life after betting

New venue

2011-05-20T19:08:00.000-07:00

I know I haven't written in a while, but I've decided to try out tumblr. New outlet, maybe it'll inspire me in a way I haven't been for awhile.

http://knx2011.tumblr.com

Not familiar with it enough to tell you how to follow, but you'll all figure it out.

Kerry

A relief, in a way

2010-11-10T19:18:00.000-08:00

This week, RG, the founding partner at my firm made an announcement via email before he headed off to Italy for vacation: we were all to return to full time starting Monday, November 15th. A wave of mixed emotions flowed through the office; on one hand, returning to full time work meant a return to a full time paycheck, but three day weekends every week have been really enjoyable. This all started the Thursday before the July 4th weekend in 2009, and for the most part, I'm glad it's over.

For one, it means there is stability in my work. In the last 16 months, moral in the office has been up and down. The lowest point was when the re-hired a very senior staff person for a project that ended up stagnating, and they've kept him around. There have been many times where I have had nothing to do, and worried how long that could continue. Recently this has changed, as I'm becoming busy having three projects to work on; it was getting to the point where I was going to have to say something because I knew to do my job, I was going to have to work a full week anyway. Glad I didn't have to deal with that conversation with my bosses.

I've looked back at my blog post from July 6th, 2009, talking about how I was going to save money. I did stop shopping at Whole Foods for a while, but since my digestive issues have returned, I went back. I found that sticking to the 365 WF generic brand was about as much as shopping at the local market in my neighborhood anyway. The forbearance on my loans ended four months ago. Over the last 16 months, my parents have been helping me pay them anyway, they did not want me to take a break from paying them since the interest would continue to accumulate (I now owe them for what they've paid). Surprisingly, since I was on a limited budget, I was able to plan ways to save money. I will need to continue how I've thought about savings when I do have the extra money, I've estimated it will be an increase of about $1000 post taxes. Most of that will need to go towards my 401K, which I have not contributed to for the last 16 months. Luckily, my firm never cut out their contribution to our accounts, so something has been going in.

Sea time

2010-11-06T17:31:00.000-07:00

This year marked my five year anniversary on Pioneer, and I decided it was time to count up my sea time. It also has been the year I was promoted to relief mate, and I did not want to see that advance as the apex of my sailing career; I needed to look forward to what was next. Over two days I poured through the Pioneer logs dating back to 2005, and did some accounting of my time so far. I haven't tallied it up yet, but I'm hoping that by the end of next season, I'll be able to have the 180 days for a mate's license.

As I was looking through the logs, I wanted to tie dates to certain memories that I have on the boat. There is a certain tedium of looking through five years of logs, endless pages of different handwriting, some good, some really atrocious. I had to find some way of entertaining myself.

July 16, 2005: My first training sail. I had found the boat through a co-worker at Rafael Vinoly Architects, Elaine. She had organized a charter for our office at the end of a substantial deadline, and I went along. I don't remember the exact date of the charter, but it was in June. One of the crew members kept talking to Elaine and I, he mostly trying to convince me that I just had to come and volunteer. I had never sailed before, thought I was completely unqualified, but figured I'd give it a try. I was looking for something else to do outside of work; at the time, I felt that work was all I talked about. I guess that's what happens when you're somewhere 10-12 hours a day.

September 17, 2005: the Mayor's Cup. I was not on this sail, but it's become legendary - t-shirts have been made in tribute. The incident report was in the log, and it was interesting to read an account of the collision. Briefly, it goes something like this: "Schooner Adirondack collides into starboard side of vessel abeam race boat. No serious injuries, 2 stantions bent, lifelines parted."

May 27th, 2006: The first time I was on the boat with Barbee and Tom, two people who have become very important to me. In looking back, I remember each of them being on the boat, but my memory doesn't have them together.

August 13, 2006: My first day back on the boat in eight weeks. I had sprained my ankle in June of that year playing soccer, and really screwed it up trying to play tennis the next day. The doctor had told me that I really needed to stay off of it for six weeks, and that turned into eight weeks away from Pioneer. After the sail, a couple of us went to Fresh Salt. It was the first day I'd spent a lot of time on my feet, my ankle was sore, and Tommy, the mate, offered to give me a foot massage. Barbee was also on this sail, and I gave him the impression that I was a cold person. I didn't know him very well, and have always been reserved around people (especially men) that I don't know.

2007 Season: This was the year that I started sailing more regularly, and Barbee became my mentor. Lots of memories, lots of training - too much to list here. This was also the season I became more confident about my skills.

May 24, 2008: During the week before, Magno, the chief mate at the time, called and asked if I could be deckhand for one of the evening sails that week. I told him that I wasn't a deckhand yet, and he told me that something needed to be done about that. On this training sail a couple of days later, Fielding and Captain Glenn Mariano ran me ragged, having me complete almost the entire deckhand checklist in one sail. After the sail, Magno asked how things went, and whether I was interested in the position. It's what I had been working towards, so of course I said yes. I was physically spent, and went to Fresh Salt and had a huge pile of pancakes, completely content.

May 30, 2008: My first sail as a deckhand. Captain Malcolm Martin was at the helm for that sail.

September 12, 2009: There had been a lot of talk of when I was going to be promoted to mate as I was almost done with my checklist. On this sail, Tom was mate, and decided to give me the opportunity to be acting mate for the sail.

August 11, 2010: Captain Richard Dorfman had called me on August 2nd to offer me the promotion to mate, and this was my first sail in that position. My first sail was scheduled to be on Friday the 13th, but the mate on the 11th was sick, so I filled in.

arghh, dating

2010-11-04T20:49:00.000-07:00

Or not. For some reason, I've gotten a lot of hits on my OK Cupid profile without doing much about it. I keep telling myself I should just take it down, it's been nearly two years, and hasn't done much but provide me with some entertaining blog posts. Some of the latest:

Christopher: Yep. 'Dangerboy' was back, probably with more tattoos than ever. A year after his last disappearance, he sent me a message over the OKC website. I should have known it was suspect; he has (or had) my email and number, and could have contacted me by other means. It took us two weeks to get together, mostly due to my reluctance to let this guy back in although I was dying of curiosity as to why he was contacting me AGAIN. After disappearing twice with only lame excuses of 'I was swamped with work' or the classic 'I was really sick.' I was half expecting, 'The dog ate my phone.' We got together for a drink, he talked about his latest schemes to create the next greatest social networking site, but in the meantime he was working in advertising on Madison Avenue for a firm that has had a mention on Mad Men. It was fun, I was still suspicious. I had to go to Syracuse for work the following week, but he said we should get together when I got back. When I returned, I was busy with other things, got back to the OKC site a couple of days later to send him a message. Shock of all shocks - his profile had been removed! I'm now convinced he's had a girlfriend all this time that he'd occasionally get bored with, and play around on OKC. She found out, and made him take down his page. Finally. I'm sure she puts up with a lot of grief from him.

Old desperate guy in his 50's: With a nickname of 'Has2CU', what can one really expect? This maybe:

"I asked the computer to find me the most amazing girl in the world and added all the things I’m looking for.

The computer came up with way to many people… so I added that the person should be able to be my best friend and that we should be able to talk about anything in trust and respect. The computer took about a week and came up with still to many people…

So I added that when I’m not near her my heart will be sad and when I look into her eyes I will know I have found my soul mate and the person to spend the rest of my life with.

The computer took two weeks and came up with you"

Made my skin crawl, in a way. Definitely made me wonder how stupid he thinks women on this site are since it was obviously some sort of sappy generic message he wrote for the masses in hopes someone would think he was actually talking to them.

Just today: Two guys in their early 30's IM'd me on the site. Didn't find out right away; brand new Android smart phone has the OKC app, and it's on all the time. One told me I was 'hot' and really wanted to get my IM address outside the site, and the other called me 'sweetie.' Really? Is this all younger men have? It's pathetic.

We'll see how much more patience I have.

Salem the cat

2010-10-10T18:40:00.000-07:00

So after 11 years, Salem is moving up to a new home upstate. No, that's not a euphemism, she actually is moving up to my parents' house since I unexpectedly cannot have a cat anymore.

The above photo is her shortly after I rescued her from the pound. I got her after I graduated grad school, and had moved to Brooklyn and wanted a pet. A dog was out of the question - I just wasn't home enough. I had originally had the name 'Gris Gris' in mind. There was a French movie, "Chacun cherche son chat" (When the Cat's Away) that I had enjoyed a couple of years before and thought it was a great name for a cat. When I went up to the pound in Harlem, there was a beautiful gray cat that fit the bill, but it had a mean streak. I nearly walked away petless, but there was this adorable black kitty with no eyebrows on the lowest row of cat cages, and I brought her home. I almost stuck with the name, but when I woke up the next morning, 'Salem' popped into my head, and I thought it would be funny to name her after a talking cat from a TV show.

Within days of bringing her home, she was sick. I came home from work to take her for her free visit to a vet that was included in the adoption, and she looked like that sad sick reindeer in "A Year Without a Santa Claus." The vet I took her to coldly told me that I should just return her. Optimistically thinking that the pound had a vet on staff, I followed his instructions. However, when I got her up there, the staff at the front desk were willing for me to return her. There was no vet to care for her, and when I asked what would happen to her, they flatly said that she would probably be put down. I had only had her for a week, but it broke my heart that these people saw this poor little kitten as disposable. I finally brought her to the ASPCA in tears, met with a vet who diagnosed her with an infection from her spaying operation. The vet gave me some antibiotics for her, and we were on our way.

Forward 11 years to present day. Tomorrow, I'm bringing Salem up to her new home. It's my parents' house which she's somewhat familiar with, having spent some holidays up there. I'm looking around my apartment now, running a checklist of the things I need to bring: food? check. remaining litter? check. toys? check (not that she really plays, she's pretty happy just sitting around). She doesn't have that many belongings.

What happened? You may ask. It started with a laundry incident and ended with Salem getting evicted.

A couple of weeks ago, I had gotten an email from my landlord asking if I had been exchanging the laundry for cat sitting services. I had been letting a friend in the building occasionally to use the laundry, although it wasn't in exchange for anything. She lives in the neighborhood, and there's not really anywhere nearby to do your own laundry (that I know of. Since I have laundry in the building, I don't really know where the closest one is, and haven't passed by one), so I thought I'd do her a favor and let her use the pay laundry in the basement from time to time. The last time she was in the building, someone asked her who she was, and she fabricated the story about laundry for cat sitting. Unfortunately, the person she spoke with was a board member, and did not take kindly to the idea that a tenant was bartering away condo property for her own gain.

It didn't matter that it wasn't true. This indiscretion led to questions of my apartment situation, and why I had a cat when the building had a no-pets clause for tenants (that was news to me since there are a lot of dogs in the building). I hadn't been on a lease since the year before when my first lease expired, so the solution was easy enough - sign another lease.

The next issue was harder to deal with. I spoke to a friend of mine who is a real estate lawyer as far as whether I had any recourse. Unfortunately, since I am a renter in a condo building, it is legal for them to have different rules for renters and owners (the happy dog people). I also found that there is a Pet Law in New York State that protects renters with pets, but unfortunately doesn't apply to condos in Manhattan. So it was the end of the line for Salem.

In a way, I think this will be a better life for Salem. My parents' house is large, and she'll have more room to run around in. I'm also going to be traveling a lot for work in the next year or two, and that's a lot of cat sitting to ask of someone. The only downside is she'll have to get used to living with my parents' cat, Finn.

Hopefully, they'll be fine.

The evils of delicious food

2010-09-14T21:37:00.000-07:00

No wheat. No dairy. To add to that: no sugar, no caffeine, no red meat, no processed foods. oh yeah, and no alcohol. Of course the one I asked the nutritionist on a break on was the no alcohol. She relented, saying I should take it easy. So I have, for the most part.

Yes, my body has decided once again that it doesn't want anything delicious, and is going to rebel and show me who's boss. Or at least, things I once thought were delicious. After things you once enjoyed turn on you, you no longer crave them. Pizza? The combination of wheat and dairy is right now the worst thing ever. Cupcakes? No thanks. Crunchy right out of the oven french bread? Well, that still sounds good, but no. No thanks. One would think it's a sacrifice giving these things up, but feeling healthy is so much better.

My doctor has run some tests, which I'm guessing will be inconclusive. There's not much you can do when your system just develops an intolerance for certain foods. Part of me wonders if by overindulging in these things, I've caused the problem. One of my fellow sailors was talking about how sometimes for dinner, he just eats a whole loaf of bread. Not sliced white bread in a bag, mind you. Good bread. In my current frame of mind, I'm thinking, "Dude, you're just asking for trouble when you get older."

The plus side - I've lost about 12 lbs. I guess there's something good that comes out of everything.

the IKEA saga

2010-08-18T08:31:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago, I had had enough. My creaky old bed frame had caused me to wake up in the middle of the night for the last time. It had served me well for the last seven or eight years or so, but it had to go. Time to buy a new bed frame.

This new frame would be the first I've ever bought - I had survived with a futon through college, living in San Francisco, and my first couple of years in New York. I upgraded to a mattress on the futon frame until Heidi moved out of our apartment on Union Street to move in with her boyfriend. She offered me her bed frame since she wouldn't be needing it anymore. With a box spring and the super cushy pillow top mattress, my bed looked like it was right out of the Princess in the Pea story; the top of the bed was at least three feet off the floor, and I felt like I needed a step stool to get into it. I traded the box spring for sheets of plywood, and the bed was down to a normal height. Having dumped my college era sleeping furniture, it was one of those many moments of feeling like an adult that I had in my early 30's. Silly, I know.

On one of my Friday's off, I headed down to Pier 11 to catch the Water Taxi to IKEA. I had spotted a bed on their website that I liked - it was simple, basically a wooden box with drawers, no headboard - but wanted to look at it, sit on it, and basically make sure it wasn't a total piece of crap. I also just liked the idea that I could get to IKEA via water; I didn't have to deal with taking the subway to the decrepit Smith / 9th Street F station over the Gowanus, and then taking the bus through the no man's land that is Red Hook. There are good things in Red Hook, the Lobster Pound comes to mind, but taking that B61 bus is not one of them.

After a relatively short journey, I find myself quickly winding my way through the maze of IKEA in search of their bedroom furniture section. I'm not looking at anything else, I'm on a mission, I find the bed, it looks good. I buy it, then take the ferry back home to wait for delivery. After a couple of hours, the delivery guys arrive with the bed. They bring it inside my apartment, and I'm pretty excited to have my new bed.

That is, until I open the box. Three of the pieces are damaged. Unfortunately, there is no white glove service with IKEA. I briefly consider trying to jury rig the pieces to get them to work, but realize it's no use. I call IKEA in defeat to see what can be done.

After many phone calls with customer service where the low point was their representative suggesting that I could go out to Paramus, NJ to go buy a new bed, I settle on reordering the bed from their online store. I'm now waiting on a call from their delivery service for tomorrow's arrival of the new bed. Hopefully, it will all arrive in one piece.

For the past two weeks, I've been sleeping with my mattress on the floor, since I had dismantled the old creaky bed prior to seeing the crushed IKEA pieces. I feel like I'm back to the days on Union Street, back to before I had a bed and felt like an adult. It's slightly unsettling, but at least my bed is not waking me up at 3AM.

The Food of my Ancestors

2010-07-14T09:15:00.000-07:00

I recently discovered I have a real talent for cooking potatoes. Shocking, I know, the staple of the Irish diet. Growing up, we had some form of potatoes for dinner nearly every night, usually mashed or baked. I had no appreciation for the tuber. Blech. Boring, boring white food.

For a Fourth of July afternoon cookout at the Community Boat House, I planned to make a roasted potato cold salad. I typically just cover the potatoes in olive oil, and put in some rosemary, salt, and pepper. I decided to change it a bit, and added some cayenne pepper and nutmeg. I also had some tomatoes that needed to have something done to them, so I cut them in half and through them in with the potatoes for the last couple of minutes. Then I spotted the sliced almonds in my cabinet, and they were added as well. I was making it up as I went along, and it turned out pretty delicious.

My friend Heidi had a party for the final game of the World Cup, so I was on the search for a recipe for patatas bravas to root for Spain. When I lived in San Francisco, there were a couple of tapas restaurants that had the most amazing potato dish, and my hope was to find something to replicate it.

I sent out a plea on Facebook, asking if anyone had a recipe for the amazing potato. My friend Alex emailed me a recipe he had from a book by Penelope Casas, Tapas: The Little Dishes of Spain. Recipe is listed below.

