was exactly what I needed, exactly when I needed it, so I was thrilled to snap up the offer and become a Zipcar member.

A day later, I have had all sorts of trouble registering and getting set up, but because the Zipcar customer service has been nothing short of amazing, I don't even mind the delay. I feel confident my issues will be addressed by the time I need a car this weekend, and I'm encouraged and impressed to discover how intelligent, courteous, and helpful the employees have been.

I just ADORE good customer service!

Watch There Will Be Blood

2011-01-09T20:48:00.002-05:00

...and then watch this.

Call me crazy, but...

2010-11-20T09:18:00.005-05:00

Less than twenty-four hours after soundly decrying Four Loko, I was wasted off it.

I know, I said I had no desire ("None. Zero.") to try it, and that was almost completely true. But my boyfriend brought home three cans and we had a party to go to Friday night. I was sure it was a bad idea and he was confident it was no big deal. I could have refused to try it, but after learning that, according to the Huffington Post, a Four Loko has the caffeine equivalent of two cups of coffee, I figured I could handle it. Yeah, that's a lot for me--four wine coolers and two cups of coffee will most likely get me a serious buzz. But I'm twenty-seven, and though my heavy drinking days are behind me, I figured I could handle one can of this much-hyped liquid hysteria.

Turns out, my speculative descriptions of Four Loko as a "blackout in a can" and a "playfully camouflaged hangover" were dead on. One time during a college summer I took half a Xanax before a keg party; up until I lost my memory I recall having an amazing time. But I'd never blacked out before, and waking up on my friend's couch the next morning was an uncomfortable experience: I had no idea how I'd gotten there, or what had happened in the preceding hours.

It's a known fact that combining Xanax with alcohol causes memory loss; I haven't yet read anything that states the same about whatever the hell is in Four Loko, but it definitely had a similar effect on me--and on my 180-pound boyfriend, who, unlike me, has rarely blacked out in his life.

The party started at ten on Friday, so after an early dinner, we each popped a can of Four Loko around eight. I'd negotiated with myself, deciding to treat the endeavor with respect and cautious curiosity; I did, after all, have some experience with time-intensive alcohol consumption: Power Hour. (For the uninitiated, this is when you drink an ounce of beer every minute for an hour, which is like drinking six beers in an hour.) And I wasn't even pushing myself to finish the entire can of Loko. The way I figured, at just $3 I could simply sip until I felt satisfactorily buzzed; the equivalent of a couple drinks for a fraction of the price.

An hour later, I was guzzling the last of my toxic 23.5 oz. beverage.

I'd read that Four Loko tastes disgusting, so it was pretty much what I expected. But my boyfriend, who genuinely enjoys the taste of most energy drinks and is unfazed by descriptors like "cough syrup," was in for an unpleasant surprise when he took his first swigs of Blueberry Four Loko. (To be fair, I'd read that blueberry was the grossest flavor and thus refused to touch it, so his drink may have tasted worse than mine.) I'd never seen him grimace the way he did after swallowing the Four Loko--pinched lips and suppressing a gag reflex. However, just a few minutes later, he reported that the taste had grown on him. And a half hour after that, I understood what he meant.

At first I had to use my Power Hour prowess to force myself to imbibe my Four Loko, which was labeled as fruit punch but tasted more acrid and pungent than any fruit should ever be. I wasn't interested in drinking a full ounce every minute, and just reminded myself to take a slurp every few minutes. After a few deliberate, horrid swallows, I realized that the drink goes down much, much easier if you can avoid tasting it.

And therein lies the largest danger of Four Loko: Its taste forces you to chug, and therefore binge drink. Beforehand, I calmly observed that chugging Four Loko would be a very poor decision, as its alcohol and caffeine content is equal to at least a red bull vodka or two, and I'm not supposed to have more than one of those per hour. Nor do I chug them.

But by eight forty-five I was nearing the end of my massive can of Four Loko (which, by the way, is even less tolerable when it is warm--another incentive for rapid consumption). And I was feeling great.

My boyfriend and I decided to split the third and final can of Four Loco as we took public transportation downtown. Again, I had previously identified this action to be stupid and unsafe, in part because we'd be compelled to drink the whole thing in a short time period, and in part because it is illegal to drink alcohol in public.

But I was already drunk--and loving it!--at this point, and seriously, these cans look like they're for kids. And we certainly wouldn't be the only New Yorkers sneaking alcohol in public on a Friday night. So it was a no-brainer, in part because my brain was already on vacation by then.

I remember enjoying the bus rides, but I don't remember any details except for where we were sitting, a memory that is bolstered by a couple of pictures we snapped before disembarking, in which we look happy and sober.

I sort of remember finding the bar where the party was, just as I sort of remember what the place looked like inside--very dark--and I recall finding my friend and feeling happy. I don't remember a single word of specific conversation, however, though my boyfriend says he found me demonstrating a yoga pose on the floor in the back room.

I do remember leaving, parting ways with a friend and getting in a cab with my boyfriend. I do remember that after we got out of the cab we popped into a local bar, which was unusual. I remember a group of people making noise and beckoning to my boyfriend and me, and I remember feeling excited and welcomed. But it turned out they just wanted us to get out of the way of the dart board.

I don't remember getting pizza, though there's evidence we did. And I don't remember getting home, but I do remember waking up with a distant, familiar feeling of unaccountable unconsciousness.

If that were the end of it I would still probably never drink that swill again--as fun as it may have been, not remembering anything of consequence is frustrating and embarrassing. I don't get to see my friends all that often and I'd really been looking forward to our conversations. I had a good time, I'm sure, but without a memory of the experience, it feels like a bit of a waste.

But that wasn't the only detractor: I was also hungover the entirety of the following day. It wasn't a terrible hangover, but it was terribly persistent--a low-grade swirl of nausea and malaise. An overall sense of grossness and the inability to muster motivation. All. Day. Long.

And that was the outcome of drinking less than 1.5 cans of Four Loko and a few swigs of Bud Light. So I shudder to think what is happening to those who are drinking this stuff in even larger quantities. People who are trying to get wasted--because that wasn't even my goal, and I ended up tanked. Turns out even the most cautious approach is no match for the persuasive power of (addictive substances) alcohol and caffeine. I was naive to think otherwise, but thankfully I was able to learn my lesson without serious damage (that I know of).

So, remember that Four Loko party my friends are having in Williamsburg? I don't think I'm going to be able to make it.

Loco for loko

2010-11-18T21:06:00.004-05:00

My first awareness of a certain beverage whose name is so cleverly punned in the title of this entry came about via facebook: a facebook invite, to be exact.

You see, my friends in Williamsburg are having a Four Loko party in a couple of weeks, in an ironic effort to get sincerely wasted. Like so many facebook experiences, the information sloshed into my brain and promptly seeped into my subconscious, so that when I saw an abandoned can of Four Loko atop a bookcase at a recent party, it looked familiar. Then I noticed it in 7-11, and then glimpsed it in a news story promo while attempting to skip some commercials.

Before long all the media was trumpeting the dangers of this drink, which on first blush I find shockingly ingenius. I mean, it's a terrible idea, and that should be obvious to everyone--except to all the drinkers who LOVE IT.

It's a marketing gem. I can't deny it, but I also have no desire to try it. None. Zero.

In college, however--and even a few years after, I'll admit--I would have very much appreciated this economical pre-game in a can. Even now, were I inclined to get smashed and hit the town, I'd find 23.5 FL OZ. (1 PT 7.5 OZ) of alcoholic red bull an efficient if not appealing option.

So I get why it's popular.

But it's also dangerous, and I'm not convinced underage drinkers or even a good deal of legal alcoholics are capable of monitoring the consumption of a beverage that by all appearances is nothing but fun.

It's not really fair, but the truth is that this stuff can easily (and surely does) end up at high school and college parties, where it is no doubt abused. And yes, alcohol poisoning is always a possibility in the presence of binge drinking. I've witnessed--hell, experienced--some scary stuff related to alcohol overdose, even when the beverages didn't taste like bubble gum cough syrup. But when you introduce a substance with up to four times the potency of associated liquids (beer, wine coolers, Zima with a jolly rancher) but with no significant change in taste, you are putting drinkers in danger. They'll misjudge their limits with potentially fatal results, and they'll do it more often than if they were taking shots because Four Loko contains caffeine, which inhibits the brains ability to discern intoxication.

It's a blackout in a can and you've got to be at least a little crazy to try it. But teenagers and college students and plenty of legal drinkers are exactly a little crazy if not moreso. So if this drink is going to stay on the market, the public needs to be thoroughly educated on the contents of these playfully camouflaged hangovers.

How used!

2010-11-08T21:57:00.005-05:00

So I practice Bikram yoga and I live close enough to a studio that I can walk to and from class. This means I get to shower at home, which is awesome, and it also means I walk home in my sweat-drenched clothes. I wear capri leggings so when it's cold outside my ankles are bare unless I wear socks or tall boots. Last winter I almost relented and bought Uggs, because they so perfectly suit my specific need.

But I have issues with Uggs. And so my solution for last year involved long socks and fleece-lined moccasins.

Except after ninety minutes in the hot room, coating your sweaty feet and ankles in thick fabric feels less than appealing. Fortunately, even without socks, the fleece lining kept my toes from going numb, if not exactly keeping them toasty. But those moccasins are wearing through, and I made a discovery.

Uggs makes moccasins! Talk about a beautiful compromise. I'll get wool fleece lining and sure my ankles might still be a little chilly but my toes would be insulated and snug, sockless and wicked dry and warm.

So I did a search on eBay, and found plenty of people selling Uggs...used.

Would you buy a pair of boots used? Boots specifically intended for use without socks? Can you effectively sanitize/clean sheep wool?

Takes the idea of walking a mile in someone else's shoes to a new level....

Inked

2010-11-03T09:26:00.007-04:00

A disaster happened last night.

No, I'm not talking about the election results (though I could be). I'm talking about the trauma caused by a few ounces of a seemingly innocuous liquid.

Ink.

If you didn't know, I'm taking a cartooning class, and my primary tools are pencil and ink. I had never used pen nibs and ink before, and I enjoy the inking process. It's fun, and lets me imagine I'm using a quill pen.

Every week I take my art supplies with me to work, and then down to Chinatown for my drawing class. Savvy traveler that I am, I carry my pencils and erasers and pens in a zippered bag, and keep the jar of ink encased in a plastic sandwich bag.

So. Imagine my surprise—no, let's make that shock—when after class last night, when I stood up after a 45-minute bus ride, I felt something sticky on my leg. I looked down, and a massive blotch of blossoming black consumed my entire right thigh.

Before I finished departing the bus I was already reaching into my bag for the culprit, and before long was grasping an ink-filled sandwich bag that immediately stained my entire hand. Ink had saturated the bottom of my (expensive, brand-name) bag, which was transferring black smudges to anything it touched. I was four blocks from home and still had to stop in the drug store for some frozen dinner, so it was good that the corner diner didn't mind handing me some napkins.

As I trudged home, dripping with ink, I tried not to think about how ruined my (designer) jeans and bag were. I thought about how privileged I am to even be taking this cartooning class, to have the ability to buy this ruinous ink, to have a home to return to and a way to get clean.

