I've always been a believer in that simple concept that what goes up must come down. That a string of particularly brutal winter days will always be met with at least one mild, sunshiny day to remind us all to 'hang in there', things will get better. The power of self correction.
As we watch history unfold before us in the form of a frightening economic shakedown, I can't help but think that this, too, is self-correction.
It was not too long ago that I can remember walking through grocery stores and airport newsstands, wondering to myself, 'do we really need an entire magazine dedicated to cat clothing?' And try as I might, the only answer I could come up with (besides who in the HEEELLLL?) was, simply, NO. We didn't need 16 magazines about golf, 32 titles covering the intricacies of celebrity hairstyles, 9 rags about knitting and crocheting (sorry mom!). We just didn't need it all, and somewhere in the back of our minds, we knew it. Yet we could all squeal with delight at the discovery of a publication dedicated to some obscure interest of ours. I knew it! There are people out there who want to know more about Dungeons & Dragons!
In the not too recent past I recall feeling a growing discontent about the number of banks I would encounter on a daily basis. In this I know I was not alone. Working in Manhattan, where stores turn over at a particularly high rate, I couldn't help but notice that every time an eatery or clothing store would shut down, it was a solid bet that what would pop up next would be a bank. You could walk the entirety of Manhattan, bladder full to bursting, and not find a public bathroom, but you'd have no trouble drawing money out of an ATM or inquiring about (and apparently getting!) a home loan.
And then there was the coffee. Us lemmings would line up inside of Starbucks, eagerly awaiting the opportunity to fork over $4.68 for a shot of espresso and a healthy dose of warm milk. Starbucks responded, giving us what we wanted, and then giving us more, and more, and more. They began to multiply, and at its saturation point one was convinced that an aerial shot of Manhattan surely would be colored in that warm, soothing mixture of green and brown that Starbucks is known for, with a pleasant, frothy steam arising from the city streets.
And so it was. We were all walking around carrying stacks of magazines about obscure hobbies, passing only banks and Starbucks' on a daily basis. And then the crash. Sure, a lot of things happened. A lot more serious things than the folding of unnecessary magazine titles and the reduction in Starbucks franchises. But can I go out on a limb and say some unintended fall-outs of tragic happenings are actually nice? That I find comfort in the power of self-correction? What goes up must indeed come down. And when we go too far, too fast, take on too much, a force--sometimes greater than ourselves--will come into play and guide us back toward a saner reality.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Coming Up Orchids
What to do on the first unofficial day of Spring? Well, if like me you're lucky enough to have a husband who worked at a florist's shop in a past life, you might consider journeying to the New York Botanical Garden. Their annual Orchid Show is in bloom and oh my, to say it's breathtaking isn't doing it justice.
The Gardens are located in the Bronx, and after making a few wrong turns that got us lost in some rather unsavory parts of said borough, we found our way. And so too did seemingly thousands of other New Yorkers seeking to make the most of today's mild temperatures. We nearly drove around the circumference of the Gardens before landing a parking spot. But no mind, it was all worth it in the end.
Walking through the Botanical Gardens is like walking through Eden. There are wide pathways, sloping lawns and a pleasing lack of noise, save for the shrieking of excited toddlers thrilled at so much grass to hurl themselves onto.
We came upon the entrance to the orchard show, a massive, stately building that anchors a series of equally massive and stately greenhouses. These are not your grandmother's greenhouses! Well, at least not mine.
Did I mention there are toddlers at the Botanical Gardens? It's like a toddler convention up in there. And the kind folks at the NYBG make sure to provide for their needs.
But enough about that, let's get to show, shall we?
This is actually less about the flowers and more about the beauty of the fountain. I love the way the water is streaming off the sides.
Ok, please tell me my husband and I aren't the only dirty minds who thought this next orchid looked suspiciously like lady parts.
Right? RIGHT?!