Serves 4
2 Medium-Large potatoes
2 medium-large potatoes, peeled and cut into 3/4-inch chunks
Olive oil
Salt
Alioli Sauce (below), thinned to sauce consistency if necessary

AIOLI SAUCE
1 cup mayonnailse, preferably homemade
4 or more cloves garlic, mashed to a paste or put through a garlic press

To make the Alioli, combine the mayonnaise and garlic. Let sit at room temperature until ready to use

TOMATO SAUCE
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons minced onion
1 glove garlic, minced
3 medium tomatoes (about 3/4 pound), chopped
1 tablespoon tomato paste
1/4 cup dry white wine
2 tablespoons water
1 tablespoon minced parsley
1/2 dried red chili pepper, seeded and crumbled, or 1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper
Dash of Tabasco sauce
1 bay leaf
1/8 teaspoon sugar
Salt
Fresh ground pepper

Grease a roasting pan and arrange the potatoes in one layer. Brush with olive oil, sprinkle with salt, and bake at 375ºF for about 45 minutes, or until golden and crisp.
Meanwhile, make the tomato sauce. Heat the oil in a skillet and sauté the onion and garlic until the onion is wilted. Add the tomatoes and sauté for another few minutes. Stir in the tomato paste, wine, water, parsley, chili pepper, Tabasco, bay leaf, sugar, salt, and pepper. Cover and simmer for 30 minutes. Strain. The sauce should not be too thick---thin with water if necessary.
To serve, arrange the potatoes in a bowl or on a dish. Spoon on several tablespoons of the tomato sauce, then 3 or 4 tablespoons of the Alioli. (note: You may make this dish without the Alioli, if you prefer.)

Today in sports

2010-06-23T16:24:00.000-07:00

As most of you probably know, I'm not the biggest sports fan, but today was crazy! US wins their group in the World Cup! There was screaming in the streets, strangers hugging each other over the win, you'd think we were anywhere else in the world other than on American soil.

There was spontaneous National Anthem singing:
http://nymag.com/daily/sports/2010/06/the_scene_outside_dempseys_aft.html

Although when I first saw this without headphones, and it looked like a bunch of flag waving folk protesting the UPS truck. At least they knew all the words, unlike half of the US team.

After spending the morning watching Univision.com, the only site with live streaming of the games (although the only word I can understand is "GOAL!), and then a brief celebration with co-workers who all wished we could just go out and get a beer (unfortunately, we had a continuing education seminar scheduled for lunch), things seemed to setting down. Then a friend sent me this link, a live feed from Wimbledon:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport2/hi/tennis/8753437.stm

10 hours? 59-59 in the 5th set? both players winning aces on their 58th point? This is pure insanity. This one match will be going into it's third day tomorrow. It's also only the second round. If these two guys are fighting this hard just to advance, who knows what they could do in the later rounds. We'll probably never find out though as they both collapse from exhaustion tomorrow.

World Cup Fever

2010-06-22T19:49:00.000-07:00

New blog templates, thank you Google. If only I could make one myself, if only I was that clever...or knew someone who was.

Anyway, every four years or so, most of the world's attention turns to the World Cup. Except for the US. With the exception of New York City. Nearly every bar with a TV is broadcasting all the games, and my only regret is that they are not timed to typical lunch time. 10AM? Too early. 2PM? Too late. I only have the upper reaches of ESPN channel 170 which repeats the games at night so I can watch The Beautiful Game as the Brazilians like to call it. I don't care that I already know the score.

On the eve before the final matches of Group C, I find myself actually hoping that the US gets into the Knockout Round. I'm not a big fan of US Soccer; it just pales in comparison to the European teams, not to mention the South Americans. In general, they're inconsistent, and just seem to lack the passion of the world powerhouses (that may be because they have relatively so few fans). But this time seems different. Keep in mind, this US team nearly won the Confederations Cup last year, losing only against Brazil. England also is just not up to their usual standards, and it looks like the second spot for advancement will be us or them. As a person of Irish decent, can I really route for the English? No, I say! That may have more to do with the fact Becks isn't playing this time around, even if he is there as silent support for them. I just hope it doesn't come down to a coin toss between them. It could happen - those are the crazy rules of the World Cup.

England isn't the only traditionally strong team that is having a poor showing - Italy lets the match with New Zealand, a team that consists of a mix of professional and amateur players, end in a draw? Spain loses to Switzerland? Don't even get me started on the train wreck of France. They've just fallen into soap opera histrionics and even seemed to be throwing their match today to South Africa in protest.

There is one good thing about the high number of upsets - what teams will end up in the round of 16 is unpredictable. NY Mag online had a list of scenarios for what would have to happen for each team to move on to the next round, and it's mind boggling. Lots of 'if/then' situations that read like math proofs and information about goal differential. No one seems safe, which makes for some interesting games.

The only countries that seem to have a slight cushion are the South Americans. All the participating countries won their first match, and then there is Argentina who won all three. Brazil and Chile may match that feat in their groups, but they are each facing Portugal and Spain respectively. I hope they pull it out, especially Brazil. Two reasons: I've chosen them to take it all in my office pool, and I cannot stand the Portuguese pretty boy, Christian Ronaldo (apologies to all my Portuguese friends).

With South Africa hosting, I think there was a lot of hope for more African teams advancing. Unfortunately, it looks like it may only be Ghana, but with the way things could go, who knows?

Back to my original point: why isn't the US consumed with soccer? Why do we call it soccer when it is called football nearly everywhere else? Some people say that it's the low scoring potential. To this I say that low scoring has nothing to do with the excitement of the match. There is constant movement, the ball is always in motion, and if you've got a lot of shots on goal in a game, there's nothing more nail biting even if the score is 0-0. The time keeping is better than any US sport: 45 minute halves with a couple of minutes added for injury time. With a cushion of 10 minutes, you know pretty precisely when the game with end. There is no overtime, a tie is an acceptable result (maybe that's why it's not popular in the US, no winner).

Obviously, most Americans have not watched soccer on Univision. If that had, there would be no resisting the excitement when the sportscaster yells, "GGGGGOOOOOOOAAAAALLLLLL!!!!!!!

Four years from now, I'm definitely headed to Brazil. What better place to see the World Cup?

Where the winds come sweeping down the plain

2010-05-29T16:53:00.000-07:00

My firm recently was awarded a project in Tulsa, OK (see, "the big Driller" on the left). When the marketing team was putting together the proposal and told me that I would be the Project Architect if we were to get the contract, I joked about how I couldn't wait to work on a project in Oklahoma, so I could go to the land of The Flaming Lips. Well, we got it, and I found myself on Tuesday, frantically finishing up some plans so that I could be ready to leave for the airport when the car came at 3:30PM.

There had been talk the week before. Tulsa? Really? A project in The Middle? Jimmy had joked about not knowing who would be more out of place, me, or Richard, the partner in charge of the project. Other than Chicago (which doesn't even really count), I'd never really been anywhere in The Middle. I'd driven across country once, and ridden the train when I moved from Virginia to San Francisco, but I don't think that really counts.

Tulsa is green, and has a few small rolling hills. Since I was expecting total flatness, almost to an oppressive amount of sky flatness, this was somewhat surprising. Even more shocking - Tulsa has a great number of interesting buildings. As I learned while I was there for a couple of short days, Tulsa was a very wealthy city during the oil boom, and had done an impressive job of creating a beautiful sky line (well, at least until skyscrapers found their way there). They have a great collection of Art Deco architecture throughout the city.

The most well known would be the Boston Avenue Methodist Church by Bruce Goff. There is a rumor however that a woman working for him was the true designer (just like Camille Claudel and Rodin!) The project I'm working on is for the Philbrook Museum of Art, and the founder of the Museum was Waite Philips, an oilman of the Philips Petroleum family. As we toured around the city on our last day, we saw a couple of the other projects commissioned by him - The Philtower and Philcade - and both were impressive in their own right.

All in all, it doesn't seem like a bad place to spend some time. All the consultants that we met with while there are going to be great to work with, and the client is really satisfied with their decision to hire us (we found out that our competition was two other NYC architects).

One nagging question I have, which was the same as with the Cooper-Hewitt project here: Where are the other women? Why are all of the architects or engineers at a project manager level men? It seems that there are always women at the client side of the table, and Historic Preservation offices have no shortage of women, but why is it always me, alone at the table on the consultant side on these larger institutional projects? It's a bit frustrating.

The vasty deep

2010-04-14T19:23:00.000-07:00

SPOILER ALERT: This post may be depressing.

One of the things that has surprised me about settling into my forty's is the number of times I've spent comforting my parents when a friend of their's dies. My parents have a lot of friends; they are in their 70's, and unfortunately over the last couple of months, they've lost a lot of people close to them.

A recent conversation with my father:

ME: How's Mr. Condon doing? (Back story: right before Thanksgiving, a dear friend of my parents, a contractor who had rebuild their kitchen about 18 years ago, had been diagnosed with Kidney cancer. Being 82, he had decided not to undergo surgery.)
DAD: Oh, he died.

Then there was silence. The last couple of times I had asked this question when I talked to my dad is that his friend was still in the hospital, but was doing ok.

A couple of weeks later, when I was in San Francisco with my mother for Erin's baby shower, she casually mentioned that Mrs. MacVicar had died. Being in her late 80's, she was one of my parents' older friends. She hadn't been sick, so it was a bit of a shock. A couple of weeks later, my dad told me that Mr. MacVicar had died. He had been my father's barber for 20 years. A couple of years ago, my mother made my dad stop seeing him, because he would cut and talk and cut and talk and talk and talk, and my father would come back with a very choppy cut with very little hair left. He really enjoyed talking to Fred though.

Before the recent spate, in October, there was also Mr. Fagan, one of my parents' oldest friends from the Irish crowd. He died of a long battle with Prostate Cancer. His death was somewhat of a comfort - he had been sick for six or seven years. Shockingly, two months later in the days leading up to Christmas, another friend from the NJ Irish crowd, Mr. Lynch, died suddenly at home.

They have lost five friends in six months. When I was up visiting my dad the weekend of my nephew's and my birthday we were talking about it. After a draining conversation, he simply said, "Kerry, I'm just tired of going to funerals."

Last week, my cousin Maureen sent an email about my Aunt Totta, her mother. She had been diagnosed with Bladder Cancer. She's 78, and she's my last aunt/uncle on my mother's side. The other three, my mother's brother and sister, and my mother's sister's husband, have died of cancer. There is way too much of that disease in my extended family. She's doing well right now, but I keep thinking it's just a matter of time.

Right now, I've very thankful for my parents' health. Even considering my dad's heart attack from two years ago, they're both relatively healthy.

gadgets

2010-04-08T17:28:00.000-07:00

I have a thing for gadgets. I'm just really intrigued by things that can make certain tasks easier but are, in reality, totally unnecessary. I could be wrong, but it seems like a truly American thing to get the brightest minds together to come up with devices to make life in the US even more convenient, as long as you have the means to buy them For example, the image to the left is an egg topper, that allows one to remove the top of a hard boiled egg without burning one's fingers.

I recently received an electric toothbrush for my birthday, and was so excited that for a moment I thought that this was the best present I'd received in a long time - dental hygiene is high up on my list. I'm convinced that my teeth are so much cleaner, and that my dentist is going to be so happy with me the next time I see him. This is what the best devices do; they make people believe that machines are the way to better living.

Other devices that are in my future (that is, once I'm returned to full time work...):

The KitchenAid stand mixer: A friend once told me that this kitchen tool is one reason to get married; it at least has to be the number one item that brides (and some grooms) put on their registry. It's an expensive item, and probably not one that many people receive as a gift. The last guy I dated had one, and I really took it as a sign that things were going to last - he knew how to cook and appreciated well made gadgets. Alas, that was not the case, so maybe I should take the stand mixer off its pedestal. I don't have room for it anyway.

The at home seltzer maker: A couple of my friends have one of these, and it's just a brilliant idea. I love seltzer, but don't buy it often since bottles quickly lose their fizz. The Europeans (or at least the Irish) were way ahead of us on this invention. When I was younger and my family took a vacation to Ireland, one of my parents' friends had one of these, and I've wanted one ever since (that was 1985). Fresh seltzer all the time. You can also carbonate anything - imagine fizzy coffee...luckily, this item doesn't take up much counter space.

Now if only Apple and Verizon would work things out, I'd finally have an iPhone. I may need to look into the HTC Incredible or the Google Nexus One.

The Compound

2010-03-28T13:03:00.000-07:00

For the past six years, I've gone upstate for a weekend around my birthday since it's also the time of my nephew Parker's birthday. Seven years ago I spent my birthday in the hospital waiting for him to be born; he finally arrived at 4AM on March 26th, missing my birthday by mere hours (dang kids, always trying to upstage the adults).

In the last two years, he's gotten very bratty about gifts, and if he sees a GAP box he moans and groans and completely mortifies my sister. He hates getting clothes. Unfortunately for him, that's usually what I get for him. As I've told him, he grows too fast, and he can't walk around naked. This year, I got him a pair of Converse sneakers, denim colored, which he liked.

After a dinner of pizza and ice cream cake (Carvel with the chocolate crunchies) I went up to the Compound with my dad. The next morning, I saw the destruction my parents have been talking about since the blizzard that brought them 21 inches of wet, heavy snow; large tree branches down all over the yard, and smaller trees destroyed by the larger branches that fell. The yard was littered with the wooded casualties of that storm. The late February storm was a boon for the tree removal industry of Dutchess County; it was only this Saturday night that the contractor called my dad to tell him that they were coming out on Sunday to start the work, more than four weeks after the storm.

I returned back to the city today on the 12:50 train. I wanted to get back so I could pay attention to Salem and make my usual Sunday yoga class. At the Beacon train station, this group of four got on the train, and immediately two small dogs started barking. I looked up from my book, and sitting across the aisle from me were two guys, both probably 6-feet tall, dressed in fake fur squirrel costumes. One was carrying a briefcase and wearing a "I heart NY" t-shirt. One of their companions asked if I would switch seats with them since she wanted to get the Hudson River in the background of the photos. I of course complied with their request - how could I refuse two guys willing to go out in public dressed as squirrels? Lots of passengers were asking questions, and the conductor joked with them about forgetting his squirrel traps. One of the squirrels quipped that that is how he lost an uncle. There were lots of photos taken, and they ended up getting off the train at Tarrytown. Story is, they were putting together a proposal for an "I heart NY" campaign.

People like that are indeed a reason to love NYC.

Moving

2010-03-22T18:26:00.000-07:00

My office is moving. The partners are looking for a permanent space (my fingers are crossed for the space at 39 Broadway, a 15 minute walk for me), but for the next three to six months, we will be in the same building seven floors down.

As I've been cleaning up my desk, I'm having to finally deal with all the personal items that have accumulated under my desk over the past 4 1/2 years, such as:
A picnic basket: I inherited this from an ex-coworker who was moving to New Orleans. This has been under my desk for, oh, maybe 18 months?
A single black slingback shoe: I'm hoping it's match is at home.

A pair of black patent leather heels: These have only been there for a week. By the end of the day, my feet were killing me, so I wore another pair of shoes home that had been sitting under my desk for a couple of weeks.

An insulated lunch bag: Not really sure how long that's been there.

A lamp: Not sure about that one. Maybe free swag from ICFF?

A vase: Flowers from my 40th birthday. Almost exactly a year ago.

15 CDs: Half of them are from the Score! subscription a group of friends got me for my birthday last year, so they've been under the desk for the past couple of months. Brought them in to add to my iTunes.

A 15 foot long carpet runner: This was a new addition to the under the desk collection last week. Benefits of working in an architect's office.

I swear, I'm not a hoarder.

Soda Bread, Corned Beef, and all things Irish

2010-03-17T19:39:00.000-07:00

Growing up in an Irish community, St. Patrick's Day was a big day for celebration. When my sisters and I were in elementary school, we would give an Irish Step Dancing demonstration in all the other classes in the school. My mother cooks corned beef and cabbage for dinner every March 17th, and she would bake a soda bread in the morning (that is not reserved strictly for March 17th though). After an overindulgence of currants when I was four years old I would pick them out of the bread when ever she served it - my mother would keep boxes of them in the pantry since they were hard to find, and Erin and I split a box of them once (about 2 cups between us). That experience ruined my stomach lining for a while, and I couldn't stand the sight of the shriveled fruits for a long time - this also extended to raisins since they were so similar.

No matter what my aversion was to currants, I liked the taste that they left in the bread. Since the recipe was my Nana's (my Irish born grandmother), I always saw currants as the authentic fruit for Irish Soda Bread. To this day, when I see The Bread with raisins, I scoff and dismiss it as a pretender.

This predisposition against raisins left me surprised when my cousin Maureen was raving about her Soda Bread recipe which she had gotten from her mother (my mother's sister-in-law). I assumed it was the same recipe, but she sent it to me, and it was not. Her recipe called for raisins, and also eggs and baking powder. Shocking! I was all astonishment. It differs from my mother's recipe quite a bit, and I assume that its a totally different type of bread. We've agreed to try each other's recipes since we each swear by the one we have used for years. We'll see.

