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??
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