We captured a lot of beautiful pictures of some stunning orchids, but something about this next shot really thrills me. Perhaps it's the notion of this lone orchid standing alone from all of its orchid friends. Seriously, this little thing is (ALERT! CORNY FLOWER JOKE AHEAD!) no shrinking violet! Ba dum dump! Or, perhaps it's just how dainty it is. Just a little fleck of vibrant color amidst so much green.
Now this? This is just weird. Can you believe nature created this?
And if you can't believe that one, how about this?
Red peppers whose bottoms were roasted? Trumpets?
After nearly an hour of perusing the orchids, we ended up in the 'desert' greenhouse. As you know, delirium can set in in the desert. And it did for us.
We were only too delighted to set up this little optical illusion. I know, it's not that effective. But yes, we are the same people who go to D.C. and take 'that' shot in front of the Washington monument. You know the one.
Snakes in the grass!
And now, I leave you with pure beauty.
The Gardens are located in the Bronx, and after making a few wrong turns that got us lost in some rather unsavory parts of said borough, we found our way. And so too did seemingly thousands of other New Yorkers seeking to make the most of today's mild temperatures. We nearly drove around the circumference of the Gardens before landing a parking spot. But no mind, it was all worth it in the end.
Walking through the Botanical Gardens is like walking through Eden. There are wide pathways, sloping lawns and a pleasing lack of noise, save for the shrieking of excited toddlers thrilled at so much grass to hurl themselves onto.
We came upon the entrance to the orchard show, a massive, stately building that anchors a series of equally massive and stately greenhouses. These are not your grandmother's greenhouses! Well, at least not mine.
Did I mention there are toddlers at the Botanical Gardens? It's like a toddler convention up in there. And the kind folks at the NYBG make sure to provide for their needs.
But enough about that, let's get to show, shall we?
This is actually less about the flowers and more about the beauty of the fountain. I love the way the water is streaming off the sides.
Ok, please tell me my husband and I aren't the only dirty minds who thought this next orchid looked suspiciously like lady parts.
Right? RIGHT?!
We captured a lot of beautiful pictures of some stunning orchids, but something about this next shot really thrills me. Perhaps it's the notion of this lone orchid standing alone from all of its orchid friends. Seriously, this little thing is (ALERT! CORNY FLOWER JOKE AHEAD!) no shrinking violet! Ba dum dump! Or, perhaps it's just how dainty it is. Just a little fleck of vibrant color amidst so much green.
Now this? This is just weird. Can you believe nature created this?
And if you can't believe that one, how about this?
Red peppers whose bottoms were roasted? Trumpets?
After nearly an hour of perusing the orchids, we ended up in the 'desert' greenhouse. As you know, delirium can set in in the desert. And it did for us.
We were only too delighted to set up this little optical illusion. I know, it's not that effective. But yes, we are the same people who go to D.C. and take 'that' shot in front of the Washington monument. You know the one.
Snakes in the grass!
And now, I leave you with pure beauty.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Love in Unexpected Places
There's a couple that has captured my interest for over a year now. I see them every day. I know their faces, but recognize them first by the way they curl their bodies together to form one entangled web of limbs and love. They keep to themselves, gaze only at each other, speak only to one another. Each morning, as I get off the subway and make my way above ground, I see them knotted up on the same two seats of a four-seat wooden bench. They are homeless.
There's a lot of assumptions I'll admit I've made about homeless people. They lack motivation; they lack morals; they lack commitment. But when I think about it, perhaps the largest, overarching assumption I've made--and made in error--is that the homeless are simply not LIKE everybody else. Yet this couple proves that they are, in fact, 'like' everybody else. Sure, they live a vastly different reality from what most of us are fortunate enough to know. But this couple reminds me that above all the homeless are quite simply human, and thus in possession of the same desire for one of life's most innate needs: love.
