Why We Hate Tourists

Of course New Yorkers don’t hate tourists. But we are often very frustrated by them, and we do judge them.

I live just steps away from Ground Zero (or are we calling it the Freedom Tower, or the 911 Memorial or something else now?) It’s got to be one of the more popular sites to see among tourists both domestic and international. Hoards of them descend the steps of their tour busses led like cattle to the slaughter down Church Street or they climb wearily out of the Chambers Street Station dazed and confused by their surroundings. They consult their paper maps or check the GPS on their phones and often ignore the neighborhood people passing by – people who know where they are going and would happily give them directions. I know because I’m one of them and I have given directions to hundreds of tourists – even in French (to the utter shock of one family visiting from Paris!) But these days, the tourists would rather ignore New Yorkers as if we’re just part of the crazy scenery and rely on their unreliable technology.

So that’s reason #1. No one likes to be objectified or – even worse – feel invisible. And I believe that many tourists think of us natives as just part of their tourist experience. We’re not actually humans with families and jobs and homes like them. As they take photos on the subway it doesn’t seem to matter that I’m part of the background as much as the ad for Manhattan Mini Storage. I usually change seats so that I don’t wind up in some naugahyde album next to a photo of the naked cowboy of Times Square.

Reason #2 lies squarely on our shoulders. And that’s the fact that tourists don’t look like us and it’s just plain old human nature to dislike and fear the different. It’s called xenophobia. Come on, you can spot them as easily as I. They’re wearing crewneck sweatshirts with some local team or school emblazoned on it over sturdy walking shorts and sneakers. It’s really the sneakers that make them stand out. New Yorkers can walk the mean streets all the live long day in just about everything from flip flops to stillettos. Even when my plantar fasciitis was at its worse I would never had considered wearing athletic sneakers with anything other than gym togs on my way to the gym. Foot wear distinguishes the foreign tourists as well. Notice the happy somewhat fatigued family of blondes across from you on the F train. Now look at their feet. You’ll see a species of leather flat walking shoes that you know has never existed in DSW. They look well-made, utilitarian but just slightly funky. I’ll bet you dollars to donuts that family is from Germany or somewhere close to that.

But even with sensible walking shoes, tourists just can’t seem to keep up with the pace of native New Yorkers. And that brings me to reason #3: You’re in my fucking way! If I could write a guidebook for people planning a visit to New York City the first chapter would be called, “Don’t Gather on the top of the Subway Stairs!” Subsequent chapters may be called, “don’t stop in the middle of the sidewalk,” “don’t take forever to order your drinks in Starbucks,” and “please cross the street when the traffic has stopped.” There are many famous expressions known world-wide about the pace of New Yorkers: the city that doesn’t sleep, in a New York minute, etc. So I am pleading with you tourists, please train before you come here. Walk around the mall speedily a few times without stopping at Aunt Annies, and see if that helps. 

Of course, it could be that we’re all just jealous that these people actually have the time to stop and smell the….the urine, I guess (it is summer after all.) It would be nice to be able to spend time with your family and friends, eating pizza, seeing historical sites, shopping at Century 21, riding on the Circle Line with the breeze off the Hudson on your skin. So I guess reason #4 is envy. It’s really hard to admit, but wouldn’t we rather be on vacation and wouldn’t it be nice not to rush around and worry about how we appear to our fellow New Yorkers?

But as I thought about this issue a bit more I began to have darker thoughts that I am going to share with you with some reservations. In the last few weeks there have been a few polarizing issues in the national news: the Paula Deen “N” word controversy, the abortion issue raging in the Texas State Senate and the Supreme Court decision regarding marriage equality. Again, the country seems divided among the red and blue states, between liberals and conservatives. As a liberal it always seemed to me that the conservatives make these issues about our morality rather than keeping it about civil liberties. And that is my thinking behind reason #5. I think that secretly – or not so secretly – that many of our visitors from other parts of the country probably judge or even hate liberals, Jews, ethnic minorities and gays, or in other words, all of us. When sharing this dark thought to some friends they even agreed that could be a reason for their visit: to gawk at the animals in the zoo as it were, to observe up close the objects of their derision.

