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.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Friday, September 25, 2009
Deciding upon fruit
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.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Blue sky memories
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Time spent well
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.
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.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
The China Syndrome
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Back in the saddle
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:
About an hour later, my Blackberry was blinking.
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.
About an hour later, my Blackberry was blinking.
Exile in Fishkill
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.
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.
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