Desperately Seeking Thanksgiving

Generally speaking, I would rather gouge my right eye out than travel on Thanksgiving weekend. Add to that equation a trip to Port Authority to pack into a PeterPan bus, and you've got yourself one helluva doozy.

On the contrary, spending Thanksgiving alone in my cozy apartment in Brooklyn, with a pizza pie, a bottle of wine, and my cats (although normally would sound lovely) just will not do. Not when I can perfectly picture the hubbub in Aunt Nancy's kitchen, the sound of kids playing, the dog tap-dancing under the stove waiting for a bit of grub to hit the floor, and the sounds of football fans and wine being corked. Not to mention the savory smells of roasting goodies, gravy, and apple pie.

So, it is on behalf of loved ones, fall skies, stuffed bellies, empty bottles, a round of pass-the-trash, loosened belts, roaring fireplaces, endless piles of dishes, laughter, hugs, and the giving of thanks, that I make this horribly long and painful trek to Massachusetts to celebrate and share Thanksgiving with my family. I wouldn't miss it for the world.

The times, they are a changin...

Occupy Wall Street is in full swing - Bloomberg is catching hell for sweeping out the protesters and power washing the cement, then changing the rules of how people can collectively demonstrate their freedom to assemble and speak. 

Meanwhile, a pilot of a Chautauqua Airlines flight from North Carolina to LaGuardia, NYC, became trapped in the lavatory, mid-air, and was unable to open the flimsy airline door and escape from the blue-latrine-water odor back to the safety of the cockpit. A foreign passenger who attempted to assist the stuck pilot by communicating the problem to the co-pilot, was ignored, and instead was reported to air control command at LaGuardia as "someone with a thick foreign accent [who] is trying to access the cockpit", which prompted air control to order an emergency landing. Luckily, the pilot barged his way out of the latrine and back to the cockpit where he confirmed that there was no emergency. The man with the scary foreign accent was indeed just a passenger trying to help.

Sometimes I have to wonder...what is this world coming to? And also...can we please change things before it's too late?

What I Learned in Texas (or: What the South Taught Me About the North)

If I am lucky enough, once a year I get to venture down below the Mason-Dixon line, and westward into the middle of the big-ass state of Texas (pronounced ˈte.has). What brings me there is work; but I gladly go for the pleasure. Being a native northerner (pronounced 'naw.then.ah) with snow in my blood, I immediately start to sweat just by booking my flight. Somehow these two distinctively opposite places both hold real estate in my heart, so I decided to break them down by important factors: Public Transportation, Food, Bar Scene, Weather, and Scenery. Check out how they did:

1. Public Transportation





© Peter Tsai Photography

• Texas cab drivers don't know where to go, don't like taking credit cards, smoke inside, and give you lip for giving directions without saying "Hi!" first. It is also common to have an inebriated driver, who goes the wrong direction on one-way streets. Not to mention, that you have to call the cab service ("Yellow Taxi") and sometimes wait up to 45 minutes for them to show up. 
• NYC Taxi drivers rock. You can hail them on any corner in the city, pay the fare listed on the fare box, rarely have to give directions, and can swipe your card in the back seat. Oh yeah - and there's the NYC Transit system too. 24-hours a day, 365 days a year. You can almost always get from Point A to Point B without ever leaving the system. All for $2.25.
• WINNER: NYC
  
  
2.  Food

• If you are a meat eater in TX, you are most likely going to be very happy. Steaks as big as your head; bacon on and in everything; and salads that are more meat than veggies. Should you be a vegetarian like me, you might as well consider yourself screwed. Plan on eating lots and lots of cheese. And chips. And more cheese. And while you're at it, go by some Dulcolax.
• In NYC, any and all kinds of diets can be found. Only raw foods? Veggies? Cannot handle swallowing anything other than sushi? Vegan fast food? Breakfast-all-day? Whatever you want - you got it. Any time. Any day.
• WINNER: NYC
  