Here’s the thing, I don’t want to believe this. Deep down in my fiercely liberal heart I want to believe in the good of all people. I want to hang on to the idea that if we’ve become unfortunately warped by our environment, that the kernel of light and truth can still reside in the hearts of everyone. But sometimes when I hear a southern or Midwestern accent in a loud oblivious volume those dark thoughts begin to rise to the surface.

But I won’t let these dark thoughts or even the lighter ones listed above change my behavior. I’m still going to let them pet my dog because yes, he is a beautiful boy! And I’m going to give directions when asked and even sometimes when not asked. I’m going to be grateful that they’re bringing much-needed revenue to my hometown. I’m going to take a deep breath when they’re in my way.

Bring on the summer tourists. We're ready.

 

 

 

Sleep Snobbery

Growing up I knew something was different about me, something that would eventually make me a second class citizen looked down upon by normal society. It wasn’t that I was a woman (well, it was in a way but we’ll deal with that in a different blog entry.) It wasn’t because I was from a “broken home” (OK, fodder for another blog…) It was because I wasn’t a morning person.

Seriously, the discrimination came as early as grade school. I remember discussing our favorite TV shows with my first grade classmates around the lunch table. They were aghast when they learned I had never seen Land of the Lost, HR Puffinstuff or any show that aired before noon, in fact. Conversely, they didn’t appreciate my devotion to Johnny Carson.

But childhood derision was nothing compared to the onslaught of prejudice I would face as an adult. Those haughty looks from “larks” who rose at 6 am to run in the park, then read the paper, and do their shopping all “before you even got up – hee hee.” Then came the chiding from bosses when I tried to request that our monthly all-staff meetings move from 8 am to 3 pm.

I come from a family of Night Owls. None of us would ever wake up at 8 am on a weekend unless we had to catch a flight or go to a funeral. Does that us bad people?

No, in fact there are millions just like us hiding under blankets of shame. Each and every one of us has an internal clock or “chronotype,” which makes us either early-to-bed-early-to-rise larks or nightlife-loving owls. Research shows that our chronotype seems to be largely inherited just like eye color or blood type. But the difference is that people don’t think you’re lazy just because you have hazel eyes, and they don’t exclude you from early brunch plans when your O negative.

But, sadly the world is geared toward the larks. The American work day starts at 9 am or earlier, a time when most of us owls would rather be easing out of a good dream and readjusting our pillows. And it’s getting worse. Nowadays, corporate types schedule breakfast meetings at 7 am so as not to waste a precious minute of real work time. Uggh.

The truth of the matter is that I – and most other owls – work as hard as those annoying larks. I just do my work at a different time of day. I exercise in the afternoon or evening and sweat as much – or more -- as they do at 6 am. I read in bed before going to sleep and am somehow able to absorb the same information as they do at the breakfast table at 7 am. But yet the derision continues.

Unfortunately, it’s not just the judgment that hurts. Having to live in a lark-oriented world deprives most owls of a full night of sleep. And that has devastating long-term consequences on our health, our mood and even our weight!

I am currently enrolled in a course just about sleep at NYU led by Nancy Rothstein -- a women referred to as "The Sleep Ambassador."  I’ve been fascinated by what I’m learning. Just a night or two of under 7 hours of sleep can affect the areas of the brain that control impulses, imagination and our abilities to incorporate new information. This puts us in a serious disadvantage at work – or really any important life situation. It makes us crabby spouses, impatient parents and in some cases can lead to very dangerous sleep disorders. Sleep also helps balance gherlin and leptin, two hormones that regulate hunger and appetite satiety. Meaning that lack of sleep can lead to serious carb cravings the next day. And, over time ,can cause major weight gain and diabetes.

Sleepy driving is perhaps more prevalent that drunk driving has also been cited as the cause of hundreds of fatal car accidents. And, in some bizarre cases, sleep deprivation has led to a form of sleep walking in which violent acts were perpetrated by “innocent” people while fully asleep. Disturbing and sad, really.