Yoga Challenge 2

2010-03-15T18:28:00.000-07:00

It's yoga challenge time again at OM Yoga, the yoga studio where I practice. By 'challenge' they mean practicing yoga everyday, and the most challenging thing I've found has been finding time to do yoga every day. Out of the past 15, I've only missed 4 days, which is a 73% success rate. Two of the days were due to work deadlines, one due to a hangover (damn strong dark and stormies at the Harbor School Benefit!), and one because I felt I needed a break. I'm half way through, we'll see how the rest of the month goes.

I've been taking a lot of classes with Brian, one of the senior instructors who I hadn't taken classes with before. He's very soft spoken and relaxing to be around, which is good characteristics for a yoga teacher. He also talks about movies and TV during class, and that's entertaining - it loosens things up, sometimes yoga can be so serious. The other day he was talking about Alice in Wonderland, today The Partridge Family.

Strangely, all this yoga is making me want to run. I've been running on Fridays and Sundays, days that I don't need to be up for work or boat maintenance. I tried getting up this morning to run, but with daylight savings, that just wasn't going to happen. Maybe tomorrow.

SPRING!

2010-03-14T09:55:00.000-07:00

I know it's still technically winter, and we just got through a powerful Nor'easter, but with the arrival of Daylight Savings Time it feels like Spring has arrived. I'm looking forward to it being light later, I'm looking forward to it continually getting warmer, and I'm looking forward to sitting in sidewalk cafes.

In a way, it reminds me of Spring days in Blacksburg, where after dinner, people would gather at Henderson Hill to catch the last sunshine of the day, drinking coffee (or eating ice cream) from Gillies. It would stay light until about 8PM, and the architects would all resign themselves to getting back to Cowgill Hall to finish our projects.

It's also time for Spring cleaning. Cleaning is definitely a chore, but in looking at my closet and shelves, I need to cleanse. I'm going to try to start that today.

Facebook issues

2010-03-13T19:44:00.000-08:00

Since I joined Facebook, I've always been entertained by what some people have posted, photos that have been shared, and just getting in contact with friends from my past. In the past couple of weeks, I've had some interesting things happen among my Facebook 'friends', in reaction to which I've had a variety of responses. All in all, it's still entertaining, and yeah, some of it, just plain silly. First, a couple of things about my experience with FB.

Earlier this year, a friend told me about a seminar that NYU ran for incoming Freshman about what a friend is. The future students had been questioned about how many friends they had. When the university started getting responses from the kids, the responses were unreal - students were claiming to have friends totaling in the thousands. It didn't take too long for administrators to realize that the kids were referring to their Facebook friends, most of which were people that they hadn't even met. Apparently, NYU felt they needed to explain to the incoming youngsters what the definition of 'friend' was.

In my experience, I have had people that I've never met extend a friend request to me. I ignore all of them. I've also ignored requests from people from high school that never gave me the time of day when we actually could have met face to face. I've somewhat relaxed my standards for friend requests, and have accepted people that I've met once, although recently. This has led to issue number one.

The other day at work, I was running around the office a lot, and when I got back to my computer, I had an IM over gmail from someone I didn't recognize. I ignored it, figuring it was in error. When I did realize who it was, I was somewhat surprised - it was someone that I barely know, but had accepted his friend request on Facebook, so I guess he felt a certain familiarity. I don't IM with a lot of people, in fact I think I can count them on one hand. There are even fewer people with whom I will carry on an electronic conversation with during the day, especially when I'm at work. So I blocked him. The assumed closeness of Facebook can be disturbing.

Issue number two: defriending. Or is it unfriending? I use the two terms interchangeably, not knowing which is correct. Have you ever severed a Facebook friend? I've thought about it, there are definitely people from who I've accepted a request, and then wondered why. It could be because I haven't talked to them in years, but they found me and I didn't see the harm in accepting from them until they started sending me Farmville or Mafia Wars requests, or posted views that are in complete opposition to mine, like thinking Rush Limbaugh is The Man. That's not to say that I don't accept people into my life that have different opinions from mine on the issues of the day. However, if the only thing that we seem to have in common is the proximity of where our parents decided to live, I think I just may cut the cord.

Then there are the people who you were actually friends with, but have had a falling out with for whatever reason. Same with ex-boyfriends/girlfriends. I recently had a former friend drop me from her Facebook family. I've also had an ex drop me. The ex dropping me had a much more profound effect. The former friend, well, no big surprise.

The greatest revelation about FB lately has been the announcement and instant comments about life events. My sister had a baby last week, and the past four days has been a constant parade of photos from her husband, and congratulations from family and friends. Since my sister lives across the country, it's been a great way for the family (all of us on the East Coast) to share in their happiness. I won't be able to see her until mid-April, so this is a satisfying way of keeping up with what's going on in California.

Nostalgia

2010-01-25T17:03:00.000-08:00

nos·tal·gi·a (nŏ-stāl'jə, nə-)

a wistful desire to return in thought or in fact to a former time in one's life, to one's home or homeland, or to one's family and friends; a sentimental yearning for the happiness of a former place or time: a nostalgia for his college days.

I was looking through some old photos and thought I'd share them. They are from a simpler time - how could they not be? I'm probably not any older than four in any of these photos. I was 18 months old in the above one. It was my second portrait from the Sears portrait studio; an earlier one was from my first year where my head is peaking from beneath a blanket (I do not have a copy of that photo) . My grandmother used to have 8x10's of all of these portraits in her apartment in Staten Island.

This one is from Easter of 1971, I think. Most of the old Polaroid photos that my parents have were taken before Tara, my younger sister, was born in September 1971. At the time, I was the baby of the family. That's me in the yellow coat and matching bonnet, and Erin is in the stylish red tights with the plaid kilt and Aran sweater. The women from left to right are Nana (paternal grandmother), Grandma (maternal grandmother), and Aunt Rita, my Grandma's sister. My mother always made sure we were impeccably dressed for Mass, especially on Easter. At the time, were were living in Old Bridge, NJ. The wooded area in the background of this photo is now entirely built up with more suburban houses. When we lived there, we were one of three houses on the street. That was 1980.

Summer 1972 or 1973. We were at a picnic thrown by the Friendly Sons of the Shillelagh, an Irish group that my father belonged to. That's my mother standing next to me. I've always thought it was funny that whoever took the photo (probably my father) left all the adult's heads out of the frame.

I wonder what I had stuck in my teeth. Although this was a picnic, and my mother wore shorts, she still had my two sisters and I in cute little dresses. All the other kids were in more casual clothes.

Summer of 1971. My uncle lived down in Keansburg, NJ, and we would go down there to visit. I especially liked going there during the summer so that we could go to the amusement park. This photo shows Erin and I on one of the kiddie rides - that's me in the front, 'driving.'

Although I don't remember when I was young enough to ride the kiddie rides, I do remember later visits to the park where we would ride the big slide, the one you would ride down sitting on a burlap sack so that your skin didn't burn on the hot plastic. I also won a mirror from one of the sideshow games, and we'd always get candy cigarettes where you could blow a puff of candy powder smoke.

This is probably from the summer of 1970. I know it's from a petting zoo we used to visit, located up in the Poconos. That's Erin in the stroller.

My favorite thing about this photo is how my grandmothers are dressed. They are so stylish! When I was in college, my friends and I would go shopping at either the vintage shops or the Salvation Army. Dresses like this would always be a real find. We would not wear them with white low healed pumps however. We'd usually wear them with motorcycle boots, Doc Martens, a leather jacket, or an old man cardigan. That was the height of style in Blacksburg, VA.

Summer of 1973. That's Tara in the foreground, I'm in the back with my mouth open, and Erin is next to me. This was taken in our backyard in Old Bridge. This must have been before my parents had the above ground pool installed in the backyard, but I don't recall having only a kiddie pool.

When we had the big pool installed, hanging out in our backyard was a big event for the neighborhood. Erin, who's birthday is in early September, always had a pool party over Labor Day weekend to celebrate.

These are a few of the photos taken while I was growing up. My mother had finally organized all the photos into albums, and we went through them when I was home for Christmas. I always enjoy looking through the old photos; they are a reminder of what a wonderful childhood I had where although my parents were very strict, we were raised with a lot of love, surrounded by friends and family. One of my parents always had a camera ready to capture these moments.

Elevator Etiquette - A Rant

2010-01-14T18:38:00.000-08:00

A couple of months ago after having the luxury of having an elevator all to ourselves, the new ginormous public relations firm moved to the 9th and 11th-14th floors, and me and my office-mates on the 10th floor had to face sharing an elevator. It's hard to estimate how many people work for Edelman, but it seems like sometimes there are hundreds waiting for the three elevators in the 9-PH bank.

We have not gotten used to it. It probably wouldn't be so bad if these people knew how to use an elevator. Now I know that none of them read this blog, or may not even be aware that there is another office that shares the elevator bank, but these are some tips that my office would like to share with them:

1. If you are the first to arrive at the bank of elevators, please press the button marked 'up.' There is not a staff member that is assigned to do this task for you.

2. As you pass through the ridiculous security gate (why we have these is beyond me), please move into the elevator lobby to make room for others. It's just like the subway, where you should move into the middle of the car. Oh. Right. You don't use the subway, do you? Just continue moving towards the wall with multiple shades of beige stone.

3. If someone is closer to the elevator door that opens first than you are, please let this person into the elevator first. You will not arrive at your destination any sooner by nearly pushing people out of the way.

4. As there are a lot of you on the upper floors, please be aware that some people will be getting off of the elevator at the 9th or 10th floor (please at least get to know your co-workers on the lower 9th floor). They may be behind you. Please pay attention for people saying "excuse me" when the elevator stops on a floor that is not yours. If you do hear these words, or something similar, please move aside so that they may exit. If you do not have room to move aside, please exit from the elevator to allow people to arrive at their destination, even though it is not yours.

Following these few steps will allow for the people who share the elevator with you to have a chance of a peaceful day, where they don't start their day off mumbling, "I hate those people" or "idiots."

Thank you,

The people from the 10th Floor

new decor

2010-01-10T18:24:00.000-08:00

Before I moved about a year ago, I had still decorated my walls with art posters that I had had for the past 10-15 years. I felt that I needed to upgrade the decor from what I had in my 20's, and didn't hang anything. Now that's its a little over two years later, I'm finally getting around to it.

The first to go up was a vinyl decal set of a text in French. When I bought it about a year ago I understood what it said, but have since forgotten it. For anyone who is a French speaker, that would be obvious: I didn't read the instructions, and ended up installing it wrong so it doesn't make any sense. French gibberish. I don't mind though; although it may not make sense, I like it as a texture on the wall.

The second I received as a Christmas gift from Carrie - it's a black and white print in a black wood frame with the word "Congregate". The image could either be:

1. A woman surrounded by a pile a shoes, having finally made her decision as to which pair to wear that day.
2. A woman arriving at a party taking her shoes off and adding them to the pile.

Either way, Carrie said it reminded her of my apartment.

The third is another vinyl application - a series of silloutted birch trees in dark gray with red birds either sitting on the branches or flying. I saw these on Etsy.com last year when I was searching for Christmas presents for family and friends. I like the simplicity of the trees with the added whimsy of the red birds.

I still need to hang my series of photographs that have been sitting on the fireplace mantle for the last year. These I plan to place in the hall so friends can greet me as I come home at night.

The last piece that I have planned is to frame a poster that I purchased years ago that illustrates the history of chairs. Its something I've been looking forward to hanging in my apartment for a while now, and it'll be a great addition to the decor of my home.

Escapism through cinema

2010-01-03T15:42:00.000-08:00

I love going to the movies, I always have. Watching a movie on DVD either on TV or on the computer doesn't compare, but it'll do the trick if I movie is no longer in the theater or if its something I want to see again. Movies that rank high enough in my opinion for repeat watchings:

Elizabeth: Although I'm Irish and I know how persecuted the Irish were under England, I'm fascinated by the story of the Tudors, especially Elizabeth. Side note: I was very excited when Showtime announced that in advance of the fourth season of The Tudors, the soap opera cable version of the the reign of Henry VIII, they were re-running the previous three seasons starting tonight. Anyway, Elizabeth is one of my role models, and Cate Blanchett was marvelous in the role.
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Amelie: I've always enjoyed the work of the director Jean-Pierre Jeunet, and this is my favorite of his films. Set in Paris, Amelie is a quirky girl who lives a reticent life surrounded by people, and has never had much luck with boyfriends. The film captures Paris beautifully, and there is a range of interesting characters.

Pride and Prejudice (the BBC miniseries version): Don't bother with the Kiera Knightly version that changes the ending. I watch this whenever I'm depressed about men. I'm convinced that there is a Darcy out there. So are a lot of other women.

The Royal Tennenbaums: Wes Anderson is also one of my favorite directors, and when this one came out, it replaced Rushmore's place in my heart. Another film with a great ensemble of characters. What attracts me most to this film is Wes Anderson's attention to detail, from the music used in the film to the sets. This film also made me not mind Ben Stiller, who I usually can't stand.

Although these movies are all great pieces of art in their own right, I can watch these movies repeatedly because there is something about the characters that I identify with. I hope for Elizabeth's strength, and understand her reaction to Dudley's betrayal. I recognize Amelie's difficulty with opening up to people. I know Elizabeth Bennett's pride. I empathize with Richie when he learns that Margot is not who he thought she was, and he feels completely distraught. Although, not to worry, I wouldn't ever go as far as Richie.

Reasons to be cheerful

2009-12-16T17:47:00.000-08:00

Oh, the Holidays. My poor stomach was the collateral damage of the overindulgence of the office Holiday Party last night. Fried rice balls, pizzetta, rack of lamb, chocolate cake, the mysteries of the always full wine glass took their toll on my digestive system. Tis the season, I guess. This was a scaled down version of the GMA Holiday Party; previous years have included smoke machine fueled dance parties and off-kilter Rockband sing-a-longs. Although somewhat quiet for GMA, it was still nice to celebrate the end of the year, although this year has taken a toll on our office. Those of us remaining are still on a 4-day work week, and although there is some hope on the horizon, some projects are finishing up. There were still the moments of hilarity, like when I discovered that my tattoo was visible over the top edge of the back of my dress when one of the partners and one of the associates noticed the ink and had all sorts of questions about it. A bit embarrassing, but funny nonetheless.

As I'm sitting here recovering from the night out, I've been thinking of reasons to be cheerful at the end of this year. Here's a sampling.

1. I still have a job. My office has suffered a lot of cuts this year; we're down to 15 architects, about half of what we were about 18 months ago. It's possible there may be more, but at this point I'm pretty confident that I'll survive.

2. I got a bonus this year. Totally and completely unexpected. It was smaller than previous years, but with the way things have gone this year, I was shocked to see it in my bank account when I checked my direct deposit on Tuesday morning. I found out today from one of the partners that they only gave bonuses to three people this year. This is what made me more confident about item #1.

3. Sailing. Being out in the harbor is one of the greatest places in New York in the summer. This season especially as I worked on my Mate checklist. I felt a lot of support from the Mates and Captains as I worked my way through all the different skills.

4. My friends. I know, that's a cliche, but really, I've got the greatest friends in the world. From accompanying me on my trip to the doctor for my biopsy, to introducing me to the guy I'm currently dating, to comforting me when the previous guy pulled a disappearing act, my friends are awesome in every sense of that word.

5. Skype. It's great to be able to see my sister out in California while talking to her.

Have a great holiday!

to sleep, perhaps to dream

2009-12-01T22:53:00.000-08:00

Unfortunately, that's not happening tonight. It's 1:54AM according to the cable box. I woke up about an hour ago, and cannot get back to sleep. After lying in bed for about 45 minutes, I decided to get up and peruse the internet. If this doesn't work, the tv is going on and I'm going to lay down on the couch. That's a surefire way to fall asleep.

I'm going to get some milk.

As I'm checking out www.gofugyourself.com, I come across this photo:

My first thought is, "Oh, please. What's with the lack of pants wearing today? Lace stockings are not pants." The girl is 16. I tried to get out of the house in some things my mother didn't approve of when I was that age (but that was because they were black or ripped or she didn't like me wearing my dad's old dress Army jacket) but it would have never occurred to me to skip a basic piece of clothing.

Second thought is, "When did little J get so freaking tall?" Maybe it's just the angle, but she looks freakishly tall. This leads to a google search. This is not a help, the internet does not agree with itself - one site says 5'-4 1/2" one site says 5'-10" yet another says 5'-8". There are way too many chat rooms discussing the height of the Gossip Girl stars, and who's taller than who. One even has a comparison photo between Blake Lively and Maria Sharapova, Tennis Star (I guess because Maria's height is a known factor?).

The strangest fact is that the girl above is the same person as the girl in the photo below:

I think I like her hair better as Cindy Lou Who.

Another 30 minutes have gone by. I think it's time to try the somnolent effects of late night tv. I'm just thankful that insomnia is a rare occurence for me.