  
  
  
3. The Bar Scene

• This one is easy. In Texas beers are $3.75. Plus there are usually cute cowboy types slinging pool sticks and drinking whiskey.
• In NYC, you're lucky to get a pint for $6.00. And people will generally not speak to you unless you are introduced by a friend.
• WINNER: TEXAS
  
4. Weather

• Hot, Hot, Hot! If it's too hot for me in October in Texas, there is no way I could handle July there. I have absolutely no desire to live in a sauna 365 days a year.
• In New York...well, honestly...I don't need to debate this one. (Plus, we have four seasons!)
• WINNER: NYC
  
  
  
5. Scenery

• A Texan landscape (albeit flat) can still give you very pretty vistas. Texas is dusty, warm, has large open plains, cowboys, bulls, wild horses, bright blue skies, and tons and tons of stars in the night sky.
  
  

• NYC is the exact opposite. No plains. No stars (astronomically speaking). The only horses you will see are being worked in Central Park on the pavement (or under an NYPD cop). Instead you will find hugely tall buildings, lots of bridges, the Atlantic Ocean, every walk of life, tons of dressed dogs, a blur of yellow cabs on every street, every ethnicity and race under the sun, and brilliant sunset backdrops behind an iconic cityscape.
• WINNER: It's a tie. They're both unbelievably beautiful in their own ways.

All in all, it appears that the big NYC beat out the even bigger Texas. Do you agree? Are there any categories I should have included?

Lessons from the week

1. When a restaurant has an $18 bottle of wine special, you will most definitely have more than one.
   
2. When a group of runners stop at corner and yell "SPLIT CHICKEN!" or "ON-ON!" you are in the midst of a NYC Hashers run.
   
3. No matter how rough a day I've had, spending time with shelter animals will lift my mood exponentially.
   
4. Artist Tom Otterness is not as cool as his brass sculptures are.
   
5. No matter how awful a song may seem at first, repetitive listens will almost always guarantee that you love it (or at least it will be stuck in your head for hours on end).

With the fall...

...comes so much awesomeness!  I realize I may be jumping the gun a bit, but I can't help it. So, without further adieu, I present you with:

My Top Twenty List of Particularly Kick-Ass Autumnal Things

   20.  all new seasons of TV shows

   19.  cider
   18.  lower electric bills                               
   17.  Halloween
   16.  rainbows of turning leaves
   15.  switching back to hot coffee
   14.  fingerless gloves
   13.  Thanksgiving
   12.  fresh, crisp apples
   11.  annual Walk for Farm Animals
   10.  jackets with pockets to put things in
     9.  catching the sunset on my way home (thanks to the fall-back time change)
     8.  knee socks

     7.  my pilgrimage to Austin, TX

     6.  sweat-less subway commutes

     5.  cat fur that stays on the cat
     4.  the absence of steamy, garbage-piled sidewalks
     3.  birthdays galore (KK, LB, JZ, LD, mine...I am sure I am forgetting some...)
     2.  being reacquainted with my long lost (but not forgotten) lovers, my cowboy boots
     1.  "cellaring" the white and dusting off the red

You've seen mine, so what are yours?

Then and Now

It's been ten years; 3,650 days; 87,600 hours since September 11, 2001.



In my life since 9/11, many things have changed, and surprisingly, many things are the same. I have never taken the time to document my memories of that day. And so, while watching the 10th anniversary coverage on TV, I decided it is finally time to write out what I remember.

Residents walk from Manhattan across the
59th Street Bridge into Queens



On the morning of September 11, 2001, I was temping at UNITE, a non-profit company who was polling the NYC primary elections. I didn't know anyone and I watched in horror as the World Trade Center buildings smoked, emblazoned in flames, and finally, fell into the earth. I remember looking around the conference room where unfamiliar faces were glued to the television screen. Some people were crying, some angry, some paced the room, and others quietly talked with one another. No one talked to me and I didn't talk to anyone. I remember going to the phone and trying to call my family; I was lucky and got through to my parents. And then somehow, I was also able to get through to my ex-boyfriend on his cell phone. Once the city began allowing pedestrians to cross the river by foot, I met Nick near the entrance to the 59th Street Bridge (aka the Queensboro Bridge). We joined thousands of scared New Yorkers in a very
slow walk over the East River into Queens.