Thankfully, parts of corporate America are waking up (pun intended) to the importance of sleep and how it relates to productivity. Many companies are hiring sleep experts -- like the Sleep Ambassador to coach their staff in proper “sleep hygiene.” This includes helping to balance your circadian rhythms by getting adequate exposure to light during the day and shutting down electronic light during the late evening – something that I have been trying with limited success. They also advise maintaining a calm, clean, cool and comfortable sleep environment free of any electronic devices. While I’ve never had a TV in our bedroom, I do have pretty serious clutter and dog hair tumbleweed issues that I blame on the other two beloved residents of my home!

About a dozen or so major companies are also enacting a fantasy of mine which they've named “Results Only Work Environments (ROWE)” In a ROWE employees don’t have set schedules. How, when and where they get their work done is totally up to them – as long as they get it done. Across the board worker productivity, engagement and satisfaction rise in these idyllic offices.

And perhaps you’ve heard of the sleep pods and napping rooms at Google and other 21^st Century workplaces. Sleep is finally coming out of the closet at work – that is as long as it helps the bottom line.

Sleep is a complicated issue taking into effect our genes, our environment and a host of common physical disorders such as sleep apnea, restless leg syndrome and insomnia.  It is often not a matter of choice and is certainly not a measure of laziness and anti-social behavior.

So I call upon you owls out there to rise up with me and demand the respect we deserve. Plan those 2pm brunches, schedule a meeting at 6pm, call your buddy at during Jon Stewart – its all our birthright.

I have a dream that we will all live in a land of harmony and understand between larks and owls. I have a dream where we can have a dream at 10 am and brag about it.

 

For those of you who'd like to read more about this topic I highly recommend this book. It's fascinating while being a fun summer read: http://www.amazon.com/Dreamland-Adventures-Strange-Science-Sleep/dp/039308020X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1371833057&sr=8-1&keywords=dreamland#_ or contact Nancy Rothstein at nancy@thesleepambassador.com

 

To Move or Not to Move

Where I grew up we referred to Manhattan as “the city” even though we were, in fact, living within the geographic boundaries of New York City. But this inaccurate description was really more about the sophistication, the vastness, the glamour and the gravity that Manhattan represented. When we heard Frank Sinatra sing, “if you can make it there, you can make it anywhere,” I’m pretty sure he wasn’t crooning about Mill Basin, Brooklyn or Astoria, Queens.

As a child, I understood that Manhattan would be my eventual home: sixteen miles from my birthplace in the above-mentioned Mill Basin, but a world away.  But, I didn’t feel the kind of yearning you associate with wide-eyed transplants from Iowa hoping to make it big on Broadway, it was more like pleasant resignation. I mean….where else would I go? Long Island? New Jersey? Westchester?

There’s nothing wrong with those communities, they just didn’t call to me. I always felt like I was different from my friends and their families with both mothers and fathers and more traditional upbringings. I just knew I belonged on that mysterious island of misfits and superstars hoping that I’d find a place to fit in. I’d find a cozy garret somewhere, wear fabulous clothes, and have interesting friends and exciting experiences that would provide wonderful fodder to write about.

And, guess what…it all came true. So why do I sometimes suffer from mild cases of suburban envy?

As I mentioned in my very first installment of this blog, it’s not easy being the last of a dying breed. There’s a reason that my childhood friends live in Long Island and my college buddies who all settled with me on the upper east side right after graduation have returned to their hometowns or the burbs, and other one-time New Yorkers have moved on to different cities like San Francisco, Atlanta or Seattle. New York is not for wussies. It makes common aspects of the “American Dream” like home ownership, child rearing and driving nearly impossible – especially for the middle class.

I began to give this whole conundrum serious thought after I was interviewed for an article for the New York Times earlier this year (click here to read the article) after the reporter had discovered this blog. She asked me what I had to give up to stay here and what my friends living elsewhere wouldn’t understand. My answer was long and had multiple parts.

So my question is now: is it worth it to stay in Manhattan? Given the enormous financial, emotional and logistical upheaval a move would cause, I decided to develop a list of pros and cons. For your consideration:

Pro: The Subway. Oh how I love the subway! My fixation on efficiency of cost, energy and time is utterly soothed by a subway ride despite the crowd and periodic delays. I am still thrilled at the notion of travelling from Coney Island to the upper reaches of the Bronx for just $2.50 –even though I have never and probably will never take that ride.