At the height of summer, when New York City's subway stations reach temperatures that surely would rival the foyer of hell, I see this couple. In those brutally hot days, just hours after a night spent trying not to touch a single pore of my husband's skin because it's just too damn HOT, I pass these two, clad in sparse strips of clothing, fingers resting on each other, refusing to lose contact. In the dead of winter, when I have no real proof that there are actual people beneath layers of shabby coats and dirty blankets save for the unmistakeable shape of two forms huddled together, I see these two, coiled tight for warmth in single digit temperatures.
It's easy to complain about the hardships we go through within our own couplings, particularly during this increasingly unsettling depress...errr, recession. More and more these days, I imagine couples are wondering how their relationship would weather a hardship such as a job loss, or a house foreclsoure. And yet, I look at this couple. The fears we've all succumbed to expressing at one time or another: "Would you still love me if...'I lost' 'I didn't' 'I couldn't'. It seems they've looked those fears--and perhaps more--in the eye and withstood every test. And is there any truer display of love and commitment than that?
There's a lot of assumptions I'll admit I've made about homeless people. They lack motivation; they lack morals; they lack commitment. But when I think about it, perhaps the largest, overarching assumption I've made--and made in error--is that the homeless are simply not LIKE everybody else. Yet this couple proves that they are, in fact, 'like' everybody else. Sure, they live a vastly different reality from what most of us are fortunate enough to know. But this couple reminds me that above all the homeless are quite simply human, and thus in possession of the same desire for one of life's most innate needs: love.
At the height of summer, when New York City's subway stations reach temperatures that surely would rival the foyer of hell, I see this couple. In those brutally hot days, just hours after a night spent trying not to touch a single pore of my husband's skin because it's just too damn HOT, I pass these two, clad in sparse strips of clothing, fingers resting on each other, refusing to lose contact. In the dead of winter, when I have no real proof that there are actual people beneath layers of shabby coats and dirty blankets save for the unmistakeable shape of two forms huddled together, I see these two, coiled tight for warmth in single digit temperatures.
It's easy to complain about the hardships we go through within our own couplings, particularly during this increasingly unsettling depress...errr, recession. More and more these days, I imagine couples are wondering how their relationship would weather a hardship such as a job loss, or a house foreclsoure. And yet, I look at this couple. The fears we've all succumbed to expressing at one time or another: "Would you still love me if...'I lost' 'I didn't' 'I couldn't'. It seems they've looked those fears--and perhaps more--in the eye and withstood every test. And is there any truer display of love and commitment than that?
Monday, March 2, 2009
Just a Rat in a Cage
I haven't left the house in two days.
There, now that I've proclaimed to all that I am hopelessly pathetic, shall I try to explain my reasons? Rationalize my motivation for succumbing to sloth? Well, if we're being completely honest, I woke up yesterday morning with a wee bit of a hangover. Oh, right, we're being completely honest. I woke up yesterday morning with a full-on hangover. It was a hangover with all of the classic symptoms. Headache, lethargy, zero desire to bathe and an appetite that would rival Octomom in her third trimester.
But, the day progressed and as the hours slid by, so too did my hangover. By late afternoon I was ready to be up and about, but quickly realized I shouldn't bother as the March 1 Blizzard (also known as the "Gotcha!! Winter Isn't Over Yet, Bitches! Blizzard)was working it's way up the Eastern Seaboard. Sure enough, the first fat flakes started falling yesterday evening and I was damned if I was going to go out and partake. I'm on strike from winter weather.
Fast forward to this morning. I wake up, gently peek through the blinds in the hopes of discovering that this storm had gone the way of past storm predictions and ABC dramas--massively overhyped and anticlimactic. Twas not the case. Luckily my company was compassionate enough to let us work from home--realizing that those of us who do not live in Manhattan didn't stand a chance of getting to work today without arriving ridiculously late and looking like we'd been drug through a Ketchikan car wash. So I perched myself at my kitchen table, fired up my laptop, and hunkered down for Day 2 of self-imposed exile.
