Ohhhhhh, break, how I have longed for thee. I'm off to go snowboarding and celebrate 2007 in style. Posting to resume in January.
Have a safe and happy holiday and New Year!
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Robe and slippers
I had been looking forward to Saturday for months -- it was BFF Hanukkah/Christmas spa extravaganza! M and I had been trying to plan a day at the spa for a year (not even kidding) but both of us kept procrastinating. Finally, around Thanksgiving she asked me if I wanted to do a day at the Spa for the holidays this year. It was the perfect solution.
We chose the Elizabeth Arden Red Door Spa because I'd been to the one in Darien (Conn.) and enjoyed it. The spa's flagship is on 5th Ave. and it seemed like the perfect day -- spa, then shopping. I called and made the reservations for both of us. The best part was at the end of the call when the attendant confirmed our reservations. "Make sure you show up at least 15 minutes early," she said, "for robe and slippers." Ah, robe and slippers. It sounded so nice! Also loaded in there -- not having to worry about anything because we were about to get pampered.
The weather had other ideas however. Saturday was cold, windy and generally nasty. The kind of day when you don't want to leave home. I was awoken unceremoniously at 7:30 AM by my upstairs neighbor. Someone set their vibrating cellphone on the floor as an alarm, and it went off three different times in the span of 15 minutes. There was no getting back to sleep after that. It dumped me straight into a grumpy mood. That didn't mean I wanted to get out of bed though. I think I stayed there until noon.
Finally I got up and readied myself. At 1:30, I left so I could make it to the spa by 2. I took the 6 to 51st St and transferred to the E. That dropped me off at 53rd at 5th, less than a block away. I knew to look for a big red door (the spa's entrance) but unfortunately for me I came out on the same corner as the spa door and could not see it behind me. In a comedy of errors, I walked a block in either direction on 5th Ave, then hit three of the corners at 54th. I finally called the spa (their advice? Look for the big red door -- thanks.) and was able to figure out where to go by naming the stores on each corner. For the record, it's on the northeast corner of the block.
I also called M and told her my dilemma. From across the street, I saw her waving frantically at me. I waved back and crossed. I got to the big red door and pushed. It didn't open. What the hell? I pushed again...then I realized it was a pull. Ah. Did I mention I really needed a spa day?
Inside, M and I hugged and squealed, and then made our way to the 9th floor. We checked in -- she was getting a massage and a pedicure while I signed up for a massage and a facial. After checking in we were told to change into robe and slippers.
M and I had been debating how many layers we needed to take off -- down to skivvies? Bra yes or no? Nothing at all? I sheepishly asked an attendant. The verdict was skivvies only, but I kept my bra on for comfort. The attendant took our clothes and gave us a coat check-style medallion.
Since we were a bit early, they told us to go into the relaxation room to wait for our masseuses. The room was quite nice but there were two teenage Chatty Cathys in there that made my eyes roll into the back of my head. Blah de blah blah blah aaaahhhhh! Shut up shut up shut up, my look said to M, who laughed. Robe and slippers, I kept telling myself, robe and slippers. There was also some woman who was wound up more tightly than I was. I guess her appointment was running very late and she did not look happy. So much for relaxation.
A couple of minutes later M and I were whisked away separately to our massage rooms. I don't know why but I was kind of nervous. I shouldn't have been though because it was wonderful. The room smelled like eucalyptus and the lights were very low. New agey music was playing. My masseuse told me to disrobe and get in between several layers of sheets and towels on the table. He stepped outside while I did. I guess I wasn't listening very well because when he came back in I was in the wrong layer. He stepped out again and I righted myself -- above the blue towel, below the sheet. OK.
During my massage, I never feel asleep but I felt very relaxed for most of it. I was a bit self conscious about a stranger seeing nearly everything, but I got over it. I tried hard to suppress it, but I giggled when he was massaging my feet. By the end, I couldn't believe it had been 55 minutes.
Next I went down to the 8th floor for my facial. The masseuse guided me to the waiting room and told me to drink some water, which I did. Then my facial consultant came out to get me. She was awesome! She had developed some of the products in the Elizabeth Arden facial line, including this awesome mask she used on me that smelled like papaya. I told her it reminded me of my trip to Hawaii earlier this year. Before the mask was my glycolic peel. First she asked me why I wanted one. I wanted one because my chin has been breaking out something awful since I moved into the city. And I do not usually break out.
She told me that breakouts on my chin are caused by hormones. Forehead breakouts are caused by digestion she said, and middle of the face by stress. Interesting. In any event, since it was my first time she used a low concentration of the peel. Glycolic peels are one of the gentle peels anyway -- they shouldn't really burn. Since they are not licensed dermatologists, the spa has to use a less potent solution. She cleansed my face, and then put the peel on.
"Tell me when the burning feels like a 3 out of 5," she said. "And I will fan you." Except I never got to a 3. The peel didn't hurt at all. It just kind of tingled. She had a timer going and when it was done, she took the peel off and then put a cool towel on my face. Then came the mask -- oh my lord it was heaven. It smelled good and felt good. She left the mask on for 20 minutes and I nearly fell asleep again.
When time was up, she washed the mask off (aww) and then moisturized. She recommended some products for me but I didn't buy any. Maybe I'll go back for the mask sometime. After the facial was done I thought M and I would meet up but I was running a bit ahead of schedule and she was a bit behind. Every facial comes with a complimentary makeup touch-up. It was hysterical -- I looked like a space alien when they first put on my foundation. Then the artist tried lining my lower lid, but my eyes kept tearing. She wasn't exactly gentle, either. My top eyelid ended up heavily lined and when I was done I looked...odd. Sort of like when I was on the campus TV station in college, except with lighter eyeshadow. The liner was really thick. I couldn't stop looking at myself and laughing.
Still no sign on M, so I went back up to the 9th floor and grudgingly changed out of robe and slippers. I paid, and then went back down to the 8th floor to wait. She came out of the second elevator right as I excited the first. I waited while she got her makeup done (she came out looking similarly silly, we laughed at each other). Then I waited while she changed and paid.
Neither of us felt much like shopping and her boyfriend was meeting her not too much later anyway. So we said our goodbyes. I went home, incredibly overdressed to play videogames and chat on the phone.
We chose the Elizabeth Arden Red Door Spa because I'd been to the one in Darien (Conn.) and enjoyed it. The spa's flagship is on 5th Ave. and it seemed like the perfect day -- spa, then shopping. I called and made the reservations for both of us. The best part was at the end of the call when the attendant confirmed our reservations. "Make sure you show up at least 15 minutes early," she said, "for robe and slippers." Ah, robe and slippers. It sounded so nice! Also loaded in there -- not having to worry about anything because we were about to get pampered.
The weather had other ideas however. Saturday was cold, windy and generally nasty. The kind of day when you don't want to leave home. I was awoken unceremoniously at 7:30 AM by my upstairs neighbor. Someone set their vibrating cellphone on the floor as an alarm, and it went off three different times in the span of 15 minutes. There was no getting back to sleep after that. It dumped me straight into a grumpy mood. That didn't mean I wanted to get out of bed though. I think I stayed there until noon.
Finally I got up and readied myself. At 1:30, I left so I could make it to the spa by 2. I took the 6 to 51st St and transferred to the E. That dropped me off at 53rd at 5th, less than a block away. I knew to look for a big red door (the spa's entrance) but unfortunately for me I came out on the same corner as the spa door and could not see it behind me. In a comedy of errors, I walked a block in either direction on 5th Ave, then hit three of the corners at 54th. I finally called the spa (their advice? Look for the big red door -- thanks.) and was able to figure out where to go by naming the stores on each corner. For the record, it's on the northeast corner of the block.
I also called M and told her my dilemma. From across the street, I saw her waving frantically at me. I waved back and crossed. I got to the big red door and pushed. It didn't open. What the hell? I pushed again...then I realized it was a pull. Ah. Did I mention I really needed a spa day?
Inside, M and I hugged and squealed, and then made our way to the 9th floor. We checked in -- she was getting a massage and a pedicure while I signed up for a massage and a facial. After checking in we were told to change into robe and slippers.
M and I had been debating how many layers we needed to take off -- down to skivvies? Bra yes or no? Nothing at all? I sheepishly asked an attendant. The verdict was skivvies only, but I kept my bra on for comfort. The attendant took our clothes and gave us a coat check-style medallion.
Since we were a bit early, they told us to go into the relaxation room to wait for our masseuses. The room was quite nice but there were two teenage Chatty Cathys in there that made my eyes roll into the back of my head. Blah de blah blah blah aaaahhhhh! Shut up shut up shut up, my look said to M, who laughed. Robe and slippers, I kept telling myself, robe and slippers. There was also some woman who was wound up more tightly than I was. I guess her appointment was running very late and she did not look happy. So much for relaxation.
A couple of minutes later M and I were whisked away separately to our massage rooms. I don't know why but I was kind of nervous. I shouldn't have been though because it was wonderful. The room smelled like eucalyptus and the lights were very low. New agey music was playing. My masseuse told me to disrobe and get in between several layers of sheets and towels on the table. He stepped outside while I did. I guess I wasn't listening very well because when he came back in I was in the wrong layer. He stepped out again and I righted myself -- above the blue towel, below the sheet. OK.
During my massage, I never feel asleep but I felt very relaxed for most of it. I was a bit self conscious about a stranger seeing nearly everything, but I got over it. I tried hard to suppress it, but I giggled when he was massaging my feet. By the end, I couldn't believe it had been 55 minutes.
Next I went down to the 8th floor for my facial. The masseuse guided me to the waiting room and told me to drink some water, which I did. Then my facial consultant came out to get me. She was awesome! She had developed some of the products in the Elizabeth Arden facial line, including this awesome mask she used on me that smelled like papaya. I told her it reminded me of my trip to Hawaii earlier this year. Before the mask was my glycolic peel. First she asked me why I wanted one. I wanted one because my chin has been breaking out something awful since I moved into the city. And I do not usually break out.
She told me that breakouts on my chin are caused by hormones. Forehead breakouts are caused by digestion she said, and middle of the face by stress. Interesting. In any event, since it was my first time she used a low concentration of the peel. Glycolic peels are one of the gentle peels anyway -- they shouldn't really burn. Since they are not licensed dermatologists, the spa has to use a less potent solution. She cleansed my face, and then put the peel on.
"Tell me when the burning feels like a 3 out of 5," she said. "And I will fan you." Except I never got to a 3. The peel didn't hurt at all. It just kind of tingled. She had a timer going and when it was done, she took the peel off and then put a cool towel on my face. Then came the mask -- oh my lord it was heaven. It smelled good and felt good. She left the mask on for 20 minutes and I nearly fell asleep again.
When time was up, she washed the mask off (aww) and then moisturized. She recommended some products for me but I didn't buy any. Maybe I'll go back for the mask sometime. After the facial was done I thought M and I would meet up but I was running a bit ahead of schedule and she was a bit behind. Every facial comes with a complimentary makeup touch-up. It was hysterical -- I looked like a space alien when they first put on my foundation. Then the artist tried lining my lower lid, but my eyes kept tearing. She wasn't exactly gentle, either. My top eyelid ended up heavily lined and when I was done I looked...odd. Sort of like when I was on the campus TV station in college, except with lighter eyeshadow. The liner was really thick. I couldn't stop looking at myself and laughing.
Still no sign on M, so I went back up to the 9th floor and grudgingly changed out of robe and slippers. I paid, and then went back down to the 8th floor to wait. She came out of the second elevator right as I excited the first. I waited while she got her makeup done (she came out looking similarly silly, we laughed at each other). Then I waited while she changed and paid.
Neither of us felt much like shopping and her boyfriend was meeting her not too much later anyway. So we said our goodbyes. I went home, incredibly overdressed to play videogames and chat on the phone.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Ah, those only in New York moments
For all my poetic spouting about food yesterday, come dinner all I wanted was Wendy's. It's those damn red wig commercials. After work I swung by their location on 23rd St, or what used to be their location. The windows were covered by taped up cardboard and no one was home. I'd missed my chance by a few weeks it appeared.
Disappointed but not defeated, I stopped by my apartment and decided to walk to McDonalds instead. Fast food, dammit!, my tummy and thighs said. Cellulite be damned! To feel semi-healthy, I walked to their location in the 80s. I ordered a 6-piece nugget and fries meal, but somehow through a combination of cash register and payment errors I walked out with a 10 piece meal and a large fries. Ugh.
I decided to take an alternate route home for a change of pace -- I walked down 2nd Ave instead of 3rd. Though it is bad practice (and very dangerous, ladies) I always walk with my headphones on and music playing. Walking is my escape time. Since it was so cold out the foot traffic was kind of light. I had been walking in a small pack but broke off from them to get down to 2nd Ave from 3rd.
About halfway down the block, I started to get that creepy I'm-being-followed-WTF feeling. Someone is pretty much always following you in New York but not like this. It had a menacing vibe to it. My street-smarts turned on and I checked my periphery for any other pedestrians but none were around. The block was pretty much devoid of traffic too -- not a good sign.
I shut my MP3 player off so I could hear the sound from behind -- it only sounded like person. I crossed the street mid-block but to my horror my stalker followed. I noticed the man following me wasn't being quiet...he was singing. "Barracuda" to be exact. What the hell? Had he just come from a karaoke bar? Was he reliving a round of Guitar Hero III?
Last resort time -- my fingers clutched the pepper spray I always carry in my pocket and took off the cap. I felt a tap on my shoulder (real or imagined? Who knows?) I stopped, wheeled around and came face to face with the man, who had definitely been close enough to grab me from behind. I stood up on my heels and tried to make myself look as intimidating as possible. I don't know why, but I growled at him and told him to back the fuck off.
It worked, because he shrunk back and asked me if I could spare some of my food. Good lord. I realized he was disturbed and possibly homeless. Deciding he wasn't much of a physical threat, I reached into my bag (still clutching the pepper spray with my other hand since you never know) and gave him most of my fries. Then I growled at him to stay the hell away from me. He ran away in response.
My heart pounding, I finally made it 2nd Ave, which had plenty of people on it. I walked as quickly as I could for a few blocks before determining I was safe. The whole thing was unreal. I had been so lost in my music. I made it out of a bad situation unharmed, thank God. Lesson learned.
Nothing nearly as exciting this morning, but I did have another OINY (only in New York) moment. I was running late and pleasantly surprised when a 6 train was waiting for me in the station. I trotted into a car, where we waited. And waited. And waited.
Finally, an MTA worker came by our car and asked if anyone had seen a bag without an owner laying around. A woman on the platform said she had, and the worker plucked it from the car behind us. Next thing we know the conductor announced that the train had to emptied. Thanks to the "If you see something, say something" campaign policy, the train had to be emptied and searched by the police. People moaned and groaned but I have to say I wasn't too upset. I'd much rather be safe than sorry.
The only part that made me mad was that a woman who got off the train last rudely leaned against me while we waited for the train to leave. Seriously, she couldn't move over an inch? She had to be in the exact same spot as me? Stubbornly, I refused to move. I'd gotten there first. Fuck it.
The empty train departed the station a couple of minutes later and another 6 arrived right behind it. NYC commuters know exactly where the doors will open at the stations even when the floors aren't marked, so everyone was crowded around the door positions. But the new 6 train stopped a little off the mark. The woman who had been leaning against me just had to be first on and pushed to the right so she could be first on. She forced her way so harshly that she knocked over a man, who was reading a newspaper and not paying attention. He was thrown foward and hit his head against the car. She then pushed a woman, who in turn knocked over her young child. The kid started crying. Poor thing. For all the commotion, she still wasn't first on the car. She was second.
And yet somehow, we all made it to our final destinations. Amazing.
