Guess what I saw on weather.com tonight when I plunked in my zip code to find out what was going on with the thunderstorm that is allegedly on its way?
"Air Stagnation Advisory".
I've never seen that before. And it seems quite counterintuitive to me because I feel like I nearly got blown away on my walk home, it was so windy. How can it be SO windy and the air still be stagnant?
The warning was quite official sounding with all sorts of details about how you should avoid any sort of strenuous activity outside tonight, be careful if you have asthma, consult your physician if you have breathing issues... there's even a 1-800 hotline so NY residents can keep up to date on the air quality sitch.
What they really need is a 1-800 hotline to complain about the stench of garbage on days like today when it's 85 degrees. Ick.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
New York Apartment Hunt Redux
A couple of you have asked me to post my account of my apartment-hunting experience that originally graced a few of your inboxes:
One of my first defining Big Apple experiences came before I even moved here. About a month before the move, I flew out to look for a place to live. I gave myself three days to find the perfect New York apartment. “How hard could it really be?”, I flippantly thought in the days leading up to my trip. Sometimes ignorance truly is bliss.
As it turns out, apartment-hunting in Gotham is not for the faint of heart. The Southern California version is that you look around, check out a few places (have the Irvine Company do most of the work if you live in South OC), half-heartedly fill out a credit application and maybe furnish a pay stub or two.
The Manhattan version is easy, too! Simply sign over your first born and all of your current and future assets. Seriously, I had to provide more paperwork and documentation to simply LEASE a place than I did when I BOUGHT a place. Many pay stubs, letter of employment, copies of bank statements, last two year’s tax returns, 401k and IRA statements… the list goes on. Luckily, I skated through undetected as a foreigner. I had heard that if you’re not a US citizen, it’s not uncommon to have to front an entire year’s rent. So I adopted a NY sneer, a Yankee’s ball cap (sorry, Angels!), and a few choice words of vocabulary and I was golden. Fuhgeddaboudit.
My first clue that the search in Manhattan would be tougher? Reading online that the vacancy rate is currently less than 1 percent. ONE PERCENT. Ok, 1 percent of a gazillion apartments is still a BIG number, granted, but that matched up with TWO gazillion people looking for a place to live and, well… you do the math.
On my first day, I intrepidly set out, armed with my “Manhattan Block by Block” book (a godsend), contact information for a promising sublet in Chelsea, and the addresses of a number of other buildings in the same area that looked promising. About one hour into my trek, my optimism was doused by an aggressive rainstorm that settled in for the rest of the day (thankfully, I had the foresight to drag an umbrella along for the day), the fact that the Chelsea sublet was not even close to the slam dunk it had seemed to be from 3000 miles away, AND the fact that the owner of my “fallback” temporary landing spot (an apartment on the Upper East Side) was now waffling about whether the apartment was actually really available after all, vaguely claiming his wife had never really approved the initial arrangement in the first place.
Day One a bust? In the most spectacular way imaginable. I hung my jeans in the hotel shower to drip dry and flopped down onto the bed and did what any self-respecting, independent woman would do. I called my Special K and had the “What the heck am I doing here??” conversation.
To kick off Day Two, I went immediately to the business center and logged back onto Craig’s List to see what was new. I made a few calls about places listed under the “No Fee” section and set appointments for later in the day. The “no fee” distinction is important because there are thousands of apartment brokers in New York and they will gladly help you find an apartment… for a fee. For a BIG fee, usually. (10% to 15% of your total first year’s rent is standard.)
Broker #1 is Michael. We agree to meet at 11:00 at a building on 8th Avenue. Michael oozes through the revolving doors, leaving such an obvious trail of sleaziness behind him, he must have been a snail in a previous life. Strike one. He’s a big guy, about 6’3” or so and blocks the light mometarily as he stands in the doorway. His handshake is weak and worse, sweaty. Strike two against Michael. We look at the place, along with 5 other people who are there, wanting to see it (remember, less than 1% availability – the competition is fierce), and I decide that I will actually put an application in on it. It’s close to work, the building is pretty nice and the apartment is pretty decent.
After I’ve filled out the forms, given him $75 (in cash) to run my credit, we are back out on the street when he says, “So, you know about the broker’s fees, right?” “What?” I reply, “This was listed as ‘no fee’ on Craig’s List.” “Well, yeah, I know” he says and then adds “’No fee’ really means ‘LOW fee’.” And he says this with a straight face. STRIKE THREE.
I demanded all of my paperwork AND my cash back and told him the deal was off. After a lame attempt to explain the value he thinks he's adding to my apartment search, he slinks off up 8th Avenue, lights a cigarette, and disappears into the crowd. I shove my money back into my wallet and head off to meet Broker #2.