Fifteen minutes ago I went to get the mail in the lobby of my apartment building and in so doing, noticed snow shoes deposited outside my neighbor's door. My neighbors have a two-year-old and a newborn. THEY managed to leave the apartment building in the last 48 hours. I am shamed, but still not enough to do anything about it. Tomorrow's another day.
There, now that I've proclaimed to all that I am hopelessly pathetic, shall I try to explain my reasons? Rationalize my motivation for succumbing to sloth? Well, if we're being completely honest, I woke up yesterday morning with a wee bit of a hangover. Oh, right, we're being completely honest. I woke up yesterday morning with a full-on hangover. It was a hangover with all of the classic symptoms. Headache, lethargy, zero desire to bathe and an appetite that would rival Octomom in her third trimester.
But, the day progressed and as the hours slid by, so too did my hangover. By late afternoon I was ready to be up and about, but quickly realized I shouldn't bother as the March 1 Blizzard (also known as the "Gotcha!! Winter Isn't Over Yet, Bitches! Blizzard)was working it's way up the Eastern Seaboard. Sure enough, the first fat flakes started falling yesterday evening and I was damned if I was going to go out and partake. I'm on strike from winter weather.
Fast forward to this morning. I wake up, gently peek through the blinds in the hopes of discovering that this storm had gone the way of past storm predictions and ABC dramas--massively overhyped and anticlimactic. Twas not the case. Luckily my company was compassionate enough to let us work from home--realizing that those of us who do not live in Manhattan didn't stand a chance of getting to work today without arriving ridiculously late and looking like we'd been drug through a Ketchikan car wash. So I perched myself at my kitchen table, fired up my laptop, and hunkered down for Day 2 of self-imposed exile.
Fifteen minutes ago I went to get the mail in the lobby of my apartment building and in so doing, noticed snow shoes deposited outside my neighbor's door. My neighbors have a two-year-old and a newborn. THEY managed to leave the apartment building in the last 48 hours. I am shamed, but still not enough to do anything about it. Tomorrow's another day.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Pre-Vacation Foreplay
Minds out of the gutter, people! I'm not going to talk about ACTUAL foreplay here. Rather, all the activities and tasks that one must accomplish before embarking on a two week jaunt to Europe. Yes, life is tough.
You see, there are so many things to do before leaving for vacation. Some people might find these tasks tedious. I, on the other hand, enjoy them. I'm so excited for the actual trip, but I like to enjoy the build up too. Each task reminds me of the reason why I'm doing it--so that we can sail around the Mediterranean! It is, you see, a kind of pre-vacation foreplay! Getting us primed for THE MAIN EVENT.
1. Go to USPS web site and ask them to hold our mail while we're away. Our mailbox is the size of a 1990's era cell phone, so it can barely hold a day's worth of mail, let alone two weeks worth.
2. Go to camera store and buy a brand-new digital SLR camera that you have no idea how to use properly. Let the nice Hasidic man at the counter convince we need several additional accoutrements to really do it up right.
3. Buy 'European vacation' clothing. This really can include anything you want. My rationalization skills have been finely honed.
4. Go to the bank and pick up Euros. The lady at the bank asked me if I'd like the last hundred's worth of Euros in smaller bills. I said yes, and you know what's great? Smaller bills really are, quite literally, smaller bills! The EU thought of everything!
5. Choose vacation reading. This is really the most critical of the pre-vacation foreplay. What you read while on vacation sets the tone. And it's so hard to decide. I'd like some lighter reading, but I also still want to still appear well-rounded and smart before my fellow passengers. Let's face it, your shipmates will glance at the book in your hands as they walk past you on the pooldeck. I know I do. Danielle Steel? Not talking to you at the Captain's Dinner! Shopaholic series? Not too much going on upstairs with you now, is there? A People's History of the United States? I'm asleep already, and I really can't believe that you aren't as well.
So tell me, what's YOUR favorite pre-vacation foreplay?