Disappointed but not defeated, I stopped by my apartment and decided to walk to McDonalds instead. Fast food, dammit!, my tummy and thighs said. Cellulite be damned! To feel semi-healthy, I walked to their location in the 80s. I ordered a 6-piece nugget and fries meal, but somehow through a combination of cash register and payment errors I walked out with a 10 piece meal and a large fries. Ugh.
I decided to take an alternate route home for a change of pace -- I walked down 2nd Ave instead of 3rd. Though it is bad practice (and very dangerous, ladies) I always walk with my headphones on and music playing. Walking is my escape time. Since it was so cold out the foot traffic was kind of light. I had been walking in a small pack but broke off from them to get down to 2nd Ave from 3rd.
About halfway down the block, I started to get that creepy I'm-being-followed-WTF feeling. Someone is pretty much always following you in New York but not like this. It had a menacing vibe to it. My street-smarts turned on and I checked my periphery for any other pedestrians but none were around. The block was pretty much devoid of traffic too -- not a good sign.
I shut my MP3 player off so I could hear the sound from behind -- it only sounded like person. I crossed the street mid-block but to my horror my stalker followed. I noticed the man following me wasn't being quiet...he was singing. "Barracuda" to be exact. What the hell? Had he just come from a karaoke bar? Was he reliving a round of Guitar Hero III?
Last resort time -- my fingers clutched the pepper spray I always carry in my pocket and took off the cap. I felt a tap on my shoulder (real or imagined? Who knows?) I stopped, wheeled around and came face to face with the man, who had definitely been close enough to grab me from behind. I stood up on my heels and tried to make myself look as intimidating as possible. I don't know why, but I growled at him and told him to back the fuck off.
It worked, because he shrunk back and asked me if I could spare some of my food. Good lord. I realized he was disturbed and possibly homeless. Deciding he wasn't much of a physical threat, I reached into my bag (still clutching the pepper spray with my other hand since you never know) and gave him most of my fries. Then I growled at him to stay the hell away from me. He ran away in response.
My heart pounding, I finally made it 2nd Ave, which had plenty of people on it. I walked as quickly as I could for a few blocks before determining I was safe. The whole thing was unreal. I had been so lost in my music. I made it out of a bad situation unharmed, thank God. Lesson learned.
Nothing nearly as exciting this morning, but I did have another OINY (only in New York) moment. I was running late and pleasantly surprised when a 6 train was waiting for me in the station. I trotted into a car, where we waited. And waited. And waited.
Finally, an MTA worker came by our car and asked if anyone had seen a bag without an owner laying around. A woman on the platform said she had, and the worker plucked it from the car behind us. Next thing we know the conductor announced that the train had to emptied. Thanks to the "If you see something, say something" campaign policy, the train had to be emptied and searched by the police. People moaned and groaned but I have to say I wasn't too upset. I'd much rather be safe than sorry.
The only part that made me mad was that a woman who got off the train last rudely leaned against me while we waited for the train to leave. Seriously, she couldn't move over an inch? She had to be in the exact same spot as me? Stubbornly, I refused to move. I'd gotten there first. Fuck it.
The empty train departed the station a couple of minutes later and another 6 arrived right behind it. NYC commuters know exactly where the doors will open at the stations even when the floors aren't marked, so everyone was crowded around the door positions. But the new 6 train stopped a little off the mark. The woman who had been leaning against me just had to be first on and pushed to the right so she could be first on. She forced her way so harshly that she knocked over a man, who was reading a newspaper and not paying attention. He was thrown foward and hit his head against the car. She then pushed a woman, who in turn knocked over her young child. The kid started crying. Poor thing. For all the commotion, she still wasn't first on the car. She was second.
And yet somehow, we all made it to our final destinations. Amazing.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Spoon!
In New York, I've gone from being a picky eater to trying just about anything. There's such a wide variety of yummy food available that you learn to just try anything, regardless of the genre of the food.
If you had asked me a year ago what naan was, I'd have looked at you like you had two heads. Now I'm down for Sirtaj anytime. I used to avoid spicy foods at all costs but Spice (and, um, Chipotle to a certain degree) has changed that. My lunches during the week can range from Korean to Greek to Italian and back again. I am a creature of habit though and so on days when I can't decide what to eat I gravitate towards certain favorites. I love the 5th Ave Epicure (and the super nice staff) and you can't go wrong with Eisenberg's.
A few months ago, however, a coworker and I discovered a cute place called Spoon. It's on 20th St between 5th and 6th. She digs it because they had a wide range of vegetarian-friendly choices; I love it because it inadvertently reminds me of "The Tick." I've tried 5 or 6 different dishes there and have never been disappointed. Their Mediterranean Chef Salad is my favorite, but they also have a nice selection of sandwiches and soups. Their brownies and treats are to die for. Plus, each day they make a different entree special.
I don't even know the specific of what's in my order half the time but it's a healthy mix of protein and veggies. One time two coworkers and I got the special, got back to the office and ended up debating what one of the ingredients was. It was a roasted onion-like thing that tasted kind of crunchy like an apple. I called Spoon and found out they were turnips. Awesome!
And then there are always the old standbys. Last week a crew of 7 peeps from work went to Madison Square Park to get Shake Shack. How I love Shake Shack. The line is killer in the summer -- you can easily wait more than an hour. But it is totally worth it.
Shake Shack is now open year-round.
Even in the cold last week, there was a decent line.
Until this year, Shake Shack would shutter shortly after Labor Day and reopen around Memorial Day. But this year it was announced that Shake Shack would stay open year-round. This excited me to no end...their shakes really do rock.
So even though it was 25 degrees out the day we went, I got a hamburger, fries...and a chocolate shake. Between the wait and the shake, I froze for the rest of the day happily after indulging. You can call ahead now but what fun is that? Part of the experience is waiting forever dreaming of shake.
While we were waiting for our orders, I snapped some cold weather shots of the park. There are these mysterious metal trees around the park. During the fall they blended in, but now with the leaves gone they are exposed like ethereal metal ghosts. Madison Square Park plays host to some interesting art exhibits, and one check of the Conservancy's site confirms the trees are by industrial artist Roxy Paine.
One of the metal trees back in the early fall...
...and blending in last week. They're
on display through Dec. 31.
If you had asked me a year ago what naan was, I'd have looked at you like you had two heads. Now I'm down for Sirtaj anytime. I used to avoid spicy foods at all costs but Spice (and, um, Chipotle to a certain degree) has changed that. My lunches during the week can range from Korean to Greek to Italian and back again. I am a creature of habit though and so on days when I can't decide what to eat I gravitate towards certain favorites. I love the 5th Ave Epicure (and the super nice staff) and you can't go wrong with Eisenberg's.
A few months ago, however, a coworker and I discovered a cute place called Spoon. It's on 20th St between 5th and 6th. She digs it because they had a wide range of vegetarian-friendly choices; I love it because it inadvertently reminds me of "The Tick." I've tried 5 or 6 different dishes there and have never been disappointed. Their Mediterranean Chef Salad is my favorite, but they also have a nice selection of sandwiches and soups. Their brownies and treats are to die for. Plus, each day they make a different entree special.
I don't even know the specific of what's in my order half the time but it's a healthy mix of protein and veggies. One time two coworkers and I got the special, got back to the office and ended up debating what one of the ingredients was. It was a roasted onion-like thing that tasted kind of crunchy like an apple. I called Spoon and found out they were turnips. Awesome!
And then there are always the old standbys. Last week a crew of 7 peeps from work went to Madison Square Park to get Shake Shack. How I love Shake Shack. The line is killer in the summer -- you can easily wait more than an hour. But it is totally worth it.
Shake Shack is now open year-round.Even in the cold last week, there was a decent line.
Until this year, Shake Shack would shutter shortly after Labor Day and reopen around Memorial Day. But this year it was announced that Shake Shack would stay open year-round. This excited me to no end...their shakes really do rock.
So even though it was 25 degrees out the day we went, I got a hamburger, fries...and a chocolate shake. Between the wait and the shake, I froze for the rest of the day happily after indulging. You can call ahead now but what fun is that? Part of the experience is waiting forever dreaming of shake.
While we were waiting for our orders, I snapped some cold weather shots of the park. There are these mysterious metal trees around the park. During the fall they blended in, but now with the leaves gone they are exposed like ethereal metal ghosts. Madison Square Park plays host to some interesting art exhibits, and one check of the Conservancy's site confirms the trees are by industrial artist Roxy Paine.
One of the metal trees back in the early fall...
...and blending in last week. They'reon display through Dec. 31.
I like how the sculptures stand out now. They are very cool pieces of industrial art and remind me of Stephane Halluex's amazing creations. The look is perfect for winter as the cold settles in. This winter baby is digging it.
I feel pretty, oh so pretty
In case I haven't said it enough...I love my job. Sure my boss sometimes makes my blood vessels pop from stress and I'm sprouting a few gray hairs, but for the most part my job is quite enjoyable. In contrast to jobs that have been so bad they've made me angry, depressed or frustrated with life, this job makes me happy 90% of the time. And that's pretty good.
One of my favorite things is the lack of a dress code. I can't tell you how underrated this is! After college I worked on a newspaper sports desk where I could wear jeans and jerseys to work. It was hog heaven. At my last corporate job I had to wear business casual clothing and it was a mess. Slacks make me itch. Dress shirts make me sweat. Heels kill my tootsies. I like to dress up every now and then for work, but not any more than that. I often watch "What Not to Wear" and identify with the fashion victims that don't want to do business casual. Unless you can afford the highest quality clothes, work outfits are uncomfortable. It's not like I'm a slob; I have decent fashion sense. But dressing up all the time gets old.
Besides, it wasn't like I saw clients face to face and I never understood what the big deal was at my old job. It was just another way they controlled their employees! Now my work uniform consists of jeans and a stylish top and I couldn't be happier. Like a pig in shit. A well-dressed pig though. And yes, when clients come in I dress to the nines. But normally I am dressed for comfort. It's the opposite of most -- stylish on the weekends and borderline drab during the week. I dress up to shop, and that's about it on the weekdays. I love my jeans, dammit!
Still, every once in a while I feel the need to clean up real nice. We had our company holiday party last night and I seized the opportunity. A few weeks ago a coworker and I were talking about our work outfits and how it would be fun to go overboard for the party. Initially we wanted to break out old prom dresses and wear those. That idea evolved to evening gowns and then we realized that was probably a bit silly. We finally settled on wearing dresses that hadn't seen the light of day (or the ambiance of night) in awhile and invite the rest of the women in the company along for the ride.
Come yesterday I was hyper with excitement. We share our floor with an upscale salon and last week our Office Manager K went there for a blow out. (Shampoo and blow dry styling. Sounds like something from Texas but it's very popular in NYC with our crazy weather and the havoc it wreaks on your hair.) Her hair came out amazingly gorgeous and I wanted to try yesterday. But I didn't want to go by myself, and no one else seemed interested. I gave up on the idea and ran to H&M to get some cute hair clips instead.
I was on a conference call when K stuck a sticky note on my monitor that said "Appt @ 4:45." I thought that meant she'd made an appointment for our boss, but come 4:45 she grabbed me and said time to get our hair did! Sweetness. Another coworker joined us.
My hair turned out amazing. Sleek, stylish, hot. I love how the salon used the same basic tools as me - a natural roundbrush and a hair dryer but made my hair look 1000 times better than normal. They even gave us a building discount. Well, they actually forgot to give it to me, but I've gotten free stuff there before so I figure it all works out.
After that I was ready to go. I wore a cute strapless holiday dress that I bought last year and then never used, with a matching necklace and big drop earrings. Tights and heels completed the outfit. My co-conspirator A looked amazing in a brown bridesmaid dress, and the rest of the ladies played along. Our company is known for employing hot women and it was never more obvious than last night. One of the company's gentlemen said "Ladies, you always look great, but tonight you look amazing." Damn straight.
We pre-partied at the office before heading to Dip. Though the place is less than a block away from my fave sports bar Tonic East, I'd never noticed it before. We had the entire balcony to ourselves. Open bar...even the shots were paid for. Yummy finger foods. Four entrees to choose from. Dancing...seating...it was great. We work so hard and it was nice to get rewarded for it.
It was also my unofficial one-year anniversary. Last year I was hired in December but didn't start until January. I was invited to the holiday party though so of course I made it down for a bit. I'm kinda glad I had a conflict last year though and had to leave early, because this year I learned about the tradition of making the newest company hire give a speech! That would have been me last year.
This morning, bleary-eyed but content, I'm trying to keep my hair as sleek as possible. Nothing wrong with looking pretty two days in a row.
One of my favorite things is the lack of a dress code. I can't tell you how underrated this is! After college I worked on a newspaper sports desk where I could wear jeans and jerseys to work. It was hog heaven. At my last corporate job I had to wear business casual clothing and it was a mess. Slacks make me itch. Dress shirts make me sweat. Heels kill my tootsies. I like to dress up every now and then for work, but not any more than that. I often watch "What Not to Wear" and identify with the fashion victims that don't want to do business casual. Unless you can afford the highest quality clothes, work outfits are uncomfortable. It's not like I'm a slob; I have decent fashion sense. But dressing up all the time gets old.
Besides, it wasn't like I saw clients face to face and I never understood what the big deal was at my old job. It was just another way they controlled their employees! Now my work uniform consists of jeans and a stylish top and I couldn't be happier. Like a pig in shit. A well-dressed pig though. And yes, when clients come in I dress to the nines. But normally I am dressed for comfort. It's the opposite of most -- stylish on the weekends and borderline drab during the week. I dress up to shop, and that's about it on the weekdays. I love my jeans, dammit!
Still, every once in a while I feel the need to clean up real nice. We had our company holiday party last night and I seized the opportunity. A few weeks ago a coworker and I were talking about our work outfits and how it would be fun to go overboard for the party. Initially we wanted to break out old prom dresses and wear those. That idea evolved to evening gowns and then we realized that was probably a bit silly. We finally settled on wearing dresses that hadn't seen the light of day (or the ambiance of night) in awhile and invite the rest of the women in the company along for the ride.
Come yesterday I was hyper with excitement. We share our floor with an upscale salon and last week our Office Manager K went there for a blow out. (Shampoo and blow dry styling. Sounds like something from Texas but it's very popular in NYC with our crazy weather and the havoc it wreaks on your hair.) Her hair came out amazingly gorgeous and I wanted to try yesterday. But I didn't want to go by myself, and no one else seemed interested. I gave up on the idea and ran to H&M to get some cute hair clips instead.
I was on a conference call when K stuck a sticky note on my monitor that said "Appt @ 4:45." I thought that meant she'd made an appointment for our boss, but come 4:45 she grabbed me and said time to get our hair did! Sweetness. Another coworker joined us.
My hair turned out amazing. Sleek, stylish, hot. I love how the salon used the same basic tools as me - a natural roundbrush and a hair dryer but made my hair look 1000 times better than normal. They even gave us a building discount. Well, they actually forgot to give it to me, but I've gotten free stuff there before so I figure it all works out.
After that I was ready to go. I wore a cute strapless holiday dress that I bought last year and then never used, with a matching necklace and big drop earrings. Tights and heels completed the outfit. My co-conspirator A looked amazing in a brown bridesmaid dress, and the rest of the ladies played along. Our company is known for employing hot women and it was never more obvious than last night. One of the company's gentlemen said "Ladies, you always look great, but tonight you look amazing." Damn straight.
We pre-partied at the office before heading to Dip. Though the place is less than a block away from my fave sports bar Tonic East, I'd never noticed it before. We had the entire balcony to ourselves. Open bar...even the shots were paid for. Yummy finger foods. Four entrees to choose from. Dancing...seating...it was great. We work so hard and it was nice to get rewarded for it.