What a difference a year makes

2009-11-28T15:28:00.000-08:00

On the train headed up to the Compound for Thanksgiving, it hit me that it's been a year since I forced the itinerant sailor to break up with me. He was feeding Salem for the weekend while I was away, and we were going to get something to eat before I left for the Holiday. He had been either ignoring me or making excuses not to see me for a couple of weeks, and in general, I was miserable.

That's right, I did say forced. Why didn't I just break up with him if I was so unhappy? I think I just wanted him to stop being such a weasel, man up, and tell me he didn't want to be with me anymore. He couldn't look me in the eye as he was telling me he had a lot of stuff going on in his life, he really needed to be alone, and at the end of his explanations and excuses, it was just a relief to know where I stood.

Silly me thinking it was a simple break up. Over the next couple of weeks, lies were discovered, there were threats (not by me, but by a very protective friend), the vagrant sailor was reprimanded by the Museum Director (although that was ridiculous - why anyone got her involved is still beyond me, but I think someone was trying to cover his ass), and there was a 3AM argument at Fresh Salt right before Christmas where Jesse told us to stop yelling at each other. I had never had such a drama fueled post breakup, and I was still miserable and my self esteem was pretty low.

For it being a short relationship, a number of things were life-changing:

Hanging out with him was the final straw for a friendship between another volunteer and I that was already very strained.
The state of my self esteem after the breakup finally made me go to therapy to deal with why I had such issues with relationships. There was a dichotomy between how I felt inside and what I projected to the public. It was a puzzle to me how people had an impression of a really confident self-assured woman when I felt so small and insignificant and invisible.
A friend challenged me to a bet - 15 dates in 10 weeks. If you're not familiar with that story, you can read it here.

The therapist thought the bet was a great idea. It did help me listen to my gut more (instead of my overactive brain), and having that many men 'interested' in me (it was mostly on-line dating) helped with the self-esteem problems. I was able to sift through all the options - it was like shopping.

Date number 12 seemed the most promising, but after two rounds of dating him with a five month lag between rounds, I saw him for what he was. I'm still not quite sure what that was, but I know that it wasn't anything that I needed in my life. Too many questions and that all too familiar sinking feeling surrounded the last date and the following week of unclear texts - too tired, too busy, too unable to plan.

He disappeared for a second time, and I won't go looking for him again. It was also a relief that the last evidence of the bet was gone - how to explain to someone why they were referred to as number 12? How would they react to the bet? It would either be "I was one of 15!" or "I was one of 15?"

Around mid-October, between only being contacted by men in their 20's and men in the 50's, I had had it with OK Cupid. I was giving up on dating until at least the new year. This time it wasn't so much why don't they want me, but that I was just so tired of what was available to me in this limited fashion. There had to be something better, but I was ready to just be by myself for a while.

In my new free state, I went to meet Heidi B at the New Museum one evening. Her friend Eric had sent her an invite for a book signing of one of his former professors at SCI-ARC, and I tagged along. He wasn't someone I'd typically be interested in (somewhere along the way I had decided that guys in the profession were off-limits, they were so self-absorbed usually), so we chatted a lot about working in New York, about grad school, the economy, and then the question: So, are you dating anyone? Since I was so adamantly not looking for someone, I immediately took it as he was just being friendly, just making conversation. A couple of us went to dinner, we ended up sitting next to each other, the conversation kept on, and I figured that something was happening that was more organic than catching a glimpse of someone's thumbnail photo on a website.

A couple of days later, he casually emailed asking if I wanted to meet for a drink. Sure, I've been wanting to check out the Standard. We met for drinks and then dinner that night, and then drinks two nights later, and then a movie at his apartment two nights after that. I feel like I've been caught off guard, but in a really good way. Being male, he could always disappear like the rest of them, but we'll see.

On with my life

2009-11-11T16:39:00.000-08:00

After waiting a week, I got my test results: Benign (not cancer). It strikes me as funny that they have to include the parenthetical addition, and this is in the written lab results and when the nurse told me the results over the phone. But, I guess its good to be clear. Now, on to worrying about other things, such as paying for the tests...I love that having insurance still means that I have to pay at least $1000. Those are the bills I've gotten so far - according to the email my insurance company sent me, there's another $500 bill coming. We don't need health care reform now, do we?

I just can't believe that I'm paying more out of pocket than my dad did when he had triple bypass surgery with a 7-day hospital stay.

Once I recovered from the procedure, I finished the yoga challenge. Didn't end up practicing yoga everyday, but with everything that was going on in October, I feel I did pretty well. Om Yoga does this challenge twice a year, so there is always March.

After things being relatively stable at work, the situation started to become uneasy again at the beginning of October. Back in July, the partners had called an office meeting to tell us that starting July 15th, we'd all be taking a 20% paycut for three months. The supposed end of this paycut was quickly approaching and we did not have any new projects to allow us all to go back to full time. Would be continue the pay and time cut? Would some people go back to full time and other people recieve their pink slip? No one knew, and no one was talking. Finally on the 13th, one of the partners walked around and told everyone that the paycut would continue. At least people weren't going to be laid off, I thought. Well, that was optimistic.

In the last couple of weeks, the office is feeling like a bad reality TV show. People are being eliminated one at a time, and the layoffs are happening in the middle of the pay period. Out of the four people laid off in the last three weeks, three of them were the newest hires (although one of them had been there two years). There seemed to be a reason to the madness, and then this week someone who didn't seem to be in that line of fire, and who had an active project, was laid off. That was unsettling. At this point, it seems like any of us could be next.

We finally had an office meeting today to discuss the current situation. The partners told us that although we've been able to get a couple of small projects, they're not the size that we need to sustain the office, and there will be more layoffs if something big doesn't come in.

Although I am anxious about the situation, I feel there are people that will go before me, and I'll survive as long as the firm survives. Hopefully, things will turn around before then.

Highs and Lows

2009-10-21T19:23:00.000-07:00

First the good news - I was able to get into a headstand without assistance this week! Yay! The not so good news - some stuff of a questionable nature showed up in my tests this week, and I have to have more on Friday.

DAY 17
The sails for the day had been canceled, so I was pretty free for whatever class I wanted to take. Joe was teaching an Open class at 12:30, so I headed over to the studio. Great class, as always. Unfortunately, I was preoccupied with multiple other things: one, the transit for Pioneer was scheduled in the morning, I needed to be there at 0600, and the weather looked absolutely uncooperative; two, Christoper (number 12) had been acting like he had last spring, basically he was too busy to fit me into his life, and had blown off my attempts to see him this week. It's frustrating to realize that his job nine months ago or so was not the problem. It's him.

I ended up crying on a friend's shoulder (literally) that evening as I released all of the tension from dealing with yet another failed potential relationship. I'm back on OKC.

DAY 18
Transit day. I get down to the boat at 0600, and its pouring rain and cold. Weather forecast is for cold temperatures and high winds. We attempt to leave for Haverstraw, but after about 45 minutes of motoring against the wind to get around the Battery, we return to the dock. Captain Dorfman decides to try again at 1700, but the wind conditions do not change, so the trip is postponed until the morning when the weather is expected to improve dramatically.

I thought maybe I could make it to a class in the intervening hours, but ended up switching between napping on the couch and watching a Twin Peaks marathon for most of the day. I was able to leave the house for the 5:30 Restorative Class. Ah, relaxation.

Turn to was at 0500 the next morning, so I turned in early.

DAY 19
Transit day, take 2. By the time I got down to Pier 16, I could see that stars were out and that it was going to be a clear day. It was still cold, but at least it wasn't raining. Most of the way up we had NW winds, and were able to raise the fore and staysail for about 30 minutes. We made the 35 mile trip in 6.5 hours.

Needless to say after a day out in the cold and wind, I was exhausted when I got back home. I had plans for dinner with Filipa to talk about our man troubles. I thought I could make it to a class, but after losing 2 1/2 hours to a nap, I just didn't quite make it to class.

DAY 20
7:30PM Open Class with Joe. He is quickly becoming my favorite instructor at Om. It was a vigorous class, I ended up sweating bullets, and towards the end of the class when we were doing inversions, I was able to get up into a headstand. I was able to really differentiate what muscle groups I needed to push to stay in the pose, and to keep pressure off my neck. I really enjoy moments where I really feel like I'm making progress.

DAY 21
In the morning I packed up my yoga stuff so I could go to class after work to continue on with the challenge. Before all that though, I had to deal with my 8:30 mammogram. Some milestones really suck.
I got to the doctor's office a couple of minutes early to fill out paperwork. I'm waiting....and waiting....A little after 9:00, a nurse comes out apologizing for the delay, and says its going to be another 30 minutes. I have a meeting at 11:00 that I need to go to since my boss is sick. I contact Jen in the office to see if she can get the drawings up to the gallery since I won't have time to go to the office and make it up to midtown for the meeting.

9:30, nurse comes out again. She again apologizes for the delay. One woman goes ballistic. I on the other hand decide that I need to reschedule. The nurse calls my name a minute later. I figure that I've got 90 minutes, and I'll be ok for my meeting. At this point, I'm much more concerned about being late than getting these routine scans done.

I change into the completely unfashionable hospital gown that just looks great with my boots, and sit in a second waiting room for about 15 minutes. They call me in, I get pushed and pulled and prodded, and then sent out to the waiting room again while a doctor checks my films.

For those of you who have never had this procedure done - it's miserable. While I was waiting, I was listening to these two older women who between then have probably had this procedure 20 or 30 times at least. One of them was complaining about one of the technicians, and how if she got stuck with that woman she was going to politely ask for someone else. When you think about how the breasts are one of the most sexualized and fetishized female body parts, this flesh is basically treated like play-doh when it comes to making sure it's healthy.

The nurse calls me in to the room for some additional films. I figure that I must have moved ever so minutely, and the image wasn't clear. I once again go out to the waiting room. 10 minutes later, they call me in for a third set of films. Now I'm worried.

A little while later as I'm sitting in the examination room, the doctor comes in and tells me that I have 'bright spots' on my films, and that although she thinks they are most likely not a problem, I have to have a biopsy to make sure that they are not malignant. I wish she had said that they have to do the procedure to confirm that they're benign. Semantics, I know.

Luckily, they have an opening on Friday morning. I'm going to continue thinking that it's probably nothing.

So no yoga tonight. I also can't do anything strenuous for three days after the procedure, so no yoga for the rest of the weekend. Well, maybe a restorative class on Sunday.

The blatant crash of Autumn

2009-10-16T16:23:00.000-07:00

So Fall is here. It's made its presence known with unseasonably cold temperatures, rainy weather, and gray skies. I was hoping Indian Summer would appear this weekend for the last sailing of the summer, but due to the forecast, the season has basically been scratched other than a couple of more education sails and the trip up to Haverstraw on Sunday through Tuesday. I'm doing the transit and the programs on Monday. It's going to be cold and rainy, and most likely miserable. It's the last chance for sailing this season though, so I'll take it. Hopefully Monday will be sunny, or at least dry. Highs are only forecast for the mid 50's though.

Turn to is 0600 on Sunday, so practicing yoga on that day is shot. Monday, I'll do it once I get home - I doubt I'll be able to get to the studio in time for even the last class at 8PM.

Here's the wrap up of the rest of the week though.

DAY 15
Officially half way there! There is a meeting for all challenge participants on Monday at 6:30, but unfortunately I won't be able to make it. Thursday was the first of the cold raw days. I planned to go to the 7:45PM Stretch/Restorative class. Once I got home after work, it took all I could muster to leave the house again. I grabbed my rain gear and headed out before I could change my mind.

The instructor wanted us to concentrate on being instead of doing. Nothing should be a strain, everything should be with minimum effort. In that way, I succeeded.

DAY 16
I got up in the morning and made a list of things to do on my day off:

Tennis
Yoga
Drugstore
Pick up food for Salem
Pick up medical films
Clean my desk (way overdue)
Hang second window shade (again, way overdue. Hung the first one back in August).

Getting all my errands done for the week is a great benefit of the extra day off.

Tennis was a bit optimistic. It had rained the day before, but the streets were starting to dry. I texted Elena to tell her I was heading to the courts. Once I got there and looked at the courts. They were still soaked and covered in leaves. No tennis.

Yoga's a bit easier to predict. I went to the 12:30 open class. This week I've gone to mostly stretch or restorative classes, so it was good to get to a more vigorous class. The class (like most vinyasa classes) concentrated on variations for sun salutations, but then we moved on to inversions. Those are a challenge. The order the instructor wanted us to do them in: headstand, handstand, forearm stand.

I start out with the headstand. I've been working on the preparation of each of these poses. No matter how much upper body strength you think you have, this is really tested when you need to rely on these muscle groups to hold your body up. For all these poses, its best to start by doing them against a wall so that there is something to stop the momentum of your legs. It also helps with balance. I was able set up for the headstand on the floor (see diagram), and was able to kick one leg up to the wall. I'm not able to stay in the pose yet.

The handstand was next. One of the preparation methods is to do the pose in an "L" position, with your hands on the mat, and your legs perpendicular to the wall. This is harder than it looks. The instructor helped me into this pose by standing behind me with her knees pressing into my shoulders to help me stay up. This pose is also hard due to the muscles in the backs of my legs being really tight also. But I was able to stay up for about 20 seconds. It's a start.

I was also able to get into the crow pose for the first time. That feels like a real accomplishment.

After yoga, I headed over to Diagnostic Radiology Associates to pick up some films in preparation for a mamogram next week. My first one was two years ago, so my doctor figured it was time for another one, especially since I turned 40 this year. October being Breast Cancer Awareness month, seems like a good time for one. They are strange ghost-like images, similar to sonograms and catscans. I don't understand them, but I glad some people are trained to.

Day 14 - nearly half way there

2009-10-14T18:56:00.000-07:00

I've reviewed my progress so far, and I've practiced yoga 10 out of the last 14 days. I'm pretty pleased that currently I'm meeting with 71% of the challenge. I could do better though, and the rest of the week looks like it'll be easier to fit a class in.

DAY 14
Days have been dragging at the office since Thursday. The first week of October we had learned that our paycut was going to be extended indefinitely. That was bad enough. The worse news came last week when two more people were let go. I once again made the cut, and one of my co-workers told me that she thought that I'd be one of the last ones standing. I hope she's right. I took over a project from one of the people who left, a renovation of the Picasso Museum that we finished a couple of years ago. The Museum is looking to convert some of the areas close to the entry into a 'free-zone', mostly retail/cafe spaces to generate more revenue from the public who may not necessarily buy a ticket to the Museum. I'm hoping this turns into a trip for me.

I spent most of the day familiarizing myself with the existing building and investigating what we needed to renovate. I was also looking forward to checking out the Core class at Om.

The description of the class states that "A juicy, creative, flowing class integrating asanas, pranayama and pilates, focusing on strengthening your core throughout the entire practice. You'll see all the familiar elements of an OM yoga class intertwined with pilates based exercises. This awareness will deliver stability and freedom to your poses, relieve back pain, tone your tummy and awaken your core power!" I focused on the word "pilates" and thought the class was going to be different than it was. It ended up being an open class focusing on balancing poses - hence using the core muscles.

During the class, the instructor came over while I was in downward facing dog (Adho Mukha Svanasana) and told me to try to straighten out my legs more. Right! I was obviously attempting to with no success, so he tells me to engage my quads. I tried that, and was able to straighten them, oh, probably another millimeter. Over the last two weeks, I do feel some give in them, but its going to be a while before I can straighten them in that pose and get my heels on the floor. My first goal is to be able to touch the floor when I bend over. Baby steps.

Yoga Continued

2009-10-12T19:33:00.000-07:00

Lots of stuff going on this week, but I continued on with the challenge somewhat successfully. I'm not hitting every single day, but I figure that its not exactly part of the practice to get angry at myself for not doing it every day. Its a challenge not a commandment. Days where I did not meet the challenge are in red.

DAY 8
No yoga. Again, didn't quite get up in time to do it in the morning, and I was getting together with Christopher for dinner so no yoga after work. We met for dinner at Rice, and then I got to experience the frustration of parking woes one encounters when living in the East Village while a film crew takes over your neighborhood. Needless to say, we had a side trip in the middle of the evening to Williamsburg to deal with the parking dilemma. Due to the fear of finding a spot, it was a short adventure.

DAY 9
My day of the week off due to the current paycut situation. Carrie was in town for work, so I was planning on meeting up with her and Kathleen in SoHo after having lunch with Roberta in Leffert's Garden. Or is it Manor? I forget. Either way, I had to be in Brooklyn around noon and SoHo around 3PM. Yoga, yoga, when can I fit this in when I've got plans for the bulk of the day? Plans included:

A viewing of The September Issue. Fantastic fashion documentary of the production of the Vogue 2007 September Issue. It's right up there with Unzipped, the Isaac Mizrahi documentary. Although I still can't believe Anna decorated her townhouse with that shabby chic furniture.
Drinks....somewhere. Fancy new hotel on Crosby was not accepting 'non-residents' until the following week. We ended up at Sweet & Vicious.
Dinner at MacBar. Now that I am ok with gluten, a macaroni and cheese fest was in order. I felt as good afterwards as any normal person ingesting massive amounts of processed cheese.