You see, there are so many things to do before leaving for vacation. Some people might find these tasks tedious. I, on the other hand, enjoy them. I'm so excited for the actual trip, but I like to enjoy the build up too. Each task reminds me of the reason why I'm doing it--so that we can sail around the Mediterranean! It is, you see, a kind of pre-vacation foreplay! Getting us primed for THE MAIN EVENT.
1. Go to USPS web site and ask them to hold our mail while we're away. Our mailbox is the size of a 1990's era cell phone, so it can barely hold a day's worth of mail, let alone two weeks worth.
2. Go to camera store and buy a brand-new digital SLR camera that you have no idea how to use properly. Let the nice Hasidic man at the counter convince we need several additional accoutrements to really do it up right.
3. Buy 'European vacation' clothing. This really can include anything you want. My rationalization skills have been finely honed.
4. Go to the bank and pick up Euros. The lady at the bank asked me if I'd like the last hundred's worth of Euros in smaller bills. I said yes, and you know what's great? Smaller bills really are, quite literally, smaller bills! The EU thought of everything!
5. Choose vacation reading. This is really the most critical of the pre-vacation foreplay. What you read while on vacation sets the tone. And it's so hard to decide. I'd like some lighter reading, but I also still want to still appear well-rounded and smart before my fellow passengers. Let's face it, your shipmates will glance at the book in your hands as they walk past you on the pooldeck. I know I do. Danielle Steel? Not talking to you at the Captain's Dinner! Shopaholic series? Not too much going on upstairs with you now, is there? A People's History of the United States? I'm asleep already, and I really can't believe that you aren't as well.
So tell me, what's YOUR favorite pre-vacation foreplay?
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
If One More Person Falls Asleep On My Shoulder, I'm Turning This Subway Car Right Back Around
At this point in my life, I'm fairly convinced that the universe is conspiring against me to place subway sleepers next to me, regardless of what train I'm on and when. Tonight is a case in point. I'm riding home from work and sure enough I start to see and feel the telltale signs of a subway sleeper. Out of my peripheral vision I see the head of the girl sitting next to me start to bob and loll back and forth. Her ponytail was swinging like a pendulum on a grandfather clock.
The thing with subway sleepers, you see, is that it all starts rather innocuously. A strap of their bag may slip off their shoulder and gently hit you. Their arm may accidentally brush yours. In summer months, this is entirely unacceptable. The feeling of a stranger's skin-and worse, their arm hairs-brushing against yours is rather disconcerting. Next thing you know, you're entirely focused on waiting for the offender to fall on you. It's like Chinese water torture (do any of us know, or even know anyone else who truly understands what it's like to undergo Chinese water torture?) You practically wish they would fall on you, only so that you can reinforce the belief that subway sleeper is a complete and total dick, undeserving of the privilege of a $2 ride on public transit.
I'm always torn as to how I want to deal with a subway sleeper. My reaction is directly proportional to my mood. If I feel as though I'd like to teach them a lesson, I usually consider placing my elbow just so and then suddenly jolting it up into their ribcage, all the while looking the other direction and feigning obliviousness. If I'm feeling rather mean, I like to learn forward in my seat and hope that when their head falls towards me, the sudden lack of another body next to them as support will cause their neck to suddenly snap, resulting in a temporary disability (not permanent! I'm not that cruel-minded).
Don't get me wrong, I'm all for falling asleep on moving transportation. I for one can be out within five minutes of boarding a plane, train or automobile. But it's all about sleep management. Keep your head down, centered over your body, and know your surroundings.
I'm just sayin'
The thing with subway sleepers, you see, is that it all starts rather innocuously. A strap of their bag may slip off their shoulder and gently hit you. Their arm may accidentally brush yours. In summer months, this is entirely unacceptable. The feeling of a stranger's skin-and worse, their arm hairs-brushing against yours is rather disconcerting. Next thing you know, you're entirely focused on waiting for the offender to fall on you. It's like Chinese water torture (do any of us know, or even know anyone else who truly understands what it's like to undergo Chinese water torture?) You practically wish they would fall on you, only so that you can reinforce the belief that subway sleeper is a complete and total dick, undeserving of the privilege of a $2 ride on public transit.