It was also my unofficial one-year anniversary. Last year I was hired in December but didn't start until January. I was invited to the holiday party though so of course I made it down for a bit. I'm kinda glad I had a conflict last year though and had to leave early, because this year I learned about the tradition of making the newest company hire give a speech! That would have been me last year.
This morning, bleary-eyed but content, I'm trying to keep my hair as sleek as possible. Nothing wrong with looking pretty two days in a row.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Laundry time
I had put off doing laundry for too long, so it was back up to Connecticut over the weekend. Usually I stuff my largest suitcase full of my dirty clothes and take a taxi to Grand Central. But this time around I had so much crap that I ended up booking another Mini Cooper through Zipcar.
OK, actually I just wanted to drive the Mini again. Can you blame me?
Unfortunately I needed a 24-hour rental and the two closest to me were booked. I had to go down to Central Park South to pick a different one up on Saturday. The garage was right near the Time Warner Center and I was very tempted to shop. Another time. I got there a bit early so I admired the horse carriages on CPS and missed my horses. It might not be a sight to see for much longer; NYC is considering a ban on the carriages. Finally, it was 1 PM and time to pick up my car. It had been a bit of a haul to get down there and the wait was killing me.
The trek was completely worth it though. First of all, it was a kick driving through Midtown. I felt a bit cool cruising in my little urbanite car as the pedestrians strolled the holiday-themed streets. On 3rd Ave I cruised from right to left lanes while making my way uptown.
When I got back to my apartment to load up, there was no parking. I had to park illegally in front of a hydrant and run back and forth. The stress led me to miss a few items that needed to be laundered. But who cared? I was eager to be in a car; where I could sing as loud as I want, drive as fast as traffic would allow and enjoy a quiet, serene, solitary travel experience.
Once I hit the road, the FDR sucked as usual but I was able to weave effortlessly between lanes. After I cleared the Triborough Bridge it was smooth sailing. It was amazing to me as I sped along that cars were still passing me as though I were standing still. I-95 is crazy like that. I hit the predictable traffic in Greenwich, Stamford and just before my exit in Norwalk.
Since I had a car, I brought "Guitar Hero III" for 360 with me. This made me my old roommate's hero. We watched movies, played some games, and generally chilled. I laughed that our house seemed so huge to me now that I live in a tiny apartment. And it's true -- my friend's studio on the UWS once seemed so small to me and now it also seems big by comparison. Having a whole house to explore was like being in a mansion.
Saturday night I cleaned Kohl's out of tights but forgot to get new sunglasses. I lost mine somewhere in the Brooklyn Target a couple of weeks ago. I cruised around every suburban store as my one-stop. I was loading up while I had a car at my disposal.
Early Sunday morning, I was drifting off to sleep when I heard the dreaded sound of a car alarm. Living in the city you'd think I'd be used to the sound but I jerked awake, worried someone was breaking into my rental. It turned out to be a car down the street but the alarm went off all friggin' night. Sometimes I'd fall asleep only to have the alarm wake me up again. It was pretty miserable and I barely slept. I missed my room and was a bit tempted to kick the current roommate out -- I'm the guest, you may sleep on the futon.
On the way back to the city two weird things happened with the car. First, I couldn't get the gas card to work. That was annoying. Secondly, my EZ-Pass which had worked fine on the way to Connecticut didn't work at the toll entering Manhattan. It's illegal to back up in the toll lane, so I had to wait until the attendant came over.
"Where's your pass?" The attendant asked me. I pointed to it, right below my rearview mirror. "Yes, thank you, it's the white thing on your windshield. Gimme it," he snarled. So I did, all the while thinking that was pretty rude of him. Sometimes New Yorkers are jerks. He held the pass up to a sensor and it worked fine. He gave it back to me and told me to move along. I resisted the urge to retort in kind.
I made it back to the city in time for NFL. I was meeting up with friends at Ship of Fools to watch the Packers game. I cheered excitedly as Greg Jennings and Ryan Grant ran up the points for my fantasy team and was happy when the Pack won. (I am the worst 49ers fan ever.) We ended up staying for the Pats-Steelers rout, and afterwards I stumbled home drunk and tired.
After a quick nap, I started unpacking my laundry. I like to use good-smelling detergent and in my drunken state I was all about the smell of my clean laundry. In fact I was so all about the smell that I dumped my suitcase out on my bed and laid down in it. The things you do when you're drunk. I drifted to sleep dreaming about Colorado...
...but woke up a few hours later feeling not so great. The combination of wings, beer and Mountain Spring Tide made my stomach uneasy. Ever wake up with that pukey feeling? I struggled to make it out of my bed, desperate not to throw up on my nice clean laundry. Now when I smell my laundry, I feel a bit pukey. It's that not so fresh feeling.
OK, actually I just wanted to drive the Mini again. Can you blame me?
Unfortunately I needed a 24-hour rental and the two closest to me were booked. I had to go down to Central Park South to pick a different one up on Saturday. The garage was right near the Time Warner Center and I was very tempted to shop. Another time. I got there a bit early so I admired the horse carriages on CPS and missed my horses. It might not be a sight to see for much longer; NYC is considering a ban on the carriages. Finally, it was 1 PM and time to pick up my car. It had been a bit of a haul to get down there and the wait was killing me.
The trek was completely worth it though. First of all, it was a kick driving through Midtown. I felt a bit cool cruising in my little urbanite car as the pedestrians strolled the holiday-themed streets. On 3rd Ave I cruised from right to left lanes while making my way uptown.
When I got back to my apartment to load up, there was no parking. I had to park illegally in front of a hydrant and run back and forth. The stress led me to miss a few items that needed to be laundered. But who cared? I was eager to be in a car; where I could sing as loud as I want, drive as fast as traffic would allow and enjoy a quiet, serene, solitary travel experience.
Once I hit the road, the FDR sucked as usual but I was able to weave effortlessly between lanes. After I cleared the Triborough Bridge it was smooth sailing. It was amazing to me as I sped along that cars were still passing me as though I were standing still. I-95 is crazy like that. I hit the predictable traffic in Greenwich, Stamford and just before my exit in Norwalk.
Since I had a car, I brought "Guitar Hero III" for 360 with me. This made me my old roommate's hero. We watched movies, played some games, and generally chilled. I laughed that our house seemed so huge to me now that I live in a tiny apartment. And it's true -- my friend's studio on the UWS once seemed so small to me and now it also seems big by comparison. Having a whole house to explore was like being in a mansion.
Saturday night I cleaned Kohl's out of tights but forgot to get new sunglasses. I lost mine somewhere in the Brooklyn Target a couple of weeks ago. I cruised around every suburban store as my one-stop. I was loading up while I had a car at my disposal.
Early Sunday morning, I was drifting off to sleep when I heard the dreaded sound of a car alarm. Living in the city you'd think I'd be used to the sound but I jerked awake, worried someone was breaking into my rental. It turned out to be a car down the street but the alarm went off all friggin' night. Sometimes I'd fall asleep only to have the alarm wake me up again. It was pretty miserable and I barely slept. I missed my room and was a bit tempted to kick the current roommate out -- I'm the guest, you may sleep on the futon.
On the way back to the city two weird things happened with the car. First, I couldn't get the gas card to work. That was annoying. Secondly, my EZ-Pass which had worked fine on the way to Connecticut didn't work at the toll entering Manhattan. It's illegal to back up in the toll lane, so I had to wait until the attendant came over.
"Where's your pass?" The attendant asked me. I pointed to it, right below my rearview mirror. "Yes, thank you, it's the white thing on your windshield. Gimme it," he snarled. So I did, all the while thinking that was pretty rude of him. Sometimes New Yorkers are jerks. He held the pass up to a sensor and it worked fine. He gave it back to me and told me to move along. I resisted the urge to retort in kind.
I made it back to the city in time for NFL. I was meeting up with friends at Ship of Fools to watch the Packers game. I cheered excitedly as Greg Jennings and Ryan Grant ran up the points for my fantasy team and was happy when the Pack won. (I am the worst 49ers fan ever.) We ended up staying for the Pats-Steelers rout, and afterwards I stumbled home drunk and tired.
After a quick nap, I started unpacking my laundry. I like to use good-smelling detergent and in my drunken state I was all about the smell of my clean laundry. In fact I was so all about the smell that I dumped my suitcase out on my bed and laid down in it. The things you do when you're drunk. I drifted to sleep dreaming about Colorado...
...but woke up a few hours later feeling not so great. The combination of wings, beer and Mountain Spring Tide made my stomach uneasy. Ever wake up with that pukey feeling? I struggled to make it out of my bed, desperate not to throw up on my nice clean laundry. Now when I smell my laundry, I feel a bit pukey. It's that not so fresh feeling.
Friday, December 7, 2007
Is that you Santa? No, it's just my upstairs neighbor
Click clack, click clack. From above comes the sound of hooves, or in this case shoes and paws. The apartment above me that had been empty for a couple of months has been rented. Like my apartment, I believe the management company renovated it and put in hardwood floors. I think that they forgot the soundproof layer between the subfloor and the wood though because I can hear every little fucking noise coming from up there.
It's driving me nuts! Every time the dog comes back from a walk it runs around. 10 minutes of click click click making my eyes tic. Every time the desk chair is pulled back ...screeeeeeeeecccchhhh (I guess the tenant doesn't care about scratching those nice new floors). The best is when I get the combination of Santa Baby traipsing around upstairs and my next door neighbor screaming to her friends on the phone. A cacophonic chorus of unpleasantness. But the worst, THE WORST, is that my new neighbor likes to vacuum at 2 in the goddamn morning, every morning. What could she possibly be vacuuming?? I break the thing out maybe once a month for my rug. It could be worse I suppose. The sounds have been innocent so far.
Initially I thought I was nuts and making too big of a deal about it. It's not like I live in a monastery -- I can make noise at times too. I put on my MP3 player to sing, dance and jump around like a madwoman for pete's sake. But when two of my boys who are also Manhattannites came over and commented on how loud it was, I knew I had a legitimate complaint.
My boys had good suggestions - try talking to the neighbor and mentioning that the former tenants had rugs and it worked out well. Ask her if she's considered felt pads for her furniture. And politely mention that as a dog lover I respect a dog's need to chew a rawhide and fetch, but the constant clip clopping of paws and plopping of said rawhide proves quite annoying to your neighbor down below.
Coincidentally, I ran into my new neighbor at the building's entrance. And she is quite nice. I didn't realize it was her until the very end of our conversation so I was unable to mention the issue. It's not like I blame her personally -- she probably doesn't even know it's an issue. And my management company? They're less than sympathetic.
It's driving me nuts! Every time the dog comes back from a walk it runs around. 10 minutes of click click click making my eyes tic. Every time the desk chair is pulled back ...screeeeeeeeecccchhhh (I guess the tenant doesn't care about scratching those nice new floors). The best is when I get the combination of Santa Baby traipsing around upstairs and my next door neighbor screaming to her friends on the phone. A cacophonic chorus of unpleasantness. But the worst, THE WORST, is that my new neighbor likes to vacuum at 2 in the goddamn morning, every morning. What could she possibly be vacuuming?? I break the thing out maybe once a month for my rug. It could be worse I suppose. The sounds have been innocent so far.
Initially I thought I was nuts and making too big of a deal about it. It's not like I live in a monastery -- I can make noise at times too. I put on my MP3 player to sing, dance and jump around like a madwoman for pete's sake. But when two of my boys who are also Manhattannites came over and commented on how loud it was, I knew I had a legitimate complaint.
My boys had good suggestions - try talking to the neighbor and mentioning that the former tenants had rugs and it worked out well. Ask her if she's considered felt pads for her furniture. And politely mention that as a dog lover I respect a dog's need to chew a rawhide and fetch, but the constant clip clopping of paws and plopping of said rawhide proves quite annoying to your neighbor down below.
Coincidentally, I ran into my new neighbor at the building's entrance. And she is quite nice. I didn't realize it was her until the very end of our conversation so I was unable to mention the issue. It's not like I blame her personally -- she probably doesn't even know it's an issue. And my management company? They're less than sympathetic.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Mini makes everything better
I had the pleasant experience of using Zipcar again. And this time around, there would be no denying me my Mini Cooper experience. So pleased was I that I needed to share it with my friends.
I was just a bit excited about my Mini.
It's a dangerous yet thrilling experience driving in the city. And pretending like I'm Charlize Theron in the "Italian Job" remake makes it twice as fun. I deftly weaved and bobbed through the midday traffic on may to New Jersey, and channeled my inner stunt driver on the way back through the Holland Tunnel.
Back in Manhattan, I picked up a friend to drive to lunch. As I drove up to his office, I tooted the horn and waved like a madwoman. He was completely cool and reminded me that he drives a company Mercedes, so he would not be impressed by my temporary Mini. But after wheeling our way through midtown he admitted he was a bit impressed. After lunch he asked if he could drive it. Sorry buddy, I replied, this baby's all mine.
After work I gave BFF M a ride home from her job. She at least shared in my excitement. With the sun long gone, we utilized the double sunroof to take in the skyscrapers at night. At one point we drove under the giant snowflake by 5th Ave in the 60s and got a killer view from underneath. We agreed that with our (pretend) million dollar bonuses from work, a Mini Cooper would be on our list of purchases.
The only downside? I had to gas up the car and it is not cheap. Though the gas fees are included in the Zipcar membership, I was still a bit disturbed when a tank fill-up cost $45. Minis take premium fuel and it has been awhile since I bought a tank. I forgot how expensive gas has gotten.
Sadly, Mini Cooper is now back at the garage for another Zipster to use. But I must say that for all the times I miss Hunk, my old SUV, it is nice to be free to see other cars every once in awhile.
I was just a bit excited about my Mini.When I picked it up this morning, I jumped up and down like an idiot and clapped as the lot attendant drove it up to me. It was red! It was shiny! It came with a medallion, not a key! You press a button to start it! It had a hard drive! I am so simple to please.
I got in and absorbed the coolness of the car. My first favorite thing was that there is a "Start/Stop" button to turn the car on and off. When you insert the medallion into the keyslot, the car emits a couple of pleasant tones, not the monotone beeps normal cars give. I know the button is slowly becoming a common feature in cars but it felt very "Get Smart" to me. I was also happy about the amount of interior room -- plenty. I'm pretty tall and I was wearing heels but I didn't feel crowded at all. My God, I am totally this car's target demographic. Minus the money to buy it or room to store it when not in use.
The car's interior had appealing styling and
was quite roomy for a little coupe.
A car is a ridiculous luxury in New York City. But somehow driving a compact makes it seem a little less challenging while maintaining an air of extravagance. I may have been on-level with the wheels of most of the SUVs, but I felt small, maneuverable and sneaky. Plus, I was jonesing for some driving time. At one point, I switched the car into fake manual mode so I could utilize the steering wheel shift paddles.
I got in and absorbed the coolness of the car. My first favorite thing was that there is a "Start/Stop" button to turn the car on and off. When you insert the medallion into the keyslot, the car emits a couple of pleasant tones, not the monotone beeps normal cars give. I know the button is slowly becoming a common feature in cars but it felt very "Get Smart" to me. I was also happy about the amount of interior room -- plenty. I'm pretty tall and I was wearing heels but I didn't feel crowded at all. My God, I am totally this car's target demographic. Minus the money to buy it or room to store it when not in use.
The car's interior had appealing styling andwas quite roomy for a little coupe.
A car is a ridiculous luxury in New York City. But somehow driving a compact makes it seem a little less challenging while maintaining an air of extravagance. I may have been on-level with the wheels of most of the SUVs, but I felt small, maneuverable and sneaky. Plus, I was jonesing for some driving time. At one point, I switched the car into fake manual mode so I could utilize the steering wheel shift paddles.