I also thought about how, in class, just a few drops of ink could require a whole paper towel to blot them up, how a quick dip of the nib lent astonishing longevity. This is wonderful, from an efficiency perspective. But it also means that the quantity of ink spilled in my bag and on my pants was monumental.

Once home, it was an inkbath. Splotches everywhere, try as I might to contain them. Splashes of black ink in the sink, on the floor, on the toilet, ringing the tub. Splatters on my face, on the wall, on the faucet. I'd stripped off my most of my clothing to avoid further damaging it, and I'm sure I made quite the sight, half naked, hovering over the bathtub at an odd angle, alternately scrubbing at my bag and jeans and using a rag to swipe at errant ink splashes, which seemed to replenish themselves as fast as I rinsed them. (Because the stains were so concentrated, adding water meant more and more ink.) All this while trying to avoid the massive ink patch on the skin of my thigh, which would have only contributed to the chaos had it gotten wet.

Thankfully adding enough water—like, gallons upon gallons—seemed to flush out the worst of the stains in both the bag and the pants, but I won't be able to truly assess the damage until the dark fabrics fully dry. And I cleaned up the bathroom surfaces well enough to avoid permanent destruction, though a vinegar and baking soda paste is definitely in order. And it turned out that the process of washing the ink from my leg was actually pretty cool; since it had dried so thickly on my skin, I found I could scratch it off in layers under the shower spray and had fun shaping the spread of ink into a cartoon face.

All in all, the catastrophe ranks lower than what happened to Congress last night, but a tidal wave of ink is definitely not what I bargained for at 10:30 p.m. following a day of work and study. It's safe to say I've learned my lesson about screwing lids on t-i-g-h-t-l-y.

Perez PR

2010-10-29T11:04:00.010-04:00

It's nights like last night (and bagels like this morning) that remind me why I love New York City. I had the chance to attend a Perez Hilton party, and, while it's the kind of thing I might have avoided in the past, I am so glad I went and made the most of Manhattan.

I confess I don't know a lot about Perez Hilton, aside from his reputation as a (formerly?) snarky, popular celeb blogger. The first time I read his blog was last week, so I can't compare the content to his pre-attitude-adjustment work, but I will say that judging from his presentation last night he seems pretty sincere about being a nicer, better person. I have begun to really enjoy my own journey of self-improvement so it was encouraging to hear someone famous express the hope that more of humanity and society was perhaps heading in the direction of kindness and compassion. Fingers crossed!

[On that note, I'm excited to announce plans for a new blog/website of my own that will promote kindness and compassion along with hopefully-productive navel-gazing. The vision for ThisIsWheretheHealingBegins.com is strong but the website is weak, so don't bother checking out the link until I update otherwise, but consider this advance warning.]

Back to the amazingness that is a Manhattan PR party: Perez Hilton uses BlogAds for his advertising needs and so does my company, for which my sister is an ad rep who also uses BlogAds, sometimes to advertise on Perez Hilton's blog. Hence her ability to get wristbands for the BlogAds/Perez Hilton party, the purpose of which, as far as I could tell, was to celebrate general awesomeness.

So my sister and I and two of our friends show up at the appointed time and after a short wait are released into Stone Rose, which is on the fourth floor of the Time Warner Building at Columbus Circle. Because the room had yet to be filled, the four of us easily snagged comfortable leather chairs by the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked Central Park as well as the iconic Columbus Circle statues and traffic.

Within minutes polite waitstaff came by with sake-inspired beverages: I would never have thought to pair sake with berry iced tea, but it was delicious. And then came the hors d'oeuvres. OH the hors d'oeuvres. I recently attended an event that promised "heavy hors d'oeuvres" but meant "lots of mini pizza slices," so the food at last night's party was the real deal and a welcome contrast. Pastry puffs filled with goat cheese and feta, chicken and pesto finger sandwiches, smoky spiced hummus on crackers, and more were continually offered to us over the course of the night. It's been a long time since I turned away free food, but the pickings were so good that we were eventually sated and started focusing more on the sake.

Around that time, my sister and her friend decided to make the rounds of the room while I stayed put in my comfy leather chair and chatted with my coworker. My sister and her friend returned with two photos: one a digital camera shot of them with Perez, with whom they chatted briefly, and another of them that was a professional photo booth shot.

I am familiar with the concept of photo booths at weddings or promotional events, but have never partaken until last night. But after Perez gave a welcoming speech and his pal Sandra Bernhard gave a comedic performance (I think that's what it was; I was laughing anyway), I was ready to take on the photo booth.

I'll let the following picture tell the rest of the story, but let's just say I am decidedly in favor of dress-up props. We had such a fun time and, given the incredible view that accompanied us, I must declare it an Only In New York experience. So, for the time being anyway, I ♥ NYC!

OFA Fail

2010-10-19T12:03:00.004-04:00

I figured a follow-up to my OFA praise was due, though my tune has changed.

Basically, I'm done volunteering. I might chip in another $10 or $15 if the emails get particularly persuasive, but I'm no longer convinced my actions really matter.

It's ironic that the campaign has actually inspired political apathy, but here's how it happened:

First of all, hearing Michella Obama speak live was pretty cool, but it wasn't cool waiting on hold for fifteen minutes first. Nonetheless, it was exciting to hear her voice when at last she came on the line. She was "thrilled" to be on the call and assured us that volunteers like us are President Obama's "compass, his guiding light, what keeps him going!" She reminded us we need to work harder than ever, because we've done a lot in a short time but desperately need to keep the momentum.

I agreed, though I didn't make it to the phone banking event two days later. I did, however, pay attention to the email I received the following weekend alerting me to the reestablishment of the OFA phone-on-your-own database.

I loved that database in 2008 because it let me take action without leaving my couch. So when an OFA official asked me to make just ten measly phone calls, I was all over it.

And then I started calling. No answer, no answer, no answer. Message, message, message. Even with a digital script provided I was out of practice and no doubt garbled a name or two in my voice mails, but I trudged on, understanding the importance of getting first-time 2008 voters back to the polls.

Around call seven I made human contact, and that's also when I called it quits. Because the woman sounded old, possibly frail, and she was not happy to hear from me. Yes, she was planning to vote—and how many more people were going to call and remind her? I was mortified and backed off as quickly as possible.

Why, OFA, are you asking me to disturb elderly women who are already voting? I'm sure you have reasons, but at this stage in the game, I don't think my phone soliciting is going to make a (positive) difference. Seems to me like there are plenty of other people already making those calls, so, I'm out. Fingers crossed for Nov. 2....

Nice work, OFA

2010-10-04T19:47:00.006-04:00

So you may or may not know that I am casually political, and fickle with my loyalty. In theory I'm a raging Democrat, but only because I really like Barack Obama. I totally wanted him to be president and I even did some volunteer work to help make that happen. But before I tried to help him, he came to me. He found my friends, too, and he got our attention. Yes, I waited with a huge crowd for hours to hear (not see, unfortunately, as he was too far away) the man speak. But I was only on the email list because I was tempted by potential Daily Show tickets and clicked my way into a database.

All of which is to say, Obama has mad PR and marketing skills, and they've hooked me yet again: Michelle Obama is speaking on a conference call this Wednesday and I get to listen. What's more, not everyone shares the privilege—only "top organizers." (Although I'm not sure what qualifies me aside from the ability to go to this website.)

I'd already been thinking about volunteering this week, since get out the vote campaigns are easy for me to agree with. I don't mind telling you who I'm voting for and why, but I'm honestly not trying to convince you to do anything but go to the polls. Even if that means my picks don't "win."

Because if I'm going to pride myself on my citizenry, it's counterproductive for me to discourage individual choice. I do, however, want my fellow citizens to do their jobs and to support the governing body their ancestors created. Our country functions by a voting system, and if you don't vote you are not participating. And if you're not going to intelligently participate in our government, stop benefiting from my tax dollars!

I flew in to Newark last night and on the shuttle bus to the city the surly driver was listening to talk radio. The speaker—who may have been Al Sharpton but I'm not sure; I know he was in some way involved—was imploring his listeners to get out and vote. I was impressed to note he was not telling people to vote for the sake of voting. He actually warned against voting along party lines unless citizens were sure those parties were serving their interests. What a novel concept! Encouraging people to consider what is best for them and then elect leaders based on their principles!

So maybe I was primed for action by the radio man, but when I got the political email from Mitch* today I was genuinely enthused to get more involved--and the prospect of hearing the First Lady live on the phone sealed the deal. I'll listen to what she has to say, and maybe I'll even take some action Thursday. God bless the power of communication.

*Mitch Stewart, Director of Organizing for America. We're on a first-name basis because I saw him speak at a kickoff rally back in June and he was pretty cool.

Thanks, Google!....I'm impressed.

2010-09-10T11:22:00.002-04:00

So, I have had this song in my head for a couple of days and thought there would be no way to identify it since mainly what I keep hearing is the strong beat and a specific style of whoop that occurs at the end of the chorus. As for words, the only fragments I could recall were "hands up" and "party all night."

Not a lot to go on, but once I have a song in my head it doesn't usually go away until I listen to the whole thing, so this morning I gave Google search a go.

Searching "hands up party all night" brought a variety of results, most of them to song lyrics, but they didn't look familiar (or sound right when I checked them out on YouTube). So I went out on a limb and typed the distinctive shreiky sound as well, searching for "hands up party all night oheoheohe."

Would you believe that only two results came up, and I realized immediately that one of them was the song in question?

Me = impressed/relieved.

You = get to have the song in your head now.

p.s. Having now listened to the song in entirety, I am even more amazed Google was able to correctly identify it from my search terms, none of which is prominently featured in the lyrics.

Zappos!

2010-09-07T21:23:00.004-04:00

I'm going on a cruise in a few days and started ordering swimsuit pieces from Zappos about a week ago. I've just placed my third--and necessarily, final--order, bringing my current expense to roughly eight hundred dollars.

Eight hundred dollars is a shitload lot of money! When I got my credit card bill I was shocked until I remembered most of what I have ordered will be returned. I don't actually want to spend more than $120, $150 tops. I'd just like a couple of swimsuits. The options on Zappos are more upscale than I prefer, but there are still sales and there is a convenience factor to the free overnight shipping and 365-day return policy. Except, now I'm closing in on a grand of debt and I still don't have a suitable option for my vacation.

I can't fairly blame Zappos for the fact that out of fourteen tops and bottoms nothing is a good match. They sent me what I ordered and I suppose they can't control how various designers size their clothing. A large should be a large should be a large, but what can you do--at least it's no skin off your back if you order three pairs in different sizes; you can always return the other two.

In the meantime, however, your credit card bill may be unfriendly.

Lazy Day

2010-09-06T11:26:00.002-04:00

So I just researched the history of Labor Day to make sure I wasn't missing something, but, nope, this holiday is indeed intended to commemorate labor. Well, really to commemorate the working man and woman; celebrating our collective labor by taking a break from it.

Given that Americans take shockingly little vacation and still manage to be less efficient workers than our European counterparts, I doubt a day off makes much difference.