I'm always torn as to how I want to deal with a subway sleeper. My reaction is directly proportional to my mood. If I feel as though I'd like to teach them a lesson, I usually consider placing my elbow just so and then suddenly jolting it up into their ribcage, all the while looking the other direction and feigning obliviousness. If I'm feeling rather mean, I like to learn forward in my seat and hope that when their head falls towards me, the sudden lack of another body next to them as support will cause their neck to suddenly snap, resulting in a temporary disability (not permanent! I'm not that cruel-minded).
Don't get me wrong, I'm all for falling asleep on moving transportation. I for one can be out within five minutes of boarding a plane, train or automobile. But it's all about sleep management. Keep your head down, centered over your body, and know your surroundings.
I'm just sayin'
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Hot Time, Summer in the City
Today, as the thermometer climbed, and climbed, and climbed to cruel new heights, Mike and I decided it was time to figure out a pool plan for our summer lives. We've lived here nearly three years, it's time we knew where the hell we could go to take a dip.
Enter Google. Trusty, knowledgeable friend who always lifts you up and never lets you down. Or is that Bud Light? In any case, Google led me to discover a nice-looking public pool in nearby Long Island. Call me a snob but I just can't, I just won't, bring myself to go to a public pool in one of the boroughs.
So we hopped on the Long Island Expressway and - surprise!- it was a parking lot. As we crept along at 5 miles an hour I wondered if we would have been better off back on the couch. Soon enough though, the congestion cleared. Just your everyday, run of the mill 6 car pileup was holding up our pool progress. We soldiered on.
The pool was BIG, and so blue, and had diving boards! And lounge chairs! Mike kindly pointed out two chairs in the far corner. You know the shady spot that nobody wants? Well, that's the spot that I need. We set up our lounge area and all was fine and good until the gypsies showed up. Some shady looking Eastern Europeans asked if we could squeeze over a bit so they could fit their lounge chairs rightnextto us. We sneered. And then moved over.
Little by little the pool started filling up. Twenty different foreign languages could be heard floating through the air. I caught hairballs between my fingers while swimming a slow breaststroke across the width of the pool. A three hundred pound woman strolled into the pool in her itsy bitsy teeny weeny bikini.
We exchanged glances.
"Want to?"
"Yes, it's time," I replied. And off we went, back to the comforts of home.
Enter Google. Trusty, knowledgeable friend who always lifts you up and never lets you down. Or is that Bud Light? In any case, Google led me to discover a nice-looking public pool in nearby Long Island. Call me a snob but I just can't, I just won't, bring myself to go to a public pool in one of the boroughs.
So we hopped on the Long Island Expressway and - surprise!- it was a parking lot. As we crept along at 5 miles an hour I wondered if we would have been better off back on the couch. Soon enough though, the congestion cleared. Just your everyday, run of the mill 6 car pileup was holding up our pool progress. We soldiered on.
The pool was BIG, and so blue, and had diving boards! And lounge chairs! Mike kindly pointed out two chairs in the far corner. You know the shady spot that nobody wants? Well, that's the spot that I need. We set up our lounge area and all was fine and good until the gypsies showed up. Some shady looking Eastern Europeans asked if we could squeeze over a bit so they could fit their lounge chairs rightnextto us. We sneered. And then moved over.
Little by little the pool started filling up. Twenty different foreign languages could be heard floating through the air. I caught hairballs between my fingers while swimming a slow breaststroke across the width of the pool. A three hundred pound woman strolled into the pool in her itsy bitsy teeny weeny bikini.
We exchanged glances.
"Want to?"
"Yes, it's time," I replied. And off we went, back to the comforts of home.
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