Broker #2 is a displaced Israeli who started his own broker firm and while he’s still clearly hustling, trying to make money, he is very nice, shows me about 6 places altogether, cut me a good deal on the broker fee (less than one month’s rent!), and ultimately found me my new home.
All this by the end of Day Two!
One of my first defining Big Apple experiences came before I even moved here. About a month before the move, I flew out to look for a place to live. I gave myself three days to find the perfect New York apartment. “How hard could it really be?”, I flippantly thought in the days leading up to my trip. Sometimes ignorance truly is bliss.
As it turns out, apartment-hunting in Gotham is not for the faint of heart. The Southern California version is that you look around, check out a few places (have the Irvine Company do most of the work if you live in South OC), half-heartedly fill out a credit application and maybe furnish a pay stub or two.
The Manhattan version is easy, too! Simply sign over your first born and all of your current and future assets. Seriously, I had to provide more paperwork and documentation to simply LEASE a place than I did when I BOUGHT a place. Many pay stubs, letter of employment, copies of bank statements, last two year’s tax returns, 401k and IRA statements… the list goes on. Luckily, I skated through undetected as a foreigner. I had heard that if you’re not a US citizen, it’s not uncommon to have to front an entire year’s rent. So I adopted a NY sneer, a Yankee’s ball cap (sorry, Angels!), and a few choice words of vocabulary and I was golden. Fuhgeddaboudit.
My first clue that the search in Manhattan would be tougher? Reading online that the vacancy rate is currently less than 1 percent. ONE PERCENT. Ok, 1 percent of a gazillion apartments is still a BIG number, granted, but that matched up with TWO gazillion people looking for a place to live and, well… you do the math.
On my first day, I intrepidly set out, armed with my “Manhattan Block by Block” book (a godsend), contact information for a promising sublet in Chelsea, and the addresses of a number of other buildings in the same area that looked promising. About one hour into my trek, my optimism was doused by an aggressive rainstorm that settled in for the rest of the day (thankfully, I had the foresight to drag an umbrella along for the day), the fact that the Chelsea sublet was not even close to the slam dunk it had seemed to be from 3000 miles away, AND the fact that the owner of my “fallback” temporary landing spot (an apartment on the Upper East Side) was now waffling about whether the apartment was actually really available after all, vaguely claiming his wife had never really approved the initial arrangement in the first place.
Day One a bust? In the most spectacular way imaginable. I hung my jeans in the hotel shower to drip dry and flopped down onto the bed and did what any self-respecting, independent woman would do. I called my Special K and had the “What the heck am I doing here??” conversation.
To kick off Day Two, I went immediately to the business center and logged back onto Craig’s List to see what was new. I made a few calls about places listed under the “No Fee” section and set appointments for later in the day. The “no fee” distinction is important because there are thousands of apartment brokers in New York and they will gladly help you find an apartment… for a fee. For a BIG fee, usually. (10% to 15% of your total first year’s rent is standard.)
Broker #1 is Michael. We agree to meet at 11:00 at a building on 8th Avenue. Michael oozes through the revolving doors, leaving such an obvious trail of sleaziness behind him, he must have been a snail in a previous life. Strike one. He’s a big guy, about 6’3” or so and blocks the light mometarily as he stands in the doorway. His handshake is weak and worse, sweaty. Strike two against Michael. We look at the place, along with 5 other people who are there, wanting to see it (remember, less than 1% availability – the competition is fierce), and I decide that I will actually put an application in on it. It’s close to work, the building is pretty nice and the apartment is pretty decent.
After I’ve filled out the forms, given him $75 (in cash) to run my credit, we are back out on the street when he says, “So, you know about the broker’s fees, right?” “What?” I reply, “This was listed as ‘no fee’ on Craig’s List.” “Well, yeah, I know” he says and then adds “’No fee’ really means ‘LOW fee’.” And he says this with a straight face. STRIKE THREE.
I demanded all of my paperwork AND my cash back and told him the deal was off. After a lame attempt to explain the value he thinks he's adding to my apartment search, he slinks off up 8th Avenue, lights a cigarette, and disappears into the crowd. I shove my money back into my wallet and head off to meet Broker #2.
Broker #2 is a displaced Israeli who started his own broker firm and while he’s still clearly hustling, trying to make money, he is very nice, shows me about 6 places altogether, cut me a good deal on the broker fee (less than one month’s rent!), and ultimately found me my new home.
All this by the end of Day Two!