But I'm still glad to have it.

Ooops!

2010-08-31T23:17:00.004-04:00

It's been (more than) two months since my last post. Totally unintentional!

Well, at first it was intentional. I actually thought of a few things to say but every time I logged on and saw the someecards post it resonated so strongly that I chose not to write something new and cause the cartoon to descend on the page.

Then, like, a week passed, and I got really busy. A superdear close friend of mine got married, and I had the honor and challenge of being very closely involved with the joyous occasion.

When I returned from Chicago I was consumed by a frenzy of writing. Alas, of limited creativity--it was for my job--but I was nonetheless thoroughly occupied. At the end of the month I took an extremely special minivacation to California with some wonderful favorite friends and was once again strongly tempted to move to Los Angeles. I'm not ruling it out.

Now we're into August, which was spent growing and relaxing, I'm happy to say. I meant to post a couple of times, but it was one of those things where I was inspired by an extraordinarily blogworthy email and didn't want to write about anything else until I'd covered the topic.

Well, the email is still in my inbox but I lost track of it as it slid down the chute. (Now Gmail has a new trick for me to try; we'll see if it helps. You'll recognize success if you see a post about salads and romance.) So ever since I received that remarkable email I have not allowed myself to post about anything else on this blog. Hence an even longer delay. If you care, I am sorry.

However, I saw a story tonight that has forced me to override the priority of the salad/romance post. Yes, our President spoke about the alleged end of a regrettable conflict, but I have not seen the speech yet and that is not what I am writing about. Yes, a new month starts tomorrow and that has much meaning for many.

But I write because of the blog. Because its evolution and popularity has reached the level of unstoppable. Because children are now bloggers. And I am fascinated by the position adults are in. Seriously, did we not see it coming? Did we not think our children--whose minds are certainly as independent and intelligent as ours, possibly moreso--would also be intrigued by such a freeing mode of self expression? No judgment, no limits. Publishing at the push of a button; instant accessibility.

Toddlers have tantrums because they are misunderstood. They have trouble expressing themselves in ways adults understand and thus become frustrated, and, possessing little patience or maturity, lash out in unpleasant ways. Imagine if a three-year-old could type a short essay about your disagreement over his desire for another cookie. Imagine if he could use reason--but no, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Many adults cannot even do that. Let's stick with expressing feelings.

Blogging allows people to say what's really truly on their minds. It's odd, but it works. Personally I prefer the privacy of a journal, but obviously I'm intrigued enough to have a blog (or three) of my own. And if I were less self-conscious, or more confident in the interest of others, it's possible I would publish my journal.

And why not? People want to be understood, and people want to understand. This explains biographers and memoirs; history. So who can blame bloggers for putting their emotions--their spirits--out into the universe? Why not air your soul in an arena where the energy can be reflected and absorbed? And who better to intuit this than the youngest of our human beings. Less inhibited and more honest, children's opinions are among the most valuable. If only adults could understand their intent.

Enter the blog. Or really, the act of writing, my most favored form of communication. Writing transforms you. (If you are a writer. Even if you're not, probably, but I couldn't say for sure. I suspect we are all writers, really.) Writing bridges gaps and conveys meanings with a grace that my spoken words never seem to achieve. If I can have a moment to compose my thoughts--not even to edit them, in the case of blogging--then I can make myself known.

It feels like liberty, and I don't see how we could think children would be deprived of the experience. It's true there are risks involved with blogging, but no more so with children than for young adults today, who grew up alongside the internet and who didn't realize that the exclusive website founded their senior year in college would eventually be used as a permanent archive of their most personal expressions of thought. And even years later people who should know better still choose to broadcast their daily experiences across a wholly unreliable network. A network that does not necessarily give a damn about spirit.

Don't forget Facebook is for profit. They don't care about your privacy. I've always wanted to think otherwise, but I can't be a fool. Same goes for other companies I truly want to love, like Google and Verizon. Innocent until proven guilty and all that but I'm wary for reasons and you should be too.

Which is why we should teach our children about the realities of the world, of the internet. Online is forever, for better or worse. That's not good or bad so much as it is true. So, yes, let's not make the links to our kids' blogs a matter of publicity or fame. But we should encourage fellow humans to express themselves, and depicting blogging--which at its heart is simply freedom of speech--as a danger is only one side of the story.

In Korea, they educate.

Truth.

2010-06-25T12:09:00.001-04:00

For the love of logic

2010-06-22T13:57:00.004-04:00

So, I'm standing in Duane Reade debating between the oatmeal raisin cookies and the iced oatmeal cookies, and it's a dilemma because I know it would be good for me to have raisins in my diet, but then, icing is delicious.

Enter the nutrition label analysis. It turns out that the iced cookies have ten more calories per cookie than their raisin-infested neighbors, as well as an additional half gram of saturated fat.

It would seem that the oatmeal raisin cookies were the clear winners, but then I noticed that--don't ask me how--each iced oatmeal cookie contains a gram of fiber, while an oatmeal raisin cookie has none.

Fiber is so important! Almost important as sweet, sweet icing.

Decision: made.

Okay, I choose you. Now propose!

2010-06-21T21:43:00.004-04:00

So I have to start out by saying I do not watch The Bachelorette and have barely ever seen The Bachelor. But I'm pretty sure I understand the premise of the show, which is to have one person cull a herd of the opposite sex and ultimately select a spouse.

Of course this franchise began with the man choosing from a harem, a concept that is cleverly manipulated by lauding the runner-up as a winner and giving her a reality dating show of her own. Three cheers for feminism; it's the woman who'll be calling the shots now.

Except. Apparently the conclusion to both shows ends the same: A man proposes. WTF? Doesn't flipping the whole "boy picks girl" schema on its head require the woman to ask for the man's hand in marriage? Or is it that improbable that a woman would take the lead in making such a lifechanging decision?

I mean, could you imagine if on the season finale of The Bachelor, the guy expected the woman to propose?

"Okay, Cheryl, this is it. I sent away all the others, and you are the most special person in the whole world/on this show. You win."

"Ohmigod Gene, I am so happy! I'm so glad I won this contest....So..."

"So, now is the part where you ask me to marry you."

"But--"

"Yes, that's right, I'm allowing you to propose."

You know, I'm pretty traditional when it comes to dating--I don't think it helps anyone for the woman to take too much of a lead. But if you're going to make the premise of your plotline that the lady is in charge, make her say the tough stuff. To let her pass off popping the question to her intended is weak.

Muppets + NYC = Masterpiece

2010-06-19T00:41:00.003-04:00

So, I wanted to put on a movie that I could easily ignore while I did some light sewing and my nails. Which is why, even though I've been meaning to see Brokeback Mountain again, it didn't make the cut. The Muppets Take Manhattan, however, seemed like just the thing.

And indeed it was....and so much more. Simple, charming, and utterly unbelievable, it was a delight to sort-of watch. Highlights include:

* A shockingly young Joan Rivers giving Miss Piggy a makeover that gets so out of control, both are fired from their department store jobs.

* A flashback to the Muppets' infancies, which I recently learned was the origination of the cartoon Muppet Babies, which I watched all. the. time. as a kid. It was a real hoot to see the animated characters I'm so familiar with portrayed as puppets, esp. since I hardly know the Muppets in any context aside from the cartoon.

* Realizing that the guy who decides to put Kermit's musical on Broadway is the same guy fromDirty Dancing who informs Baby that "sometimes, in this world, you see things you don't wanna see." And while he was great in that movie, he was born for the role of Muppet musical producer.

* And finally, the way Kermit just rolls with the punches when, after getting hit by a car, accepting the fact that he has amnesia, and establishing a successful career as an advertising exec, he is kidnapped by a bunch of animals, including a fat pig who punches him hard enough to make him remember who he is, and THEN, instantly accepts the fact that it's opening night of the Broadway show he hasn't rehearsed for, AND during the performance Miss Piggy tricks him into exchanging actual wedding vows....and he goes for it. The frog's a downright inspiration.

This concludes my only partly sarcastic rave review of The Muppets Take Manhattan.

Tis the season for sweet red goodness

2010-06-16T22:32:00.004-04:00

So, if you didn't know, I adore bell peppers. Specifically red ones. But for as long as I can remember (aka at least the last six months, though it feels longer) they've been outrageously priced--as in $4.99 a pound or more. For me, that sets them squarely off the shopping list.

BUT. Tonight on my way home I saw a miracle. The produce stand outside the grocery store had an avalanche of beautiful red bells, at an astonishing $1.69 a pound. I didn't need groceries, my tote bag was heavy as hell, and I was in dire need of a post-Bikram shower. But you better believe I stopped right then and there and loaded up on my favorite veggies.

Since I'm hoping the good fortune lasts and I never know where I'm eating next, I didn't want to go overboard, but still, I got three sizable, beautiful, deep red bell peppers for less than two dollars. WOW.

And then as soon as I got home and cleaned them, I ripped out the core of one and ate it like an apple. Since I'm usually splurging to buy a single pepper and thus carefully slice it for multiple uses, scarfing it down with abandon was a delicious new luxury for me. And I loved it. Proof positive that it really is the little things in life that matter.

Organizer for America: that's me!

2010-06-05T16:08:00.002-04:00

I made some phone calls before the 2008 election. It was the first time I'd volunteered to do anything remotely political, but I'd known about Barack Obama since 2003 and knew I wanted him as my president, so it was important to me to take action.

I still feel I could have done more--much more--but he got elected and I got a reprieve...enough other people worked hard enough to cover my relative inaction. But this time, for the 2010 elections, I feel it is I who needs to work hard to cover the inaction of others. Because I don't think enough people realize how important the midterm elections are this year. I know I didn't until very recently.

But on Thursday night I want to a political pep rally where I heard the director of Organizing For America (OFA) talk about how we won in 2008. It turns out that 70 percent of first-time and under-30 voters went for Obama, so that's the group we need to reactivate for 2010. If those same people get to the polls, similar results are likely. It's so important that Democrats keep their seats in the House and Senate. I don't consider myself partisan, but I'm Democrat by default because I know that Republicans are willfully and stubbornly blocking the progress of the President's agenda, and that disturbs me greatly.

All Americans should care about our country, and policies that help everyone shouldn't be blocked on partisan principle. So much is happening right now with legislation...it almost seems like magic, since much of it happens quietly and without press fanfare. But it's happening:Flavored cigarettes are now illegal. (And as an ex-smoker who started at fifteen, I truly appreciate the significance of this.) Women are now legally guaranteed equal pay for equal work. By cutting out banks as middlemen in the federal loan system, $61 billion has been reallocated for education. And now, if I incur outrageous credit card fees, it won't be because I wasn't warned.

And none of the above achievements are even part of health care or financial reform--the two issues the media covers most. WE PASSED HEALTH CARE!

But Republicans want to repeal it. Why, I truly don't understand. It's not like only Democrats no longer get denied health insurance if they have pre-existing conditions. It's not like Republicans won't also benefit from the millions--millions!--our country will save in the long run. It's not like Republicans don't have kids under age 26 who need their parents' coverage. But while I don't get why people want to erase this historic feat, I know I'm not going to sit by idly and let them.