Con: No Car. I often feel like some kind of alien when I admit that I’ve never owned a car. It seems like an automobile is more like an appendage for most American adults and a second home to some. When it’s time to visit friends or family in the burbs it would be so much easier to just climb in our car and go directly there instead of walking to the City Hall, waiting for the #5, negotiating our way through Grand Central for an 75 minute ride on Metro North – all with overnight bags, gifts, and dog in tow. But given the fact that most garages charge upwards of $600 a month (plus insurance, gas and maintenance) this is not an option for me or other middle classers.

Pro: The best food in the world. At any given time of the day I can walk to or order from the finest restaurants in the world, sample any type of global cuisine, shop at a multitude of ethnic markets and pick farm fresh fruits and veggies at my choice of local greenmarkets.

Con: No space. I’ve become both an expert in organization and a big-time purger as a Manhattanite. Even with an enviable storage cage in the basement of our building, I don’t have room for all the belongings and treasures my husband and I have accumulating during our lifetime. Warning to my hubby: the pelican statue is living on borrowed time.

Pro: Culture. This tiny island is home to the center of theater, music, dance and visual artsand much of it is free or low cost. So why haven’t I been to a museum in a year?

Con: No room for visitors. It’s really difficult for me to entice my middle aged buddies to come visit when they know they’ll be spending their nights on an old pull-out couch.

Pro: No room for visitors (just kidding!)

Con: Expense. People are aghast when they learn how much we spend on groceries, movies, haircuts, and home repairs, let alone the homes we live in. Want to drive yourself nuts…see what kind of house you can get outside the city for the cost of a one-bedroom apartment in Manhattan!

Pro: Health. Manhattanites are amongst the most fit Americans – mostly because of all the walking we do. We also have access to healthy food, world class gyms, public tennis and basketball courts and lots of inspiration in the form of really beautiful people everywhere you turn.

Con: Little access to nature. Because I love animals I get frustrated staring at the same six species in Manhattan: pidgeons, sparrows, crows, seagulls, squirrels and rats. Not exactly an exotic array of fauna. And flora? Well we have beautiful parks and you can enjoy them if you don’t mind being shoulder to shoulder with stroller wielding moms, skateboarders, hordes of tourists and the occasion ne’er do well. Wanna go to the beach, better book an hour or two or more to get there and compete for a square foot of sandy real estate. Unless you “summer” in the Hamptons – which we don’t. We don’t make a verb of any season, in fact.

Pro: Shopping. For a lover of all things apparel like me, walking into Bergdorf’s or Barneys is like a Viking approaching Valhalla. Sure, I shop at Banana, Loft and lots of other stores that populate malls in Bumbletown USA, but just walking by all the cute boutiques, designer flagships and vintage thrift shops  provides inspiration at the very least.

Con: Noise. Why does it seem that an ambulance of fire truck must pass under my window whenever I’m on the phone with an out-of-towner? They always exclaim, “how can you live with all that noise?” It’s not easy. I would love to sleep with the window open but the drunken revelers coming from the “high class” bars in my hood make that impossible. Taxi horns, airplanes, passersby, dogs barking, garbage trucks at 2 am, car alarms…I can’t even hear myself think sometimes. When we stay outside the city I am impressed immediately by the peace and quiet – and the depth of my sleep!

So there it is. The pros and cons, a logical presentation. But living in New York is not about logic. It truly is a calling. Overtaking all the cons is the innate understanding that this is where I belong. Just as I had that pleasant resignation at 12 years old, I still own it today. Sure I want space, peace, convenience and all that living outside Manhattan would provide, but I still envision myself as one of those old New York ladies with a jaunty scarf, taking a stroll on a wintery day by the Hudson, bickering with her cardigan-wearing husband in Fairway, and attending a fascinating lecture (for free) at night.  

So for now – and maybe forever – I’m staying

The Challenge of the Second Act

Sometimes I worry that I acted like a spoiled brat. I didn’t like the game so I picked up my ball and glove and stomped home. But in reality what I did was enter one of the most challenging times of my life. What sometimes feels like a cowardly retreat was actually bravely stepping into the unknown.