Back to the yoga situation. Thanks to the DVR, I've been taping episodes of Namaste off the Fit! Network. I came upon an episode on strengthening poses. Fantastic.

DAY 10
Woke up to a rainy but somewhat warm day. I was scheduled to sail the morning Harbor School sail from 1100-1500 hrs and then the 1600-1800 hrs public sail. The wind was perfect for sailing. Unfortunately, it also made me complete exhausted and not able to do much of anything for the rest of the day. No yoga.

I was however able to drag myself to Brooklyn for dinner with Heidi and Carrie. Heidi had gotten her share of the CSA bounty that morning, and made a great dinner (with Tom's help on the fish). Halibut, mashed potatoes, fresh green beans, and bok choy. Ice cream for dessert.

DAY 11
In looking at the calendar, I've missed two days this week, so I feel motivated to go today. Today was also the team day for the Ladies Social Tennis Club out in Prospect Park - four hours of play between the different members. I already woke up to sore shoulder muscles from sailing the day before. Tennis today was going to be challenging. Luckily on Sunday nights there is a restorative yoga class at Om. I love restorative yoga. Its a series of poses where you're propped up on pillows, blocks, or bolsters, and you rest for 10-15 minutes in a pose.

I head out to Brooklyn at around 9:15AM en route to Heidi's. This was the weekend that the MTA had decided it would be a good idea to do work on just about every single subway line. Instead of taking the normal route of the A to the F, I just take the A one more stop to Hoyt/Schermerhorn. I discover that although its a slightly longer walk from that station to her apartment, its a shorter trip since I don't have to wait for the transfer at Jay Street/Borough Hall.

Do I thank the MTA for this little bit of transit knowledge? Hell no. That's a small victory in the confounding set of options that I'll have to deal with for the day. We ended up driving out to Prospect Park and avoided MTA pain. For the morning at least.

The tennis wasn't so bad considering that the soreness in my shoulders in the morning was only the beginning of the pain that was surfacing from the day before. In the end, it was my whole back, as well as my sides and abs. Basically, the whole torso. Strangely, my legs were unaffected. I needed a massage.

At 5:00PM, I headed to Union Square for the restorative yoga class. As I was hoping, it was just what I needed. Although I did fall asleep in some of the poses. Really, what do you expect?

DAY 12
Ah Monday. Columbus Day. My office does not take this day as a holiday, so I'm in the office with about five other people. It was a slow morning, so I checked out Om's schedule for the day, and there is a stretching class at 7:30PM. Sounds good, hopefully they will concentrate on the back of the legs where I have the most trouble.

The slow morning turned into a slow day, and it seemed like it was days before I could leave my desk. I get to the yoga studio for the class, and all the students are waiting on the instructor. I'm anticipating a slight man to walk in - most of the teachers are either women or men of small stature. In walks this guy who is about 6'-4" and he's just big. Except he has a small head.

He starts off the class with us in Vajrasana. I hate this pose. It's a seated pose, where you're legs are bent underneath you, and you're sitting on your heels. My knees just don't like being bent that long. We're in that pose with different variations for about 10 minutes. I'm somehow able to unbend my legs afterwards.

Then we moved into downward facing dog. He decided that this would be a partner pose where people would pair up, and one person would place a strap around the other like a harness and help the person get deeper into the pose. Cue the S&M images of someone getting lead around like a dog on a leash. Hilarious.

A while later, he directed us into a pose where we were kneeling with one knee against the wall with the shin against the wall, and the foot of the opposing leg on the floor in front of us. We were expected to be able to sit up straight from this position. Sort of.

All in all, it was a very challenging class.

DAY 13
Took a break. Chey came over after work to do laundry.

Challenge Interupted?

2009-10-07T18:39:00.000-07:00

Trying not to. But it is a challenge.

DAY 4
I got up and thought about what I needed to do for the rest of the day, and when I'd be able to do yoga. My first thought - I should have gotten up an hour early. I was scheduled to play tennis, had to run over to Prospect Park for the rescheduled Pioneer picnic, and then work on the boat for the last two sails.

Things seemed to be working out when David called to work for me during the 4-6 sail, and Dan had already offered to work the 7-9. I thought I may be able to leave the picnic early and make the 5:30 restorative class. Then my mom called.

Mr. Fagan had died. Mr. Fagan was one of my parents' closest friends who had suffered from Prostate Cancer for nearly 6 years. He was the first to die from what has been referred to as the "Irish Mafia", the group of people that have been in and around my life for as long as I can remember. I told my parents that I wanted to go to the funeral, which was on Tuesday.

I really wanted to go home and be alone, but felt that I needed to stay at the picnic. In hindsight I should have just left. Hours later, I did enjoy the fireworks though. After the fireworks, I went home, and did one of the shortened versions on the yoga DVD. Although it was not a concentrated effort, I was glad to continue on the challenge.

DAY 5
I had decided the night before that I would get up early and do my practice in the morning. Since I had to head up to the compound right after work, and didn't quite get up early enough to head to the 7:30 class at the studio, I did one of the programs on the DVD. I got through the day, and headed up to Grand Central for the Hudson Line to Peekskill. Since I don't have a car, I had to head upstate to meet up with my parents. The funeral was the next day in Colts Neck, NJ at 9AM, and there was no way my parents were going to come into the city to pick me up before headed out to Jersey - the traffic was probably going to be a nightmare anyway.

DAY 6
I'm awakened from a banal dream where I'm on Pioneer during a crew meeting signing up for sails by a knock on my childhood bedroom door. Its my dad, telling me that it was time to get up. It was 5:30. It takes me a couple of minutes to get up, get to the bathroom, and jump in the shower. I had realized the night before that I forget to pack my bag of toiletries; I had nothing with me, but at least there was a new toothbrush in the bathroom that I could use.

As we were getting ready to leave to house, both my parents mentioned how they were having a really hard time dealing with his death. They knew this day was coming, but it was still somewhat of a shock. There is always the hope that something will work out, some drug will be discovered, somehow the person will beat it. Mr. Fagan is the sixth person I've known in the last eight years who was diagnosed with cancer - 2 of them prostate, 1 brain, 1 melanoma, 1 pancreas, and 1 a rare form of abdominal cancer. Other than my cousin's wife who had the pancreatic cancer, they had all either gone into remission or had stabilized and seemed like they had a chance. They have all succumed to the disease, two of them in one week back in 2003. Its awful having to decide who's funeral you're going to go to - the one in New York for your old boss or the one in Denver for a very good college friend.

The Irish Mafia were the group of people that we grew up with in New Jersey before we moved to New York in 1980, and Mr. Fagan and his wife Ita were my favorite parents out of the group of my parents' friends. Most of the Mafia were from Ireland, some of them - like my father - had married an American. There was a core group of four couples, and all these couples had at least three kids, and we were mostly within eight years of each other, with most of us settling within a four year age difference. Between my family and the Fagan's, there was my sister Erin, then Brian, then me, then Erris, then Tara, my younger sister. A couple of years later the Fagans had another daughter, Orla. We all grew up together, our fathers belonged to the Friendly Sons of the Shillelagh, and we learned Irish step dancing.

After we moved to New York, my parents remained close to the Jersey crowd, and we would continue to go down there on weekends for all sorts of festivities. In recent years, the men had joined the Sons of St. Patrick, and both Mr. Fagan and my father have been honored by this group.

After the funeral, the family hosted a brunch at the same hotel that my sisters and I had thrown my parents a party for their 40th wedding anniversary, which is the last time I saw most of the Mafia back in 2004. Although my family had moved to New York nearly 30 years before this, my parents' close friends were still centered around this Irish community in New Jersey, and we decided to invite these people to celebrate my parents dedication to each other. Even outside of the core group of four families, there are many more people that are a part of this group. I was reminded of how close this group remains as I was speaking to friends of my parents, and its truly an amazing bond of friendship these people have formed, mostly due to having a culture in common. This group lost a vital member this week.

After the brunch, my parents drove me home into the city. I felt that I needed to do something to get my mind off of the events of the day, so I looked up the yoga schedule. There was an open and restorative class at 4:30. Fantastic. It was just what I needed.

DAY 7
Back to work. At least it was snack day. I was going to go to a yogaCORE class at 8PM, but once I was home, I really didn't feel like leaving again. I did the full practice from the DVD. I really need to work on that preparation for forearm stand.

I feel like I'm making some progress. Although my legs are still really tight - don't know how much that can really improve - I am starting to get the Sanskrit names for the poses.

The 31 day challenge

2009-10-03T17:25:00.000-07:00

I've been practicing yoga on and off since shortly after I finished college. Unfortunately, it's been mostly off. Earlier this year my therapist recommended resuming my practice and going to yoga at least twice a week, one of the classes should be a restorative yoga class. She said that I owed it to myself. I had never thought of it in that manner, and started looking for a restorative class. I figured if I could find a studio where I liked the restorative class anything else would fall into place. This took longer than I expected.

The first place I tried was Om Yoga. I liked the studio a lot, and the instructor was great. Unfortunately the class was on a Sunday, sailing season was about to start, and I usually sailed on Sundays. I figured that since that place was great, it wouldn't be so hard to find another. Again, I was wrong.

Next I tried Virayoga. Their restorative class was in their annex, which was a 100SF room big enough for two people to do yoga. The instructor started out with asanas that would be in a typical yoga class. After about 30 minutes, she started the restorative part of the session. Unbelievably, she continued talking. She went on and on, and it was in no way relaxing not to mention restorative. I nearly left, but being one of her two students, that would have been awkward.

There were other studios, but they had their restorative classes on Fridays. I typically sail on Fridays also, so I didn't bother trying them out. Instead, I decided to start sailing on Saturdays so that I could go back to Om Yoga.

Restorative yoga is one of the most relaxing activities I've ever encountered. Its very close to meditation, but you arrange yourself in different poses where you're propped up on bolsters, blankets, or blocks, and remain in the pose for 15-20 minutes. In its own way, its rigorous. 180 degrees from this are their open classes. I went to one of those today, a class run by Joe, and was invigorated. One thing I really like about yoga is that I can stay focused and my mind does not wander (at least in the open classes. Sometimes that's a little hard during the more relaxing poses). I only think about what I'm doing in the present.

This month, Om is running a challenge - 31 days of yoga. Practice once a day for every day in the month of October. Although I've been going semi-regularly for the last two months, I think participating in the challenge will help me establish a better practice. This is how its been going so far:

DAY 1
Didn't go. Planned on taking a 7:45PM Open class, but was distracted. That afternoon I was at a board meeting at the Cooper-Hewitt, and was invited to the cocktail party after. That was not the distraction, that one I felt pretty good about saying no so that I could go to yoga - one distraction avoided. However, on the way home I remembered that it was Lex's last day at the Seaport, and there were drinks planned for her. Another friend also texted wanting to avoid his own studying. I got caught up in distraction number 2 and joined some Seaport folks in wishing Lex well.

DAY 2
I had Friday off, but couldn't do my typical 12 noon class since I had volunteered to help out on Pioneer in the afternoon. Thursday night I set my alarm for 6:30 so I could go to a morning class. That didn't work, getting up that early on a day that I don't have to go to work wasn't the greatest plan. There were two classes at 10AM, a Basics and an Intermediate. Thinking I wasn't quite ready for an Intermediate class, I went to the Basics class. Too basic.

DAY 3
Open class at 12:30. Joe was teaching, so I was looking forward to it. It was similar in effort to his class that I took last week, but he focused on different poses. It was really enjoyable, and it was the first day of the challenge that I was satisfied with.

I hope that the rest of the month goes as well as today. To deal with days that I can't make it to the studio, I bought a DVD. There's also a cable channel that broadcasts 30 minute classes, so I'm DVRing them. When I put my mind to something, I can usually get it done.

The waiting game

2009-09-27T09:30:00.000-07:00

It's a rainy late September, and I'm slated to sail all day. In looking at the sky and the rain coming down, I'm doubting we sold any tickets, but its the kind of rain that looks like its going to clear up. Eventually.

Charlie calls me at 1130 hrs to ask a favor. He doesn't have the number to the visitor's service desk, and asks if I can walk over there to see what the ticket situation is for the rest of the day. He sounds ready to cancel the whole day. I'm to call him at 1200 hrs.

I walk over to the Museum. The conversation goes something like this:

"How many tickets have we sold for today's sails?"

"None for the 1-3. 18 for the 4-6. 2 for the 7-9."

"18? Are those actual tickets are reservations?"

"Reservation. 18 tickets for one person."

I groan. Damned ghetto charter. If it weren't for that group, we could cancel the whole day. We don't even know if they'll show up. I call Charlie and he officially cancels the 1-3 sail, and says he'll call reservations around 3 to see what's going on with the group. If it's still spitting rain like this, I doubt they'll want to go out.

So the waiting starts. On days like this, what I'd rather be doing is watching the Mad Men marathon (I can at least watch part of that, on right now is the "I'm Peggy Olsen, and I want to smoke pot" episode) or True Blood on HBO Demand. Or knit. Or finish that lanyard. Or a combination of those. A museum show would be great also - free access with my Smithsonian ID card (the Cooper-Hewitt project is at least good for that).

What I'd really like to do is go to a restorative yoga class at 1730 hrs. Unless both the 4-6 and the 7-9 are canceled, that can't happen today either.

I'm not saying I'd rather be doing all these things instead of sailing. I'd love it if there were three sure-to-go-out sails today. We're at the end of the season, so the opportunities are waning to go out on Pioneer. What I don't like is not being able to plan anything else, staying in and watching the radar.

It's 1252 hrs. now. I'll update during the day.

1500 hrs.
I leave the apartment again, half thinking that the 18 person group is not going to show up. The sky is clearing, but still...depends on where people are coming from. We wait until 1535 hrs., the group shows up, so we get the boat ready in half the time. The sail is uneventful, the NYU students are happy. We end up heading in a little early because there is a front appearing to the west, a line of menacing clouds hanging over Jersey.

1804 hrs.
All the passengers have disembarked. Mike calls Visitor's Services to see what the ticket situation is. Still only two sold. Captain Charlie debates what to do. We've got five volunteers, two passengers, and a guest with a front approaching. No one really ever wants to tell eager passengers that we're canceling the sail, so the decision is postponed. At around 1835 hrs, a couple is seen checking out the sail times poster, so we have a volunteer approach them to see if they want to go out for a sail. They do, so we now have four passengers, so the captain makes the executive decision to go out on the 7-9 sail. I assign dock lines, we get the passengers aboard, Mike gives the safety speech, and we're ready to go.

The passengers are more than ready to help us raise sail, so I get them assigned to the main peak and throat lines. About halfway through raising the main, Mike calls me back to take over setting the main. He runs down to the engine room where there is obvious trouble. There are abnormal sounds coming from the aft cabin, and the transmission is not staying in gear. Charlie directs me to lower the main and raise the fore. This gets done, and then the captain asks for the main to be raised. Luckily, we had very enthusiastic passengers who were more than happy to raise the sail again.

All this time Captain Charlie is on the radio with the Coast Guard. First they direct him to radio channel 21. Then 22. After he gives them our position, East River off of Pier 11, then Pier A, drifting towards the deep water range. He tells them he is trying to stay off the Whitehall ferry terminal. They ask him if he has GPS (we don't) and whether he will anchor in the deep water range. Why the description of our position isn't good enough is not clear. Neither is their suggestion to anchor in the deep water range. The captain's plan is to gybe the main and sail into the pier.

Mike and ZZ have been working in the aft cabin on the transmission. After getting some fluid in the transmission, things seem to be working in some order, and we get the boat turned around. Since we can't trust reverse, the docking plan is to get the bow spring on, port side, haul it in tight, and get the boat around. We start coming in, and the captain decides this approach won't work, and we move everything to starboard side to.

We come close to hitting Peking, but the captain wasn't worried. We get the boat in tight to the float, and the passengers disembark. After, we move some docklines around, I direct the volunteers in getting the boat put to bed while Captain Charlie and Mike assess the state of the engine. There are some concerns that the transmission is leaking into other areas of the engine, and Captain Charlie alerts Captain Richard to the issues we faced this evening.

All in all, everyone handled themselves well. As far as volunteers, we had a deckhand, a deckhand in training, and two new (but luckily sharp) volunteers. I couldn't have asked for much more. Mike thanked all the volunteers, and we retired to Fresh Salt.

Funny how a day that starts off as a day of waiting turns into a day of being in high alert. The adrenelin is still running 3 1/2 hours after I got off the boat.

As Captain Charlie stated at Fresh Salt, "If all else fails, you can always put up the sails to get home." I thank everyday that I get to sail with this man. It's always a learning experience.