The Great White North
I'm just back from a quick trip back to Calgary to see my parents and you'll be surprised (or maybe not) to know that when I arrived, the ground was WHITE with SNOW. On May 24. For those of you keeping score at home, May 24 is less than one month before the first day of summer.
Clearly, I have not been that lucky with weather the past six months. (You'll remember me getting stranded in NY over President's Day, walking 30 blocks home in the worst snowstorm all winter, squishing around in shoes full of water on more than one occasion... and now snow at the end of May.) But alas, it was a freak storm that blew through and by the end of the day, the snow had melted and by the next day, it was warm and sunny again.
Special K and I had a fun time with my parents and my big sis and bro, Cathy and Jim. We also headed out to the mountains for the day on Saturday and enjoyed Lake Louise, Johnston's Canyon, Banff and a few other places in between. We saw a TON of elk, a few deer and even a black bear. (Didn't get outta the car for that one!)
The photo above is beautiful Lake Louise. Yes, it's still mostly covered in ice, but it's 5,000 feet above sea level. And after all, it was ONLY May 24.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Fleet Week
For all you "Sex and the City" fans out there, you will probably remember an episode that centered around an event in NYC called Fleet Week. That was the episode where the fearsome foursome found themselves at the huge Fleet Week party, engaging in various levels of naughtiness with random sailors, marines and coast guardsmen.
Well guess WHAT. It's Fleet Week right NOW. I don't know why, but I was surprised and delighted in a "I'm-at-Disneyland-and-there's-Mickey-Mouse" sort of way when I first saw groups of people out and about in their crisp white uniforms (fun white caps included!). They have literally been EVERYWHERE all week, including sitting on the steps of my office building.
Hosted nearly every year since 1984, Fleet Week is NY's celebration of the sea services. What "Sex" didn't really elaborate on was that besides the raging parties, there are all sorts of great events going on in the city all week. There was a parade of military ships on the Hudson river, simulations and demonstrations of naval technology, opportunities for the citizens of NY to meet these servicemen and women and public visitation of many of the participating ships.
And no, no crazy parties for this civilian this week.
Monday, May 21, 2007
I'm Ready For My Close-Up, Mr. DeMille
So, I’m going to be in a magazine ad! (I couldn’t think of any clever way to lead into this one, so you’re just gettin’ the news straight up!)
I was asked to be the “real girl” in an advertorial for hair products that will show the difference between “fantasy hair” (i.e. professional model looking stunning after hours of prep work, hair extensions, and a whole team of high-priced stylists) and “real hair” (i.e. little ol’ moi, looking fresh-faced and confident ostensibly after only washing my hair with the advertiser’s product).
We shot the ad this morning in one of the photo studios in our building. I showed up at 9:00 sharp as the call sheet indicated, and was sent off to the showers in our building’s gym to wash and condition my hair with the advertisers’ products. (Picture me slinking around elevators and hallways with a towel wrapped around my wet hair, turban-style, praying that I don’t run into anyone I know!)
Next, the hairstylist chopped a couple of inches off my locks because they were afraid my hair would be too long for the shot in the magazine layout. Once blow-dried and curled, I shuffled over to the next table for makeup (by a well-known New York makeup artist), and then finally tried on a few different shirts and sweaters so the team could decide what “look” was most appropriate.
After settling on two outfits, we began the actual shoot. The photographer was fantastic – she joked with me, talked to me (in French even!) and made the whole process a complete blast. And not to disappoint me and my vision about what fashion shoots are like, there was even a fan blowing on me, keeping my “real” hair flowing and moving. Before I knew it, we had tons of shots (and even a bunch that everyone seemed to really like!) and we broke for lunch. After lunch, I got to see what some of the best shots actually looked like in a draft of the magazine ad layout.
I’ll keep you posted, but the REAL layout will show up in Cosmopolitan, Marie Claire and Harper’s Bazaar this fall!
P.S. (I got to keep the cute t-shirt and sweater from JCrew that I wore in the shoot!)
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Step Up, New York!
Thursday night, Debra, Eunice and I went to the Step Up Women’s Network 6th Annual Spring Drama Performance. Not exactly the stuff of Broadway, but maybe more meaningful and poignant in its own very distinct way.
Step Up Women’s Network is a national nonprofit membership organization dedicated to strengthening community services for women and girls. One of Step Up’s initiatives is an after-school drama program that empowers underserved young women to tell their own stories through theatre. Three teams of girls from schools in East Harlem and the Bronx spent the last few months dedicating time each week to this program and the plays they performed Thursday night were the result of that hard work.
The girls identify key themes in their lives and then begin exploring questions related to those themes through poetry and prose – all of this material ultimately forms the foundation of what becomes the final script of their performance. They write every word and they perform each line and each scene with real-world grit and determination.