So today I pounded the pavement as part of the Organizing for America Vote 2010 National Kickoff. I asked strangers, again and again, if they were registered to vote, and if they were planning to vote in November. I helped four people register and gave forms to another two, and got six people to sign up for emails that will keep them informed and give them future opportunities to make a difference. Not bad for two hours work, though I am completely exhausted from the effort.

But, tired as I am, and despite all the other things I could/should have done with my time, I'm proud of my actions. I like knowing the President would be proud too. It was the American people who got him elected, and it's going to be the American people who give him a helpful legislative body or an unproductive one. I'm committed to working for the former.

Flying on adrenaline

2010-06-03T16:15:00.004-04:00

First of all, Delta can suck it. Next, United, though the jury is still out on them. Finally, Southwest is the best. (And American Express gets points as well.)

My airline preferences tend to fluctuate based on which carrier has screwed me over the most recently, hence the previous ranking.

A dear friend's bridal shower and bachelorette party were in Chicago last weekend, and even if I weren't a bridesmaid I'd want to be there. But since I am a bridesmaid, attendance shifted from desirable to compulsory.

Which is why it was so bad that I missed my flight. Now, Delta will be the first to tell you that it was my fault. I'll be the last, but I'll tell you anyway: It was my fault. Technically. I mean, it was me who assumed that when the bus driver said, "This is the Delta terminal," I had arrived at the correct terminal for my Delta flight. LaGuardia is not a large airport—in fact, most carriers share one central terminal. So the fact that Delta has its own terminal supports the assumption that any flight even remotely related to them would leave from that specialized terminal.

But no. No, after the 30 minutes it took to get through security at the Delta terminal, I learned that my Delta flight would be leaving in 20 minutes from a different place. A terminal there was no chance in hell I could travel to in time. I learned this after unsuccessfully trying to get the assistance of no fewer than three Delta employees, when out of desperation I picked up a help phone. It turns out that Jimmy, while very tolerant of my tear-choked protests, was not very helpful. He told me I'd be on the next flight. He lied.

Of course I didn't figure that out until two hours later, after another round of security, when I realized my boarding pass did not feature a seating assignment. Never a good sign. As it turned out, Delta had oversold all of their flights, and since (to paraphrase the rudest gate agent ever) it was my own damn fault I missed my original flight, I was lower than shit on the standby totem, and I shouldn't harbor any hope of getting out of New York before 5 p.m.....the next day.

Whaaaa? By 5 p.m. the next day the shower would be over and done, not to mention half my holiday weekend. I wish I could say I handled the predicament well, but that would be a total lie. Fortunately my dear friend took the dilemma in stride, and within minutes she had me calling United, whose available flights she'd located online.

Well. United wasn't downright rude like Delta, but it was a little challenging to overcome the accent of the man I spoke with, which causes me to suspect that they outsource their customer service. (I have no idea if this is true, but I don't like the idea.) At any rate, I had just about agreed to take a huge financial hit and pay $403.70 for a one-way ticket to Chicago when my dear friend beeped in. She'd found a comparable flight from Southwest that totaled just under $300. I all but hung up on the United agent, who told me that although he had already ran my credit card, he'd reverse the charges.

My Southwest flight was delayed, but through no fault of theirs, so—after a third round of security—I just focused on being grateful to get the hell off the island without paying quite as much through the nose. And it really did help that Southwest agents are some of the most pleasant and cheerful people in an airport. Especially the gate agent who magically transformed my standby status into a bona fide seat so that I flew out at 7:30 p.m. instead of 9 p.m....just a mere seven hours after my original flight left without me! But whatever. Once I finally got on a Chicago-bound plane, I vowed to put the whole airport nightmare behind me.

So I tried not to worry when I noticed an email confirmation from United later that weekend. I tried not to worry when I saw charges on my credit card that continued to say "pending" instead of disappearing. But when I got my statement today and the charges had gone through? I worried. I worried myself into a fury.

Fortunately I was able to stay calm enough not to verbally abuse the United customer service agent, and in return she told me my "refund" was being processed and that it could take up to a month. And that if I wanted a full refund, I'd have to send an email explaining my situation.

More fortunately, when I called American Express to discuss contesting the charges, the woman I spoke to was incredibly awesome. (Not that she'll ever see this, but, Andrea Moffett of Atlanta, GA, you're the best!) She suggested I wait to contest the charges since she felt confident United would pay up. But I balked. I didn't want to pay an extra $400 because of United's mistake, nor did I want to be charged interest for refusing to pay. So Andrea, bless her, agreed to waive the interest that will accrue after I deliberately ignore the portion of my balance that United is responsible for.

Gotta love how adrenaline can take you from anger to relieved exhilaration in seconds.

@christinabeane

2010-05-26T23:55:00.002-04:00

It's not that I never thought this night would come, but I didn't know it would it be tonight.

That is to say, I have long harbored a fear of social networking. But tonight some delightful human beings convinced me it won't hurt to join Twitter, that, in fact, doing so could benefit me greatly. I was inspired to take the plunge, and when the handle that matches my web domain turned out to be available, I knew it was meant to be.

I don't yet know how vocal @christinabeane will be; you'll surely notice her following others but she may stay in stalker mode for awhile as she learns the ropes of this strange new universe that magnetically beckons.

I'm not ready to Facebook announce my presence, but I figure, if you're reading this blog, you know me well enough to be privy to my publicly posted thoughts.

Listen Up: Broken Bells

2010-05-24T09:15:00.004-04:00

Q: What could be better than a new Shins album?

A: A new collaboration between a Shins frontman and a Gorillaz/Beck producer!

Yesterday afternoon while riding in a friend's vehicle I heard the strains of a song that I didn't recognize, but that sounded an awful lot like the Shins. Excited at the prospect of a new album I hadn't heard about (but why hadn't I heard?!), I was dismayed to be told that no, it wasn't the Shins. But seconds later my disappointment surged to enthusiasm as I learned that James Mercer of the Shins—of course it was him, really now, his voice is so delightfully distinctive—had teamed up with Danger Mouse, who is half of Gnarls Barkley in addition to producing albums by Gorillaz, Beck, the Black Keys, and more.

As soon as I got home I jumped onto Amazon (sorry iTunes, but you need to figure out a way to match $7.99 downloads) and barely got through the track samples before purchasing this all-around winner. Broken Bells is basically a Shins album with added modern funk, ie, it's frickin' awesome. This is the kind of music I'm always hoping to hear, and it's rare that an album delivers top-to-bottom the way this one does. Kudos to creativity and the combining of two great talents!

What a difference a letter makes

2010-05-14T10:58:00.002-04:00

If you type in the web address to my blog, but you leave out ONE LETTER, you will be directed to this website.

I mean, really? How does "http://blogofbeane.logspot.com/" equal turbo fundamental Christianity online Bible preaching?

I would never have guessed my personal online ramblings were a mere letter away from the 1st Internet Church. Who knows, maybe I've stumbled upon my legacy...

Train's a comin'

2010-05-07T16:25:00.003-04:00

An excerpt of a Sunday afternoon in Manhattan.

The pen is mightier than the bored

2010-05-06T13:26:00.002-04:00

When I first moved to Manhattan—penniless, jobless, even furniture-less—I had to find a way from sinking into debilitaing depression while unemployed, hot, and panicked about my fate. My solution? Do something every day. Just one thing.

One day I went in search of peanut butter and jelly sandwich ingredients. The alternate purpose was to explore the various bodegas in my neighborhood, and the results were frustratingly fascinating: not a SINGLE bodega sold all three items required for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. One place had peanut butter but not jelly, another had both but no bread, another had just jelly, etc. It was maddening, since I had yet to discover the fully stocked grocery store around the corner.

A different time I looked for yarn. I can't remember why I was looking for yarn in July, but I think it had something to do with my roommate. I didn't find it. (Though a yarn store opened down the street a year later.)

Another day, it was all I could do to drag myself off the deflated air mattress in my humid apartment. But I had a purpose in life, a mission...and that mission was to find a highlighter. Again I plundered the small stores surrounding me, in search of something more satisfying than the standard yellow marker. I had scored a couple of freelance assignments, and this highlighter was going to make them important, real.

Today, in a different life, I sit at my desk job on my lunch break and contemplate the pretty weather outside. I don't have a window, but I want to see the sun, and so I've concocted a reason. I'm off to browse the office supply stores on Fifth Avenue, in search of a pack of pens. Because today I remembered that I was writer before I owned a computer, and perhaps it's time to get back to basics.

Pleasantries are underrated

2010-05-05T09:56:00.002-04:00

So I'm in Au Bon Pain picking out a bagel when I hear a voice say "good morning." After a moment I register that the voice is speaking to me.

"Good morning," I reply without so much as a glance.

"How are you?" the voice continues. I look over. She is a petite woman who is sweeping the floor near the bagels.

I hesitate. Maybe the employees have been told to be friendly. But then the "good morning" would have sufficed. I'm confused. "Oh, I'm fine, thanks."

"I love your skirt," she says.

"Oh, thanks!" I say. Her flattery has brought down my guard. "I bought it at a street fair in the fall, so this is actually the first time I'm wearing it," I confess.

"Well, it's beautiful! You have great legs. I wish I had legs like that. My legs are too skinny for a skirt."

I laugh. We're friends now. "Of course you'd think that," I tell her. "Everyone wants something different. I'd love to have skinny legs." (This is not true—I love my legs—but I wanted to make her feel better.)

We parted ways when I moved to get coffee, but after I paid and was on my way out, I passed her again, and we wished for each other to have great days.

Simple as it sounds, that exchange made my morning.

In my daily life, it feels like New Yorkers get accustomed to wearing stone cold masks around the city. It's something you get used to, and almost grow to like: There is inner strength in isolation, or so it seems. But this sprightly Au Bon Pain employee casually broke the barrier I so often construct, and I am grateful for her spirit.

I wonder what Manhattan would feel like if more people were like her....

Faisal Shahzad

2010-05-04T09:46:00.002-04:00

Are you guilty?
We don't know yet.
From what I saw
On the news this morning,
Probably.
(I won't be
on your jury.)

Who blows up humans?
Not you.
Your bomb did not explode.

A failure
In so many ways.

Got the cardio covered, thanks.

2010-04-29T11:25:00.003-04:00

I can't help hearing almost everything that is said in the hallway at work, and was surprised by the following dialogue:

"I mean, I live in a five-floor walk-up and I'm not that skinny!"
"Well, do you run up and down the flights?"
"No, but I run for exercise."
"Yes, so does she. And she also does Bikram yoga a few times a week."
"Ohhh. That'll do it."
"Yeah, she says she doesn't get enough cardio from the yoga, so she also runs."

As a regular practitioner of Bikram, my first thought was, What kind of Bikram is she doing? Because the Bikram I do? It definitely gets your heart pounding. Like, nonstop. Overachievers get on my nerves. Sigh.