Deciding upon fruit

2009-09-25T19:30:00.000-07:00

I've never been good at selecting fruit. I do my best with what I've heard as surefire ways to pick a good one, but to no avail. I feel that when I get a really great tasting piece, it's all luck. Case in point this week: peach. I find that they are especially difficult; there really seems to be only 2 - 3 weeks a summer when they're good. Most of the time, no matter what the color or even firmness level, they're hard and tart. Not what I want out of a peach.

The last couple of weeks they've been good, but then today, ugh. I picked one up at the deli on the way to work today. It was on the larger side, but a beautiful yellow undertone with dark red patches. It smelled delicious. After lunch, after looking at it for hours, I bit into it. Absolute disappointment. It was still fragrant, but the texture was mealy. I nearly spit it out right there. I took another bite thinking it was just that spot, but no. The whole thing had such an unappealing texture. Such disappointment.

I posted my disappointment as my Facebook status. This was mostly just because I needed to change it, but people immediately started commenting, lamenting the sad state of finding good fruit. Everyone had a suggestion for picking good fruit, ranging from slapping a watermelon to making sure that pomegranates have to be a deep red. Here are some others I've found:

1. Bananas: A banana should be complete yellow when ripe. A banana with a lot of brown spots tastes better than a yellow banana with a green top.

This one I totally disagree with. Bananas with brown spots are too soft and gross for my tastes.

2. Oranges: For the juiciest, sweetest, fruit, look for oranges with a sweet, clean fragrance.

3. Tangerines: The best tangerines have a strong sweet smell.

4. Mangos: Haden mangos are good when they are yellow/orange, only slightly firm, and yield to gentle pressure.

From what I've read, in general you should be able to rely on smell, color, feel, and weight (fruit should be heavy). I would think that these rules are easier in the summer when its easier to find local fruit - unless you live in warmer climates.

Blue sky memories

2009-09-10T20:42:00.000-07:00

Last week I was out for drinks with a friend, and we were talking about the gorgeous blue sky that day, that specific cloudless blue that you usually only see early to mid-September. I always have mixed feelings about a sky like this. One the one hand, its one of my favorite colors, and seeing it has the immediate impact of putting me in a good mood. On the other hand, it reminds me of a day eight years ago when the sky was this exact incredible color. We traded our recollections of that infamous day, which for both of us are still vivid.

I think on the eighth anniversary most New Yorkers are reflecting on that day, like we do every September 11th. What follows is my experience from that day, and the days following.

NEW YORK, NY
SEPTEMBER 11, 2001
8:46AM
It was one of those perfect September days, one where it was in the low 70's with a cloudless sky. As I climbed out of the subway at the Chambers Street A station, I noticed there was a crowd gathered at the corner of Chambers and Church Street. I was a little early for work, so I wandered over to see what was going on. Everyone was looking up to the southwest at the Trade Center. What they were looking at was incredible: there was a huge gash in the upper floors on the north facade of one of the towers. Everyone assumed it was an accident, that a Cesna had flown into the tower. A sidewalk vendor kept telling people that no, it was not a small plane, it was an American Airlines jet that crashed into the North Tower. I was amazed, the hole just didn't look that big, the scale of the building was deceiving. No one seemed to believe him, thinking he was exaggerating, that he was mistaken in what he had eyewitnessed. I left the corner to go to my office.

9:03AM
I called my mom to tell her to turn on the news, that a plane had flown into the Trade Center. As I was getting the words out, I felt a faint tremor. The second plane had hit. There was a collective realization that this was not an accident.

My office was on Reade Street between Greenwich Street and Hudson, and there were only a couple of us there. We didn't know what to do: should we get to work? should we leave the area? I had walked down to the corner of Greenwich and looked south. There were rows and rows of people walking north on Greenwich. They were all covered in dust and blood. I looked up towards the tower and saw people jumping from the top floors of the tower. I turned away in horror from this sight and walked back to my office.

My office was in the ground floor of my boss's townhouse, and he had come down to tell us to come upstairs. The three of us who made it in that day went up to his living room and spent time talking about what was going on, watching the coverage on TV where we learned that we were not the only city that had been attacked. There were rumors that a plane had hit the Sears tower, and there were rumors that there were up to 10 planes that were missing. Luckily this did not turn out to be true. I walked up to the roof and looked south. The top of both towers were engulfed in flames, and people were jumping from the windows. One after the other they lept, at least 30 of them in the matter of a minute. The mind works in curious ways, and I was reminded of an educational filmstrip that I saw when I was probably around 8 years old. It was of a group of lemmings jumping off a cliff. At the end of the film, my teacher would run it backwards, and you could see the lemmings rising from the water up to the safety of the cliff. I immediately felt ashamed for the comparison, and put it out of my mind. I can't even imagine having to make the choice these people had to make knowing they were never going to make it out of the towers alive: be burned alive or jump to your death.

9:59AM
I walked back inside the penthouse to watch the news coverage. A couple of minutes later, there was a rumbling, and the guys finishing up work on the roof rushed inside. They told me the tower was coming down.

I went down two flights to join the rest of my office and my boss's family. The south wall of the townhouse was glass, and at the time it was like looking at an opaque wall, the smoke outside was so thick. We all silently stared at the wall, hoping that flames were not to follow.

10:29AM
After the smoke cleared, Sara, my boss's wife, suggested that we go down to the office to get our purses and other personal belongings just in case we needed to evacuate. Liz, the office manager, and I offered to go and get everyone's stuff. As we were grabbing the bags, there was another rumble, just like an earthquake. The glass storefront started vibrating, and we ran to the cellar. We stayed down there for a couple of minutes, and then went upstairs once we thought it was relatively safe.

For the rest of the morning and into the afternoon, we continued watching the news coverage, and called our families. The relief in my parents' voices was palpable. They did not know how much of Lower Manhattan had been affected by the tower collapse, and I was only five blocks away. My mother told me that my sister hadn't heard from her husband, he was at work in WTC 5, one of the lower buildings. She didn't heard from him for hours; when she did finally hear from him he told her that he had run out of his office, leaving his cell phone and wallet behind, and none of the payphones were working.

We stayed at my boss's house until around 5PM. I borrowed Sara's bike, and rode back to Brooklyn. As I biked down Reade Street crossing West Broadway, I took one last look south towards the Trade Center. It was a blur of red, orange, and black, a hellish sight. I wondered what the next couple of days would bring.

I called my mother when I got home, and she told me that three of my cousins were missing, all firemen. Later that evening, I gathered at an apartment on Atlantic Avenue with friends and my friend Will kept my glass of bourbon and ginger filled.

The next day, Heidi and I walked around Brooklyn looking to donate blood. Lots of other people had the same idea, and no more blood was needed - they had nowhere to store the blood that the flood of volunteers was willing to give. I spoke to my mom who told me that all three of my cousins had been heard from, they were apparently a little busy the day before, and couldn't call their wives and mothers. I knew I wasn't going to be able to go to work for the rest of the week, so I took a train up to the compound to get out of the city. I have never wanted to escape New York in that way before.

That Friday, I got a call from my office manager. She said that Lower Manhattan below Canal Street was closed to the public, but that on Monday they were going to start letting people who lived between Canal and Chambers through the barrier. We were going to meet at the SoHo Grand Hotel for breakfast Monday morning, and attempt to get down to the office. My boss was thinking that since he lived in the area, he would be able to get his employees in the secured zone. He was right, and the National Guard officer told us that over the next couple of weeks we would need to bring ID and a letter proving our employment within Lower Manhattan. We walked the nine blocks to Reade Street to see the state of the office. My boss hadn't been home yet, so he had no idea whether there was power or telephone service. We walked in, tried the lights and phones, and everything was in working order. Apparently we were lucky: because the building was new (construction had just finished the month before), we had been able to connect to the relatively new electrical and phone service coming from the north. Most of the neighbors service came from the south, which ran under the WTC and had been destroyed. We were able to get back to work, which allowed me to start to get back to a sense of normalcy.

Of course, things were not normal. I had to go through a National Guard post to get to work everyday. Trucks with debris from the WTC drove past our storefront several times a day. There was an RV parked outside our office from Chunky Soups, they were donating food to the workers. There was also the stench from the burning site, a combined smell of burning plastic, metal, and things we didn't want to think about. Although the EPA had stated the air was safe to breathe, my boss came in one day with the independent test results that the PTA from his kid's school had contracted. Their recommendation: wear an N100 mask if you can spell the smoke. I wore a mask intermittently almost everyday for the 99 days that the towers burned.

NEW YORK, NY
SEPTEMBER 11, 2009
10:19AM
I'm watching the news coverage of the annual event at the WTC. The Reading of the Names started after a moment of silence at 8:46AM, and they are up to the letter K. It is absolutely heartbreaking seeing family members lose their composure when getting to the name of their loved one. The immensity of 2,819 deaths over the course of approximately 1 hour and 45 minutes is apparent is hearing this seemingly endless list. At the first anniversary of the attack, the NY Times ran a section with the photos of all the victims. Seeing page upon page of the black and white 1"x 1 1/2" photos had the same impact.

Its good to see that there has been progress on the building site. The steel structure for the memorial can be seen behind the stage, and I'm remembering back to the day this past year when I heard that what had been referred to as the Freedom Tower, would offically be called 1 World Trade Center. I think this was an important move of looking towards the future and what the site will become upon completion.

Time spent well

2009-09-02T10:12:00.000-07:00

As the unofficial end of summer arrives, I've been thinking about how I've spent my time this summer. I always feel the need to plan trips out of the city, but typically I get so caught up in what's going on in the city that it's hard to find time to leave. I don't want to miss out on anything. This summer I did have two events that compelled me to get out of the city - a wedding at Mass MoCA and a wedding in Maine. I also had the two week 'exile' when I had to take a furlough at work. Other than that, there was the day at the beach (well, that was technically still in the city, Staten Island), and two other trips in the past couple of weeks. The first of these trips was to Fire Island, the second was to Marshall's Creek, PA to go kayaking in the Delaware River.

FIRE ISLAND
AUGUST 24TH-25TH

While sailing on August 22nd on board Pioneer, talk turned towards Chey's upcoming week out in Kismet on Fire Island. I had Monday off, so we made a plan where I would join her out there for the day. Getting to Fire Island can be a bit of an ordeal - subway to LIRR to Ferry. It's fine if you time it right, but most of the time it takes at least 2 1/2 to 3 hours - but as soon as you step off the ferry onto the carless walkways, its worth it. This was the second time I've been out to Fire Island; the first time was 2 or 3 years ago with friends that had a share in Fair Harbor. Both times I've immediately had the feeling that I need to spend more time in this place. The absence of cars has a remarkable effect on my well being. The air is clean, both from the odor and the sound of combustion engines, and its immediately relaxing.

Chey and Ryan came out to meet me and direct me to the house. The arrangement of houses and wooden sidewalks can be confusing: nothing seems to be marked, and finding a place that you've never been to before can be difficult. They greeted me like people who've been at the beach for days even though they had just arrived the night before in what seemed to be a pretty frazzled arrival from what they told me when we were finally at the house. We had lunch, discussed the upcoming kayaking trip logistics, then Chey and I headed to the beach loaded with US Weekly, People, and books to balance out the trash.

The beach was mostly empty, and reminded me of the beaches down at the Outer Banks in North Carolina. Those beaches are expansive, and although there are rows upon rows of houses filled with happy vacationers, the beaches never seem crowded. We spent a couple of hours in the sun reading and napping. Around 5 or 6PM, we headed back to the house to have a cocktail, and think about what to make for dinner.

Dinner is a bit of an epicurean adventure. The deal with the house is that the people that are there on the weekend stock the pantry and fridge, and for the most part if you're there during the week, you can pull together a meal out of what is left over. We had chicken, portabello mushrooms, corn, and a salad mix. There was some honey and Grey Poupon, so I was able to make a marinade for the chicken, and although there was no balsamic vinegar, and very little olive oil, Chey was able to pull together the makings of grilled portabellos with the little olive oil we had and lemon juice to substitute for the vinegar. There was no butter for which there is no substitute, so Ryan went to go be neighborly and see if he could borrow from the neighbors (he was successful). It was a great meal, finished the evening off with drinks, a walk on the beach, and some episodes of the first season of Mad Men.

The next morning I dragged myself out of bed to catch the 7:25AM ferry back to the mainland. I was on the edge of calling in sick, but knew that I had a full week at work, and would pay for that lapse in judgement one way or another. On the ferry back, I vowed to somehow find a way to spend more time on this island next year. I've since spoken to my friend Amy who had the share in Fair Harbor, and may be able to get some time in her house next year.

MARSHALL'S CREEK, PA
AUGUST 30TH

Earlier in the summer, Emily had sent around a list of trips she wanted to make this summer. I think we succeed with two of them - one to the beach (Great Kills) and a kayaking trip out to the Delaware Water Gap.

We had a couple of scheduling issues, but Emily, Adam, Anilsa, and I got over to Staten Island to meet up with Tom. Tom is the only one of us with a car, and it is a lot easier to get from Manhattan to SI via ferry than it is to get to Manhattan from SI by car. Years ago, you used to be able to take your car on the ferry, but that was stopped years ago right after 9/11 due to security concerns. The ferry is also free.

After about an hour and a half of 'are we there yet' and 'are we still in New Jersey' questions from Emily, we arrived at Adventure Sports in Marshall's Creek, PA. There was some filling out of liability paperwork, some cash handed over for the kayaks, a safety speech, then we were on our way to the river. After another safety speech, the driver put our kayaks and canoes in the water, and we were on our way.

The water and hills surrounding the Delaware River are gorgeous. Emily was determined to get in the water as soon as possible, and she succeeded in doing that within five minutes of being on the water by trying to change out of her shorts in the kayak.

Lesson 1: Do not try to change out of your clothes in the kayak. It will only end in disaster, or at least you in the water and a puddle in your kayak that you just can't quite get rid of.

She was able to get over to the side of the river, and with the help of Adam and Anilsa, was able to get most of the water out of the kayak. This was a constant root of laughter throughout the trip as Emily was constantly adjusting the angle of her clothes that were trying to dry on the front of her (and eventually my) kayak.

The three hour trip down the river was a mix of paddling alone, floating in a group, and getting through the rapids. All in all, it was a good day.

When I returned to the city, I was later than I expected, and had to get over to Greenpoint to meet up with a group of friends at Doug and Naomi's for the inaugural OC: The Game match. Since none of us had watched the show in a while, we bent the rules to fit our needs. It was a great way to end the weekend, drinking champagne, playing a board game, and watching the OC after a fun day out of the city.

Lesson 2: I need to get out of the city more next summer.

The China Syndrome

2009-08-16T18:23:00.000-07:00

In 1987 when my grandmother died at the age of 91, my mother set aside part of her humble inheritance for my sisters and I that would be given to us upon our engagement as a gift from her, and put $500 in a CD for each of us. We were among the youngest of the grandchildren; I was a senior in high school with my sisters two years on either side of me, so none of us were close to marrying age. My grandmother had traditionally given five place settings from the betrothed couple's pattern of choice as a present, and my mother thought it would be proper to continue this tradition.

Over the years since, my sisters have readily complied with the tradition. My younger sister was the first to get married in 1999, and this is when we first found out about the gift which seemed to come from beyond the grave. It was a very tearful moment for my sister and my mom, and a reminder that this great lady was not around to experience her youngest grandchild being married off. This scene was repeated in 2006 when my older sister was married.

I for one have never been one for family tradition. In college, I did not join the masses of clicking heels pledging a sorority, I joined WUVT, the college radio station. I became a Democrat. I dyed my hair unnatural colors and would come home for break dressed like a 'refugee.' After college, I moved across country by train. I haven't owned a car since 1993.

I have remained unmarried, and the money in the CD has nearly tripled in the 22 years since it was deposited. Last Thanksgiving, my mother offered that I could cash in the CD when it matured next, and buy my own set of china. I had to tell her that I really did not want a set of china, and that I would like to use the money for something else. I believe it's a combination of having no use for two sets of dishes mixed with the practicality of living in a New York studio apartment and having no room for a special set of dishes. She was amenable to this until I told her what I preferred - a LeCorbusier LC4 Chaise Lounge.

My mother was not happy with me deciding on a piece of furniture. She told me that she didn't think that was appropriate, that I should maybe consider jewelry - another thing that I really had no use for, and would most likely only lose. She also reminded me that her name was also on the CD.

I knew I should have been clearer. This was not only a piece of furniture to me. Le Corbusier is one of the most influential architects of the 20th century. His furniture designs are classic and this was my favorite. It is one of the most comfortable chairs that I have ever sat in while still being elegant. It's perfect, and something I think is worthwhile to have in a home.

A couple of weeks ago, my extended family was once again getting together for a wedding, this time for my oldest cousin's youngest daughter. She and her fiance had decided to get married in Maine, so I had left the city early to go up to my parents' two nights before. The china conversation came up again, and I finally convinced my mother of the importance to me of the LC4. When I presented it as a work of art, and that the lounger was featured in the collection of the Museum of Modern Art, she saw the value in it.