These girls all ranged in age between 12 and 17 years, and the most sobering realization as I watched these tableaux unfold on stage was that they know more about life than any girl their age should ever have to know or worry about. The performance themes ranged from the expected (the ups and down of teenage friendship, acceptance, tolerance and boys) to the insightful (identity – who are we really?) to the tragic (teenage pregnancy, abuse, and racism). So many of the conversations were so adult (sometimes disturbingly so), I constantly had to remind myself that these were just teenagers.
When I was 13, my biggest concerns were figuring out how to curl my hair so it would feather just so, how I could save enough money to buy the coveted Club Monaco signature sweatshirt, who to invite to my birthday sleepover, and did the boy I had a crush on even know I was alive (likely not). I was blissfully unaware of pretty much ALL of the issues that these inner city girls face every day of their lives… which makes me wonder if these girls are aware that other girls grow up in entirely different worlds. And given a choice, which world would they actually choose? The only one they know with the friends and family they love, or the one that might remove, or at least delay, the adult-type pressures?
Step Up Women’s Network is a national nonprofit membership organization dedicated to strengthening community services for women and girls. One of Step Up’s initiatives is an after-school drama program that empowers underserved young women to tell their own stories through theatre. Three teams of girls from schools in East Harlem and the Bronx spent the last few months dedicating time each week to this program and the plays they performed Thursday night were the result of that hard work.
The girls identify key themes in their lives and then begin exploring questions related to those themes through poetry and prose – all of this material ultimately forms the foundation of what becomes the final script of their performance. They write every word and they perform each line and each scene with real-world grit and determination.
These girls all ranged in age between 12 and 17 years, and the most sobering realization as I watched these tableaux unfold on stage was that they know more about life than any girl their age should ever have to know or worry about. The performance themes ranged from the expected (the ups and down of teenage friendship, acceptance, tolerance and boys) to the insightful (identity – who are we really?) to the tragic (teenage pregnancy, abuse, and racism). So many of the conversations were so adult (sometimes disturbingly so), I constantly had to remind myself that these were just teenagers.
When I was 13, my biggest concerns were figuring out how to curl my hair so it would feather just so, how I could save enough money to buy the coveted Club Monaco signature sweatshirt, who to invite to my birthday sleepover, and did the boy I had a crush on even know I was alive (likely not). I was blissfully unaware of pretty much ALL of the issues that these inner city girls face every day of their lives… which makes me wonder if these girls are aware that other girls grow up in entirely different worlds. And given a choice, which world would they actually choose? The only one they know with the friends and family they love, or the one that might remove, or at least delay, the adult-type pressures?
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Girls' Night! Waiters Beware.
Last night I instigated a much needed girls’ dinner with Erin, Ashley and Mahala. We all remarked that this was the perfect way to wind down our respective chaotic and stressful weeks.
Ashley suggested a little Italian place right near the office and I’m so glad she did – it was fantastic. It’s called Basso 56 and it’s on 56th (duh) between 8th and Broadway. (I can’t believe that I walk down that street nearly every day – sometimes multiple times per day – and I’ve never even seen this place before.)
Last night was fun. This morning I woke up a teeny bit dehydrated and with the tiniest headache. It’s all our waiter’s fault. Honestly, it is. When we asked for the bill, he brought us a round of limoncello instead. Which was delicious, but after martinis and a bottle of wine, it was somewhat unnecessary.
We were in the restaurant for over FOUR hours and it was such a treat to be in a restaurant in New York and not be rushed out the second you take the last bite of your entrée. (This definitely made up for the other night at the French hole-in-the-wall where tout était un disastre.)
I caught up on all my celebrity gossip (apparently Britney has REALLY bad extensions right now), talked about boys (yes, of COURSE I shared photos of Special K!), and just generally ate, drank and laughed a lot. Some of the funniest conversation had to be about Ashley’s family cat, Stinky Valdez, and Mahala’s pet from a former life, Frampton the bearded dragon. Frampton was ill as a young lizard, resulting in paralysis over one side of his body and though it’s a bit cruel, we were all almost on the floor laughing at the thought of a tiny lizard who could only walk in miniscule circles because he was like a row boat with only one oar in the water.
That’s me and the girls in the pic… and yes, that is our waiter in the middle who insisted on being IN the photo with us. After complimentary bruschetta and limoncello, how could we say no??
Ashley suggested a little Italian place right near the office and I’m so glad she did – it was fantastic. It’s called Basso 56 and it’s on 56th (duh) between 8th and Broadway. (I can’t believe that I walk down that street nearly every day – sometimes multiple times per day – and I’ve never even seen this place before.)