Me on 9/11/2001 - 59th Street Bridge

 As awful as it was, no one could take their eyes from the thick billow of smoke making its way over the river and into Brooklyn. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, there was a nice breeze, and people were wearing short sleeves and sunglasses. I remember taking photos during that walk. This is the first time I have looked at them since 2001.   

view of the East River and downtown from the 59th Street Bridge



   

FDNY Engine 259 - Ladder 128 (Greenpoint Avenue in Queens, NY)

Many hours later we made it to Greenpoint, Brooklyn. Friends and loved ones were gathered at Splendid, a bar where "everybody knows your name", to take a tally on who was safe, who might be missing, share our stories and down a few drinks. My roommate at the time, my dear friend, Morgan, was at home in South Williamsburg with my cats. He had been awakened that morning by our land-line phone ringing. It was my brother, Glenn, who asked him if he knew where I was and if I was alright. Morgan had no idea what had transpired that morning while he slept.

During the weeks that immediately followed September 11th, there was a strong acrid, burning smell that was in the air, on the streets, and in our apartment. That smell, I will never forget. The smell of burning plastic, wood, paper, and human life. For reasons that are hard to explain, I walked to Ground Zero with Morgan, and our good friend, Maeghan. We walked over the Williamsburg Bridge down through Chinatown and to the site. It still smelled bad, people were everywhere, and we had to walk single file down the sidewalk. It was an unnerving scene, full of sorrow and managed chaos. It felt necessary to witness what was happening, to face this newly broken landscape, so that I could personally grasp the magnitude of this disaster and begin to accept the loss. My parents came to visit me and we also made the trek down Broadway to Ground Zero. We saw the twisted iron pieces of the World Trade Center, breathed the bitter dusty air that made your throat hurt, walked past the abandoned stores, saw the inches of grey-white dust that still lay everywhere - on the ground and above our heads. We visited St. Paul's Chapel where the Red Cross was stationed to help the hundreds of workers get an hour of rest, a drink of water, a bite to eat, and some solace. The presence of military guards with machine guns and large dogs, mourners, tchotchke vendors, firemen and policemen alike, completed an overwhelming scene. It was a strange and unfamiliar place, which was disorienting to me, because I had worked across the street from 2 World Trade Center (the South Tower) for two years prior to 9/11.
   

From the winter of 1999 - July 2001, I worked a long-term temp assignment in the Human Resources department at Deutsche Bank which was located at 130 Liberty Street. I was also our floor's Fire Marshall. Our building was connected to the WTC South Tower by an enclosed walkway and I would walk through both towers on both ends of my daily commute. I spent the last 6 months at Deutsche Bank working with engineers and space planners on our new floor, the 24th floor. We were going to move a large portion of our midtown employees down to Liberty Street and were making all the arrangements for their transplantation. As a Fire Marshall, I recall sitting in a meeting with one of the engineers who was at the World Trade Center during the 1993 bombing. He explained to us what he saw that day, how the bomb had ripped a gaping chasm through the parking garage underground and how scared they were that the building wouldn't hold to it's foundation. His point, was to educate us on what to do in an emergency, should a fire break out, or should we need to evacuate. And I remember him specifically saying they were lucky the WTC buildings were constructed to allow for some movement so that they wouldn't collapse.