August 24^th 2012 was the last day I spent in a career that spanned more than 25 years.  I left, not for better pay or even a more satisfying job, but for the opportunity to explore what I want to do when I grow up – at 48 years old!

I’m not alone. As many as 8.4 million Americans between the ages of 44 and 70 are launching their second careers, seeking positions that combine income with personal meaning and social impact, according to a recent survey on boomers, work, and aging by the MetLife Foundation and Civic Ventures, a San Francisco think tank.

Sure, it’s an exciting endeavor and I feel blessed for the opportunity to take the time, to toss out the alarm clock and spend leisurely hours with my doggie and husband (in that order?) but it is also pretty darn scary.

Me, mid career at a national conference

I gave up a healthy, steady income, structure, routine and a capable IT staff. I turned my back on a career where I had risen to the upper echelons, earned a solid reputation among my peers and – honestly – was very talented. And it wasn’t like it was some soul-sucking venture either. I raised money for worthy non-profits in New York City – places that fed the hungry, tended to people with AIDS and cancer, protected children from abuse and more. But the fact of the matter was I was not happy and I probably hadn’t been for about ten years.

I had to wonder: what happened and how did I get here?

Like many people I kind of fell into my career. My sophomore year at Colgate University I was assigned to the development department as my work study job. My task for the next three years was to review each and every one of the foundation files and then type (and yes, I mean type as it was 1983!) a chronological summary. It may sound tedious to you but I actually really liked it. It was a much-needed respite from my rigorous studies and each onion skin paper correspondence was like a little bit of history. It gave me even more pride in my school reading about our worthy projects. I was doing good, getting paid and it seemed easy to me. So, with no better idea, I got my first non-profit job after graduation in 1986 and never looked back.

Then, somewhere along the way things soured. The pressure of meeting the budget month after month, year after year outweighed the satisfaction of “making a difference.” Donors demanded more for their gifts. Board members seemed more interested in one-upmanship than service.  New media and technology required we attract a younger audience – most of whom couldn’t care less about philanthropy. Everyone in the office seemed stressed and uncooperative.  

But, the straw that broke the camel’s back came in the form of an “urgent” phone call from my boss about paper stock for a brochure during my mother-in-law’s funeral. I hung on for a few more months, but I knew I was toast.

Meanwhile, in my personal life, I had been cultivating an interest in food and nutrition for years. I gave up red meat while I was a student living in Eastern Europe in the 80s. Later in my 20s I successfully used vitamins to cure my acne after a horrible scare with a toxic antibiotic that was affecting my brain! I began devouring all the information I could on nutrition, alternative healing and holistic health in magazines, TV, and lectures. I began advising friends to try Echinacea at the first sign of a cold, to drink more water as a cure for just about everything, to cut down on dairy during allergy season, to take up yoga, etc.

So when began thinking of what my second act would look like it was pretty clear where my passion lives now. But the leap…oh the leap! How does one take a 25-year career in fundraising and all of a sudden become a …hmmm…well I’m still not sure what I want to be?

The answer is you don’t “all of a sudden” do anything. And that’s what’s so challenging and scary. I have always thrived on structure and busy-ness and now I live day to day with only myself as a task-master. As my father used to quote from Invictus (way too often, by the way:)

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

Whether or not I fully subscribe to that theory, I know that only I can figure out my future. I don’t want to “fall into” another career. I don’t want go back to fundraising just because it’s familiar and lucrative. I want to do something thing I believe in, something that uses my brain and heart, something that serves the greater good, but doesn’t involve 9-5 office stint (oh please Lord, never again!)

So for the past ten months -- along with spending more time with my family and tackling domestic projects that have been dogging me for years -- I have been researching educational opportunities, diligently doing my exercises from “What Color is Your Parachute,” reaching out to people in the fields of food and nutrition, reading all I can on the subject, teaching myself some new cooking techniques, getting back in shape, and pursuing a certificate in wellness at NYU (a first – but not last step in my education…more to come.)  

I am not so much following a path towards a goal but grasping at stars. It is new, unfamiliar and utterly unnerving. But I’m sticking with it.