Back in Manhattan, I picked up a friend to drive to lunch. As I drove up to his office, I tooted the horn and waved like a madwoman. He was completely cool and reminded me that he drives a company Mercedes, so he would not be impressed by my temporary Mini. But after wheeling our way through midtown he admitted he was a bit impressed. After lunch he asked if he could drive it. Sorry buddy, I replied, this baby's all mine.
After work I gave BFF M a ride home from her job. She at least shared in my excitement. With the sun long gone, we utilized the double sunroof to take in the skyscrapers at night. At one point we drove under the giant snowflake by 5th Ave in the 60s and got a killer view from underneath. We agreed that with our (pretend) million dollar bonuses from work, a Mini Cooper would be on our list of purchases.
The only downside? I had to gas up the car and it is not cheap. Though the gas fees are included in the Zipcar membership, I was still a bit disturbed when a tank fill-up cost $45. Minis take premium fuel and it has been awhile since I bought a tank. I forgot how expensive gas has gotten.
Sadly, Mini Cooper is now back at the garage for another Zipster to use. But I must say that for all the times I miss Hunk, my old SUV, it is nice to be free to see other cars every once in awhile.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Amazing movie billboards
I am a fan of amazing contemporary art. I'm fascinated by deco architecture, I love travel art from the 1950s and I enjoy the look of comic books from the 1970s (though I've never been able to get into reading them).
Every night on my way home from work, I see a movie billboard that has been painted onto a building on the corner of Park Ave and 23rd or 24th St. The art is so good I initially thought they were the same old boring posters you sometimes see attached to skyscrapers. But when I saw the artists working one day I realized they were actually art pieces.
The latest poster for "I Am Legend"...
Every night on my way home from work, I see a movie billboard that has been painted onto a building on the corner of Park Ave and 23rd or 24th St. The art is so good I initially thought they were the same old boring posters you sometimes see attached to skyscrapers. But when I saw the artists working one day I realized they were actually art pieces.
The latest poster for "I Am Legend"...For example, above is the latest piece for Will Smith's "I Am Legend." Nevermind that this movie looks awesome (even if the book doesn't take place in New York City...). This billboard looks awesome! From my usual crossing at 22nd and Park it looks like a poster, but upon closer inspection you realize that someone took the time to paint this. I have no idea if the artists are using a template -- I'm sure the movie poster is an inspiration. Is it a pre-printed work they are just pasting up? I don't think so. I don't really know how they do it. But it is a site to behold!
...and a close-up view
of the artistry involved.
If you look closely, you can see
the bricks of the building through the art.
...and a close-up viewof the artistry involved.
If you look closely, you can see
the bricks of the building through the art.
It's a true urban masterpiece, right up there with the brilliant murals and graffiti art around the boroughs. And like those other forms of art, it is also temporary. Every month or so I'll see surprised to see the once-glorious poster covered by a sad layer of grey paint as the artists prepare to illustrate a new movie's message. I feel a mixture of remorse at not admiring the old piece more and excitement for what is coming next.
I regret not taking pictures of the summer pieces I saw -- especially the one for "Oceans 13." It had a full cast picture rendered so lifelike and yet it had the tender touch of a paintbrush from close-up. I would love to know who the artist is that builds these short-lived classics on brick and mortar.
The last installation was for
"The Brave One."
So, yes, OK, it is just a promotional movie poster at the end of the day. But that makes these works no less valuable. Or at least really fun to look at.
I regret not taking pictures of the summer pieces I saw -- especially the one for "Oceans 13." It had a full cast picture rendered so lifelike and yet it had the tender touch of a paintbrush from close-up. I would love to know who the artist is that builds these short-lived classics on brick and mortar.
The last installation was for"The Brave One."
So, yes, OK, it is just a promotional movie poster at the end of the day. But that makes these works no less valuable. Or at least really fun to look at.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
First snow
Whoo-hoo for the white stuff!I am a winter baby, and I love the fluffy white stuff. Snow that is. On Sunday we finally had (temporary) accumulation here in the city. While everyone else whines and moans about winter I love it until about March. I love snowboarding. I love building forts and tobaggon trails and having snowball fights. I even love shoveling.
The whole 1 inch we got made walking treacherous. It was a slushy mix by mid-afternoon and even in my winter boots I was slip-sliding along the sidewalks. A couple of times I almost took a spill. When I crossed in front of doorman buildings and businesses, the sidewalk was salted and noticeably easier to walk on. I suppose this is how it goes. It doesn't give me much confidence in my winter walking ability -- I put the over/under for number of times I fall at 10.
Of course, since it was snowing and freezing I had to run about 15 errands...I went to the Rainbow/Ace Hardware on 1st Ave. at least twice. That place rocks, by the way. They really have everything there -- household goods, tableware, candles, drugstore stuff, some food. I fell in love with these storage towers, but they were a bit too expensive. I also had to run to see Julio; he was holding some of my winter clothes. I sprang for a taxi ride there and back, and slapped myself silly when I got home and realized I'd forgotten my portable heater. Guess Julio gets another visit soon.
If I squint, I can almost see
mountains...
The snow has me dreaming of the mountains. I plan on hitting the Rockies during a trip to Colorado this winter (hello, Copper and A-Basin!), but in the meantime I'd like to go to Stowe, Vermont. They've had a pretty good snow season up there...I can almost feel my lips freezing now.
The whole 1 inch we got made walking treacherous. It was a slushy mix by mid-afternoon and even in my winter boots I was slip-sliding along the sidewalks. A couple of times I almost took a spill. When I crossed in front of doorman buildings and businesses, the sidewalk was salted and noticeably easier to walk on. I suppose this is how it goes. It doesn't give me much confidence in my winter walking ability -- I put the over/under for number of times I fall at 10.
Of course, since it was snowing and freezing I had to run about 15 errands...I went to the Rainbow/Ace Hardware on 1st Ave. at least twice. That place rocks, by the way. They really have everything there -- household goods, tableware, candles, drugstore stuff, some food. I fell in love with these storage towers, but they were a bit too expensive. I also had to run to see Julio; he was holding some of my winter clothes. I sprang for a taxi ride there and back, and slapped myself silly when I got home and realized I'd forgotten my portable heater. Guess Julio gets another visit soon.
If I squint, I can almost seemountains...
The snow has me dreaming of the mountains. I plan on hitting the Rockies during a trip to Colorado this winter (hello, Copper and A-Basin!), but in the meantime I'd like to go to Stowe, Vermont. They've had a pretty good snow season up there...I can almost feel my lips freezing now.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Shopping Commute
It's crazy what you miss when you move. There are the obvious things, like regionally unique customs or topography and there are the less obvious things.
When I went to Colorado, I missed the buzz of New York City (and the concerts) and pizza from Famous Pizza in Connecticut. When I came back to Connecticut, I missed the beautiful Rocky Mountains, the spectacular starry nights and the taste of fresh Angus beef.
And now in New York City I miss living in a beach town, horseback riding, driving in my car...and discount department stores. Yes, it's true, in the sea of wondrous shopping that is New York City, I long for a Manhattan Kohl's and Target. I guess you can take the girl out of suburbia but you can't take the suburbia out of the girl.
Kohl's is where I like to get my winter leggings and tights, my socks and occasionally a cheap basic shirt or two. Target is where I buy most of my health and beauty stuff as well as my purses. Sorry Coach, my favorite. And sorry Kate Spade, you may be two blocks away from my work with your new wonderful 5th Ave store but I don't make that kind of salary yet. The Bed Bath and Beyond at 61st and 1st also sells discounted toiletries but it isn't quite the same fun experience that Target is. I was so mad a couple of months ago that I wrote Target an email pretty much demanding they open a store in Manhattan proper, preferably on the Upper East Side...in the 70s...maybe between 3rd and 2nd Aves...?
At least there is a Target accessible by subway at the Atlantic Ave. Terminal in Brooklyn. I made the trip yesterday, taking the 6 to 59th St and then cruising the rest of the way on the 4. I know I whine about the subway a lot but it is a cheap thrill riding the express lines on the weekend. It feels like an underground roller coaster ride! You go so fast and it's kind of herky jerky and you stop less often. My favorite part is when you breeze past stations with everything a blur. And it's much less crowded than weekdays so you can actually somewhat enjoy the ride. Some lines like the N have awesome skyline views when you cross the Manhattan Bridge and the Queensboro bridge.
Since I was on the 4, we did the river crossing underground and I missed out on the views. I was in full-on shopping mode so it didn't much matter. Last time I hauled to Brooklyn Target the place looked like it had been ransacked -- empty shelves and much of what we needed out of stock. I'm not sure if the early time had anything to do with it, but the trip was much better this time around. It wasn't very crowded and I was able to find everything I wanted except for these Glade glass nice-smelly things I swear by in my apartment and winter tights. In fact it was so nice I stayed longer than I planned to and bought more than I'd initially planned.
I had to pass on the bulky items I used to buy in Stamford and then drive back to Norwalk, like laundry detergent, paper towels and the like. I browsed their furniture section but nothing really caught my eye. Eventually I checked out and left.
Back in Manhattan I was still longing for my winter tights, and a Kohl's. There are other places carrying the tights, yes, but none so cheap and disposable as what I want. I don't care if the tights last for only one season when I get them at Kohl's because they're cheap and the styles change so quickly anyway. I have one pair of textured brown tights from last season, and the rest ended up in the trash as passé. They also carry some pretty cute shoes. But the closest location, according to their website, is in Jersey City. No thanks. If I'm going to Jersey, it's for Ikea.
I tried a couple of the discounters around -- Daffy's and Strawberry -- and then hit Forever 21, H&M and even the TJ Maxx on 6th Ave. Nothing caught my eye. I'm probably being overly picky. Sounds like a trip to the suburbs is in order.
When I went to Colorado, I missed the buzz of New York City (and the concerts) and pizza from Famous Pizza in Connecticut. When I came back to Connecticut, I missed the beautiful Rocky Mountains, the spectacular starry nights and the taste of fresh Angus beef.
And now in New York City I miss living in a beach town, horseback riding, driving in my car...and discount department stores. Yes, it's true, in the sea of wondrous shopping that is New York City, I long for a Manhattan Kohl's and Target. I guess you can take the girl out of suburbia but you can't take the suburbia out of the girl.
Kohl's is where I like to get my winter leggings and tights, my socks and occasionally a cheap basic shirt or two. Target is where I buy most of my health and beauty stuff as well as my purses. Sorry Coach, my favorite. And sorry Kate Spade, you may be two blocks away from my work with your new wonderful 5th Ave store but I don't make that kind of salary yet. The Bed Bath and Beyond at 61st and 1st also sells discounted toiletries but it isn't quite the same fun experience that Target is. I was so mad a couple of months ago that I wrote Target an email pretty much demanding they open a store in Manhattan proper, preferably on the Upper East Side...in the 70s...maybe between 3rd and 2nd Aves...?
At least there is a Target accessible by subway at the Atlantic Ave. Terminal in Brooklyn. I made the trip yesterday, taking the 6 to 59th St and then cruising the rest of the way on the 4. I know I whine about the subway a lot but it is a cheap thrill riding the express lines on the weekend. It feels like an underground roller coaster ride! You go so fast and it's kind of herky jerky and you stop less often. My favorite part is when you breeze past stations with everything a blur. And it's much less crowded than weekdays so you can actually somewhat enjoy the ride. Some lines like the N have awesome skyline views when you cross the Manhattan Bridge and the Queensboro bridge.
Since I was on the 4, we did the river crossing underground and I missed out on the views. I was in full-on shopping mode so it didn't much matter. Last time I hauled to Brooklyn Target the place looked like it had been ransacked -- empty shelves and much of what we needed out of stock. I'm not sure if the early time had anything to do with it, but the trip was much better this time around. It wasn't very crowded and I was able to find everything I wanted except for these Glade glass nice-smelly things I swear by in my apartment and winter tights. In fact it was so nice I stayed longer than I planned to and bought more than I'd initially planned.
I had to pass on the bulky items I used to buy in Stamford and then drive back to Norwalk, like laundry detergent, paper towels and the like. I browsed their furniture section but nothing really caught my eye. Eventually I checked out and left.
Back in Manhattan I was still longing for my winter tights, and a Kohl's. There are other places carrying the tights, yes, but none so cheap and disposable as what I want. I don't care if the tights last for only one season when I get them at Kohl's because they're cheap and the styles change so quickly anyway. I have one pair of textured brown tights from last season, and the rest ended up in the trash as passé. They also carry some pretty cute shoes. But the closest location, according to their website, is in Jersey City. No thanks. If I'm going to Jersey, it's for Ikea.
I tried a couple of the discounters around -- Daffy's and Strawberry -- and then hit Forever 21, H&M and even the TJ Maxx on 6th Ave. Nothing caught my eye. I'm probably being overly picky. Sounds like a trip to the suburbs is in order.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Metapost: Wachovia to customer: you lose!
It's not nice to laugh at the folly of others, but hot damn this story made me laugh out loud. Some poor guy in Georgia got a letter from Wachovia saying he owed the bank $211,010,028,257,303.00. Hey, at least it wasn't 211,010,028,257,303.01!
Besides, $211 trillion isn't that much...it's only a few more trillion than 70 times the United States Federal Budget. It's only a few trillion more than the 5 richest people in the world are worth, combined. Just set aside $100 from your next 211,000,000,000 paychecks! It'll be easy. Or you could just take Wachovia out to dinner, laugh, smoke some cigars and say what's a few trillion between friends? And a Merry Christmas to you, too, Wachovia!
No worries though, Wachovia says it was just a word processing error! Turns out the amount is actually the guy's account number (he's obviously since closed the account). I hope they offered to pay for the heart surgery their customer will need after reading the letter.
To be fair, I have to say Wachovia was a huge help to me when I went through cashier's check issues while securing my apartment. But I also remember them being extremely rude to me when I first opened my account and how they neglected to tell me that all of my checks would be held two weeks before cashing as a new customer. So I tittered a bit to see them in the doghouse.
Besides, $211 trillion isn't that much...it's only a few more trillion than 70 times the United States Federal Budget. It's only a few trillion more than the 5 richest people in the world are worth, combined. Just set aside $100 from your next 211,000,000,000 paychecks! It'll be easy. Or you could just take Wachovia out to dinner, laugh, smoke some cigars and say what's a few trillion between friends? And a Merry Christmas to you, too, Wachovia!
No worries though, Wachovia says it was just a word processing error! Turns out the amount is actually the guy's account number (he's obviously since closed the account). I hope they offered to pay for the heart surgery their customer will need after reading the letter.
To be fair, I have to say Wachovia was a huge help to me when I went through cashier's check issues while securing my apartment. But I also remember them being extremely rude to me when I first opened my account and how they neglected to tell me that all of my checks would be held two weeks before cashing as a new customer. So I tittered a bit to see them in the doghouse.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Gridlock Alert
I love the lights of Times Square, but I try to avoid going there during tourist season and the holiday season. It's amazing how many people you can fit in a 10 block radius.
But I can be convinced to go there by the New Year's Eve ball drop, which I will brave the crowds for, or NASCAR. Yes, NASCAR. I love my drivers and every year in the week leading up to their annual awards dinner they do a parade around midtown called the Victory Lap.
The top 12 NASCAR drivers in 2007
drive the Victory Lap towards Times Square.
But I can be convinced to go there by the New Year's Eve ball drop, which I will brave the crowds for, or NASCAR. Yes, NASCAR. I love my drivers and every year in the week leading up to their annual awards dinner they do a parade around midtown called the Victory Lap.
The top 12 NASCAR drivers in 2007drive the Victory Lap towards Times Square.
They go up Madison, across 53rd, down 5th, and end up at the "Good Morning America" studios. I'm not sure when this tradition started but I just found about it last year. Really I'm a new NASCAR fan anyway (driven to it, ha, by an ex-boyfriend but now loyally addicted). With my favorite driver Dale Jr. not in the top 12 this year the events have a bit less luster for me. But one of my favorite parts of NASCAR is how accessible the drivers make themselves to the fans. (Note: It was the top 10 but this year they expanded to the Top 12...)