Ground Zero; 130 Liberty Street (center left, under tarp)

My temp assignment was ended in July 2001. The last time I was in that building it was a beautiful summer day. A friend had taken his yellow, 1960-something classic convertible out of storage and drove me to pick up my belongings that were left in my desk. I left 130 Liberty Street with an extra bounce in my step, got into a kickass car with my stuff and went for a ride on a perfect summer day. I never knew how lucky I was to have lost my job until two months later, when I saw the towers on fire. We did lose people from 130 Liberty Street. I heard that one of the security guards who greeted us every day, stayed too long in the building waiting for people to leave, and sadly, he died. I am so lucky that I was not down there that day to witness the atrocities, or hear the noises. There are some things that no one should have to see or experience; being in the city on that day, was enough.

In the days and months after 9/11, I never once thought about leaving New York City. Running away seemed like deserting a friend in need. I felt as if I needed to stay, to work through the unknown and see the day when we felt safe and whole again. I think I became a stronger human being by living through this tragedy and standing still when everyone thought I should run.

Morgan and I days after 9/11 at the South Street Seaport.
Happy to be alive and have eachother.

Ten years later. I am still in the same South Williamsburg apartment. After 8 years of different friends, lovers and strangers living with me, Morgan has somehow returned and is once again my roommate. How strange it is to be living together again on this anniversary. The apartment looks both similar and different. Different furniture, the walls have been painted. Same cats, plus two new additions. I have been working at the School of Visual Arts since 2002, and Morgan is now in nursing school, but still waits tables at night. We are a family once again. And one thing that I have learned over the past ten years is that family is more than blood bonds. Family is made of people and living creatures who share a connection to each other. My family in New York City is as important to me as my family who live in other states. We rely on one another. We love each other. We grow together. We cry and we laugh together. And we move forward together, one step at a time.

I will never forget that day, those buildings, that smell, the sights, or the pain. I will always be thankful for my life, and for my experiences. So many others on that day were much less fortunate. So many good people sacrificed their lives to help another human being. People are still dying from and living with disease caused by working at Ground Zero for months after the attack. Most of the rescue dogs and therapy animals have passed on. And it is those lives, those souls, whom we should remember and think about today, and every day. I will remember. 

Caleb in summer 2001, 5th Floor of the Astral Building
Greenpoint, Brooklyn (Twin Towers in background, left)



September 11, 2011

Remember. Live, Love and Laugh.

Go ahead and laugh at our east coast earthquake

Yesterday's 5.8 magnitude earthquake may be considered mild to most west coasters, but here, in NYC, a few weeks away from the 10th anniversary of 9/11, a shaking building was not something we were psyched about. You must remember, that we folks aren't used to "feeling the earth...move...under our feet..."

It wasn't until I got home last night, that I discovered my own personal casualties of this beast:

That is my totally awsome, large, and uber flattering mirror. In pieces and laying on top of part of my wine collection. My first thought was, "Shit! I lost some of my GOOD wine!". This was quickly followed by, "Oh crap. Where are the cats???!!!". That's when I saw the bloody paw prints dotted on my tile floor, in a perfectly straight line from the pile of glass and red wine to my bedroom. Investigating all sixteen paws took a few minutes, and finally, I discovered that Caleb's rear paw was a yucky bloody mess.

Now, I ask you this: How easy do you think it was for me to herd 3 cats into the bedroom, while holding 22-lb Caleb in one arm, with his bloody paw dripping, all the while trying NOT to step in the thousands of teeny, weeny, shattered glass bits? Answer: It totally sucked. [It was also dinner time (read: kibbles) and the cats were not an angelic example of patience.]

After 3 hours of cleaning, sweeping, mopping, vacuuming, (drinking), rinsing & disinfecting said bloody paw, I was dripping with sweat and nicely covered in a layer of cat fur.

So, to add to your list of jokes (you Californians) here's my list of casualties from the 2011 East Coast Earthquake:

• 1 mirror (I'm assuming this comes with a  decade of bad luck, at the very least)
• 2 bottles of nice red wine
• 1 cat spa station (don't ask)
• 1 stained floor
• 1 cat toe claw
• roughly 500 calories

I must thank KK for her kickass neighborly ways. She literally ran to the apartment to help me with the mess and tend to Oosle's paw. Some unbroken wine, and spicy Thai on me, was the very least I could do.