Last night was fun. This morning I woke up a teeny bit dehydrated and with the tiniest headache. It’s all our waiter’s fault. Honestly, it is. When we asked for the bill, he brought us a round of limoncello instead. Which was delicious, but after martinis and a bottle of wine, it was somewhat unnecessary.
We were in the restaurant for over FOUR hours and it was such a treat to be in a restaurant in New York and not be rushed out the second you take the last bite of your entrée. (This definitely made up for the other night at the French hole-in-the-wall where tout était un disastre.)
I caught up on all my celebrity gossip (apparently Britney has REALLY bad extensions right now), talked about boys (yes, of COURSE I shared photos of Special K!), and just generally ate, drank and laughed a lot. Some of the funniest conversation had to be about Ashley’s family cat, Stinky Valdez, and Mahala’s pet from a former life, Frampton the bearded dragon. Frampton was ill as a young lizard, resulting in paralysis over one side of his body and though it’s a bit cruel, we were all almost on the floor laughing at the thought of a tiny lizard who could only walk in miniscule circles because he was like a row boat with only one oar in the water.
That’s me and the girls in the pic… and yes, that is our waiter in the middle who insisted on being IN the photo with us. After complimentary bruschetta and limoncello, how could we say no??
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Little Manhattan
Thanks to Nick and Reny's recommendation, I rented the movie "Little Manhattan" and thought it was adorable. It's a "quirky tale of first love that puts the spotlight on a pint-sized passion". (Who writes the copy on the Netflix sleeves anyway??)
Not only was the story cute, and the two kids perfect in their roles, but the story is set against the backdrop of New York City... more specifically, it takes place within about 9 square blocks of the Upper West Side. It was so fun to watch the movie and see places that I walk by all the time, like the Natural History Museum, the big Fairways store, the West Side Restaurant and countless other landmarks.
Gabe, the fifth grade protagonist and would-be Romeo, lives on the same street that I actually live on and thanks to the movie, I have now identified a few new places on the UWS that I must track down and report back on. One such place is apparently the smallest public park in the city... it's only as wide as a townhouse and is squeezed between two other city buildings. If what the movie says is true, then this park used to be a townhouse, but when the owner died, he requested that the home be demolished and the space reserved as a public park for posterity. What a great posthumous gift in the concrete jungle.
Not only was the story cute, and the two kids perfect in their roles, but the story is set against the backdrop of New York City... more specifically, it takes place within about 9 square blocks of the Upper West Side. It was so fun to watch the movie and see places that I walk by all the time, like the Natural History Museum, the big Fairways store, the West Side Restaurant and countless other landmarks.
Gabe, the fifth grade protagonist and would-be Romeo, lives on the same street that I actually live on and thanks to the movie, I have now identified a few new places on the UWS that I must track down and report back on. One such place is apparently the smallest public park in the city... it's only as wide as a townhouse and is squeezed between two other city buildings. If what the movie says is true, then this park used to be a townhouse, but when the owner died, he requested that the home be demolished and the space reserved as a public park for posterity. What a great posthumous gift in the concrete jungle.
Quel Disastre!!
I have officially had my first REALLY bad food experience in New York. (Well, not including the time that I got food poisoning from Thai food one week after I moved here -- haven't touched the stuff since!)
Special K was in town and I thought we'd try a cute little French bistro in Hell's Kitchen that I'd heard was merveilleux. I think we both felt a little weird about the place from the moment we sat down, but we decided to press on. Vive la cuisine francaise!
My first observation was "this is a bit grubby, isn't it?" as I glanced around with wrinkled nose at the smudged red & white checkered table cloth (and by the way, isn't THAT really more of an Italian restaurant's theme??) and noticed that the entire restaurant seemed to be coated in a dingy film. But the place was crowded and noisy, so again, we felt the quality of the food MUST be amazing if this many people could overlook smudged table linens and random floating items in the water glasses.
When we sat down, there was a basket containing two rolls already on the table. We noticed one of the servers bringing fresh baskets overflowing with rolls to the other tables, but when we stopped her to ask for fresh bread, s'il vous plait, she looked from each of us to the basket already on the table and said "Zat EEZ fresh -- made today!" Special K and I looked at each other and he clarified, "No, actually, that was already on the table when we sat down -- can we get our own basket?" To which the lovely, customer service-focused server adamantly said, "No, ZAT is all you get!" I think we were both too shocked to even realize that this was at least the fifth cue we'd had that we should GET UP AND LEAVE.
To avoid the sketchy drinking water, we ordered a bottle of wine which another server proceeded to slosh not only into our wine glasses, but all over about half the table. (Ah, now smudged table cloth is beginning to make more sense!)