I have been to three races -- Pocono, New Hampshire, and Kansas City back in college -- and each time I've seen drivers take hours out of their busy schedules to sign autographs, pose for photos and generally be very nice to the adoring masses. I once saw an MLB player carousing around NYC (we'll keep his identity unknown to protect the assholes). A young child and his dad approached the player to ask for an autograph. The player's reply? "I don't do free autographs, kid." And then the player walked away. Ouch. You'd never hear that from a NASCAR driver.
Matt Kenseth (17), Kyle Busch (5) and
Jeff Burton (30) arrive in Times Square.
I have been to three races -- Pocono, New Hampshire, and Kansas City back in college -- and each time I've seen drivers take hours out of their busy schedules to sign autographs, pose for photos and generally be very nice to the adoring masses. I once saw an MLB player carousing around NYC (we'll keep his identity unknown to protect the assholes). A young child and his dad approached the player to ask for an autograph. The player's reply? "I don't do free autographs, kid." And then the player walked away. Ouch. You'd never hear that from a NASCAR driver.
Matt Kenseth (17), Kyle Busch (5) andJeff Burton (30) arrive in Times Square.
I knew I'd never be able to stay for the whole event, which started at 8 and continued all day. But I dragged myself out of bed at 6:30 and went to the East side part of the parade route so I could at least see the cars. Antsy to get to work, I watched all 12 slowly drive by at around 8:30, wished I had called in sick so I could join the Times Square festivities, and then went to work.
As the morning dragged I realized I really wanted to go back, so I started my lunch break a little early and made my way back to Times Square. Last year I got Tony Stewart and Kasey Kahne to sign items for me, but Dale Jr. never made it over to where I was standing.
When I arrived, the crowd was thinner that it looked on TV in the morning but still impressively large for New York City. And the drivers were still there, smiling in their firesuits as their tired hands continued to sign autographs. It was too crowded to squeeze up front, so I stood back a little and just took it in. I had rooted for Jeff Burton this year so it was a big thrill seeing him. Martin Truex Jr. revved his engine a few times, Kyle Busch looked smug as usual, Jimmie Johnson (the repeat Champ this year) made humble statements while Jeff Gordon ate humble pie.
Not too long later, the drivers were called to another event. An audible "awww" went up through the crowd but the announcer rattled off a list of other events we could see the drivers at. That was nice. I overheard some businesspeople walking by complaining about NASCAR drivers being in midtown and closing so many streets on one of NYC's "Gridlock Alert Days," aka don't even think about driving here. Awww, tough break.
The second awesome event of yesterday came long after sundown -- the Rockefeller Tree lighting! A couple of my friends and I have gone the last few years. Last year, we avoided flipping the switch time in favor of Bailey's hot chocolate at the W hotel, but this year we decided to brave the crowds. And crowded is an understatement. It's like being an ant trying to plow through the area over a dropped sugary Popsicle stick. You have to budget an extra hour to work your way in and out of the area and I'm not exaggerating.
Yet it is completely worth it. They had all the normal corny music, followed by Nick Lachey and some lady I didn't recognize smiling and kvetching. Finally, the switch was flipped and voila! The tree was lit. It's always so pretty, with extra white sparklers that randomly light up around the tree. The many allusions to snow have been almost comical the last two years as we're not even close to snow weather. But it was pretty chilly last night.
Christmas at Rockefeller Center.
The crowd immediately thins somewhat after the lighting, but there were still plenty of people around as we made our way around to the parade of angels. We'll go back another time to hit the ice skating rink. We took some photos, warmed up a bit at Starbucks, and called it a night. Most of the buildings around there will put up their decorations and outdoor installations. There is one place -- Saks 5th Ave., I think -- that has a light-up snowflake show on the facade of the building, complete with music! I imagine it's perennially annoying for the businesspeople who work late nights around there as it goes off every 30 minutes, but I love it.
As the morning dragged I realized I really wanted to go back, so I started my lunch break a little early and made my way back to Times Square. Last year I got Tony Stewart and Kasey Kahne to sign items for me, but Dale Jr. never made it over to where I was standing.
When I arrived, the crowd was thinner that it looked on TV in the morning but still impressively large for New York City. And the drivers were still there, smiling in their firesuits as their tired hands continued to sign autographs. It was too crowded to squeeze up front, so I stood back a little and just took it in. I had rooted for Jeff Burton this year so it was a big thrill seeing him. Martin Truex Jr. revved his engine a few times, Kyle Busch looked smug as usual, Jimmie Johnson (the repeat Champ this year) made humble statements while Jeff Gordon ate humble pie.
Not too long later, the drivers were called to another event. An audible "awww" went up through the crowd but the announcer rattled off a list of other events we could see the drivers at. That was nice. I overheard some businesspeople walking by complaining about NASCAR drivers being in midtown and closing so many streets on one of NYC's "Gridlock Alert Days," aka don't even think about driving here. Awww, tough break.
The second awesome event of yesterday came long after sundown -- the Rockefeller Tree lighting! A couple of my friends and I have gone the last few years. Last year, we avoided flipping the switch time in favor of Bailey's hot chocolate at the W hotel, but this year we decided to brave the crowds. And crowded is an understatement. It's like being an ant trying to plow through the area over a dropped sugary Popsicle stick. You have to budget an extra hour to work your way in and out of the area and I'm not exaggerating.
Yet it is completely worth it. They had all the normal corny music, followed by Nick Lachey and some lady I didn't recognize smiling and kvetching. Finally, the switch was flipped and voila! The tree was lit. It's always so pretty, with extra white sparklers that randomly light up around the tree. The many allusions to snow have been almost comical the last two years as we're not even close to snow weather. But it was pretty chilly last night.
Christmas at Rockefeller Center.The crowd immediately thins somewhat after the lighting, but there were still plenty of people around as we made our way around to the parade of angels. We'll go back another time to hit the ice skating rink. We took some photos, warmed up a bit at Starbucks, and called it a night. Most of the buildings around there will put up their decorations and outdoor installations. There is one place -- Saks 5th Ave., I think -- that has a light-up snowflake show on the facade of the building, complete with music! I imagine it's perennially annoying for the businesspeople who work late nights around there as it goes off every 30 minutes, but I love it.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Friends don't stiff friends
I hate money issues.I moved out in August and I haven't received any of my deposit back from him. To be fair, he moved in mid-September. I'm friends with one of my old roommates and my replacement and it's been kind of weird. They let me go back up there to do my laundry. We always go out and party and we all always drop some coin. But lately I've been getting fed up because my replacement hasn't even made a good faith gesture (i.e. talking to me about repaying me).
The situation is further complicated because he originally moved out to start his own business, and while the business is now doing fine, my friend lost a ton of money and had to go back to his old job while his partner runs the business. So he's still trying to pick himself back up financially. I feel bad and don't want to press him because of this. But I was in a similar situation when I moved in -- my college loans were close to defaulting and I was struggling to pay my monthly bills. I still managed to put half my deposit in up front. When he asked me for the rest, I gave it to him immediately. He has not responded in kind.
The deposit is not huge but it is a good chunk of change. I feel like our friendship is being strained by it. It's the 800 lb. gorilla in the room...and other raging metaphors. I mostly feel like it's so lame that I have to be the one to press this! The guy is in his 30s and should be more responsible than this.
Part of me wishes I was rich enough to just let it go...but I feel like I shouldn't even have to. It's the passive aggressive bullshit that kills.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Are outdoor fireplaces legal in New York City?
I never thought this was a quandary I'd have to face, but I really want to know if outdoor fire places are legal in New York City. It all started the weekend before Thanksgiving. I was in New Jersey visiting some friends who had just bought a new house. They grilled in their lovely backyard, which had a nice deck, glorious landscape...and an outdoor fireplace.
I was instantly in love. Of course, the one they have is huge and would never fit in my backyard. But thanks to my love of HGTV and all things home improvement I know that there are smaller outdoor fire bowls for sale at places like Target. (My favorite part of the reviews for the bowl at Target are the ones about using it indoors. You must be kidding, right? What part of outdoor fire bowl do you not get??!)
My backyard has a perfect round concrete area that would easily fit the bowl, plus four benches around it to sit on. I can already see cozying up with friends and a hot guy around the fire during the winter, making smores in the grand forest that is my backyard.
My side of the backyard last summer,
before the overgrowth got really bad.
I was instantly in love. Of course, the one they have is huge and would never fit in my backyard. But thanks to my love of HGTV and all things home improvement I know that there are smaller outdoor fire bowls for sale at places like Target. (My favorite part of the reviews for the bowl at Target are the ones about using it indoors. You must be kidding, right? What part of outdoor fire bowl do you not get??!)
My backyard has a perfect round concrete area that would easily fit the bowl, plus four benches around it to sit on. I can already see cozying up with friends and a hot guy around the fire during the winter, making smores in the grand forest that is my backyard.
My side of the backyard last summer,before the overgrowth got really bad.
Actually, I didn't even know I had the round patio until I did some fall yardwork. I know, fall yardwork in New York City -- it's been a grand source of amusement for my friends. But as I was starting to feel better I looked out back and saw leaves everywhere, and the neat fern beds in the photo above were overgrown.
So I went out back and cleaned my side of the yard. I swept the leaves into a pile, and cut back the trees and shrubs on the right and the left sides. There's also a tree that's dying back there. Several branches had dropped. With no woodchipper around, I had to place them in the fountain bed the old tenant had left behind. That was a bit of a bummer.
After transferring most of my piles into a big trash bag, I discovered was a nice, round sitting area about 12 feet in diameter. Flash forward to me in Jersey, and I mentally put two and two together. I asked my friends how I could find out about having an outdoor fireplace in the city. The consensus? This sounds like a job for 311!
Back in the city, I called 311. I listened in bemusement as a recorded message said, "please, if this is an emergency, please hang up and dial 911." Soon after I was connected with an operator, a woman.
I applaud the operator's patience, as I wasn't able to articulate what an outdoor fire bowl is. I browsed around the FDNY site a bit but wasn't able to find what I was looking for. I'm not even sure where to look next, but I must know if I can put the bowl on my holiday list or not, and soon.
So I went out back and cleaned my side of the yard. I swept the leaves into a pile, and cut back the trees and shrubs on the right and the left sides. There's also a tree that's dying back there. Several branches had dropped. With no woodchipper around, I had to place them in the fountain bed the old tenant had left behind. That was a bit of a bummer.
After transferring most of my piles into a big trash bag, I discovered was a nice, round sitting area about 12 feet in diameter. Flash forward to me in Jersey, and I mentally put two and two together. I asked my friends how I could find out about having an outdoor fireplace in the city. The consensus? This sounds like a job for 311!
Back in the city, I called 311. I listened in bemusement as a recorded message said, "please, if this is an emergency, please hang up and dial 911." Soon after I was connected with an operator, a woman.
Me - "Hi. Do you know if it is legal to have an outdoor fireplace in New York City?"
Woman - "You mean like a grill?"
Me - "No, like an outdoor fire bowl. I live on the Upper East Side and I have a backyard. I'd like to purchase an outdoor fire bowl to use in it."
Woman - "Ma'am, it is illegal to have camp fires in Manhattan."
Me - "No, no, not a camp fire. It's like...an iron bowl that you can build small fires in. Kind of like a grill I guess, but open...."
Woman (confused) - "I'm not sure what you're asking. Yes, it is legal to have a grill in Manhattan. But you cannot have brush fires."
Me - "Well, it's not a brush fire --"
Woman - "Maybe you should go the FDNY website and check there. They break down many of the city's regulations. I'm sorry I can't be of more assistance."
I applaud the operator's patience, as I wasn't able to articulate what an outdoor fire bowl is. I browsed around the FDNY site a bit but wasn't able to find what I was looking for. I'm not even sure where to look next, but I must know if I can put the bowl on my holiday list or not, and soon.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Return to Wonderland
I'm finally back to life! My flu is not totally kicked -- I have still have a nasty, persistent cough. But I feel 90% better. Thanksgiving came at a great time, giving me a few days off from work to recover. Work has been very busy as all of our clients want to launch projects before the new year. Wednesday afternoon could not come fast enough.
I gave thanks for my return to health on Thursday. It was gorgeous in the morning: sunny, mild and fall-like. I spent most of the morning in Central Park with Foxy, an NYC Shiba Rescue dog I watched for the weekend. We entered at 76th and 5th and walked north, then south, then west. We'd gotten there around 8:30, and a little while later, I heard the unmistakable sound of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, which starts on Central Park West in either the 70s or the 80s. Foxy and I made our way west until we emerged to the site of giant balloons and marching bands.
We hung out for a bit, but Foxy only had so much patience. We made our way back into the park. I was admiring the leaves falling and wishing for my camera...then I realized I had my camera with me.
A few weeks ago I realized I live right by the Alice in Wonderland statue, which is one of my favorite spots in the park. When I was a kid, one of my friend's Dad used to always quote the Walrus and the Carpenter whenever we got too silly.
That particular quote wasn't one of the ones around the statue, but the ones that did make the cut were equally memorable. What a peculiar place Central Park is - a zoo, statues ranging from political to artistic to whimsical, a museum, and lots of green. I couldn't believe how green the lawns were. As a kid I remember Central Park as being kind of seedy, but I've walked through there at all times of the day and night with no problems. It's a testament to the NYPD and the Central Park Conservancy. Plenty of people had their dogs off leashes, and many of the lawns had openings in the fencing to let dogs play in. It was tempting, but Foxy didn't seem interested in playing with other dogs. She was more into sniffing every tree we came across.
Afterwards, I went home to prep for Thanksgiving. I skipped the family events in favor of having some friends over for turkey. I'll see them soon enough for the holidays. I wasn't nuts enough to cook. Dinner was catered by Whole Foods. My friends were nice enough to split the cost, and it worked out to about $12 per person for 10 people. We had turkey, New England stuffing, sweet potato mash, regular mashed potatoes, cornbread, and of course cranberries (which no one ate but we insisted on having them anyway). My dining table fit three people, three more on the couch, and the rest of us sat on the floor around my coffee table. It was quite a sight, and a wonderful time. We watched some football, played some games and chatted well into the night.
We also shared our thanks for the year. So much to be thankful for this year: my wonderful job, my apartment in New York friggin' City, my newly returned health and my family's health, and some cool trips I took this year.
No Thanksgiving is complete with a Black Friday follow up. Two of my friends wanted to line up at Best Buy in the hopes of getting a GPS and maybe a 40" LCD. My little CRT TV is slowly dying so I decided to tag along to see what kind of deals I could find on 32" flat panel LCDs.
We went to the branch at 86th St around 3 AM on Friday. I expected a line, but we were all surprised to see what looked to be over 100 people. It turned out the store was opening at 4 AM, not 6 AM as we'd thought. When the doors opened there was probably a mad rush, but by the time the three of us were able to get in the door everyone was already milling about inside for their deals. The store has only cell phones on the top floor - you have to go downstairs for everything else. There are registers on both floors, and when I saw the line, I decided to hold a spot for the boys. We'd be on line for hours if I didn't. So much for staring at the pretty TVs.
They ran off. G came back a short while later with his GPS. The line had barely moved. Soon after T dejectedly returned, saying the LCD flat panel he wanted was gone. Bummer. We waited on line for about 45 minutes but made it back to my apartment and crashed. Black Friday became Blackout Friday -- at least until 7:30, when Foxy woke us up.