Liberte Mediterranee, Coconut

2010-04-22T22:49:00.002-04:00

When I saw those three words: Liberte Mediterranee, Coconut, I was immediately attracted. Gourmet yogurt, in my very own grocery store. Not that runny stuff with 60 calories that I ate in college. This, the packaging proclaimed, was "our thickest, richest, fruit bottom natural yogurt."

At $1.50 for six ounces, it's not the cheapest treat in the store, but a glance at the ingredient list was encouraging...nothing unnatural. The thought of a healthy, all-natural coconut cream pie filling, combined with the simple, sophisticated package that evokes a Mediterranean heritage (which of course equals yogurt experience and expertise) resulted in me purchasing the yogurt.

It was worth every penny. At first taste, I was pleased by the texture, smooth and creamy, with a slight tang. It reminded me of sour cream, but with the consistency of chocolate pudding.

The only thing was, it didn't taste all that much like coconut.

And that's when I realized that in the grocery store, I'd only read the first part of the marketing copy: I didn't make it past "our thickest, richest" before that exotic healthy food luxury landed in my cart. On second glance, I took in "fruit bottom natural" and realized I hadn't thought to stir the stuff.

Oh, man. If I was enjoying the plain yogurt, can you imagine what I felt when the meaty shreds of unsweetened coconut joined the party?

Like I said, it was worth every penny.

YOU're a little flat!

2010-04-20T14:51:00.003-04:00

I don't like to be criticized. Who does? But I totally get that criticism can make you better, so I take it pretty well. Usually.

But I just got "feedback" from my "boss" on a perfectly adequate headline I wrote. If you doubt the adequacy of my headline, here, judge for yourself:

"A compelling story of guilt and acceptance is now available in paperback."

Are you desperate to learn more about the book this headline describes? Probably not. But does this headline get the job done? Yes it does. I know because I have written hundreds just like it, and they have all been approved and printed.

Now, Beane, you may be thinking, perfectly adequate leaves plenty of room for critique. And I agree. In fact, since I'm writing hundreds of these in a compressed period of time, I totally welcome inspired suggestions. But...

"A little flat, no?"

Is that an inspired suggestion? Does that even qualify as criticism? I think it might just be commentary. Useless, unhelpful, irritating commentary. Without a single edit to accompany it.

Because, why, yes, it IS a little flat. Good observation! And just exactly what do you want me to do about it? Well I'll tell you what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna write a new headline, because you've evoked the perfectionist in me, the part of me who knows I can do better. But I'm not gonna like it. And I'm really not gonna like you.

p.s. In case you were curious, the revision: "He survived the fire—but can he get past the guilt?"

Feeling the burn

2010-04-20T09:17:00.006-04:00

So, I made chocolate chip cookies over the weekend (side note: substituting honey for brown sugar was a yummy, chewy success!) and burned the shit out of my right hand. Back of the hand, really, and yes, I need to invest in some oven mitts.

In the meantime, I've gotten good at dashing to the sink and letting the cold water run over my injuries. Following Internet medical advice, after the cooling rinse I applied some lotion, and was pleased to notice that the rather large patch of mottled red and purple on the backside of my wrist did not seem inclined to blister.

Fast forward a few days. The burn seems to be healing, and is so painless that I forget about it until 5:45 a.m. when I'm getting dressed for Bikram practice. I glance at the wrist and remember how much sunburn aches in the hot room, but decide my need for the yoga outweighs my fear of the burn.

I won't say it was a bad decision, because I was really overdue for a class, but I will say that baking my burn in 100+ degree heat for ninety minutes did not exactly do it good. Midway through class, the burn started to hurt rather than tingle, and I saw that blisters were beginning to form. I considered leaving the room, but...well, you're not supposed to do that, and in sixteen months of consistent practice I've never bailed early, no matter how tempted I've been. That's part of the yoga—dismissing your anxieties and accepting your present condition—and I knew my hand wasn't going to, like, blow up.

Not exactly. No, instead, there's just a huge bulbous blister where before there was none. I don't know enough about burn science to assess whether this is a setback or an improvement—because the formerly purple skin is now a lighter red, which does seem to indicate a sort of healing. But I know enough about common sense to apply a bandage and let the blister do its thing...hopefully before Thursday, when it's time for more yoga.

When Stalling Pays Off...(?)

2010-04-14T17:31:00.004-04:00

I am trying to avoid doing something I have to do SO MUCH that instead of doing it, I opened an IRA account.

And I don't know a damn thing about investments.

Wow.

F you, McDonald's coffee

2010-04-14T09:01:00.004-04:00

I'm not entirely a morning person. On occasion I pull it off, but mostly, I'm neutral at best after I wake up and city-cynical throughout my commute. I'm okay with this, although I wish I were chirpier at times.

Anyway for whatever reason I got it into my head that what I needed to improve my spirits this morning was McDonald's coffee. It must be the (delayed) effects of subliminal advertising because I thought I could get coffee of any size for $1.

So I walked three blocks out of my way, passing at least two coffee places as I went. Once inside McDonald's, I saw that a small McDonald's coffee was $1.29. I almost sprang for the medium ($1.49) before remembering how sensitive I am to caffeine, but settled on the small and asked for hazelnut syrup, which was listed on the menu with no price next to it.

I'm not saying I can't afford $1.95 for 12 oz. of coffee, I'm saying I don't want to pay it. For another $.20 I might as well have gotten Starbucks. When I saw the total I asked why it was so much higher than $1.29 and I learned that they charge for syrup. I pointed out that there is no price on the menu, and the guy shrugged.

I felt like chunking my $2 coffee in the street...but since that's basically what I did with my money, I might as well drink the beverage.

And at least I won't be tempted to go back to McDonald's anytime soon—that's a definite perk.

My Annual Review

2010-04-13T15:17:00.005-04:00

Whenever my department head emails me and asks if he can stop over, I get a little worried. Mainly because there is no reason for him to come to me unless privacy is required. And especially because I interviewed for a new job last week. So I went on high alert when he emailed me this afternoon.

Shit! He knows! How could he know? Maybe he doesn't know. Pretend YOU don't know, and everything will be fine. Just play it cool.

He doesn't know. He came by to remind me of the company's new annual review policy, and consequently to administer my review. Technically my supervisor is supposed to review me, but whatever. I get along with him better anyway.

So, he starts out very matter-of-factly and tells me he's unable to promote me. I'm not surprised, but I'm disappointed. I've been asking for a promotion for more than a year now and totally deserve it. He agrees, but our company is in a shitty place financially and I'm not getting promoted. Instead I got a small raise. Small as in, right above insulting and far below substantial.

After I thank him for trying to look out for me, he begins to talk about how he can assist in non-monetary ways. He reminds me that he can't really help me up the ladder—I've been in the industry long enough to know the ropes and it's up to me to tack together a career trajectory. But, he says, he can offer guidance and advice about corporate life, office politics, personalities and—

"Is your desk comfortable with that tilt?" he suddenly interrupts himself.

"Huh? What tilt?"

"Oh, I've talked to you about this before," he says. "Look." Now he's down on hands and knees, crawling over to a corner of my desk. "You see," he says, "each leg of the desk has a screw, and this one over here is raising the corner higher than the others. So there's a tilt."

"Huh!" I've sat at my desk for two years. It's true that the drawers fall open and that you have to adjust them in a very particular way to wedge them closed, but because the desk probably predates my existence, I always attributed its quirks to age. I never noticed a tilt.

"C'mon over here," my department head says. "Let's see if we can't get this screw to go up into the leg. C'mon. See if you can squeeze in"—he makes room for me to join him on the floor—"and I'll lift while you turn the screw."

A few minutes later, my desk was sitting level, for perhaps the first time in history. We verified that my drawers don't slide open anymore.

"Great!" he said, brushing desk dust off his hands. "Well! I think I feel better about that than anything else we discussed!" he pronounced, and then walked out the door.

And that was it. Suddenly I don't feel so bad about my stealth job interview...

Friday's equation

2010-04-09T16:16:00.001-04:00

1 Dark Cherry Mocha + 2 Sudafed + 1 Brooklyn Lager = Really, it's not time to go home yet?

A yogi without a mat is a sad yogi.

2010-04-01T09:02:00.005-04:00

For about a year now, I've carried my yoga mat around Manhattan. I bought a pink strap for it and was initially self-conscious. I felt like an effeminate Robin Hood of New York, but instead of a quill of arrows I carried a sweaty-smelling roll of foam padding.

Over time, carrying the mat has become commonplace. It makes for a convenient seat buffer on the bus and subway, and it's very lightweight.

So lightweight, apparently, that I managed to lose it this morning on the way to work. I had it on the bus, I'm sure of that. And then I transferred to the subway, and when I got off the train, I didn't have it. No idea what happened. I noticed its absence as soon as I stepped off the train, with enough time to poke my head back into the car but not long enough to actually board. I probably left it on the bus, though I can't think of a good explanation for how I could have left my huge back cushion on the seat without notice.

One of the karmic mysteries of the universe, I guess, but it's a bit of a bummer since I have class today.

p.s. On the plus side, bacon was mistakenly added to my breakfast sandwich. Doesn't quite balance out the bizarre, sudden loss of my trusty yoga mat, but I'll take what I can get.

How the census form made me feel.

2010-03-25T09:06:00.001-04:00

*Thanks to Bowtie for the graphical representation

Who is this "Lady Gaga" you speak of?

2010-01-25T23:19:00.003-05:00

I don't live under a rock and thus have heard of Lady Gaga—even heard a song or two without identifying her as the artist.

But I've never really listened to her music or learned much about her, so when I came across an interview while channel flipping I gave it a chance, and...I might change my mind later, but I think I'm impressed with her.

At the very least, quite a fascinating subject.

A writer writes

2010-01-21T08:55:00.002-05:00

If I had known it would feel this good to do something creatively indulgent I would have plunked down the cash long ago....But at least I've finally taken the plunge, and I'm already glad I did.

Last night I had my first fiction writing class and it was awesome, AND I came straight home and started the book I've been mentally planning for almost five years.

I mean maybe it won't be the start of the book, but it's definitely the start of the start of the book, if that makes any sense. It feels AMAZING to be paying some legit attention to these words and ideas that consume my mind!

On hangovers

2009-12-18T09:15:00.003-05:00

Hangovers suck. I remembered this in theory, but had forgotten in practice, because I don't drink much anymore. I have not really missed having alcohol in my life, but I have REALLY not missed being hungover.

Yesterday was our company holiday party. In a sure sign of the economic times (though an improvement upon last year's party cancellation), the celebration took place in the office. The company encouraged us to decorate our common areas and bring food, and provided us with an abundance of beer and wine.

I started out pretty slow with the wine, seeing as how I don't drink much anymore, but by the end the party—after the party, really—a core group of my co-workers and I put a serious dent in the surplus wine, as though letting it go unconsumed would be problematic somehow.

So my company morale may be up this morning, but the definite down side is this hangover. Consider me back on the wagon....

FYI

2009-12-17T12:09:00.002-05:00

"The Twelve Days of Christmas" is about seven thousand times less obnoxious when you hear it performed by flutes and strings, without words.