 

                                                                                                   

Saying goodbye to office life (hopefully)

 

P.S. And about that not having a steady income….I am currently available for the following services: Wardrobe Purging and Closet Organization; Shopping Coach/Fashion Consultant; and Freelance Writer (but please no grant proposals!!!!) All at reasonable rates!

Nine Million Teenagers in Need of a Nanny

The other day I was preparing to do something very important like reading a magazine or watching the Big Bang Theory, when the phone rang. It was a pollster who asked for the youngest male over 18, when he wasn’t available he settled for me. I know most people (with a life) would’ve hung up the phone but I feel that as a Middle Class Manhattanite I am the last of a dying breed and that my voice needs to be heard. I also am not shy about sharing my viewpoints (perhaps the reason for this blog in the first place,) so I stayed on the line.

For the next ten minutes or so, this poor sap with a thick Ozarks accent fired questions at me about Mayor Bloomberg and New York City politics. His questions were clearly designed to elicit my raging disappointment towards our three-term mayor like, “would you categorize him as “bossy, mommy-ish, overboard or….(said quietly)…effective;” “Do you think he should spend the rest of his term focusing on important issues or continue the way he has been going”.  He launched into a series of questions about Bloomberg’s former, proposed and failed regulations. I’m pretty sure I didn’t give him the answers he wanted. Whether the topic was eliminating trans fat, tobacco taxes, smoking restrictions or the much-maligned large sugary drink ban, I voiced my support of our current mayor.

I should disclose that I am currently in school for nutrition and health and I back any effort to help people curb destructive habits such as smoking, and eating too much sugar and fat. But that’s not the whole story. Although the poll dearly wanted me to admit that Bloomberg was running a “Nanny State” and that I should be outraged, I wouldn’t say that. Frankly I think we New Yorkers need a nanny.

First of all, when did nannies get such a bad rap? Didn’t we all love Mary Poppins – after all she’s still on Broadway. And weren’t we entranced by the crafty British caretaker on “Nanny and the Professor” (for those of a certain middle age like me.) I thought that nannies were stern but loving forces of good. With songs or cute tricks they taught us to take our medicine – because that’s what we needed whether it tasted bad or not.

Secondly, I’d like to know why Bloomberg’s predecessor, tough guy Rudy Giuliani, was never referred to as a “Nanny” when he tore down the triple X movie theaters that led the way to the Disney-fication of Times Square, or when he cracked down on “quality of life” laws such as littering and bikes on sidewalks. Weren’t these new policies also hard pills to swallow but – in the end – for our own good? Perhaps politics has something to do with that. Maybe only closet liberals can be nannies.

The more I thought about this, the more I realized that New Yorkers are just a bunch of teenagers in need of a good nanny.  We tend to forget that our government (like our parents or nannies) provides much of what we need – stuff we couldn’t do ourselves – on a daily basis. Because things run pretty smoothly, we don’t always think about schools, bridges and roads, our police, courts and judges, and clean parks. In New York we even have the luxury of free garbage pick-up and snow removal, and top notch fire fighters and emergency medical technicians. That’s not the case in most small cities and towns where you must rely on volunteers or pay commercial firms for those vital services.  We forget that the city has created sophisticated recycling programs, and lured new industry and millions of tourists here year after year giving our city much needed revenue to pay for most of these programs.

 

NYPD on the scene during hurricane Sandy

 

We take these important services, which allow us to pursue our lives, for granted and then grow resentful about laws and regulations we think are unnecessary. Like teenagers, we want the warm, safe house, the food on our table and the clothes our parents provide but cry injustice when we’re not allowed to get a tattoo or stay out late. Those rules are unfair because we think we’re all grown up and know what’s good for us.

But whether you down donuts by the dozen and smoke like a chimney you have to agree that there are long term benefits for the rest of the city if Bloomberg’s “Nanny” regulations work: fewer people will suffer from obesity, diabetes and cancer. We can all save millions in tax dollars for unnecessary medical costs and worker absenteeism.

A good nanny knows that our indulgences today will affect our future lives. If you don’t believe her, just try to get a good job in your thirties with that neck tattoo peeking over your collar.