I gave thanks for my return to health on Thursday. It was gorgeous in the morning: sunny, mild and fall-like. I spent most of the morning in Central Park with Foxy, an NYC Shiba Rescue dog I watched for the weekend. We entered at 76th and 5th and walked north, then south, then west. We'd gotten there around 8:30, and a little while later, I heard the unmistakable sound of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, which starts on Central Park West in either the 70s or the 80s. Foxy and I made our way west until we emerged to the site of giant balloons and marching bands.
We hung out for a bit, but Foxy only had so much patience. We made our way back into the park. I was admiring the leaves falling and wishing for my camera...then I realized I had my camera with me.
A few weeks ago I realized I live right by the Alice in Wonderland statue, which is one of my favorite spots in the park. When I was a kid, one of my friend's Dad used to always quote the Walrus and the Carpenter whenever we got too silly.
"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings."
That particular quote wasn't one of the ones around the statue, but the ones that did make the cut were equally memorable. What a peculiar place Central Park is - a zoo, statues ranging from political to artistic to whimsical, a museum, and lots of green. I couldn't believe how green the lawns were. As a kid I remember Central Park as being kind of seedy, but I've walked through there at all times of the day and night with no problems. It's a testament to the NYPD and the Central Park Conservancy. Plenty of people had their dogs off leashes, and many of the lawns had openings in the fencing to let dogs play in. It was tempting, but Foxy didn't seem interested in playing with other dogs. She was more into sniffing every tree we came across.
Afterwards, I went home to prep for Thanksgiving. I skipped the family events in favor of having some friends over for turkey. I'll see them soon enough for the holidays. I wasn't nuts enough to cook. Dinner was catered by Whole Foods. My friends were nice enough to split the cost, and it worked out to about $12 per person for 10 people. We had turkey, New England stuffing, sweet potato mash, regular mashed potatoes, cornbread, and of course cranberries (which no one ate but we insisted on having them anyway). My dining table fit three people, three more on the couch, and the rest of us sat on the floor around my coffee table. It was quite a sight, and a wonderful time. We watched some football, played some games and chatted well into the night.
We also shared our thanks for the year. So much to be thankful for this year: my wonderful job, my apartment in New York friggin' City, my newly returned health and my family's health, and some cool trips I took this year.
No Thanksgiving is complete with a Black Friday follow up. Two of my friends wanted to line up at Best Buy in the hopes of getting a GPS and maybe a 40" LCD. My little CRT TV is slowly dying so I decided to tag along to see what kind of deals I could find on 32" flat panel LCDs.
We went to the branch at 86th St around 3 AM on Friday. I expected a line, but we were all surprised to see what looked to be over 100 people. It turned out the store was opening at 4 AM, not 6 AM as we'd thought. When the doors opened there was probably a mad rush, but by the time the three of us were able to get in the door everyone was already milling about inside for their deals. The store has only cell phones on the top floor - you have to go downstairs for everything else. There are registers on both floors, and when I saw the line, I decided to hold a spot for the boys. We'd be on line for hours if I didn't. So much for staring at the pretty TVs.
They ran off. G came back a short while later with his GPS. The line had barely moved. Soon after T dejectedly returned, saying the LCD flat panel he wanted was gone. Bummer. We waited on line for about 45 minutes but made it back to my apartment and crashed. Black Friday became Blackout Friday -- at least until 7:30, when Foxy woke us up.
Monday, November 12, 2007
I get by with a little help from my friends
I hate to keep harping on the fact that I'm sick, but well, I am. Sick that is. Also harping. I have had this flu now for 3 weeks and it shows no sign of evacuating my body. Germ fiefdom, or something. I psych myself up for work but then by Friday I'm pretty much wiped out. My friends J and P say the same thing happened to them during their first cold season in NYC -- it's like the germs preyed on me for being fresh meat.
It's been more than a little annoying because I've missed out on the last few fun weekends (although I did go to a party, which was probably ill-advised). On Saturday a bunch of my friends went to Wollman Rink and had brunch at Brasserie. I stayed home to sleep. We have plans for a walking tour this weekend -- no way I am missing out.
Despite being left out of the fun, my friends have not forgotten me. Saturday evening I was lamenting my severe lack of groceries or anything edible in my apartment. Not that I've really been hungry but when appetite does strike I've been surviving on peanut butter sandwiches and plain bagels. Then came the knock at my door...okay, a buzz of my buzzer. I pretty much flew off the couch, but recovered to open the door.
Waiting for me on the other side was a delivery man from Fresh Direct, with two bags for me. I was very excited. There was a note from some of my friends: "We knew you wanted to try them anyway, and we know you probably don't want to cook. Feel better chica!" I love New York City at times like this. Fresh restaurant meals delivered to my door. Awesome.
I eagerly took the bags inside and unpacked them. There were a couple of 4-minute meals and almost a week's worth of nuke-and-eat yummy looking dinners. There was also one large meal -- a prepped but uncooked rotisserie chicken with fixings. Way too much for me to eat in one sitting. I stowed in my fridge but then felt too tired to make anything. I decided to take a nap and then give it a try.
My nap was rudely interrupted a short time later by another buzz at the door. This time it was two of my galpals. "We're here to cook you dinner!" they said. Amazing, said I.
We chatted for a few minutes but I was still pretty tired, so I excused myself to bed to sleep some more. It didn't last though, because the next buzz at my door came from the boys. When I opened the door to let them in, they were all wearing surgical masks and gloves. Ha!
P was hiding something behind his back - I peered around and saw a box. The other three all had Xbox 360 controllers with them. I groaned and rolled my eyes. "You came over to have a Halo 3 tournament on my internets?" I teased. "Yes," replied P, "and to play Guitar Hero III!" He unhid the box to reveal the game.
My sleep plans were suddenly abandoned. I helped the girls finish prepping the food while the boys groaned about Shotty Snipers on Live. Once the food was cooking, all 7 of us took turns doing battle in guitar hero. P had bought two guitars (one came with the game). We universally sucked for the first couple of songs, except for M and W who are both pretty much pro gamers.
After a couple of rounds, we started improving. Soon we were showing off, using the whammy bar and doing hammer-ons. A quick break for food, then back to the game. We kept at it until pretty late, by which time I was exhausted all over again.
I sat on the couch and started falling asleep. P asked me if I was having fun. "I'd rather be out shopping," I replied groggily.
"Yep, she's feeling better," M joked and we all laughed. I poked him in retort. I dozed off not too much later, and the only way I knew it wasn't all a dream the next morning was that Guitar Hero III was still sitting by my TV the next morning. That's how I spent my Sunday indoors. Not too bad of a weekend. Still, I'm looking forward to getting out and enjoying fall in New York.
Anyone know any good flu kickers?
It's been more than a little annoying because I've missed out on the last few fun weekends (although I did go to a party, which was probably ill-advised). On Saturday a bunch of my friends went to Wollman Rink and had brunch at Brasserie. I stayed home to sleep. We have plans for a walking tour this weekend -- no way I am missing out.
Despite being left out of the fun, my friends have not forgotten me. Saturday evening I was lamenting my severe lack of groceries or anything edible in my apartment. Not that I've really been hungry but when appetite does strike I've been surviving on peanut butter sandwiches and plain bagels. Then came the knock at my door...okay, a buzz of my buzzer. I pretty much flew off the couch, but recovered to open the door.
Waiting for me on the other side was a delivery man from Fresh Direct, with two bags for me. I was very excited. There was a note from some of my friends: "We knew you wanted to try them anyway, and we know you probably don't want to cook. Feel better chica!" I love New York City at times like this. Fresh restaurant meals delivered to my door. Awesome.
I eagerly took the bags inside and unpacked them. There were a couple of 4-minute meals and almost a week's worth of nuke-and-eat yummy looking dinners. There was also one large meal -- a prepped but uncooked rotisserie chicken with fixings. Way too much for me to eat in one sitting. I stowed in my fridge but then felt too tired to make anything. I decided to take a nap and then give it a try.
My nap was rudely interrupted a short time later by another buzz at the door. This time it was two of my galpals. "We're here to cook you dinner!" they said. Amazing, said I.
We chatted for a few minutes but I was still pretty tired, so I excused myself to bed to sleep some more. It didn't last though, because the next buzz at my door came from the boys. When I opened the door to let them in, they were all wearing surgical masks and gloves. Ha!
P was hiding something behind his back - I peered around and saw a box. The other three all had Xbox 360 controllers with them. I groaned and rolled my eyes. "You came over to have a Halo 3 tournament on my internets?" I teased. "Yes," replied P, "and to play Guitar Hero III!" He unhid the box to reveal the game.
My sleep plans were suddenly abandoned. I helped the girls finish prepping the food while the boys groaned about Shotty Snipers on Live. Once the food was cooking, all 7 of us took turns doing battle in guitar hero. P had bought two guitars (one came with the game). We universally sucked for the first couple of songs, except for M and W who are both pretty much pro gamers.
After a couple of rounds, we started improving. Soon we were showing off, using the whammy bar and doing hammer-ons. A quick break for food, then back to the game. We kept at it until pretty late, by which time I was exhausted all over again.
I sat on the couch and started falling asleep. P asked me if I was having fun. "I'd rather be out shopping," I replied groggily.
"Yep, she's feeling better," M joked and we all laughed. I poked him in retort. I dozed off not too much later, and the only way I knew it wasn't all a dream the next morning was that Guitar Hero III was still sitting by my TV the next morning. That's how I spent my Sunday indoors. Not too bad of a weekend. Still, I'm looking forward to getting out and enjoying fall in New York.
Anyone know any good flu kickers?
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Coffee talk
"OMG, we need coffee talk," my friend A emailed to me, G and F. "Girl chatter. Please. I need estrogen!"
A is a scientist working at a chemistry lab uptown. It's her and six guys and she goes crazy at least once a month.
Serendipity 3
We met up at Serendipity 3, which has been in the news because it created the world's most expensive dessert. The group decided to go for something a bit less expensive but tasty nonetheless. I got a hot chocolate to warm up -- fall has finally come to Manhattan. After a few sips and bites, we immediately started chatting. And didn't stop for hours. I love girl's night out. We caught up on boyfriends, work, anything and everything.
F was particularly livid about an article that the gals at her work had passed around. A speed dating study at Columbia University had found that men did not want to go out on dates with women who were smarter or more ambitious than them.
"That's pretty much every woman in New York City," she snarked. "What the hell is the big deal?" She wondered why men wouldn't like a smart woman.
"They don't want to be threatened," A, who is married, responded. "It's OK to have a little healthy competition but most men want to be the breadwinner."
"The worst are the women who pretend to be dumber than they are," F said. "It's completely wreaking havoc on the system."
The girls continued to debate for a little while. Finally F cocked an eyebrow in my general direction. "You're awfully quiet," she said. I smiled weakly. Finally, I admitted that I had played dumb to get dates with cute boys before.
The girls groaned. The general sentiment was 'How can you do that?' I shrugged. I told them that it's not a pissing match and any boy can find out later how smart and ambitious I am. I don't want them to feel overmatched. Lull them in, I said, and then reveal.
"It's not like it's worked out well for me anyway," I half-joked with a smirk. More groans.
We moved on to a debate about why so many male scientists do studies to disprove the intelligence of women, or to try to qualify lame actions like cheating through biological factors. The subject later completely changed to Thanksgiving plans, and then holiday plans.
Hours later, we'd had our fill of tasty treats and yummy drinks, and it was time to go home. We gathered our coats and said goodbye. As I stood up and started to put mine on, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I wheeled around and was shocked to see my ex-boyfriend D smiling at me.
"Hi!" I said, more astonished than anything to see him. We'd dated for a few months last year casually. We'd broken up because my last job made me miserable to be around. He greeted me with a warm hug and asked how I was. We chit chatted for a couple of minutes. He was leaving too and offered to walk me out.
The girls waited off to the side as D and I caught up. Finally, he said, "I overheard you ladies talking about playing dumb for men." I blushed but confirmed. "So...did you do that with me?" He asked. Oh lord. How could I answer? I tried to think of a response, but had to be honest.
"A little, yeah," I replied. "It's just part of the game. Like you literally bumping into me at the bar as an excuse to buy me a drink." D laughed. "I suppose," he murmured, giving me the once over. "You shouldn't do that."
We just kind of stood there for a minute in that awkward do we want to hang out or not moment? Luckily my gals swung in to rescue me. As they pulled me away, I shouted goodbye to D and once around the corner we sank into a fit of giggles.
"Ugh, I know like five guys in this city and one just happened to be sitting behind us listening to me admit my game," I cried. "Or lack therof," A said. More giggles.
I swear, my life is a sitcom and I'm the only one who can't hear the laugh track.
A is a scientist working at a chemistry lab uptown. It's her and six guys and she goes crazy at least once a month.
Serendipity 3We met up at Serendipity 3, which has been in the news because it created the world's most expensive dessert. The group decided to go for something a bit less expensive but tasty nonetheless. I got a hot chocolate to warm up -- fall has finally come to Manhattan. After a few sips and bites, we immediately started chatting. And didn't stop for hours. I love girl's night out. We caught up on boyfriends, work, anything and everything.
F was particularly livid about an article that the gals at her work had passed around. A speed dating study at Columbia University had found that men did not want to go out on dates with women who were smarter or more ambitious than them.
"That's pretty much every woman in New York City," she snarked. "What the hell is the big deal?" She wondered why men wouldn't like a smart woman.
"They don't want to be threatened," A, who is married, responded. "It's OK to have a little healthy competition but most men want to be the breadwinner."
"The worst are the women who pretend to be dumber than they are," F said. "It's completely wreaking havoc on the system."
The girls continued to debate for a little while. Finally F cocked an eyebrow in my general direction. "You're awfully quiet," she said. I smiled weakly. Finally, I admitted that I had played dumb to get dates with cute boys before.
The girls groaned. The general sentiment was 'How can you do that?' I shrugged. I told them that it's not a pissing match and any boy can find out later how smart and ambitious I am. I don't want them to feel overmatched. Lull them in, I said, and then reveal.
"It's not like it's worked out well for me anyway," I half-joked with a smirk. More groans.
We moved on to a debate about why so many male scientists do studies to disprove the intelligence of women, or to try to qualify lame actions like cheating through biological factors. The subject later completely changed to Thanksgiving plans, and then holiday plans.
Hours later, we'd had our fill of tasty treats and yummy drinks, and it was time to go home. We gathered our coats and said goodbye. As I stood up and started to put mine on, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I wheeled around and was shocked to see my ex-boyfriend D smiling at me.
"Hi!" I said, more astonished than anything to see him. We'd dated for a few months last year casually. We'd broken up because my last job made me miserable to be around. He greeted me with a warm hug and asked how I was. We chit chatted for a couple of minutes. He was leaving too and offered to walk me out.
The girls waited off to the side as D and I caught up. Finally, he said, "I overheard you ladies talking about playing dumb for men." I blushed but confirmed. "So...did you do that with me?" He asked. Oh lord. How could I answer? I tried to think of a response, but had to be honest.
"A little, yeah," I replied. "It's just part of the game. Like you literally bumping into me at the bar as an excuse to buy me a drink." D laughed. "I suppose," he murmured, giving me the once over. "You shouldn't do that."
We just kind of stood there for a minute in that awkward do we want to hang out or not moment? Luckily my gals swung in to rescue me. As they pulled me away, I shouted goodbye to D and once around the corner we sank into a fit of giggles.
"Ugh, I know like five guys in this city and one just happened to be sitting behind us listening to me admit my game," I cried. "Or lack therof," A said. More giggles.
I swear, my life is a sitcom and I'm the only one who can't hear the laugh track.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Chicks dig videogames too
Why does the media hold on to stereotypes for so long?