I'm glad I won the battle. Unfortunately, my current apartment not only does not have room for china, it doesn't have room for any other furniture either. But someday.

Back in the saddle

2009-08-04T20:00:00.000-07:00

So after a three month hiatus, I'm back to looking on OKCupid.com, better known as shopping for dates. After the disappearance of date #12 back in April, I realized I was exhausted, and longed for a sense of normalcy in my life where I wasn't constantly focusing on how many dates I could get in one week, whether I would be kissed, and having a ticking time clock going the entire time, knowing if a date didn't hit the 120 minute mark, it wouldn't count. For a couple of those betting dates, things I'd rather have been doing with 120 minutes:

1. Seeing a movie.
2. Having drinks with friends.
3. Working (oh right. Those dates WERE work).
4. Rust busting with a needle gun.
5. Coloring my hair/doing laundry/vacuuming.

Some of you may know vacuuming is not something I love to do, although some of the other five were tasks I spend time doing after the bet was done. I enjoyed them. Especially the rust busting. Seriously, if you've never done it, there are very few things more satisfying than freeing a large expanse of metal from rust. Same goes for scraping paint with a heat gun. Lettie is now free of that awful Admiral Blue paint thanks partially to my efforts.

First there was a 33-year old recent graduate from an intense MBA two year program at Columbia. As a general rule I don't mix with MBA's; guys who work in investment banks don't appeal to me in the least. He seemed to have a more interesting pre-post-graduate life - he was a set designer - so I decided to give him a chance. There was a flurry of emails, he caught my interest, and even though one of his daily companions was a small dog, we set a date. I'm always wary of guys who live with a pet that is smaller than my cat. On the Friday that we were supposed to meet up, he emailed me wanting to postpone. Since I was dealing with a deadline at work, and was exhausted and not really in the mood to be pretty and charming, I agreed. There were a handful of emails that followed, and then, nothing.

A couple of weeks later I got an email from OKCupid.com saying I had a 4 or 5 star match with someone else on the site. He was a rare book appraiser for a small non-profit, had great taste in music, film, and books (not a big stretch), and was attractive. We met for drinks one night, which led to meeting again to go explore the High Line and more drinks and making out on a street corner at a subway entry. A third date was scheduled. I had my reservations , there were some things that just didn't click with me, but I put them out of my mind, wanting to be open to different types of people. I figured a third date wouldn't hurt. For the third date, we met up for dinner in my neighborhood. After dinner, I said good night. We made plans to meet up again a couple of days later, but that morning he texted saying he was hungover, and didn't think he would make it. This was at 11AM. We weren't going to meet up until 7PM. I set aside the distinct possibility that he was blowing me off. A couple of days later he confirmed what I had tried to put out of my mind: he'd decided to spend time with someone else. This wasn't a big surprise, nor was it in retrospect a big disappointment.

I have to applaud this guy for having the guts to do what a lot of guys (and girls, I have to admit) just can't quite drum up the courage to do when online connections just don't work out - be decent enough to reject someone, even if its over email. More times than not, guys just disappear without a word. In the past, I would endlessly wonder what happened to them. It would depend on what I knew about them, but some of the things I've considered have been:

The all too common falling off a cliff / under a bus / onto the subway tracks (morbid, I know).
His work piled up so high on his desk, that it fell over and buried him.
Deportation.
A rare case of amnesia.
A crashed server, loss of my email, phone number, and OKC account information.

Luckily, I don't really dwell on these things like I used to. That much pondering takes up way too much room in my thoughts, and its exhausting. I do occasionally wonder what happened to #12. He was genuinely busy with an insane work schedule, and when we just couldn't schedule that third date due to his work interruptions, I stopped making an effort towards getting him to see me again. After no contact for four months, on Saturday sometime between when I got up and when I needed to be down to catch Pioneer's lines at noon, I decided to send him an email to see what he was up to. I did not expect a response, I just needed to satisfy my own particular nagging question.

About an hour later, my Blackberry was blinking.

Exile in Fishkill

2009-08-04T18:46:00.000-07:00

I'm on day two of my self-imposed exile from New York City. Salem took the trip with me, mostly because I felt really guilty about any thoughts of leaving her in the apartment with very little ventilation while I spend two weeks up at my parents' house upstate, better known by some as The Compound. Granted, as my friend Doug pointed out years ago, its not an actual compound since there is only one residential structure on the property, but I do prefer Heidi and Carrie's reading of my parents' somewhat sizable house years ago. It's on an acre and a half of land up in the hills, surrounded by woods. It's used by me to get away from the city sometimes, therefore, it's a Compound.

Why the exile? you may ask. Well, as part of the latest non-layoff strategy by my firm, along with the 20% paycut, we all also had to take a two-week non-paid vacation/furlough/leave. Yes, it's a bit of a stretch, but everyone involved seems to be in agreement that this was the best for everyone. At this point, there are very few people left in the firm that can believe they are safe from getting laid off, and although this may be preventing the inevitable from happening - more layoffs in October - it gives the firm more time to evaluate what to do ITE (in this economy. Picked that up from Heidi). Anyway, I decided to spend my two weeks where I would spend no money - up in Fishkill.

As most places of exile, I'm taken away from my day to day life. There will be no sailing. There will be no chances to be the guest star of Chey's blog for two weeks. There is no easy access to gluten free eating. The local Walmart had no gluten free bread, although they did have the gluten free pasta that I would normally buy at Whole Foods. Nothing is within walking distance accept for Fishkill Farms, the local orchard. Even that's a stretch. Yes,that's right. I did just say I walked into a Walmart.

This has led to some strife, mostly between the two cats. Finn, my parents' cat, has been at some times at ease, some times looking totally fearful of his life. It may surprise some of you who have met Salem, but she's been the total neurotic New Yorker, growling anytime Finn comes within 10 feet of her. I guess living in a New York apartment, she really has not had anything farther away from her anyway. She immediately assumed the whole house as her own, and Finn is welcome nowhere. The poor thing is fearful no matter where he is. I really hope Salem calms down. There of course have been some joking comparisons to her owner's own assertive behavior and what she has learned from living with me. She's always such the zen cat down on Pearl Street. At any time, I'm expecting this to happen:

http://www.theonion.com/content/news/kitchen_floor_conflict_intensifies

Politics are another source of strife. Being a liberal leaning Democrat, it can be a challenge staying in a house where 90% of the time if the TV is on, Fox News is broadcasting, and there is right wing talk radio tuned in on the car radio. It's inescapable. Left on long enough, a familiar sinking, yet crushing, feeling in my chest, matched with an aching in my left shoulder lets me know that all of this really stresses me out. Luckily, the house is huge, although I can still hear some whispering from the TV twisting the great thing that President Clinton did today for those two women in North Korea into something awful, something that he only did for his own advantage.

This is what really bothers me about Fox News and the right wing talk radio. It's not that their viewpoint is a polar opposite of mine, it's the negativity towards the current administration, and the seething resentment of any opinion other than their own. There is also a bizarro world contrast in their reporting between now and the last eight years when Bush was in power. How on earth were those days all wine and roses, and now its all the world is basically coming to an end? It's all brought down to a junior high school level - everything is stupid. Democrats are accused of leaving their offices to go to the strip club instead of answering phone calls from these talking heads at 7PM. I brought up that as an example to my mother as to why I couldn't stand to listen to it anymore. Instead of having any intelligent debate about issues, they are resorting to juvenile accusations against the opposing side, and that the rhetoric is just so vile and negative. She told me to lighten up. I told her that if she was listening to a left wing radio show, and they were spewing similar crap against the GOP, she'd be offended. No response of course. This attack media is all ok as long as you agree with what they are saying. The extreme media is the reason for the great divide between opposing sides, they thrive off of people's anger.

I suppose exile can't be all good.

counterpoint

2009-07-13T16:44:00.000-07:00

So a friend sent this to me as a counterpoint to Battle of the (Toilet Room) Sexes. Text below is as per the original email, which someone forwarded to her.

MEN'S ROOM MURAL

Edge Designs is an all women run company that designs interior office spaces. They had a recent opportunity to do an office project in NYC.

The client allowed the women of this company a free hand in all design aspects. The client was also was a company that was also run by all women execs.

The result...well...we all know that men never talk, never look at each other...(I personally wouldn't know this) and never laugh much in the restroom...The men's room is a serious and quiet place...but now...with the addition of one mural on the wall...let's just say the men's restroom is a place of laughter and smiles.

End of email.

So I guess this is what happens when we get years and years of bad lighting and not enough mirrors and places to put our stuff.

recession hits home

2009-07-06T17:40:00.000-07:00

MONDAY, JULY 6TH
7:20PM
270 GREENWICH STREET, TRIBECA

I took my last trip to Whole Foods this evening for a while. Even when trying to be careful, I spent more than I thought I would just because products there are just not cheap. I know I'm going to have to try either The Associated or the PathMark nearby, even though the quality isn't as good as Whole Foods, it's more affordable.

Last Thursday started off as a good day. The day before a three day weekend, everyone seemed in a good mood in the office, looking forward to spending some time with friends and/or family, watching fireworks, eating hot dogs...in general, celebrating our country's Independence from the limeys. Then, we had an office meeting.

The partner's wanted to discuss the 'state of the office.' Oh no. Over the next few minutes came the bad news: everyone would need to take a 20% pay cut for the next three months. At least. Ouch. We would all also have to take two weeks off without pay in August. Again, ouch. I immediately starting thinking: OK, where can I cut costs?

1. As mentioned above, cheaper groceries.

2. Suspension of 401K contribution. Company is still contributing 3%. Sounds strange to some people, but I guess they want to maintain some things for morale.

3. Forbearance on student loans.

4. Sail more. I love being relief crew right now.

Other things like shopping for things I don't necessarily need will of course also be cut. As will my air conditioning (what I would give to live on a quiet street where I could actually open the windows. I'll have to live with fans). With this combination, I'll be able to make up the difference in my take home pay. That's the plan.

I remind myself that this is temporary, that once we're back to full time, I'll do things like pay extra on my loans to get back on track, and bump up my contribution to my 401K. When I first figured out the difference between my salary and my pay for the next three months - I admit, I gasped. 20% is pretty significant. However, even with the decrease, I'm making a pretty decent salary that I know I can survive on. That, I need to keep in mind.

I'm just hoping it doesn't get any worse.

Idea, Method, and Honesty

2009-06-24T17:58:00.000-07:00

Started this post late June, just getting around to finishing it. Sorry for the delay.

A couple of weeks ago, I traveled up at MASS MoCA for a wedding. My friend Meredith was marrying her boyfriend of 10 years, Andres. There's many places I would have traveled to in order to help them celebrate their wedding, but I was excited that I had a reason to go up to MASS MoCA.

MASS MoCA opened in 1999 on the site of a vast complex of 19th century factory buildings in North Adams, Massachusetts. They curate a range of shows, from student shows from William's College, a current show featuring Anselm Kiefer and Joseph Beuys, and a group show featuring Sam Taylor Wood and Pawel Wojtasik. The show I was most excited about was the Sol LeWitt retrospective.

Sol LeWitt has been one of my favorite artist since I first saw one of his pieces when on an architectural travel trip in college in 1991. His work was featured in a group show at CAPC, Musee D'Art Contemporain in Bordeaux, France. What struck me was the simplicity of his earliest works where the art is a set of instructions to be followed by anyone. His art was pure concept that could be installed anywhere. I really considered trying to install one in my apartment. Over the years anytime I've seen his work that feeling returns. This has been joined by appreciating the ephemeral aspects of his work once it's installed. Although the pieces installed at DIA Beacon are in one of their permanent galleries, the wall drawings at the Whitney were gone once the show ended.

The show at MASS MoCA is installed in a three story mill building, one floor each for his early, mid-career, and late work. The entire show will be there until 2033. Yes, that's right, a 25 year long installation. The show was installed over a period of six months by students from Williams College, students from Yale, and other art professionals from various colleges along with artists who had worked with Sol LeWitt over the last 25 years. My first thought while watching the installation video was 'what I would have given to have the opportunity to participate in this show.' Here are some other thoughts about selected works:

WALL DRAWING 51: ALL ARCHITECTURAL POINTS CONNECTED BY STRAIGHT LINES
http://www.massmoca.org/lewitt/walldrawing.php?id=51

This is one of his works that affects me the most. It is only one of the only works that changes drastically depending on where its installed. The number of openings in a wall affects the lines, if there are soffits, the work changes - it the work that is most influenced by architecture. It is also created by one of the most basic building tools - a chalk line.

WALL DRAWING 38: TISSUE PAPER CUT INTO 1 1/2" (4 CM) SQUARES AND INSERTED INTO HOLES IN THE GRAY PEGBOARD WALLS. ALL HOLES IN THE WALLS ARE FILLED RANDOMLY
http://www.massmoca.org/lewitt/walldrawing.php?id=38
This work appeals to my most anal side. All holes are the same size and spaced evenly. All paper to be inserted is cut to the same size. If any of you have seen the sewing on my ditty bag, you will know why I find an affinity to such precise work. I also enjoy the trickery where the rolls of paper appear to be straws all cut to the same size. The difference here between installations is the color pattern created by the grouping of straws.

WALL DRAWING 146A: ALL TWO-PART COMBINATIONS OF ARCS FROM CORNERS AND SIDES, AND STRAIGHT, NOT STRAIGHT, AND BROKEN LINES WITHIN A 36-INCH GRID (90 CM). WHITE CRAYON ON BLUE WALL
http://www.massmoca.org/lewitt/walldrawing.php?id=146A

There is a clarity of intention here. A curve or a line was assigned a number. The artist designed a grid, laying out the numbers, creating a play between curves, lines, and angles. And the blue is a fantastic background.

WALL DRAWINGS 822: A WALL DIVIDED HORIZONTALLY BY A CURVY LINE. THE TOP IS FLAT BLACK; THE BOTTOM IS GLOSSY BLACK.
http://www.massmoca.org/lewitt/walldrawing.php?id=822

A beautiful work of simplicity. One color, one continuous curve. The only difference is the texture of the paint above and below the curve. The black is oppressive, but with the light ceiling and the natural light flooding in from the windows, the space still feels open and dynamic due to the movement of the defining line between paint textures.

WALL DRAWING 1260 AND 1261: SCRIBBLES
http://www.massmoca.org/lewitt/walldrawing.php?id=1260
http://www.massmoca.org/lewitt/walldrawing.php?id=1261

These are two of his last works, and he never saw them installed. Although I'm saddened by the fact he never saw these two drawings realized, I think it speaks to the intent of his work that they are still successful although he never applied his own hand in them. These were both created with squiggly lines, placed in varying proximity to each other to create light and dark areas. These remind me of my own efforts with sketching with stippling in college. My own efforts were not nearly as fantastic, but I do have an appreciation for how much work goes into drawings like this.

Out of the three floors of installations, these six works had the biggest impression on me. I walked through the exhibit hours prior to the wedding, but it was upon the ceremony that the beauty of the work came through. One of the galleries was the backdrop for the wedding. I can't imagine a better setting.

Dreams and nightmares

2009-06-15T18:01:00.000-07:00

I know I always dream, but I don't always remember what I was dreaming about when I wake up. This morning was one of those that I did.

MONDAY, JUNE 15TH, 5 OR 6 AM OR SO
It was a summer day on the waterfront, and we were getting Pioneer ready for a day's sails. However, there was snow on the gangway and the float. One of those rare summer snowstorms, I reckon. So the first order of business was to clear the snow. Of course. The volunteers got out of their snow wear and stripped down to shorts and t-shirts since it was summer, and got down to work.

The boat was twice as big in my dream, and one could stand down below. For some reason, the bowsprit was accessed from there, and I had to chase a bunch of volunteers that were dressed as pirates and were just lazing about, as pirates are bound to do.

Since I was so busy corralling some volunteers to clean snow and others to just do something to prepare for the day's voyages, I had no time to do what I would normally be doing before we leave the float, like assign docklines. The captain starts calling for lines to be removed, and I end up doing all four. I then realize that the captain is Aaron - those of you who know the boat know that that just wouldn't happen these days.

We get off the dock, and I start to relax, and then Frank - who was mate - tells me that I better go get a handle on what's going on up on the bow. I look up, and there's about 15 volunteers up at the bow, all but two I don't recognize. I go forward to assess the situation. As I start assigning watches, telling most of them that they're off watch for now, the realization slowly creeps in that none of these people (other than Primoch and Crystal, the only two I knew) had never been on a boat before. No training sails, no drug test, and of course about half of them were crowded forward of the traveler bar, a place where non-trained, non-drug tested volunteers are not to go.

I start to get frustrated with them, telling them that they are basically of no use to me without having been on a training sail. One woman whips out the sail training manual, shaking it at me, and asking me to tell her where that is stated in the manual that two training sails and a drug test are required to work public sails. No telling where she got it since she hadn't been on one, and had not talked to the coordinator.