Our entrees (poulet cordon bleu for me and hanger steak for Special K) were equally disappointing.
You know it's bad when the best things at a french restaurant are the french fries.
Special K was in town and I thought we'd try a cute little French bistro in Hell's Kitchen that I'd heard was merveilleux. I think we both felt a little weird about the place from the moment we sat down, but we decided to press on. Vive la cuisine francaise!
My first observation was "this is a bit grubby, isn't it?" as I glanced around with wrinkled nose at the smudged red & white checkered table cloth (and by the way, isn't THAT really more of an Italian restaurant's theme??) and noticed that the entire restaurant seemed to be coated in a dingy film. But the place was crowded and noisy, so again, we felt the quality of the food MUST be amazing if this many people could overlook smudged table linens and random floating items in the water glasses.
When we sat down, there was a basket containing two rolls already on the table. We noticed one of the servers bringing fresh baskets overflowing with rolls to the other tables, but when we stopped her to ask for fresh bread, s'il vous plait, she looked from each of us to the basket already on the table and said "Zat EEZ fresh -- made today!" Special K and I looked at each other and he clarified, "No, actually, that was already on the table when we sat down -- can we get our own basket?" To which the lovely, customer service-focused server adamantly said, "No, ZAT is all you get!" I think we were both too shocked to even realize that this was at least the fifth cue we'd had that we should GET UP AND LEAVE.
To avoid the sketchy drinking water, we ordered a bottle of wine which another server proceeded to slosh not only into our wine glasses, but all over about half the table. (Ah, now smudged table cloth is beginning to make more sense!)
Our entrees (poulet cordon bleu for me and hanger steak for Special K) were equally disappointing.
You know it's bad when the best things at a french restaurant are the french fries.
Miss Me?
Wow, how did almost 10 whole days go by since my last update?? I'll tell you how... It's called work. And fun. It's been a busy, busy week or so, but I have many, many updates, so get ready!
Today an unbelievable rainstorm enveloped the city -- which was quite a shock after numerous gorgeous sunny days with plus-70 degree weather.
The day started out hot and sunny, the humidity portending rain later in the day. Around 4:00, the temperature dropped from 82 to 65 degrees, the sky darkened abruptly making it look like about 8:00 at night instead of the middle of the afternoon. I know you're wondering why I'm writing about this, but it was incredible watching this storm roll in over a 10 - 15 minute period from our vantage point on the 37th floor, overlooking Central Park. Even growing up on the prairies, I don't think I've ever seen a storm move this fast and let loose with such focused vengeance. There were literally sheets of water blowing through the streets and whipping around the corners of buildings. The greenish-grey color of the sky was very "The Day After Tomorrow". Kinda creepy.
It's still raining tonight and my shoes were full of water by the time I got home. And that's WITH taking the bus! I swear I will never fully master the art of appropriate footwear in this city.
Today an unbelievable rainstorm enveloped the city -- which was quite a shock after numerous gorgeous sunny days with plus-70 degree weather.
The day started out hot and sunny, the humidity portending rain later in the day. Around 4:00, the temperature dropped from 82 to 65 degrees, the sky darkened abruptly making it look like about 8:00 at night instead of the middle of the afternoon. I know you're wondering why I'm writing about this, but it was incredible watching this storm roll in over a 10 - 15 minute period from our vantage point on the 37th floor, overlooking Central Park. Even growing up on the prairies, I don't think I've ever seen a storm move this fast and let loose with such focused vengeance. There were literally sheets of water blowing through the streets and whipping around the corners of buildings. The greenish-grey color of the sky was very "The Day After Tomorrow". Kinda creepy.
It's still raining tonight and my shoes were full of water by the time I got home. And that's WITH taking the bus! I swear I will never fully master the art of appropriate footwear in this city.
Monday, May 7, 2007
Going to School in Manhattan
I think that when you just visit New York in short bursts for either work or pleasure, it's easy to forget that people actually LIVE here and that they do all the day-to-day things that anyone else would, albeit in a sometimes very different manner.
Lately, I've been reflecting a lot about what it must be like to grow up and go to school in New York.
I live in a neighbourhood where there are many, many schools. I am walking distance to Julliard, Fordham University, the John Jay College of Criminal Justice and a variety of middle and high schools, including Laguardia High School, an extremely renowned performing arts school -- think "Fame".
While the college side of things doesn't faze me too much, I constantly find myself marveling at what it must be like to attend elementary, middle and high school in New York City.