The video game industry is finally starting to wake up to the fact that chicks dig videogames too. To the tune of billions of dollars per year. And when we play, we don't want to be limited to puzzle games. We want action. We want shoot'emups and button mashers and horror games and everything that the boys get. We want female characters without ridiculous proportions that are fun to play as. But the media still acts like it's 1995...talking about what games the guys want this holiday season, how menboys line up for games days before they're released...whatever.
I used to go to GameStop and get asked if I was looking for a present for my boyfriend. Cute. Now at least they ask what I'm looking for (if they talk to me at all). And for the record, hot chicks play videogames too. I for one enjoy playing games with my boyfriend. I consider it good bonding time.
I have two gal pals who share my casual video game love. Yesterday, H sent K and I a link to a wonderful article about what a video game system says about your man. All she said was "You have got to be kidding me -- link." Here's what I got out of the article - men who own PS3s and Xbox 360s are rich, men who have Wiis are poor. PS3 owners are loyal (uh-huh); Wii owners are social (sure) and Xbox 360 owners will consistently ignore you for Cortana (somewhat likely for the next couple of months).
Besides the sheer stupidity of the measurement (Material possessions are the biggest clues! Judge a man by his things! Not by who he is!) I found it sexist. I mean, if you're going to make blanket statements about one sex without any basis in fact, it's only fair to do it to the other.
So boys, I'm here to help you out. I've assembled a crack panel of ladies to help me make broad, inaccurate generalizations as to what your girlfriend's video game system says about her.
Let's meet our crack panel...
P: She has way too much disposable cash. She doesn't value money and will raid your wallet when you're not looking.
W: She doesn't care if the controller vibrates as long as the game looks good. She's superficial and always needs a new toy, or boy toy. It's not important to her if you don't let her hang out with her old boyfriends.
J: She's probably loyal and ignored the reviews of her friends. Though you spend time with your old girlfriend, she pretends not to care that you won't let her meet the former flame. She is still hoping for good games to come out of this relationship. She'll stay true to you as long as you're in it for the long haul.
S: She'll be your Sugar Cougar.
If your woman owns a Wii...
S: She's probably 15. That means she's not legal yet, not that it matters these days.
R: She has a short attention span but is really good with her hands.
P: She is in touch with her inner child. Probably a bit too much. She wears pigtails and enjoys beating things.
J: It's hard for her to be serious about anything. She probably has communication and commitment issues. Run now.
If your woman owns an Xbox 360...
R: She can probably kick your ass in Halo 3 multiplayer. She will strip you of your manhood and embarrass you in front of your friends, and laugh while doing it.
W: She is forgiving when things don't work as expected, and patient when they break. She's willing to take a chance on something that may have red rings of death. She wants someone who can express when they need to be sent in for repairs.
P: She likes things that don't tie her down or don't need her to be within 30 feet all the time. She thinks variety is the spice of life. She talks constantly and is online a lot.
J: She sees everything in black or white terms. She can be drawn into tossing you for a bigger hard drive easily. She's a peripherals master.
If your woman owns an oldie (PS, N64, Dreamcast)...
S: She stays with things wayyyyy too long.
P: She doesn't know how to upgrade and is afraid to be alone.
R: She likes the underdog. She's counterculture. She doesn't mind if something has a lot of hype but turns out to be a little disappointing.
If your woman owns a classic (Sega Genesis, Super Nintendo)...
J: She appreciates things that are predictable. She wants her life to be linear. She likes her routine.
S: You don't have to be 3-dimensional to date her. Or she's broke.
W: An old boyfriend asked her to hold onto it. 15 years ago.
If your woman owns a retro machine (Coleco, Intellivision)...
S: She's old. She's a cougar!
P: Like a fine wine, she knows things get better with age. She likes the older men.
J: She doesn't adapt to new technology well. She doesn't own a cellphone and has probably never heard of a computer.
R: She likes her joysticks to look like joysticks - straight with one button.
If she plays games on a PC...
W: She's probably got 5 online boyfriends. Good luck with that one.
P: She's single and calls in sick to work a lot. She either answers the phone on the first ring or doesn't answer it for days. Her eyes are bad.
R: She buys a new computer every two years. She'll trade you in at the same time.
The video game industry is finally starting to wake up to the fact that chicks dig videogames too. To the tune of billions of dollars per year. And when we play, we don't want to be limited to puzzle games. We want action. We want shoot'emups and button mashers and horror games and everything that the boys get. We want female characters without ridiculous proportions that are fun to play as. But the media still acts like it's 1995...talking about what games the guys want this holiday season, how menboys line up for games days before they're released...whatever.
I used to go to GameStop and get asked if I was looking for a present for my boyfriend. Cute. Now at least they ask what I'm looking for (if they talk to me at all). And for the record, hot chicks play videogames too. I for one enjoy playing games with my boyfriend. I consider it good bonding time.
I have two gal pals who share my casual video game love. Yesterday, H sent K and I a link to a wonderful article about what a video game system says about your man. All she said was "You have got to be kidding me -- link." Here's what I got out of the article - men who own PS3s and Xbox 360s are rich, men who have Wiis are poor. PS3 owners are loyal (uh-huh); Wii owners are social (sure) and Xbox 360 owners will consistently ignore you for Cortana (somewhat likely for the next couple of months).
Besides the sheer stupidity of the measurement (Material possessions are the biggest clues! Judge a man by his things! Not by who he is!) I found it sexist. I mean, if you're going to make blanket statements about one sex without any basis in fact, it's only fair to do it to the other.
So boys, I'm here to help you out. I've assembled a crack panel of ladies to help me make broad, inaccurate generalizations as to what your girlfriend's video game system says about her.
Let's meet our crack panel...
R, a snarky Internet Project ManagerIf your woman owns a PS3...
P, a 30-something married mother of 2 in suburbia
W, a female professional gamer/calendar girl
J, editor-in-chief of 'Women Game On!'
S, a comedienne
P: She has way too much disposable cash. She doesn't value money and will raid your wallet when you're not looking.
W: She doesn't care if the controller vibrates as long as the game looks good. She's superficial and always needs a new toy, or boy toy. It's not important to her if you don't let her hang out with her old boyfriends.
J: She's probably loyal and ignored the reviews of her friends. Though you spend time with your old girlfriend, she pretends not to care that you won't let her meet the former flame. She is still hoping for good games to come out of this relationship. She'll stay true to you as long as you're in it for the long haul.
S: She'll be your Sugar Cougar.
If your woman owns a Wii...
S: She's probably 15. That means she's not legal yet, not that it matters these days.
R: She has a short attention span but is really good with her hands.
P: She is in touch with her inner child. Probably a bit too much. She wears pigtails and enjoys beating things.
J: It's hard for her to be serious about anything. She probably has communication and commitment issues. Run now.
If your woman owns an Xbox 360...
R: She can probably kick your ass in Halo 3 multiplayer. She will strip you of your manhood and embarrass you in front of your friends, and laugh while doing it.
W: She is forgiving when things don't work as expected, and patient when they break. She's willing to take a chance on something that may have red rings of death. She wants someone who can express when they need to be sent in for repairs.
P: She likes things that don't tie her down or don't need her to be within 30 feet all the time. She thinks variety is the spice of life. She talks constantly and is online a lot.
J: She sees everything in black or white terms. She can be drawn into tossing you for a bigger hard drive easily. She's a peripherals master.
If your woman owns an oldie (PS, N64, Dreamcast)...
S: She stays with things wayyyyy too long.
P: She doesn't know how to upgrade and is afraid to be alone.
R: She likes the underdog. She's counterculture. She doesn't mind if something has a lot of hype but turns out to be a little disappointing.
If your woman owns a classic (Sega Genesis, Super Nintendo)...
J: She appreciates things that are predictable. She wants her life to be linear. She likes her routine.
S: You don't have to be 3-dimensional to date her. Or she's broke.
W: An old boyfriend asked her to hold onto it. 15 years ago.
If your woman owns a retro machine (Coleco, Intellivision)...
S: She's old. She's a cougar!
P: Like a fine wine, she knows things get better with age. She likes the older men.
J: She doesn't adapt to new technology well. She doesn't own a cellphone and has probably never heard of a computer.
R: She likes her joysticks to look like joysticks - straight with one button.
If she plays games on a PC...
W: She's probably got 5 online boyfriends. Good luck with that one.
P: She's single and calls in sick to work a lot. She either answers the phone on the first ring or doesn't answer it for days. Her eyes are bad.
R: She buys a new computer every two years. She'll trade you in at the same time.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Of cellphones and jamming
What is the big deal about cell phones? Personally, I hate the damn things. I have one, yes, currently a Samsung Blackjack that I use to keep constantly connected to work. To say I loathe it is putting it gently. I buy a new phone once every three years or so. I couldn't care less about watching video on my phone, listening to music on my phone, or really anything besides making phone calls. And even that I don't do very often.
I suppose I sound old and crotchety, but I don't really care. My phone has come in handy for a few things. It's a great portable GPS device. I constantly use Google Maps on it to find my way around Manhattan south of Union Square. I take pictures of products at stores (that is, when the clerks don't stop me). I check sports scores when I'm not near a TV. But given the choice between a landline and a cell, I choose the landline every time. I can't hear on cellphones (guess being in a band did this to me). And more importantly, unless it's an emergency, I don't really want to be bothered.
But my biggest cellphone pet peeve is anyone using their cellphone obnoxiously in public. You know this person. They have private conversations in public places. Loudly. They use their cellphone while driving. Dangerously. They make unimportant calls on trains, buses or ferries because they're bored. Annoyingly. They text constantly, they walk badly, they have blatant disregard for anything besides their goddamn iPhone/Blackberry/Dash/Chocolate/whatever the hell you want to call it right in front of them.
Decorum is dead and the cellphone is to blame. In New York City, where privacy is an illusion anyway, the only respite from cellhell is the subway. And even that may soon come to an end. So over the weekend I got a cheap thrill from a New York Times article my friend P sent me about cellphone jammers.
We had been talking about them a few months before. We were watching "Mission Impossible" and during the scene of the Eurostar train in the Chunnel I was chortling as Luther used a cellphone jammer to keep Max from downloading the NOC list. P works for a technology think tank so he's always up on the latest breakthroughs. I asked him if there was such a thing as a cellphone jammer. He laughed and said of course. I told him I wanted one to use on Metro North. In the mornings, the passengers were mostly commuters who followed the conductor's announced rules of etiquette -- use your phone in the vestibule and speak quietly. But in the evenings the train was half commuters and half idiots. I liked to sleep on the ride home and without fail I would always have some jerk (usually a woman, I hate to say) who sat next to me and gabbed on her cellphone the entire way home. The only break came in the dead zone of the Grand Central tunnel at the beginning of the trip. And they were usually gabbing about nothing important! Things that could easily be discussed from home by phone, or (gasp!) in person. No baby births. No family members in the hospital. Just bullshit like "this dress was $350" or "OMG so-and-so is such a dick" or "my boss hates me." Sometimes these people were so loud that I could hear them over my music, no matter how loud I made it.
After a year of commuting I lost all sense of etiquette. First I politely asked my benchmates to use the vestibule. Then I started staring at them until they confronted me, at which time I bitched them out. Finally I would just interrupt them and loudly ask them to shut the hell up and save your unimportant bullshit call for later because no one on the train cares and I just want to sleep dammit. I admit, this was pretty lame of me, but I got an odd sense of satisfaction each of the three times I said it. Etiquette is dead too, it turns out.
The NYT article was particularly interesting because I learned that 1) cellphone jammers can be relatively cheap; 2) they are easy to conceal and 3) they are totally illegal. Now that I don't use Metro North as much I'm not as strung out about wanting a jammer, but when the subways are wired I feel like I'd really want one. If we could all agree to use cellphones only in emergencies on the subways for the good of all mankind, I'd be OK. But somehow I doubt that will happen. Utilitarianism is also dead. At least when it comes to cellphones.
I suppose I sound old and crotchety, but I don't really care. My phone has come in handy for a few things. It's a great portable GPS device. I constantly use Google Maps on it to find my way around Manhattan south of Union Square. I take pictures of products at stores (that is, when the clerks don't stop me). I check sports scores when I'm not near a TV. But given the choice between a landline and a cell, I choose the landline every time. I can't hear on cellphones (guess being in a band did this to me). And more importantly, unless it's an emergency, I don't really want to be bothered.
But my biggest cellphone pet peeve is anyone using their cellphone obnoxiously in public. You know this person. They have private conversations in public places. Loudly. They use their cellphone while driving. Dangerously. They make unimportant calls on trains, buses or ferries because they're bored. Annoyingly. They text constantly, they walk badly, they have blatant disregard for anything besides their goddamn iPhone/Blackberry/Dash/Chocolate/whatever the hell you want to call it right in front of them.
Decorum is dead and the cellphone is to blame. In New York City, where privacy is an illusion anyway, the only respite from cellhell is the subway. And even that may soon come to an end. So over the weekend I got a cheap thrill from a New York Times article my friend P sent me about cellphone jammers.
We had been talking about them a few months before. We were watching "Mission Impossible" and during the scene of the Eurostar train in the Chunnel I was chortling as Luther used a cellphone jammer to keep Max from downloading the NOC list. P works for a technology think tank so he's always up on the latest breakthroughs. I asked him if there was such a thing as a cellphone jammer. He laughed and said of course. I told him I wanted one to use on Metro North. In the mornings, the passengers were mostly commuters who followed the conductor's announced rules of etiquette -- use your phone in the vestibule and speak quietly. But in the evenings the train was half commuters and half idiots. I liked to sleep on the ride home and without fail I would always have some jerk (usually a woman, I hate to say) who sat next to me and gabbed on her cellphone the entire way home. The only break came in the dead zone of the Grand Central tunnel at the beginning of the trip. And they were usually gabbing about nothing important! Things that could easily be discussed from home by phone, or (gasp!) in person. No baby births. No family members in the hospital. Just bullshit like "this dress was $350" or "OMG so-and-so is such a dick" or "my boss hates me." Sometimes these people were so loud that I could hear them over my music, no matter how loud I made it.
After a year of commuting I lost all sense of etiquette. First I politely asked my benchmates to use the vestibule. Then I started staring at them until they confronted me, at which time I bitched them out. Finally I would just interrupt them and loudly ask them to shut the hell up and save your unimportant bullshit call for later because no one on the train cares and I just want to sleep dammit. I admit, this was pretty lame of me, but I got an odd sense of satisfaction each of the three times I said it. Etiquette is dead too, it turns out.
The NYT article was particularly interesting because I learned that 1) cellphone jammers can be relatively cheap; 2) they are easy to conceal and 3) they are totally illegal. Now that I don't use Metro North as much I'm not as strung out about wanting a jammer, but when the subways are wired I feel like I'd really want one. If we could all agree to use cellphones only in emergencies on the subways for the good of all mankind, I'd be OK. But somehow I doubt that will happen. Utilitarianism is also dead. At least when it comes to cellphones.
Finally, good karma comes my way
If there is a silver lining in being miserably sick, it's that people feel sorry for you. Normally I am loathe to appear weak but in my weakened state I am glad to have people take pity on me. My uncontrollable coughing fits get looks of sympathy (and contempt) on the subway. On the walk to work from the train I've had people thrice ask me if I need help or if I'm OK. It's touching how sweet New Yorkers can be.
Yesterday after work I had to go see the doctor again. He'd asked to see me because he wanted to make sure my lungs were clear. Since I've missed a bit of work I wanted to work late and make up some time. As a result, I had to get from work into Harlem in about 35 minutes. Not a rush but cutting it pretty close.
My plan was to take the 6, hop onto an express at Grand Central, and then change back at 86th St. But I ended up waiting almost 10 minutes for a train at 23rd St, which threw a monkey wrench into my plan. I lucked out that I was right in front of the door when the train stopped, so I was able to squeeze on. Plan B was to take the 6 all the way. Unfortunately since this was the first train in a while, we got stuck at every station as commuters tried to maneuver in.