And, in case you are concerned, I think Caleb will be ok. It appears that his claw was sliced clean off, which is going to be pretty sore for the big guy, but he'll survive! All the excitement was too much for him to handle, so after getting cleaned up and fed, and given lots o' love, he went belly up.

Welcome to New York. Allow me to introduce you to my favorite dive bar.

NYC can be a funny place to party. Whilst wining and dining out-of-towners on business, it seems apropos to show them the beat of the city. The rooftop bars, the nightlight swimming pools, the red ropes, the "dope shit" if you will. And yet, when fully immersed in this realm, I am never fully satisfied. Someone is always looking at you kinda funny. There is always a line just a little too long. A drink just a little too weak, or too expensive. A waitress trying a little too hard, or a doorman just a tad too aloof. Are these the factors that define kewl?

We all live on the same planet, no?
Don't we all eat, piss, and padoodle on similar ceramic comfort stations?
Is there a reason why we feel this inherent need to take guests to places we never frequent?
Is there a bottle of Skyy vodka that truly is worth $350 buckaroos just to have the honor of sitting at a crappy-ass carpeted-seat-stained table?

Don't get me wrong, there is definitely something luxurious about a visit to the Standard Hotel's Boom Boom Room. A 360° view of Manhattan in all it's gorgeous nighttime glory. At the very least go for the bathroom. Try to focus on the task at hand, and not space out at the amazing view, the High Line, the people walking below, or your own reflection blurred within the Empire State building's spire.

I guess my major issue is that the places we think ought to impress people, are often the places that totally blow. So, next time you have guests in town and you decide to show them a good time, how about you bring them to your local haunts? The divey dive bars, the little pizza joints, the subway (that's always a sure fire way to give them the real NYC experience), your local bodega, the fruit stand man, and of course, Duane Reade (no one outside the city understands the "Doo-ah-nay Ray-ah-day" way).

Onwards and upwards fellow hosts!

one reason

I was reminded tonight of one of the reasons why I can sometimes love this city. Walking across the Williamsburg bridge at sunset into Brooklyn after a long day of work. Nice reminder.

How much to clean my apartment? (and other things that chap my ass)

Seriously folks. If I could cross my fingers, wish on a star, click my ruby slippers, or snap off the big end of a wishbone, and wake up to a fully scrubbed, shiny & dust-free abode...well, I'd do just about anything.

Is it just me or do things in NYC get filthily dirty overnight? I don't mean a little dust either. I mean MEGA black silty dirt that covers your TV and interferes with your cell phone coverage.

And, why are closets more precious than gold here? Don't landlords realize that New Yorkers have constant exposure to dollar store temptations, Chinatown turtle pets, and free daily newspapers? Not to mention storing the heaps of umbrella skeletons left from wind/rain/snow/and battles with bad-umbrella-carrying pedestrians.

Why is it almost impossible to save a hundred buckaroos? How is it that as soon as you leave your apartment, $20 magically floats away from your wallet? It doesn't matter what you buy: Breakfast? TWENTY DOLLAS! Movie? TWENTY DOLLAS! Bad sandwich and a Coke? TWENTY DOLLAS! Cross-town taxi? TWENTY DOLLAS! Happy hour beers? TWENTY DOLLAS! Oh, you'd like to donate blood? That'll be TWENTY DOLLAS!

And, for the love of god, can someone pleeease explain to me why cabs switch over at 4:00 PM? Could the Taxi & Limousine Commission pick a worse time for hundreds of medallions to go "off duty" and make their way up to the Bronx?

If anyone has any brilliant ideas or answers to these mind-fracking questions, please, please, please enlighten me. I dare you.

Give me a diagnosis, or give me death (better yet - give me DELIVERY!)