Re: Cookie consumption

2009-12-17T10:20:00.002-05:00

Note to self:
When you spend three hours baking shortbread cookies for the company holiday party, do not keep the final product within reach of your desk. Not only will you make yourself sick from shortbread gorging, but if there are no cookies left, you don't get to use the excuse that you baked them "for the party."

Professional largesse

2009-12-15T14:27:00.004-05:00

Damn my habit of checking definitions in Web11, because it turns out "largesse" doesn't mean quite what I thought it did, but it's still the word I feel like using, so now I have to cope with the knowledge that I'm inaccurately wielding words. (Um, copyeditor, much?)

Anyway. On to the subject at hand: I have done two workplace-related things today that were assertive challenges and thus wanted to pat myself on the back via blog.

(1) My supervisor took me and the two other women I work with out to lunch today. It was an appreciated gesture, but outside-the-workplace co-worker interactions are hardly my speciality, particularly when supervisors are involved. We went to an upscale Mexican restaurant and it became clear early on that my three companions were all interested in ordering tacos. I, however, had my sights set on the prix fixe lunch special, which cost $8-$16 more than a taco plate. In the past I would have changed my order to be more in keeping with my peers, particularly since it was unclear as to whether my supervisor was spending her own money or company cash. But after some internal debate and the assertion of my worth I decided I really wanted the prix fixe meal and that regardless of who was paying, my supervisor owed me. I enjoyed every bite.

(2) I have spent the last couple of weeks laboring over a top-secret project that is being revealed this afternoon at a meeting I do not normally attend. Having put so much energy into the project, and knowing that its reception will likely be unfriendly, I really wanted to witness the presentation. In the past I would have ruled out the possibility immediately, but after mentally asserting the value of my contributions and the status I (believe I should) hold, I approached my dept. head and asked—tactfully, if you can believe it—whether my presence at the staff meeting might be beneficial. He confirmed my inner suspicion that it would not...but at least I asked.

In conclusion, while these acts of assertion may seem small—and perhaps they are—they are progress nonetheless and, therefore, yay for me!

My big mouth strikes again.

2009-12-03T13:36:00.003-05:00

So I had the opportunity to spend lunchtime today listening to a very prominent publisher at my company talk about her extensive and varied career in the business.

I'm not entirely sure publishing is the right industry for me, but given that I've spent four years pretending so, I was receptive to her enthusiasm for the business and comforted by her confidence that young people can climb the ladder (despite not entirely knowing what the ladder looks like in these changing times) if we refuse to give up.

After the speech, my coworker and I lingered in a common area and quietly gossiped for a few minutes before heading downstairs. At least, at first we were quiet. But when my friend brought up the example of some of our colleagues, my boss included, who rank higher than us but who have been in stagnant positions for more than a decade (ie, decidedly NOT changing with the changing times), I lost my cool.

"Her ways are outdated!" I said in a voice far too loud for a common area on any floor of my building, particularly the elevator bank of the floor where the executives work. "And I am not getting promoted even though I have ideas! I am so FRUSTRATED!"

My coworker gave me a warning look and in my peripheral vision I saw the head of Human Resources. I fell silent, and, silently, the three of us got into an elevator. Longest 30-second ride of my life.

I mean, it's not the worst thing for him to know I'm dissatisfied. (If he even knows who I am, which he probably doesn't, although he did personally interview me when I transferred to my current department. But that was two years ago.) And it's not like I was *directly* talking shit about my boss. Just dissing her work methods and saying I could do her job better.

No biggie, right?

2009-12-01T09:21:00.002-05:00

I understand why some people label their food in the office refrigerator. But this morning I noticed that the Post-it atop someone's yogurt listed not only their initials, but also their phone extension.

Why in the world would we need to know how to contact the yogurt owner?

"Hi, is this JF at x7642? I wanted to let you know I'm eating your breakfast right now. It's delicious."

The Joshua Radin concert was even better than I expected!

2009-11-20T11:54:00.014-05:00

As you may or may not know, I enjoy the music of Joshua Radin.

I have been a quiet fan since I first heard "Paperweight," courtesy of one of Susan's fabulous mixes, in Fall of 2005. The following Spring another mix of hers included "The Fear You Won't Fall," and I was pretty much hooked on Radin's soothing voice, which worked out well considering his first album, We Were Here, released a month or so later in June 2006.

His music is calm and soothing, genuine and heartfelt without being overly sappy. It brought me comfort during times I dearly needed it, so when he came out with another album, Simple Times, last September (which I became aware of thanks to the inclusion of "I'd Rather Be With You" on yet another of Susan's mixes) I didn't think twice about buying it, and I wasn't disappointed. His healing vocals continued to be a balm to my ears, a few particularly uplifting tracks radiantly overshadowing the songs with less cheerful themes.

So of course I bought a ticket when I found out that Joshua Radin would be performing at Webster Hall. I don't usually attend concerts alone but I felt sure his show was worth seeing, and boy was I right.

First of all, Joshua Radin recorded and Joshua Radin live are two entirely different entities. I hadn't given much thought to the reality that he is a person, with a personality. I guess I expected a solemn presentation, since his music tends to err on the side of serious. Well, not even close, as it turns out. Sure, when he sang the sadder songs, every bit of his emotion seemed authentic—you'd never have guessed that minutes earlier he was laughing about a related subject. But his overall presence was, in a word, joyous.

There were a several factors working in favor of an exceptional show. (1) Joshua Radin is from New York, and was visibly ecstatic to be returning home. He's lived in LA for the last four years and moved back to NYC in April, but he's been on the road ever since. So we were the first home crowd he'd played to and he was loving it. (2) The performance was being filmed for a DVD, which meant that, in tandem with him liking us as an audience, he talked about EVERY SONG before he played it. It was awesome. I'm familiar with all of the 22 songs on his two albums, so it was really cool to get the "inside scoop" behind the creative process. I'd tell you more about that, but unless you care, you really wouldn't care. (3) He played new songs, and they rocked. Like, really rocked—he's clearly evolved as a musician and his new album (to be recorded in February) will include not just "whisper rock," as he called it, but also full-out drum-heavy guitar-solo rock. Given the content of his existing albums I'd expected to play a passive role as an audience member, but at his encouragement, the new songs had all of us clapping hands, stomping feet, and hollering at will—he even orchestrated a "primal scream" to get things moving, which was a wonderful release since I can't remember the last time I had the chance to just shriek and yell to my heart's content. (4) Zach Braff was present. I'm not really sure why this was such a big deal, but it definitely contributed to the excitement of the audience. Apparently he's a big Joshua Radin fan—and Radin made eye contact with him time and again, so maybe they're friends—and when it was time to applaud for an encore, Zach stood up from his VIP balcony seat, leaned over the railing, and beckoned for the crowd to cheer louder.

I suppose it was the combination of (1), (2), (3), and (4) that led to (5), one of the coolest things that I've experienced at a concert. When Radin came out for his encore, he told us we were such a great crowd that he wanted to be a part of us. So, to make that happen, he said he was going to perform his encore song right in the middle of the audience.

Guess who was standing right in the middle of the audience? Yup. Moments later I found myself on the inner circumference of a spotlighted circle on the ballroom floor, at the center of which was Joshua Radin. He played an acoustic Bob Dylan cover with no mic, but I heard every word because I was less than two feet away from him.

Even Zach Braff didn't get that close.

Fictionally published!

2009-11-16T09:23:00.004-05:00

Check out this short story, which was recently picked up for publication on a nifty new blog that focuses on New York City–centric fiction. Enjoy!

Table for One

A Pre-Halloween Trick

2009-10-30T11:14:00.002-04:00

Today when the bus came, as I climbed the stairs to board I noticed something peculiar.

The bus was entirely empty. Not a single other passenger.

As I reached forward to dip my MetroCard, the driver said, "Sorry, no room!"

Flustered, I reflexively began to back down the stairs and exit the bus before he started laughing and pointed out that he was joking....There was no one else on the bus, so there was PLENTY of room...Get it, lady?

I gave him a foolish grin and said I needed to learn to listen better, because I'd just assumed he was telling me the bus was out of service (which, in fairness, would provide a logical explanation for the bus being TOTALLY EMPTY during rush hour).

I love it when bus drivers remind me they're humans with senses of humor...and I also love it when I get one of those window-view single-seats on the bus. TGIF!

Facebook TMI

2009-09-04T11:00:00.001-04:00

I mean, really?

p.s. Grammar Police will be sending Mrs. Matthis a citation for failure to use a "z" where required.

Amusing Children's Book Titles

2009-09-04T10:58:00.003-04:00

Henry and Mudge and the Sneaky Crackers

Dora's Magic Wand

[Just to name a couple; hopefully this will become an ongoing list. I enjoy imagining alternate storylines and illustrations.]

Last Day of Summer

2009-09-04T08:52:00.003-04:00

School starts on Tuesday, making this the final Friday of freedom.

If you replace "school" with "standard hours" and "freedom" with "1 p.m. departure," then you'll know how I'm feeling.

It's bittersweet, because it's been a good summer, but I am feeling better about fall.

OH! And newsflash to my loyal followers: I'm going to sign up for a writing class, starting with a one-day seminar and then a six or ten week course, depending. It's about time, right?

And now, with three minutes before I officially clock in, it's time to grab me a big ol' Diet Coke, munch on my Odwalla protein bar (Not to namedrop but you never know, someday this blog could be monetized and that mention will make me some cash. JS) before taking care of some business.

TGIF!

FYI

2009-09-03T09:45:00.004-04:00

If you decide you are physically fit enough to absorb a breakfast meal from Burger King, and when you order, if the person asks you "small" or "medium," DO NOT BE FOOLED!

"Small" actually means "giant" and whatever rationalization convinced you it was okay to have Burger King for breakfast will pale at the sight of the massive serving of tator tots you receive.

Don't get me wrong—I love tator tots. So much that I allow myself the indulgence of BK "hash browns" on a sort-of weekly basis. But as you may or may not be aware, the breakfast meal already comes with a value size coffee and tots, so by asking for a small, you are actually upgrading.

I had this same experience on Monday, but was naive enough to think my enlarged coffee and tots were some kind of hook-up from the employees, since breakfast time was nearly over and I've always been friendly to them.

But no. They have tricked me twice, so shame on me. I don't like to feel so easily fooled, and in my defense, when the total is $3.15, you can reasonably assume you're not getting much. And they never used to ask me about sizes. And saying "small" sounds pretty practical. (But only until you see the size of small. Because it is GIANT.)

I am somewhat mortified by the amount of potato grease I have just consumed, and alarmed by the volume of coffee I now have to drink—I just wanted a splash to ward off a caffeine headache...a value-size splash, you might say. And if ever there was a morning for two different colleagues to drop by my office and see me eating breakfast, I would rather it not be the morning there is an extensive fat buffet spread out on my desk. But such is life.

I don't think I'll be having another BK breakfast anytime soon, but when it eventually becomes irresistible, now I know better than to fall for their "small or medium" scam. (It's like the Starbucks "grande equals small" b.s., but greasier.) It's only a value if you get value size.

Just thought you should be aware.