Then I woke up. It didn't take long to start wondering what in the hell was going on with that dream. Although the indignant volunteers who knew nothing may have been inspired by some of the people that were sitting in front of me during my flight back from California last night.

I rarely have illogical dreams like this, although they are the most fun to think about. When I was younger, probably around 6 or 7 years old, I used to have a reoccuring dream, where Abbot and Costello had taken on the form of Humpty Dumpty, and would just chase me endlessly. Try to explain that one. Although it could have been prompted by this:

Yeah, my sister's and I were big fans of Scooby-Doo.

Typically my bad dreams are more of the garden variety work/family/friend anxiety dreams that have no bearing in real life. Occasionally, these dreams can seem so real. There are also the dreams, usually not bad or good, about people that are no longer in my life. The dream will be more like a film clip of something that happened, sometimes the facts have changed, or things happen in a different order, or sometimes its something i wish had happened or had been said. The worst of these result in waking with a hollow feeling of really missing the guest star.

Ah, my first love

2009-06-01T17:02:00.000-07:00

A man's Self is the sum total of all that he can call his.
--William James, 1890

This quote strikes me as speaking directly to American consumerism. I'll admit, I'm not immune to it. As some of you may know, I have a shoe collection. For serious collectors, its a modest collection (46 at current count), but its still obvious when standing in my apartment. Yes, some are strewn around the studio floor, but its in looking at the shelving unit separating the 'living space' from the 'sleeping space' (those of you who live in NYC studios know what I'm talking about) that one becomes aware. Four out of the twelve shelves are taken up by either shoe boxes or loose pairs.

I blame (or credit) my mother for what some may call a problem? an obsession? a worthwhile investment? Growing up, every year my mother would take my two sisters and I shoe shopping. Being a very pragmatic woman, shoe shopping with her as a child was about 180 degrees from shoe shopping as the adult me. Shoe shopping would consist of replacing the oxblood oxfords that were good for growing feet. Sometimes we could break out and get some sensible Mary Janes. See Buster Brown ad to the left.

On one of these trips, I saw something different. I saw what I wanted. I imagined wearing them all the time. They were a pair of turquoise blue, patent leather, Mary Janes. Three straps, fastened with snaps. To my eight year old self, these were the height of fashion. I brought over the sample shoe to my mother and told her that I wanted to try them on. She shot me down, and listed the reasons as to why these were not a proper purchase. These reasons, I don't remember. I do remember the shoes.

I think I was in college when I bought my first pair of shoes with my own money. It was in Georgetown, and I bought my first pair of Dr. Martens. Funny enough, they were oxblood in color. They were 8-eyelet boots. I wore them all through college, and they moved with me to San Francisco. I think they eventually fell apart.

My latest pair I got at DSW a couple of days ago. They are a pair of 3" high Calvin Klein silver wedges. Two straps, one across the toes, one across the front of the ankle. The wedge is a stacked wooded heel, the sole is lined with a beige linen which has a silver thread woven through it, and is a lovely contrast with the thick silver straps.

Over the span of 20 years, that's quite a lot of shoes, and quite an evolution. Below are the stories of some of my favorites.

FLUEVOG
VARIOUS STYLES ACQUIRED: 1995-1999
I discovered Fluevog's while living in San Francisco. Although all Fluevog's are all distinctive, there share a quality of craftsmanship that is somewhat unparalleled. On a lot of their models, the detailing goes right to the sole, where there would be a design that could be left behind you (Campers seem to have followed in this tradition). I've had three pairs. Fluevog's have a following, and Firefly, a great shoe store down in Raleigh (unfortunately, RIP) curated an exhibit at their store in 2007 of previous shoes, collected from their customers. I didn't have time to send mine in, but I sent photos.

The first pair I owned were a gift from my friend Jody. He got them at Villains on Haight Street. I had seen them when we were out shopping one day, and he picked them up for my birthday. I loved the big buckle! They reminded me of pilgrim shoes, or what we were told the footwear of the pilgrims looked like. I wore these a lot when I lived in San Francisco.

The second pair I bought were also purchased at Villains. This place always had a great sale going on, and they always seemed to have my size. My friend Heidi had recently gotten a similar pair, and when I saw her's, I was immediately envious of her purchase. They were very baroque looking, and her's were baby pink patent leather. I walked into Villains one day, and there they were, the same style in lime green suede. In my size. I bought them without question.

The third pair I bought here. It was right before the Millennium, and Heidi and I were hosting a New Year's Eve party. There was still an air of not knowing if all computer systems were going to shut down, and what would happen at the chime of midnight. Would we return to the dark ages? Would we dance to Prince and just forget about it all? I think most people thought if there were any glitches, we'd just have a couple of leisurely days off before the computer geniuses figured it all out, and life returned to normal. I for one, was looking for a unique pair of shoes to go with my black dress. I immediately headed to the Fluevog store on Prince Street. I'm looking, I'm looking, and then I spot a great pair. Leather strappy sandals on wooden platforms like geisha shoes. Perfect for a December/January party, at least one that you were hosting, and didn't have to leave the house. Midnight passed without incident, and I still have these shoes.

PRADA, WEDGE HEELED ANKLE BOOTS
ACQUIRED BARNEY'S WAREHOUSE SALE, WINTER 1999
I had just moved to New York to attend Columbia for Grad School the previous summer, and this was the first time I went to the annual Barney's sale. Bernardo and I had made a plan to go, he wanted to get a suit (Prada or Hugo Boss) and I went just to see the crazy atmosphere. I had heard stories of no dressing rooms, women disrobing in the middle of aisles to try on the discounted wares. After walking through the rows and rows of clothes, nothing really catching my eye, I headed for the shoes, aisle of size 9. I couldn't believe it. There they were, a pair of Prada boots that I'd seen, probably in Vogue. They were marked down to $100 from $500. I tried them on - they fit. I've worn them only a couple of times, but still consider them one of the most beautiful pairs I've ever bought (they are a perfect example of the ridiculous adage that you have to suffer for fashion). The silky fabric, the line of the heel is a work of art. Bernardo didn't find a suit at the sale, so we headed down to Century 21. He found something proper and met his goal for the day, then we went to Windows on the World to end the day with drinks, something that unfortunately cannot be done anymore. I hold on to this pair for the memory of that day that they were purchased, and that time in my life.

MARC BY MARC JACOBS RUST COLORED SUEDE BOOTS ACQUIRED 2004
Overall, these are my favorite from the collection. The color and texture are amazing, and they make me really tall. They have a 4-inch stacked wooden heel, and cowboy boot details. To the left is a photo of me in the boots, rocking out during the company office party. My decision to buy these are murky, but I do believe it was done with the help of Carrie, otherwise known as The Enabler. These boots were going to stretch my budget, and there were questions raised, such as, "Will you regret not buying them? Will you always remember pining for them?" This line of questioning recalled my thoughts of the turquoise patent leather shoes of my childhood. I did not want to remember passing these by in my 60's.

These boots also have a certain power to them. These boots have brought a man to his knees. They have also made another man carry me for a couple of blocks since my feet were killing me. Sometimes, power is good.

I know that there are some of you out there scoffing at what you see as frivolity. You're allowed. Do I need these shoes? No. I'm well aware that no one needs nearly 50 pairs of shoes (give me to the end of the year, I may get there). In grad school while helping me move, friends called me Imelda. We all know who they were referring to. Out of all the excesses of Marcos - the second palace, the office tower in Manhattan, the charges of vote buying and election fraud, the ordering of martial law...what is remembered is the 2,700 pairs of shoes that had their own room. There's something about owning more shoes than you need that smacks of excess to some. I'm not going to claim that all my shoes have meaning, but there are a lot of them that carry a memory for me and are part of my history.

Role Model

2009-05-27T18:53:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about role models lately, and how they can impact our lives and make us rethink things. I'm not talking about supposed entertainment role models, like, let's say Michael Vick, who gets lumped into being a sports role model just because his natural abilities led to making a lot of money which led to running a dog fighting ring which led to jail. Oops.

I'm talking about average people. I'm talking about someone like Debbie Smith.

"Who?" you're thinking. Well let me backtrack for a while.

APRIL 29, 2009
It was a bit slow at work, so I was doing my usual checking of my favorite websites: gofugyourself.com, facebook.com, chey's blog, nytimes.com. I scan over the op-ed titles, and there is Nicholas Kristof's column, with the title, "Is Rape Serious?" A chill went through me. I felt frozen. Then I felt angry - who the hell does this NY Times guy think he is? Of course, Kristof has a knack for titling his columns pretty provocatively - see today's, "Would You Slap Your Father? If So, You're a Liberal." How could you not read it?

So I read it (well, both the columns, but we're talking about April 29th). It was about the backlog of rape kits in this country, mostly concentrating on LA county. At the time of a Human Rights Watch account of the problem, there were 12,669 rape kits sitting in police storage facilities in LA county alone - 450 of which had been untouched in 10 years. After the crime itself, then being brave enough to suffer through the process of having a rape kit done, the fact that police departments let the evidence sit on shelves is beyond insulting. Why? There is talk of cost, the difficulty of prosecution (no one wants to argue a he said/she said case), and the questioning of the victims credibility.

Here's the article: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/30/opinion/30kristof.html?_r=1
Link to the HRW report: http://www.hrw.org/en/reports/2009/03/31/testing-justice-0

This is not the case in New York City. In 1999, Howard Safir, the Police Commissioner at the time, was frustrated with the rape kit backlog in the city. He helped found the Rape Evidence Project which raised private funds to get rid of the backlog. New York City cleared all 16,000 of its outstanding rape kits by 2003, and has not had a backlog since.

But that's just New York City. Human Rights Watch estimated that there were 500,000 nationwide in 2002, up from 180,000 in 1999.

That was before Debbie Smith. Debbie Smith was a rape victim who was kidnapped from her home. Her attacker threatened to come back and kill her if she reported the crime. She first found the strength to ignore his threats and reported the rape (her husband was a police officer), and submitted to a rape kit. It sat in storage for six and a half years. During that time, she lived in fear and was suicidal, not knowing of course that the rapist was sitting in jail after having been arrested a couple of months after the rape for an unrelated crime.

After the kit was tested, her rapist was convicted. This was not the end for Debbie though. She decided after the ordeal to lobby for nationwide DNA-matching technology. She testified in front of Congress and worked with Caroline Maloney who was working on anti-rape legislation at the time. In November 2004, the Debbie Smith Act was passed which provided federal funding to deal with the nationwide epidemic of the rape kit backlog. The funding has been renewed, with new funds totaling $151 million for 2009.

Unfortunately, even with the funding, there is still a backlog. Most of the focus is on LA County and the City of Los Angeles, but they are not alone in their negligence on this issue. That's a whole different blog entry.

Back to Debbie Smith and her role model-ness. I admire this woman for coming forward although she was threatened. I admire her for going through having a rape kit performed, although it is an invasive process. Mostly, I admire her for this: she did not remain quiet after her case was closed, she continued to fight for other women who may end up in the same devastating situation, and she continues to fight. Although I still think we're a long way off, her efforts may help ease the stigma of this crime for women.

The battle of the (toilet room) sexes

2009-05-12T16:43:00.000-07:00

The project I'm currently working on is mostly an infrastructure improvement project, so there are very few design opportunities. One of these is the public restrooms. I know, you're thinking bathrooms? Really? Well, yes. The bathrooms are the one area of the museum other than the admissions desk (yes! another design opportunity) that most of the public will visit.

So after a week full of meetings where I have very little time in the office, I come in, and one of my co-workers is drafting up a design of the women's room sketched by the partner we're working with. I look at it, absorb what his intent is, and a slow creeping feeling of dread soaks in.

There is fluorescent lighting.
There are individual mirrors in lieu of a continuous wall mirror.
There are no purse shelves.
There is a very twee looking wavy counter.
There are custom made trash receptacles that stick out past the curvy counter that I'm sure will result in bruises right at the hip bone.

Its all enough to make me wonder if he hates women.

About commercial/public restroom design: from the complaints I've gotten from women about the bathrooms that they use on a daily basis, my guess is that most of these spaces are designed by men. The bathroom in my office, for example, has multiple design flaws (yes, it was designed by the partner I'm working with). The lighting not only is fluorescent, its mounted to the wall above the mirrors in a way that the light level is diminished if you lean in close to the mirror. There are individual mirrors in front of the sinks, so if someone is adjusting her makeup (or just checking themselves out, playing with their hair) you can't get to a sink. There's also nowhere to put a purse or even a make-up bag.

I sat down with my boss to discuss the design, and to try to get him to relent on some on the things that I saw a problem with. After having to pull the 'well, as someone who happens to use a women's restroom everyday' card while discussing why I thought some things were problematic, he wouldn't budge. He did however, propose that I come up with a different design, and we'd present both options to the client group.

DESIGN SHOWDOWN, APRIL 28TH, 10AM
During one of our bi-monthy meetings, we presented both designs. My boss smugly asked me to explain some of the differences between the two designs. I took on one of the more critical differences, the opposite approaches to the mirror. When I explained that a continuous wall mirror allows someone to use the mirror without blocking a sink, all the women in the room exclaimed, "Oh!" They may as well have hit their palm against their forehead.

This is not rocket science.

In the end, the layout has incorporated ideas from both designs. The client group preferred the wavy counter. The fluorescent lights have been concealed in a cove construction, and we're adding incandencent lights above the sinks. We've incorporated purse shelves at each end of the counter. We're still waiting to hear back from them about the mirrors - some of the women get the idea behind the continuous mirror, but feel that it's too much reflection (wait until there's an event at the museum and you've got women competing for mirror space, that's what I say). We have added additional mirrors elsewhere in the bathroom to compensate.

The alphabet of dating

2009-05-03T12:38:00.000-07:00

In response to Chey's post - "a rolodex of blooming lust." Thanks for the inspiration. Here's my own list of rules (some of which are repeats from Chey's list and not all of which I've learned from myself. I'll let you guess which ones), or things I've learned along the way.

A is for answer. If someone you're dating won't give you a straight-up answer to your questions, they're lying about something. Especially if they can't look you in the eye.

B is for baby-sit. This may be how you feel if you date someone who was born when you were in high school. I've heard of some people using the formula: your age/2 +7 = the minimum age of possible dating candidates. This would be 27 for me. 13 years younger? I thought I was pushing it with 11 years younger with the guy I dated in the fall.

C is for cabfare. Always carry enough to get yourself home. That way, if some date that you really can't wait to get away from offers you a ride or a walk home, you have an escape plan.

D is for dog. Although its not true of all guys, guys with dogs are usually good. There is always the chance however that they will be more committed to the dog than to you.

E is for ex-wife. If a guy has anger issues regarding his ex-wife, or if he still refers to her as his wife, stay away.

F is for funny. Its important to have a sense of humor.

G is for girlfriend. Don't get involved with someone who already has one. This goes without saying that it applies to 'wife' also. They will rarely ever leave the person they're already involved with, and you'll only feel unfulfilled.

H is for homophobe. Stay away from anyone who doesn't have respect for other's sexual choices. Chances are this is just the tip of the iceberg of his intolerance.

I is for intuition. Always be prepared with an excuse to leave if you get a bad feeling about someone.

J is for jail. Don't date someone who's been there. Or has warrants out for his arrest, especially if they are in more than one state.

K is for keeping one's cool. If you run into an ex, and he knows how to push your buttons, don't let him. You're only giving him what he wants. For whatever reason, it makes him feel good to see you get angry or upset.

L is for love. Its what we all want, right?

M is for money. Don't lend it to someone you're not on the greatest terms with and think that you'll ever see it again.

N is for name. Don't sleep with someone who's name you don't know.

O is for optimism. Try to stay positive even after someone breaks your heart. Negativity and wallowing in self pity will get you nowhere.

P is for pair. If you're happy in a relationship, great. But for the sake of everyone around you, keep some of your autonomy. You're still an individual.

Q is for quiz. If someone you're dating feels like they have to question the state of the relationship every month, its probably time to get out of it. Especially if its the first couple of months.

R is for racist. If a first date exhibits this sort of behavior, run. Similar to entry for H.

S is for stalking. Don't do this, either actually or virtually. You'll either find out too much about a person too soon or if the person finds out, they will freak out. Or both.

T is for talk. as in communication. This is a good thing.

U is for ultimatum. If someone gives you one, seriously consider walking away. It probably won't be the last one.

V is for variety. Try dating a variety of men. Especially if 'your type' isn't exactly working for you.

W is for warn. If a friend warns you about a guy, he or she is probably right. Whether or not you really want to tell them to butt out of your life.

X is for xebec. Don't date one of these.

Y is for yellow. Unless you're into it, don't let someone pee on you. Although the thought of that always makes me think of Stranger than Candy.

Z is for zoo. Be careful of guys who treat you like a rare bird they've discovered in a zoo. They will be disappointed when you prove to be an actual person.