Preparing For the Zombie Apocalypse

On our wedding day, when my husband, Steve and I stood at the alter in front of our beloved friends and family, I pledged my devotion, my loyalty, my support and to learn to love zombies. For real. Ask anyone who was there.

Steve took me to my first zombie movie when we had been dating a few months. It was George Romero’s “Land of the Dead.” Rich, elite survivors of the zombie apocalypse were holed up in their own gated city living the high life while rebel bands lived on the edge of death fighting each day to make the world safe from zombies.  Sounded like parts of New York City.  I was pretty much hooked. 

Truth be told, I had always had a thing for the post-apocalyptic theme in books and movies. Maybe it’s the control freak in me that would love the opportunity to sketch out a new world order once most of the world was wiped out. Maybe it’s just that I hate crowds. 

How we celebrated Halloween the year of our wedding

 Yes we are a zombie-loving household, but I’ve noticed over the past several years that it isn’t just us. According to IMDB (the internet movie data base,) more than 500 zombie-themed movies have been released since 2001. 

 That’s way more than half of the 863 zombie films ever made.  That list includes mainstream dramas with top stars like “I am Legend”, horror films like “28 Days Later”, comedies such as “Shaun of the Dead and Zombieland,” and even soft-core porn.  Zombies also dominate the airwaves and bookstores too. 

More than entertainment, I have found that this theme has pervaded everyday discourse. I can’t count how many times I’ve engaged in a fierce debate about the safest place to hide out, or what to pack in your “go bag” when the invasion begins, and whether you prefer slow or fast-moving zombies. Just the other day a young friend of mine posited that the smartest strategy was to become a cult leader. I applauded his ingenuity. You can find quizzes testing your zombie war skills on Facebook and hear TV personalities referencing who would be in their survival pack and which weak link friends would be ousted. Seriously it’s everywhere.

Coming Soon to a Theater Near You!

But I didn’t really question why zombies have become so popular until this week. My husband and I were cleaning out a closet and found a box of ammo (don’t be alarmed, he’s a retired cop.) He put it on our counter knowing he’d need to find a safe way to dispose of them. As I stared at the box I had the thought, “you know, he should really take me to the firing range to teach me to shoot before…the invasion.”

I may be control freak preoccupied with apocalyptic fantasies, but they were now creeping  into my reality.  I was aware that this thought was a bit alarming and needed further examination. Why would I, a middle class New Yorker, feel the need to arm myself like some right-wing Midwestern militia member? (not to profile or anything.)

Then I started to think about what I have lived through personally and witnessed via television in the last dozen years. In 2001 I watched two iconic structures that represented my home fall into dust before my very eyes realizing that people I knew, people I had worked with were among that dust. Living four blocks from ground zero, I walk past armed national guardsmen, barricades and gates and cameras on new corners every day. I must make myself aware changing policies regarding what I may and may not carry on to ferries and subways without suspicion. I have been pulled out of security lines at the airports on several occasions because of my last name.


And since 911 I have been part of the global audience watching the aftermath of the Virginia Tech, Aurora, Colorado and Newtown massacres; the Boston Marathon Bombing and foiled Times Square bombing, Hurricane Katrina and dozens of pernicious tornadoes leveling cities and lives in seconds. And this past October I struggled without power for six days after “Superstorm Sandy”. The streets in lower Manhattan were dotted with tired folks wandering aimlessly looking for cell signals and stores with generators. Desperate downtowners cued up hungrily at trucks handing out batteries. Candles became currency.  At night, the streets were eerily silent and until unwelcome sounds of footsteps or hushed voices approached and the fear rose in my blood.  

This is when I feel like I truly began honing my survival skills: cooking in the dark and feeding my less able apartment dweller, gathering water for tepid baths, and walking my dog with a pseudo miner’s lamp on my head and my vigilant husband by my side. I watched some of my neighbors partied and stumbled home drunk and useless (those who will be ousted from the pack eventually) while others shared food, power and good ideas (my future pack members.)