It took us 25 minutes to get to 59th St, and I knew I was screwed. I was the last doctor's appt of the day and I didn't want to be late. At 86th St I made the decision to jump out of the subway and take a taxi the rest of the way. I ran out of the tunnel and frantically hailed a cab. I told him the address -- 110st and 3rd. I had almost no cash with me, but now that taxis have those GPS thingies they take credit cards.
Except the cab I'd been picked up by didn't have the GPS. "Oh no," I said. "You don't take credit cards?" The cab driver shook his head no. "Let me see how much cash I have..." I looked in my wallet and found six mangled singles.
"I have six dollars. Will that get me to 110 st?" I asked. "We'll see how far that gets you," the driver replied. I leaned back as my leg shook with anxiety. There was nothing I could do but wait and see. And cough. Cough cough cough. (pause) COUGH cough cough cough. The running made my already sick lungs more out of breath.
I watched as the meter passed $4, then $5. We were only in the 90s, struggling through heavy traffic on 3rd Ave. We hit $6 at 101st St. I expected the driver to pull over and throw me out. Instead, he asked me "You only got $6, right?" Yes, I replied.
He shut off the meter and drove me the rest of the way. He shut off the meter! He dropped me off at my desired location, where I thanked him profusely and apologized for not being able to tip him. He told me to feel better. What a sweet driver! Nice things do happen sometimes.
I ended up having to wait at the clinic, but I didn't care. The doctor checked me out and declared me still sick, but with OK lungs.
Act 2 of good karma actually came at the end of last week. My apartment is finally (pretty much) done. Since moving in on August 18th, I had only used my stovetop/oven twice, and I'd stopped using my microwave in September when they put it on my stool because it was too tipsy. So I hadn't cooked in my apartment for 10 of the 11 weeks I've lived here.
On October 20th, one of the workers from the contractor's company came and put up my microwave. They did it wrong because no one was monitoring -- the microwave has a fan and light on the bottom and instead of mounting it on brackets above my stove they mounted it on a shelf -- making my fan and light useless, but at least it's up. I could finally cook!
That also meant it was time to pay rent. My non-Super had told me back in September to hold onto my rent until everything was done. Even though it wasn't perfect, I considered the apartment done enough. I called the non-Super four times over the next four days and never got a call back. All this rent money has been sitting in my bank account. If I had known it would have taken this long, I would have invested it in a short-term high-yield interest savings account.
Instead, my bank account balance has been deceptively high with rent money. I could have paid off my credit cards. I could have bought all the furniture I want. I could have bought the TV and speaker system and Xbox 360 I want. Or clothing. Or something else materialistic. But I've been good.
Home sick last Tuesday, I ran into my non-Super outside of my building. She asked when I could pay the rent and I told her to swing by on Nov. 1. I wanted to talk to her about a discount given everything I'd gone through but that was not the time. I was kind of dreading the conversation. I did not want to have a bad relationship with the non-Super, but I felt that I was on firm ground. I was afraid it would become an argument. Come the 1st, I tried calling her to arrange a pickup time but her voicemail was full. Argh. And yet I wasn't really surprised. My anxiety was prolonged.
On Friday she came by to collect the rent. I was incredibly nervous as I planned out how to ask for a discount. I showed her the microwave (she was upset about the shelf instead of brackets) and we discussed some other remaining issues, like the last tenant's name still being on the buzzer. Finally it was time to talk rent. I politely explained that I felt like since I couldn't use my kitchen since I'd moved in, I deserved a break on the rent.
I expected her to fight back, but instead she nodded and asked what I felt was fair. I proposed a half-month discount. She said that was fair. I probably could have asked for more given her response, but that's OK. I was just excited that I didn't have to fight about it. I wrote her a check for the rent owed minus the discount and all was good. Sometimes good things happen.
Yesterday after work I had to go see the doctor again. He'd asked to see me because he wanted to make sure my lungs were clear. Since I've missed a bit of work I wanted to work late and make up some time. As a result, I had to get from work into Harlem in about 35 minutes. Not a rush but cutting it pretty close.
My plan was to take the 6, hop onto an express at Grand Central, and then change back at 86th St. But I ended up waiting almost 10 minutes for a train at 23rd St, which threw a monkey wrench into my plan. I lucked out that I was right in front of the door when the train stopped, so I was able to squeeze on. Plan B was to take the 6 all the way. Unfortunately since this was the first train in a while, we got stuck at every station as commuters tried to maneuver in.
It took us 25 minutes to get to 59th St, and I knew I was screwed. I was the last doctor's appt of the day and I didn't want to be late. At 86th St I made the decision to jump out of the subway and take a taxi the rest of the way. I ran out of the tunnel and frantically hailed a cab. I told him the address -- 110st and 3rd. I had almost no cash with me, but now that taxis have those GPS thingies they take credit cards.
Except the cab I'd been picked up by didn't have the GPS. "Oh no," I said. "You don't take credit cards?" The cab driver shook his head no. "Let me see how much cash I have..." I looked in my wallet and found six mangled singles.
"I have six dollars. Will that get me to 110 st?" I asked. "We'll see how far that gets you," the driver replied. I leaned back as my leg shook with anxiety. There was nothing I could do but wait and see. And cough. Cough cough cough. (pause) COUGH cough cough cough. The running made my already sick lungs more out of breath.
I watched as the meter passed $4, then $5. We were only in the 90s, struggling through heavy traffic on 3rd Ave. We hit $6 at 101st St. I expected the driver to pull over and throw me out. Instead, he asked me "You only got $6, right?" Yes, I replied.
He shut off the meter and drove me the rest of the way. He shut off the meter! He dropped me off at my desired location, where I thanked him profusely and apologized for not being able to tip him. He told me to feel better. What a sweet driver! Nice things do happen sometimes.
I ended up having to wait at the clinic, but I didn't care. The doctor checked me out and declared me still sick, but with OK lungs.
Act 2 of good karma actually came at the end of last week. My apartment is finally (pretty much) done. Since moving in on August 18th, I had only used my stovetop/oven twice, and I'd stopped using my microwave in September when they put it on my stool because it was too tipsy. So I hadn't cooked in my apartment for 10 of the 11 weeks I've lived here.
On October 20th, one of the workers from the contractor's company came and put up my microwave. They did it wrong because no one was monitoring -- the microwave has a fan and light on the bottom and instead of mounting it on brackets above my stove they mounted it on a shelf -- making my fan and light useless, but at least it's up. I could finally cook!
That also meant it was time to pay rent. My non-Super had told me back in September to hold onto my rent until everything was done. Even though it wasn't perfect, I considered the apartment done enough. I called the non-Super four times over the next four days and never got a call back. All this rent money has been sitting in my bank account. If I had known it would have taken this long, I would have invested it in a short-term high-yield interest savings account.
Instead, my bank account balance has been deceptively high with rent money. I could have paid off my credit cards. I could have bought all the furniture I want. I could have bought the TV and speaker system and Xbox 360 I want. Or clothing. Or something else materialistic. But I've been good.
Home sick last Tuesday, I ran into my non-Super outside of my building. She asked when I could pay the rent and I told her to swing by on Nov. 1. I wanted to talk to her about a discount given everything I'd gone through but that was not the time. I was kind of dreading the conversation. I did not want to have a bad relationship with the non-Super, but I felt that I was on firm ground. I was afraid it would become an argument. Come the 1st, I tried calling her to arrange a pickup time but her voicemail was full. Argh. And yet I wasn't really surprised. My anxiety was prolonged.
On Friday she came by to collect the rent. I was incredibly nervous as I planned out how to ask for a discount. I showed her the microwave (she was upset about the shelf instead of brackets) and we discussed some other remaining issues, like the last tenant's name still being on the buzzer. Finally it was time to talk rent. I politely explained that I felt like since I couldn't use my kitchen since I'd moved in, I deserved a break on the rent.
I expected her to fight back, but instead she nodded and asked what I felt was fair. I proposed a half-month discount. She said that was fair. I probably could have asked for more given her response, but that's OK. I was just excited that I didn't have to fight about it. I wrote her a check for the rent owed minus the discount and all was good. Sometimes good things happen.
Monday, November 5, 2007
A cleverly disguised telemarketer
I hate having a new phone number. Even though I've added my number to the FTC's Do Not Call registry, it takes up to 90 days for your number to actually be added. In the meantime, telemarketers can call. And call. And call. And with an ever-shrinking pool of numbers it's a waterfall effect. The calls start at about 7 PM and don't stop until almost 10 PM.
Every once in awhile I make the mistake of just answering the phone without checking the caller ID. Friday night was one of them. I picked up the phone expecting friend M to be on the other end, but instead it was Con-Ed. Or so I thought.
Now, I'm on antibiotics (turns out I have the flu) and slightly delirious, and the woman on the other end had a pretty thick accent. But when she initially told me she was calling me about my power service, I thought that there was a problem. Great, I thought, they're going to shut of my gas again. Turns out the call was actually from a company called Accent Energy. They were calling to pitch their alternative energy program. The official term is ESCO and Con-Ed has partnered with about 15 ESCOs.
An ESCO is another company that has paid for the right to supply power to a grid, in this case Con-Ed customers. The power grids are so old and overtaxed in this part of the country that this makes sense in theory. Either a power company with excess power or an independent co-op with excess energy should be able to sell power to Con-Ed in order to keep our homes lit. Also, ESCOs use renewable energy like wind and hydroelectric power which is great. Of course, when I was on the phone I didn't know any of this yet.
My drugged brain was still processing that there was in fact no problem with my power, so I did not hang up on the woman from Accent Energy. She asked if I had read the alternative energy supplier fact sheet in my Con-Ed bill. Nope, I replied. She asked me if I was fixed-rate or variable with Con-Ed. I had no idea. She said it was okay and continued. The pitch sounded pretty good: 7% off your first two bills. That would only mean about $4 for me, but for a household that would save some precious pennies. The whole pitch took less than two minutes. It sounded great as I understood it, so I told her to go ahead.
She told me to hold while she transferred both of us to an automated system. That's when alarm bells started going off in my head. Everything in NYC is so cold and bureaucratic, and Time Warner had made me do this before I could get my cable installed. I realized I was about to agree to some serious stuff. The woman came back and told me it was about to start. She said I needed to finish the process in order for it to be complete. That would be an important fact.
At first, the woman did all of the speaking. She stated my name, address, phone number, and Con-Ed account number. She stated her name and associate ID number. Then there were a bunch of questions I was supposed to say yes to. I don't remember the exact questions, but it was something like "is your account number blah blah" which I said yes to; "do you live at blah blah" which I said yes to. Then it was "Do you understand that by agreeing to switch to Accent Energy your rate will initially be fixed for the first three months and then be variable after that, and that Accent Energy rates and Con-Ed rates may differ?"
Bingo. "No no no no NO!" I said. The woman asked me why I said no, and I told her I did not agree to variable rates. She told me Con-Ed had variable rates, but I told her I was no longer interested, and we hung up. Then I did my research. I think the Con-Ed ESCO page says it all...
That means the ESCOs can:
I have been looking for more information about ESCOs for days, but haven't really found much besides lists of NYC/Con-Ed partners. No one with good experiences or bad experiences to reprot. But I really hate that this company called me and made everything sound peachy and only through the fine print did I find out that this was a Chase-esque deal.
What makes me even madder is that as someone who is all for renewable energy, why hasn't the city government taken steps to regulate this? Who is going to willingly accept paying more for energy just because it's renewable? It needs to be the same price as Con-Ed and there needs to be local infrastructure in place to support it. Mayor Bloomberg is all about environmental issues right now...well, Bloomie, here's one that's half done. Sweep in there and finish this sucker up right.
Oh, and I have no idea how to tell if my Con-Ed rate is fixed or variable. Maybe once I get over this flu. Cover your mouths, kids, and wash your hands a lot.
Every once in awhile I make the mistake of just answering the phone without checking the caller ID. Friday night was one of them. I picked up the phone expecting friend M to be on the other end, but instead it was Con-Ed. Or so I thought.
Now, I'm on antibiotics (turns out I have the flu) and slightly delirious, and the woman on the other end had a pretty thick accent. But when she initially told me she was calling me about my power service, I thought that there was a problem. Great, I thought, they're going to shut of my gas again. Turns out the call was actually from a company called Accent Energy. They were calling to pitch their alternative energy program. The official term is ESCO and Con-Ed has partnered with about 15 ESCOs.
An ESCO is another company that has paid for the right to supply power to a grid, in this case Con-Ed customers. The power grids are so old and overtaxed in this part of the country that this makes sense in theory. Either a power company with excess power or an independent co-op with excess energy should be able to sell power to Con-Ed in order to keep our homes lit. Also, ESCOs use renewable energy like wind and hydroelectric power which is great. Of course, when I was on the phone I didn't know any of this yet.
My drugged brain was still processing that there was in fact no problem with my power, so I did not hang up on the woman from Accent Energy. She asked if I had read the alternative energy supplier fact sheet in my Con-Ed bill. Nope, I replied. She asked me if I was fixed-rate or variable with Con-Ed. I had no idea. She said it was okay and continued. The pitch sounded pretty good: 7% off your first two bills. That would only mean about $4 for me, but for a household that would save some precious pennies. The whole pitch took less than two minutes. It sounded great as I understood it, so I told her to go ahead.
She told me to hold while she transferred both of us to an automated system. That's when alarm bells started going off in my head. Everything in NYC is so cold and bureaucratic, and Time Warner had made me do this before I could get my cable installed. I realized I was about to agree to some serious stuff. The woman came back and told me it was about to start. She said I needed to finish the process in order for it to be complete. That would be an important fact.
At first, the woman did all of the speaking. She stated my name, address, phone number, and Con-Ed account number. She stated her name and associate ID number. Then there were a bunch of questions I was supposed to say yes to. I don't remember the exact questions, but it was something like "is your account number blah blah" which I said yes to; "do you live at blah blah" which I said yes to. Then it was "Do you understand that by agreeing to switch to Accent Energy your rate will initially be fixed for the first three months and then be variable after that, and that Accent Energy rates and Con-Ed rates may differ?"
Bingo. "No no no no NO!" I said. The woman asked me why I said no, and I told her I did not agree to variable rates. She told me Con-Ed had variable rates, but I told her I was no longer interested, and we hung up. Then I did my research. I think the Con-Ed ESCO page says it all...
"These ESCOs have indicated they will supply electricity and gas to residential and small commerical (SC2) customers. They may decide to change their services without notifying us to update this page. ... Switching to a different supplier is your choice. You are not required to choose an ESCO and there are no deadlines for making a move to an ESCO."That's all I needed to read. Any time a page has a bunch of disclaimers on it (and there are more on the page) it's bad news. The problem is that these energy companies aren't subject to the same regulations as Con-Ed.
That means the ESCOs can:
- Raise your rates at any time, with little to no warning
- Decide to pull out of your market, leaving you with no power
- Call you a lot and send salesman to your door (!!)
I have been looking for more information about ESCOs for days, but haven't really found much besides lists of NYC/Con-Ed partners. No one with good experiences or bad experiences to reprot. But I really hate that this company called me and made everything sound peachy and only through the fine print did I find out that this was a Chase-esque deal.
What makes me even madder is that as someone who is all for renewable energy, why hasn't the city government taken steps to regulate this? Who is going to willingly accept paying more for energy just because it's renewable? It needs to be the same price as Con-Ed and there needs to be local infrastructure in place to support it. Mayor Bloomberg is all about environmental issues right now...well, Bloomie, here's one that's half done. Sweep in there and finish this sucker up right.
Oh, and I have no idea how to tell if my Con-Ed rate is fixed or variable. Maybe once I get over this flu. Cover your mouths, kids, and wash your hands a lot.
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