Vegas

2009-08-04T23:59:00.005-04:00

A week ago I would not have known that "Vegas" is the name of a Sara Bareilles song, but I'm glad I've been enlightened. I didn't realize I could take her seriously beyond my previously unadmitted appreciation for "Love Song" but thanks to my ability to access a coworker's iTunes I gave the whole album a listen and I was not disappointed. She evokes just enough Kelly Clarkson to convince me she's authentic, if that makes any sense.

Anyway, her Vegas track isn't even my favorite but it's where I'm headed tomorrow so it made for a good blog opener.

Some friends are getting married over the weekend and a good time seems to be in store; it's my first visit to the city of sin and I'm excited to see what all the fuss is about.

In my absence, I leave you with this YouTube video, which should keep your attention for at least a few days.

Still here

2009-07-23T16:48:00.006-04:00

No, I didn't forget I have a blog. I haven't even forgotten to post, not exactly. I've thought about posting numerous times in the last two weeks:

• About how President Obama's motorcade made me late to yoga but it was worth it to see our national leader('s car)

• About how I wish we still had travel agents instead of 1,000 websites for booking flights

• About hearing (or not, because everybody talked during) the symphony in Central Park

• About how awesome Susan's latest mixes are

• About The Onion's bizarre communist homepage this week

• About how even though it's not that hot outside, the air conditioning in my office is so intense my hands are numb

• About how I visited a public swimming pool near my apartment and it wasn't gross

Obviously, despite all that thinking, I didn't post a damn thing. But, hey, I never said I'd be good at blogging. I see it kind of how I see cell phones...there for me to use, not necessarily to answer. That is, primarily existing for my personal convenience.

Nonetheless, I'll try and be better...otherwise what will happen to my readership? They'll stop checking this site every hour, and no one wants that. It's just that posting is way more difficult when I'm actually busy at work and/or living my life. But I'll be sure and write something soon...just as soon as I feel like it.

Oh, dear.

2009-07-10T15:21:00.003-04:00

I know President Obama is human. But I don't always want proof.

Now you and I know this is exactly what it looks like: two men checking out a young woman's ass. But Fox news must be loving this opportunity to flaunt the mortality of our leader. A conservative Facebook friend who recently expressed her opinion that she strongly disapproves of Obama linked to the above photo on her Facebook status, which is how I found it. Here is the Reuters caption:

U.S. President Barack Obama (C) and

France's President Nicolas Sarkozy

(R) take their places with junior G8

delegates for a family photo at the G8

summit in L'Aquila, Italy, July 9.

Leaders of the Group of Eight major

industrial nations and the main

developing economies are meeting in

the central Italian city of L'Aquila until

Friday to discuss issues ranging from

global economic stimulus to climate

change and oil prices. REUTERS/Jason

Reed (ITALY POLITICS IMAGES OF THE DAY)

I don't think there is anything wrong with a couple of guys checking out an attractive woman—it's natural, almost reassuring. Sexuality exists; it's okay to acknowledge it. Nonetheless, I'd still prefer this photo have not been taken, or that it had remained private. As a journalist I know it was too good not to publish, but I can't help but cringe just a little. I wonder if the administration will comment.

The feedback you've been waiting for...

2009-07-08T11:37:00.009-04:00

I know I have left my readership in nearly unbearable suspense, and for that I hereby apologize.

Please pardon the delay, but my recent post about the impending arrival of a certain pillow garnered such a massive response that I have only just finished going through and responding to all the emails...I think it was the infographic that drew the crowd.

At any rate, here I am making excuses instead of giving you the information you've been longing for, and so I won't draw it out any further...

My pillow arrived, and it is overrated.
There! I admitted it. I was hoping that in the last six nights my opinion would change and I could write a post about how glorious my life is now that I have a Tempupedic pillow to rest my head on at night. But that's just not the case.

It's not a bad pillow, but I sure am glad I didn't pay $100 for it. The Symphony pillow is specially designed for people who sleep both on their backs and on their sides. This means the pillow is dual-sided, and the "back" side has an extra hump that is supposed to provide neck support. I was entranced by the description and envisioned somnatic harmony, but at the end of the day, the Symphony pillow is little more than a brick of expensive foam.

It's really good foam, of course. I won't deny that. And since I was so excited to finally have my own piece of Tempurpedic property, I was even willing to overlook the unpleasant smell that accompanies new Tempupedic products. (The smell reminds me of a chocolate scratch-and-sniff sticker: mildly medicinal and musky.) The odor is finally beginning to fade—but so is my enthusiasm for my new pillow.

The biggest issue is that the super-special foam retains heat exceptionally well, which I had heard before regarding the mattresses. However, I failed to realize that a PILLOW could cause my body heat to rise so much that I wake up in a full sweat. Perhaps this feature will serve me well come winter, but right now? Right now it's summer, and the last thing I need is to insulate my head so much that my body functions as an internal suana.

Of course, despite my disappointment, I will not stop using the pillow. I can now easily fall asleep on my back, and the support it provides is certainly superb. I have even noticed that the quality of my sleep has improved (until I wake up sweating, that is). The positive aspects do outweigh the negative. At least, I will convince myself of that fact, because I am really stubborn, and when I spend this much money on a pillow, you better believe I'm going to sleep on it.

MJ madness and memories

2009-07-07T12:53:00.007-04:00

All the hype about Michael Jackson's death makes me feel like an outsider of society: I just don't get it. I mean, of course I get that he was super-talented and super-famous and thereby his death is a super-big-deal. But the media coverage is perplexingly abundant, and last night on the news I heard a woman say she couldn't bear to be alone at home, that she instead needed to gather near the Apollo Theater with fellow MJ mourners in order to feel comforted and understood in the depths of her grief.

More than a million people wanted to be in Los Angeles today to observe a memorial service that is being held in a concert arena. Me? I'd love to be in L.A., but I'd have better things to do than stalk the Staples Center.

However, even if I can't relate to the hype and have warranted doubts about his moral character, Michael Jackson has nonetheless occupied two points of significance in my life:

1. When I was in second grade I was visiting a friend's house and her older sister was watching MTV. I had never seen MTV before, thus, the first music video I ever glimpsed was Michael Jackson's "Black or White."

2. When I was living alone in Washington Heights—a rather rough NYC neighborhood for the uninitiated—I often listened to The Jackson 5 in the morning before work. So "ABC" will forever remind me of crooning into my hairbrush and bopping around my fifth-floor walk-up, gearing up for another day of city living.

This concludes my acknowledgment of Michael Jackson's influence on the world. Here's hoping he's now at peace.

NYC independence

2009-07-04T12:14:00.006-04:00

It was four years ago today that my dear friend Ally and I formally declared our NYC independence. We had each spent months living in the city before, but never without the cushion of college to return to. This was different—permanent, or at least temporarily so.

Our immigration to Manhattan was uncomfortable and full of uncertainty but we were determined to follow through with our plan to conquer New York, a plan that began as an idealistic "what-if" some months previous but had blossomed into an unwavering commitment.

We flew into LaGuardia a day or two before July 1 and reunited with our third roommate, a Teach for America corp member who had already been living in the city for a year. Mel had stoically borne the brunt of the tortuous burden that is apartment hunting in Manhattan and against all odds secured us a three-bedroom apartment within our meager budgets. Ally and I signed the lease before we saw the place, and soon after giving us a tour, Mel departed for a much-needed summer vacation in her home state of Rhode Island. Since the movers were far from arriving we had no furniture, and Mel said Ally and I could stay at her current apartment as long as we wanted.

But the evening of July 3, Mel's current roommate returned from a trip, and we no longer felt at ease crashing on borrowed futons. We decided that, furniture or no, it was time to lay claim to the apartment we were paying for. The next day, we piled our luggage into a cab we couldn't really afford and unloaded everything onto the curb in front of our new building. Neighbors gave us second glances outside in the oppressive heat—probably due to the oversized teddy bear perched on my hip like a stuffed toddler—but no one offered to help us get our cargo indoors.

Around sunset we took a long subway ride to Battery Park and watched fireworks explode above the Statue of Liberty. After we got home it was past midnight and we resigned ourselves to the lack of mattresses and air conditioning and did our best to breathe in the sticky air and fall asleep on the wooden floor of what would be Ally's bedroom. Her room faced the street, which meant we heard every one of the fireworks the neighborhood teens saw fit to set off.

The first time we heard a bang we thought it might be a gunshot—I had once mistaken a gunshot for a car backfiring in a different Manhattan neighborhood and didn't put anything past anyone anymore. But when the cracks continued we remembered the holiday, and our fear was replaced with frustration.

We didn't sleep much that night. The floor was hard, the room was hot, and the firecrackers continued until well past 3 a.m. But it was our own floor, in our own apartment, and the noise of our own neighborhood. We were independent, God bless America. We were home.

Revolutionary Road is worth watching

2009-07-02T11:52:00.004-04:00

There. I said it. I don't want this blog to be full of personal endorsements, but I do want every interested American to watch Revolutionary Road. If you liked American Beauty or Titanic you should do yourself a favor and give this movie a chance. My respect for the acting talent of Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio has skyrocketed, and if you liked the cinematography and/or score of American Beauty then you are in for a treat.

I am going to read the book for sure, and am surprised I had never heard of it before this film. Apparently it has been a literary favorite for half a century. As a former English major, you would think a book like that would have been mentioned in at least one of my courses or conversations—but it is never too late to discover a new love. I'm going to get the book from the library if there is not a long wait, but if there is I am lucky to have a B&N gift card. A new store just opened up on 86 and Lex and it is massive and elegant. One and then two stories below ground, it is a palace for books. And since this store is so luxurious and big, there is also a DVD and CD section. (Sidenote: I wonder when stores will stop selling CDs. Ten years? Less? I haven't purchased a CD since 2004.)

Maybe I'll use my B&N gift card to buy the DVD instead of the book, and then I can just watch the movie every day until the book is available from the library.

Because, yeah, it's that good. I watched it four times (once with director commentary) before returning it to Netflix. It is beautiful and delightful and haunting and tragic. Which is to say, it brims with humanity and authenticity.

If you can't tell, the movie had a big impact on me. It is definitely worth watching because even if you dislike it you will get something from it. This concludes my endorsement of the film Revolutionary Road.

Pillow talk

2009-07-01T10:51:00.007-04:00

So, I have been excitedly anticipating the arrival of my new Tempurpedic pillow for more than a week now, and it is scheduled to arrive today. I have been looking forward to this pillow delivery with an eagerness that is perhaps mockable, but hey, it's the small things in life that can make a big difference.

Last Tuesday after I won the eBay auction I had this grand notion of taking my devoted blog followers on a visual journey of my pillow's travel from California to New York. I decided I would make use of my UPS tracking number and create a map pinpointing the stops on the cross-country trip.

However, UPS let me down. After telling me the package originated in Oakland and letting me know it traveled fewer than twenty miles to San Pablo the next day, there were no updates for five days, until it suddenly appeared in Parsippany, New Jersey. Such limited info makes for a pretty lame visual:

But despite the lack of details, UPS did its job, and assuming they can actually deliver to my no-doorman building, my head is going to be pleasantly supported come tonight.