Here I sit. Over two weeks have passed since I first self-diagnosed myself with allergies, then re-diagnosed myself with a cold. I haven't had one iota of relief. In fact, the symptoms keep multiplying. It's times like this when I start to get paranoid that there is a bigger problem beneath it all. I certainly hope not, but just to be sure, I've made an appointment to see the good doc tomorrow. I'd be willing to bet everything but the kitchen sink that she's going to give me the once over and say, "Looks like a stubborn cold. Lots of liquids and rest." And when that diagnosis comes, do I breathe a sigh of relief, or do I get mad that nothing can help take away the agony that each day brings? Probably a little of column A and a little bit of column B.

Nevertheless, I don't want to go on and on writing about how crappy it is to be sick. We all know. We get it. Point made and moving forward! What I really wanted to write about it the amazing wonders of delivery in NYC. Sure, I don't have a car to drive myself to the drugstore with, or take me to the doctor's front door. BUT (and this is a big but), I have DELIVERY!!! I'm talking: get online, order breakfast, 1/2 gallon of OJ, some bevies for later on, maybe something for tomorrow, enter ye ole credit card numeros and voila! 30 minutes later I've got supplies for the day. If it wasn't for the magic of seamlessweb.com and delivery.com, I could, quite frankly, have withered away to nothing these past 2 weeks. Probably not, but, it's a safe bet to say that I would have been forced to go outside and been spotted at the local C(rap)-Town grocery store, in my sweats, sans bra, hair all a grease, with sunglasses, and hacking up a lung. No one needs to see that (including me, which is why I have a "no mirrors" policy in my house when I'm sick). The only creatures who should be exposed to the horrors of "sick person" are companion animals. And moms. They loved you yesterday, they'll love you tomorrow, and unless you do something to ruin their dinner, they'll love you today.

So, a great big thanks to seamlessweb and delivery.com! You successfully saved me from the horrors of public appearance and kept my tummy full of vitamin C and miso soup.

Now...if only they could create a doctor and prescription delivery service. Oh, that's right. They used to have those back in the olden days. *sigh*

Is it time for Nyquil yet?

It's the season of allergies, and colds, and wishing for the wisdom to know the difference between the two.

If I knew that the scratchy throat and general "feel like shit" symptoms were an oncoming cold, perhaps I would have played out the last 3 days differently. Instead, I assumed (yeah, yeah, ass + you + me...I get it) it was just allergies on a freight train from hell seeming to come straight at me for the kill. Hence my bender of an evening on Friday night. Hence the allergy meds I stocked up on and took like clockwork. Hence, my lack of 8-hour a night sleeping habits.

I said all week that nothing was going to keep me from my Friday night plans. Happy hour, dinner, then drinks and dancing? And 1/2 of that is on the company card you say? Hells-to-the-yeah, I'm there! Ain't no stoppin' me - don't even try. Then, BOOM. Saturday morning I wake up and feel like someone smashed a shovel upside my head. I can't hear out of my left ear. No ringing, no pain. Just silence. And my nose is running faster then a drippy kitchen faucet in the ghetto. My head: throb. throb. throb. And my brain: "Yo dumbass! 'Member when you were wondering if you were coming down with a cold? You gambled and LOST son. Suckah!"

So now here were are. Me, my cold and my nighttime jamba juice. I've been waiting all day to slug down somathat tasty cherry syrup. Ding! Ding! It's Nyquil time! BOOYAH.

I just threw up in my mouth

Having Bono and the Edge performing on the American Idol finale, is going waaaay too far, Buckos. Add a dash of Spiderman: Turn Off the Dark, and you've got yourselves a whopping, fat, embarrassment. As a long time U2 fan, and theater-goer, this performance made my skin prickle (and not in a good way). It doesn't matter that the dude playing Peter Parker is hot. Nor does it matter that I'll always have a thing for Bono and his music. Some things should just never, ever, EVER mix. SHUDDER

Side note: At least Steven Tyler stayed tried and true to his schtick. That, I can respect.