I remember back to my school days and the limitless space we had outside -- playgrounds... sandboxes... soccer, baseball and football fields, all perfectly groomed. It makes me sad to walk by these schools and see that the extent of their outdoor space is a square bit of concrete, encased by a tall chain link fence.
I constantly see kids piling out of taxis in front of the schools and think wryly that I also took a yellow vehicle to school -- but it was a school bus, driven by a perpetually sour driver, and carried about 50 other screaming kids who had juice boxes instead of Starbuck's cups. Well, at least I didn't have to figure out how much to tip the driver every day.
There is an honours middle school that I walk by almost every day on my way back and forth to work. There is a student-painted mural along the brick wall lining one of the sidewalks and at first, it seems like an uplifting, idyllic scene set in the African savannah with animals peacefully co-existing side by side. But wait, when you look a little more closely, you see a lion aggressively taking down a zebra, the latter's body wrenched in a painfully unnatural pose, even for a cartoon-type drawing. Simply the imagination of a shrewd 13-year old with a clear understanding about the circle of life, or a metaphorical commentary about the "eat or be eaten" mentality of Manhattan?
Lately, I've been reflecting a lot about what it must be like to grow up and go to school in New York.
I live in a neighbourhood where there are many, many schools. I am walking distance to Julliard, Fordham University, the John Jay College of Criminal Justice and a variety of middle and high schools, including Laguardia High School, an extremely renowned performing arts school -- think "Fame".
While the college side of things doesn't faze me too much, I constantly find myself marveling at what it must be like to attend elementary, middle and high school in New York City.
I remember back to my school days and the limitless space we had outside -- playgrounds... sandboxes... soccer, baseball and football fields, all perfectly groomed. It makes me sad to walk by these schools and see that the extent of their outdoor space is a square bit of concrete, encased by a tall chain link fence.
I constantly see kids piling out of taxis in front of the schools and think wryly that I also took a yellow vehicle to school -- but it was a school bus, driven by a perpetually sour driver, and carried about 50 other screaming kids who had juice boxes instead of Starbuck's cups. Well, at least I didn't have to figure out how much to tip the driver every day.
There is an honours middle school that I walk by almost every day on my way back and forth to work. There is a student-painted mural along the brick wall lining one of the sidewalks and at first, it seems like an uplifting, idyllic scene set in the African savannah with animals peacefully co-existing side by side. But wait, when you look a little more closely, you see a lion aggressively taking down a zebra, the latter's body wrenched in a painfully unnatural pose, even for a cartoon-type drawing. Simply the imagination of a shrewd 13-year old with a clear understanding about the circle of life, or a metaphorical commentary about the "eat or be eaten" mentality of Manhattan?
Sunday, May 6, 2007
Indispensable New York Accessories
After having been here six months now, I've assembled a list of "must-haves" for any resident of NYC (well, any female resident anyway):
- Cute leather card case for your MTA MetroCard and your office building ID card
- LOTS of flat walking shoes... runners, ballet flats, flip flops etc. (I am ALWAYS looking for excuses for new shoes!)
- Swiffer for your apartment's hardware floors
- Umbrellas.... yes, plural. One in your office, one at home and one in your bag because you never know when a nor'easter is gonna blow through!
- Boots. I only needed to be stranded in one snowstorm to recognize the obvious value in these little babies. (As an extension, fun rubber boots are perfect for nor'easter rainstorms, too!)
- Earmuffs for winter. (Hats give my hair major static.) At first, I was opposed to the 180 earmuffs, but I came to actually like the way I could tuck them under my hair.
- Hand sanitizer. (There's a dirty, gritty city out there!)
- Mini packet of kleenex because you never know when you're going to get a last minute ticket to see The Color Purple.
- Lots of thin shirts and sweaters that can be layered.... (Just today, I must have taken off my sweater and put it back on about five times while cruising around downtown because it seems like there is a different micro-climate around every single corner.)
- Laminated, fold-out subway map because I STILL can't remember where exactly the F train goes.
- Practical yet fashionable bag to carry around most of the things above.
- Cute leather card case for your MTA MetroCard and your office building ID card
- LOTS of flat walking shoes... runners, ballet flats, flip flops etc. (I am ALWAYS looking for excuses for new shoes!)
- Swiffer for your apartment's hardware floors
- Umbrellas.... yes, plural. One in your office, one at home and one in your bag because you never know when a nor'easter is gonna blow through!
- Boots. I only needed to be stranded in one snowstorm to recognize the obvious value in these little babies. (As an extension, fun rubber boots are perfect for nor'easter rainstorms, too!)
- Earmuffs for winter. (Hats give my hair major static.) At first, I was opposed to the 180 earmuffs, but I came to actually like the way I could tuck them under my hair.