I became suddenly obsessed with having a luxury pillow after testing out a few during a recent trip to Bed Bath & Beyond . I've lusted after Tempurpedic mattresses ever since I first stretched out on one in a store several years ago, so I wasn't surprised to discover their pillows were equally seductive. However, the one I wanted was $100. Not quite as prohibitively expensive as the mattress, but still, a lot for a pillow. Nonetheless, it was love at first touch and I am good at justifying my desires. And after a show of patience and persistence via eBay auction-stalking, my high-end deluxe comfort object only cost me $60.

I'm really enjoying being awake today, but I can't wait to go to sleep.

An industry riddle

2009-07-01T09:59:00.000-04:00

Q: When is a raise not a raise?
A: When you work in publishing.

Doctor dilemma

2009-06-30T08:59:00.006-04:00

I had an appointment with the lady doctor yesterday. My usual doctor retired sometime last year without telling me, and since she supposedly hand-picked the woman who replaced her, I decided there was no reason to search for someone else.

Well, the new lady was disappointing. She seemed competent enough and I do give her credit for being on time and not wasting any of mine, but there was no personal interaction, no bedside manners. It was all business—she probably said less than fifty words to me the entire time I was there.

The visit was adequate; I got the prescription I needed. But for a routine checkup, it was too routine. I miss my old doctor, a witty grandmother figure who I could talk to about anything, who I could ask any question. Yesterday I was so grateful there was not a pressing issue I wanted to discuss, because I would not have felt comfortable opening up to this stranger who made no effort to be otherwise.

The problem is, I don't know how to find a better replacement. I guess next year I can pick someone random from the list of doctors who take my insurance, but I'm loathe to subject my private parts to chance. And it's not like these people are reviewed on Yelp!

All of this is just to say I wish there were health counselors who could help match patients up with doctors, and I'm not talking about 1-800-DOCTORS. The services would have to be unbiased and the necessary analyses pretty complex, but surely it is possible to create a trustworthy network of healthcare providers. This is the kind of problem I feel my generation should be solving. Does complaining count as a start?

A belated warning

2009-06-29T15:20:00.011-04:00

I didn't have a blog when the following occurred, but if I had you would have learned about this incident immediately. Instead, a belated account:

My mom is interested in Snuggie ownership. I don't understand why, but that's all right, because one does not have to understand the desire for something in order to give that something as a gift, especially if one is shopping for Mother's Day.

I'm not a huge Internet shopper but I've bought enough online goods to know the drill: You put items in your cart, review your order + shipping costs, confirm a total, and you're set. Somewhere along the way you provide payment information, but I've learned you can input credit card numbers with no consequence as long as you don't confirm your purchase.

Unless you're on the Snuggie website. If you're on the Snuggie website, "having a look around" is synonymous with "purchasing Snuggies whether you like it or not."

I probably wouldn't have found this out if their website had any modicum of usability or customization options. As it was, I had no choice but to click, click my way to a checkout window, never getting to specify what exactly it was I was agreeing to buy. I was not given the option to decline the buy-one-get-one-free "special offer," and so even though I was only (potentially) interested in purchasing a single Snuggie, I had no way of selecting just one. Nor could I opt out of receiving two free book lights. That might not have been so bad, if I had any use for book lights or if the second sleeved blanket was actually going to be free. But it wouldn't be—I would be charged extra shipping and handling.

That glitch alone was enough to make me start brainstorming for alternative gift options, but since I was curious to see the final cost, I continued letting the automated website force me through it's inflexible sequence of pages. For an extra $5 I agreed to upgrade my (theoretical) Snuggie to something with pockets and fabric thicker than cheesecloth. I did not have the option of applying these impressive features to just one Snuggie. The second, unwelcome item would also be of deluxe quality and added expense. Nor was I able to select more than one color option...my "free" Snuggie would apparently have to be identical to the one I (supposedly) wanted to buy.

At that point I had $30 worth of sleeved blankets in my cart, despite my single-Snuggie intentions. The next screen asked for payment info, but no total cost was listed, and no confirmation button was shown. Since I was still curious to find out the final cost—and since I was still hoping to ditch the second product—I played along. I gave them a credit card number. And this is what I saw next:

Thank you for your order! It is being processed and will be shipped promptly!

The amount my credit card had been charged without my consent was $49.63. Thoroughly convinced by then that I did NOT want a Snuggie, I immediately contacted Customer Service. A kind young man answered the phone and did not sound surprised when I explained my situation. He told me that my credit card would not actually be charged until the order shipped, but I would have to call back to cancel the order. Nice Guy explained that the computer system only updated order info twice a day, at 8:30 a.m. and at 5 p.m. Since it was about 11 a.m., my best bet was to call again just after 5. He emphatically suggested I not wait until the morning—in his experience, most orders shipped by then and it would be too late to cancel.

I don't think either one of us believed an Internet-based operation in the twenty-first century was incapable of immediately processing orders, but it was obvious a system was firmly in place and there was nothing he could do to change it, other than pass along the details he knew.

When I called at 5:10 p.m., a gruff voice informed me that my order information had not yet entered the system. When I cited Nice Guy's tip about the 5 p.m. update, Gruff Guy didn't seem to know what I was talking about. He told me to call in the morning. I asked if it would be better for me to call back later that evening—the call center was open until 10—but he said there was no point in doing so.

At 9:15 a.m. the next morning I explained my situation for the third time to the third person, and the first sentence out of his mouth after I gave him my order number was, "Oh, no, honey, that's on the truck."

I think it is pretty shady to thank someone for an order they never confirmed, but it is even shadier to pretend you don't know about that order until it is too late for the customer to cancel it. Fortunately for me, Mr. Third Time's the Charm agreed. He told me Gruff Guy should have never told me to wait till morning. He told me what he could do and what he could not do.

He could not keep the unwanted Snuggies from heading toward my home. He could not keep the charge for them off my credit card. But he could, and did, immediately remove the $15.90 shipping charges. And he assured me that if I refused to accept the package when it arrived, the blanket fees would eventually be removed from my credit card.

Because I never opened the box that showed up some two weeks later (too late for Mother's Day, by the way, even if I'd had a change of heart and decided to keep the things), I'll never know exactly what I escaped involuntarily owning. But I know what I didn't escape: a long, painful process that left me—and my unblanketed arms—cold.

In my dreams

2009-06-27T10:21:00.003-04:00

The best and worst part about my dreams is not being able to control them. I am frequently surprised by the cast of characters who populate my subconscious world on any given night, and sometimes I awaken confused or even upset by the contents of a dream.

This morning though? This morning I opened my eyes to streams of sunlight and smiled at a vivid recollection of what had moments earlier seemed like reality.

It sounds cliche but has never happened to me before: I was flying.

IT WAS AWESOME.

Granted, since it was me dreaming, the flying was of a practical nature. I didn't suddenly turn into Superman or have the ability to cross oceans. It was more like windsurfing in a bridesmaid dress. That's right. I was outdoors before the wedding began and there was a mighty strong breeze blowing, and I figured out that if I leaned forward and lifted the back of my dress just so, the generous folds of fabric would catch the wind and lift me off the ground. Before long I sure was zooming around that garden party, whooping with glee and loving it. Thanks, dream!

The fabric of equality

2009-06-25T09:25:00.009-04:00

I can't afford to care too much about fashion, but when I take the bus to work I usually pass by the Kenneth Cole store on Fifth Avenue and, though I've never paid much attention to the clothes, his campaigns catch my eye. The tag lines are usually slyly political, and today's window display was no exception:

THOSE AGAINST
SAME-SEX
MARRIAGE
AREN'T THINKING
STRAIGHT.
(OR ARE THEY?)
—KENNETH COLE

It is pretty bold to tell a chunk of your consumer base that their thinking is flawed, but throw in the right parenthetical, and you've challenged people to consider a new perspective. Thought provoking, clever...and available on a T shirt.

Internally, eternally free

2009-06-24T23:44:00.011-04:00

...That's the goal, anyway. And wisdom like this helps me get there.

DAILY INSPIRATION

Do you feel free to be who you are? If not, why not? Who or what are you allowing to limit your freedom to be yourself? No one but you can give you your inner freedom.

By Dr. Margaret Paul

Music FYI

2009-06-24T11:22:00.010-04:00

My awesome friend Susan makes theses amazing mix CDs that she periodically distributes to her pals, and in the last four years she has enhanced my music collection with approximately 600 songs. I can't match her aptitude for compiling fantastic tunes, but I can at least pass along my own latest discoveries:

P.T. Walkley has two albums out: Mr. Macy Wakes Alone, and PTWalkley...and the Adventures of Track Rabbit. Both are great—Mr. Macy is his new one and a little more low key, but it's very easy to listen to the two albums in one stretch. His style reminds me of The Shins with a little bit of Arctic Monkeys thrown in, and I'm a sucker for fun music with coherent/clever lyrics.

Diane Birch has been compared to Norah Jones and Carole King, and while I can see why, I wouldn't try to label her (although her soulful, self-written music does remind me of a few of my favorite songs by Brandi Carlile). Her debut album, Bible Belt, is currently available for cheap on iTunes, and definitely worth the $7.

Nylon Magazine's 22 Free Tracks are an excellent substitute for a Summer Mix from Susan, and I credit her fully for letting me know about this rockin' assortment of freebies. Check out Nylon's site to download a playlist of your very own.

Starbucks made me do it.

2009-06-24T10:24:00.018-04:00

I decided to start a blog after realizing yesterday that my internal filter works too well. I used to speak any thought, but years of New York City living have (ironically?) taught me to keep quiet—no one cares what's on my mind. And while it is often for the best that I remain silent, there was a time when I had an ever-present listening audience who welcomed my random thoughts and inappropriate comments.

That time was college, and it is past. But the people who so enriched my life are alive and well, dispersed across the globe and Internet accessible. And so, this blog is for them. Well, mostly for me. But also for them. And, okay, by nature of its format, also for anyone online. But definitely for them. Because I will not join Twitter and I update my Facebook status sparingly. I do not believe in force-feeding information. But I do believe it is possible that people just maybe might be interested in my occasional observations, particularly people who know me and my (in)sensibilities.

And I just have to say something about the Starbucks ad I saw yesterday. The copy reads:

STARBUCKS OR NOTHING
Because compromise leaves a really bad aftertaste.

I was equal parts impressed and disgusted when I saw this poster encased in glass on the side of a bus stop. I know Starbucks has lost some money, but is disparaging compromise going to earn them business? It's like the company is encouraging consumers to behave like spoiled brats: If I can't have the expensive brew, I won't have any!
But the ad is brilliant in its logic, because the two options create a win-win situation: Customers either buy Starbucks, or they don't buy coffee anywhere else (presumably staving off defects to Dunkin' Donuts). And given that coffee is addictive, it's a safe bet the "nothing" option is essentially null. So, well done Starbucks. Way to promote snobbery and stubbornness. Just what we need more of in NYC.

[Note: This post was written while sipping on a Starbucks grande iced coffee with free hazelnut syrup and soy milk. At $2.11 (tax included), it cost about the same as an iced coffee from Dunkin' Donuts, and free syrup and soy milk are harder to ignore than appalling ads.]