I don’t mean to downplay the experiences of my friends and neighbors who lost their homes or loved ones. That is truly a horror.  I have been more a witness to this horror than a victim. But my point is that the veil has been lifted and I see that my world has changed. And along with it, our collective consciousness and our entertainment choices.

I will continue to love my zombies and prepare for the apocalypse – but only in my head. And at the same time I must take stock of what I have today. And that is a good life.

Just a wee sampling of our zombie paraphenalia

 

The Cost of Eating and Eating Less

It’s been nine months since I quit my job and my sole source of steady income.  Besides eschewing tasty $5 lattes and regular mani-pedies I’ve also begun looking at prices in the grocery store. And I’ve come to the conclusion that eating is a costly business.

This is something I should’ve known before considering I’ve worked for not just one, but TWO – hunger organizations! But as a middle class New Yorker, I never thought to examine why my weekly trip to Whole Foods added up to $175 or more.

I don’t have expensive tastes. I don’t buy fancy cheeses or smoked salmon but even a couple apples sets me back a few dollars. A shocking fact when you consider that these things literally fall off trees!

Yes I’m shocked but it doesn’t really change things. It’s food after all and I’ve got to eat. Ok, I’ll make a few trips to Costco to save some coin here and there but since I don’t have a plot of land to grow my own this is my lot and I must accept that eating is an expensive endeavor.

But what doesn’t make sense to me is how much it costs not to eat food.

One of the other changes I’ve made in my glorious unemployment phase is to get back in shape. Once I made this decision my eyes opened to all the options I had out there to whittle me back down to my “fighting weight” while separating me from my funds.

Before: Rollo helps me avoid exercise

 

Every day my inbox is flooded with offers from gyms, yoga classes, Pilates studios and the like. As I stroll down the aisles of Whole Body I can choose from a variety of “all natural” supplements designed to burn my fat like so many draft cards at a peace rally (geez, did I date myself there or what?!) And then there’s the food meant to get you to lose weight (is it just me or is that highly ironic?). There are shakes, diet fiber bars, diet “ice cream” treats and frozen complete meals. And let’s not forget the delivery plans from The Zone, Jenny Craig and others which can cost more that dinner and a show these days. And don’t get me started on liposuction or other medical interventions.

 

Even if you decide to go old school solo and pick up one of the thousands of diet books and exercise DVDs you’re out anywhere from $29.95 to a couple of hundred dollars and they are just going to tell you what you already know: eat less and move more.

I tell you “they” have got you coming and going. You want to eat, then you must pay. You want to eat less, then you must pay even more. And we buy into it with billions and billions of our hard earned dollars every year. All because we think we can’t do something very simple – albeit painstaking – alone. Or we are looking for the easier, softer, way which unfortunately has never, nor will ever exist. 

Losing weight is a numbers game: you must expend more calories than you take in. You want to lose a pound a week, then you must

have a negative balance of 500 calories a day. It’s that simple. Just cut out 250 calories of cookies or soda or that much-missed latte and walk briskly for an hour or so. And in a few weeks (or months in my case) you’ll arrive at your goal…hopefully. It’s tedious and often frustrating and you’ll get some gentle well-meaning sabotaging from your friends and mothers (“come on, just one piece of candy won’t kill you…”) but it’s free and it will last if you keep it up.

That being said, I would like to report that I have rejected all the costly schemes and products and I am slimming down all on my own, but that isn’t totally true. I – just like those mere mortals targeted by Madison Avenue – felt like I need to buy a kick start or two to accomplish something that shouldn’t cost a dime. So, I ordered a Zumba DVD and downloaded the “My Fitness Pal” app (www.myfitnesspal.com.) Total cost? About $80. I work up a sweat about 45 extra minutes a day whenever I want to in the relative privacy of my own home (my husband likes to critique/support me now and then) and I count my calories (keeping an eye on my nutrition as well – more on that in a future blog post.)

On a "free" hike with Rollo. Dogs can also be good exercise partners

It’s not high tech or glamorous or trendy but I’ve lost about nine pounds in two months and I feel a lot better. I’m aware of my body, my strength and my life force. But perhaps more importantly, I have realized – not for the first time – that change can’t be bought, it’s an inside job. And if that realization saves me a few bucks, well then all the better!