- Hand sanitizer. (There's a dirty, gritty city out there!)
- Mini packet of kleenex because you never know when you're going to get a last minute ticket to see The Color Purple.
- Lots of thin shirts and sweaters that can be layered.... (Just today, I must have taken off my sweater and put it back on about five times while cruising around downtown because it seems like there is a different micro-climate around every single corner.)
- Laminated, fold-out subway map because I STILL can't remember where exactly the F train goes.
- Practical yet fashionable bag to carry around most of the things above.
Go flock yourself
For those of you who didn't believe me (and you know who you are), here's an explanation of "flocking" straight outta Wikipedia. :-)
"Flocking is a decoration process that enhances the way a wide variety of products are experienced by making ordinary surfaces seem far more magical and special. Flocking is the process of depositing millions of little individual cut fiber particles (called "flock") onto the surface of an article for the purpose of increasing its value in terms of the tactile sensation, aesthetics, color and appearance, and/or a wide variety of other functions--such as insulation, slip-or-grip friction, etc. Flocking is used in many ways. One example is on a Christmas tree, which may be flocked with a fluffy white spray to simulate snow."
One quick Google search yields numerous sources for the coveted flocked tree... Target, Amazon.com, Christmas-Direct, Craig's List...
And if that wasn't enough, Target actually sells trees that are pre-lit AND flocked. What more could you ask for??? In May.
"Flocking is a decoration process that enhances the way a wide variety of products are experienced by making ordinary surfaces seem far more magical and special. Flocking is the process of depositing millions of little individual cut fiber particles (called "flock") onto the surface of an article for the purpose of increasing its value in terms of the tactile sensation, aesthetics, color and appearance, and/or a wide variety of other functions--such as insulation, slip-or-grip friction, etc. Flocking is used in many ways. One example is on a Christmas tree, which may be flocked with a fluffy white spray to simulate snow."
One quick Google search yields numerous sources for the coveted flocked tree... Target, Amazon.com, Christmas-Direct, Craig's List...
And if that wasn't enough, Target actually sells trees that are pre-lit AND flocked. What more could you ask for??? In May.
Thursday, May 3, 2007
Color Me Purple
Every day I walk to work and see the Broadway Theatre kitty corner from my office where The Color Purple is currently playing and every day I think “I should really go see that after work one day.” Well, as fate would have it, today was my lucky, lucky day.
Just before 6:00, Heidi IM’d me with “I know this is short notice, but…” and voila! Less than two hours later, I was sitting with Heidi and Chris in the fourth row (!) of The Color Purple. The headliner right now is Fantasia (yes, of American Idol fame) and she was fantastic (fantasia-tic?). She was the perfect Celie with an incredible voice, heartfelt emotion and even impressive comedic timing.
Favourite scene? That’s a tough one, but I’d have to go with Sofia’s song about being pushed around, taken for granted and treated badly… Does she let these things happen to her?? Hell, no. he - ELL, no!!
I didn’t cry (ok, maybe just a little bit), but the guy sitting to my right just let it go – I felt compelled to offer him a tissue when I saw him wipe his eyes with his shirt sleeve. For the tenth time.
I can only imagine the incredible rush of emotion from actually being on stage, particularly in such a powerful production. This entire cast put their hearts and souls into this show, to the point where even Fantasia looked completely overwhelmed and on the brink of a torrent of happy tears during the curtain call. (Which just about made me and my neighbour dive into the tissues all over again.)
So, bottom line, did I love it? Hell, YEAH!
Just before 6:00, Heidi IM’d me with “I know this is short notice, but…” and voila! Less than two hours later, I was sitting with Heidi and Chris in the fourth row (!) of The Color Purple. The headliner right now is Fantasia (yes, of American Idol fame) and she was fantastic (fantasia-tic?). She was the perfect Celie with an incredible voice, heartfelt emotion and even impressive comedic timing.
Favourite scene? That’s a tough one, but I’d have to go with Sofia’s song about being pushed around, taken for granted and treated badly… Does she let these things happen to her?? Hell, no. he - ELL, no!!
I didn’t cry (ok, maybe just a little bit), but the guy sitting to my right just let it go – I felt compelled to offer him a tissue when I saw him wipe his eyes with his shirt sleeve. For the tenth time.
I can only imagine the incredible rush of emotion from actually being on stage, particularly in such a powerful production. This entire cast put their hearts and souls into this show, to the point where even Fantasia looked completely overwhelmed and on the brink of a torrent of happy tears during the curtain call. (Which just about made me and my neighbour dive into the tissues all over again.)
So, bottom line, did I love it? Hell, YEAH!
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