Table for Two

I recently read that the restaurant as we know it today didn’t exist until the late 18^th century. For a New Yorker like me that’s like learning that air didn’t exist until Eisenhower administration. How could there be a time without restaurants? How can there be life without what has become our alternative kitchens and dining rooms?

Adam Gopnick in his book, “The Table Comes First,” reminds us that many of our life milestones happen in restaurants: first dates, engagements, break-ups, job offers etc. But for me it’s the smaller moments that I remember.  

Back in the 70s when I was a child, it was truly a rare occurrence to dine out. About twice a year on special occasions my mom would take my sister and me to Joy Teang, our local Chinese joint on Ralph Avenue. It was a darkly lit white tablecloth establishment with lots of oriental décor. As we tucked into our egg rolls, spare ribs and Lobster Cantonese I felt like I had been transported to a foreign land. But one night we had a different kind of adventure when we witnessed a hold-up. An armed, masked man came in and demanded the cash from the till. We all watched as he dashed out as quickly as he had appeared. A few moments later the police arrived. We never moved. It was just more entertainment and we devoured our meal.

Meanwhile, somewhere on the upper east side of Manhattan, my bachelor dad was spending most of his lunches and dinners rubbing elbows with the glitterati in the finest restaurants of the day. In fact, for decades, his caricature adorned the walls of the original Palm.

Weekends with my father meant trying some new kind of food. This thrilled me and horrified the less adventurous palette of my sister. One week it was raw squid in the city’s first Japanese restaurant. The next time it was a sampler platter of tacos, enchiladas, chile relleno and refried beans during my first Mexican experience. And in the summer we’d drive out to Sheepshead Bay and sample dozens and dozens of clams and oysters at Lundy’s.

A rare occurrence: my whole family out to dinner. Circa 1967

My father and I were in our glory dining out. And it was during one of our dinners out that – for the first time –I realized how alike we were. For us, food was magical, spiritual, powerful, and mystical and had the capacity to change our mood. Of course, I was to learn that this had mixed consequences.

Over the years I’ve attempted to analyze the allure of the restaurant. Why do I and millions others flock to restaurants not only to mark the memorable moments of our lives, but to treat ourselves and – of course – to find sustenance. In a world in which we are responsible for each and every minute of our lives: get up on time, make your bed, clean yourself, get dressed, catch the subway, get off the right stop, work your ass off, return emails, pick up your drycleaning, pay your bills, plan your vacation on-line, meet your friends, find your keys, ad infinitum, it’s nice to sit down and take a few hours off and let someone else (or a well-trained team of professionals) satisfy your needs. What a beautiful concept! You take a seat in a lovely room, someone hands you a printed list of what they are prepared to make for you, you tell someone who comes right to your side what you want, they bring it to you, you eat it and all you have to do is whip out some piece of plastic and figure out a tip in the end. 

And like that robbery in the 70s, restaurants also provide a vast amount of entertainment – usually in the form of people-watching. I’ve seen oodles of celebrities dining by my side (or drinking at the bar!) I’ve overheard outrageous conversations and run into old friends. And, I once witnessed a man have a heart attack and be carried out of Josephine’s – the luxe French bistro owned by the illegitimate son of Josephine Baker.  The owner followed the gurney as it weaved in and out of the tables and exclaimed in a thick Parisian accent, “…only in New York!” I’m still not sure what he meant by this but I will surely never forget it.  

Life happens at restaurants like nowhere else. You can choose to fill your belly with comfort food, fuel your body with nutritious fare or send your taste buds on an exotic holiday. You can date, reunite, celebrate and plan while sharing these experience with scores of strangers (some stranger than others.)  Other that the transporter from Star Trek, I know of no other vehicle that gives you such power to transform a moment in time.

I believe that one of the reasons I have stayed in this crazy, crowded, noisy, expensive city is for the restaurants. Unlike my late father, I do not frequent the finer dining rooms or the “it” spots of the week.  But living here means that at any time of the day (or even night, in most cases,) I can have whatever cuisine I desire.  My favorite coconut bun or hand-stretched noodles are just a 15-minute walk away in Chinatown.  I can order escargot until 2 am at one of the three (that I know of) French bistros in my neighborhood. When I feel like Italian I can choose between northern, southern, casual or haute cuisine. I can eat vegetarian, macrobiotic and vegan at a variety of places.  And, I am proud to have a favorite Vietnamese restaurant when most of America probably has never even tasted a Vietnamese meal.

That’s why as an adult, I was so proud to be able to return the favor to my father, to continue his legacy. When he used to visit me from his adopted home in Maine, I would set up a crowded itinerary of all the restaurants to hit. Our time together would be a mini road trip up and down the streets of Manhattan sampling as much exotic fare as we could stomach – trying to digest all the foods that were unheard of in Kennebunkport. I remember finishing a four-course Indonesian meal and stopping off for a piece of authentic New York pizza on the way home. This is how we bonded.

When my father was sick with bladder cancer, I would try to buoy his spirits by promising that as soon as he recovered I would take him on yet another tour of my favorite New York restaurants. He’d smile weakly thinking about all the great meals he had enjoyed over the years all over the world. He’d been fortunate enough to sit down at tables in Hong Kong, Israel, Italy, Mexico, France and many more places I probably don’t even know about.  I believe he remembered each meal in fanatical detail and would often attempt to recreate them in his own kitchen. At times, I was fortunate enough to be served his attempts. But deep down, he and I both knew that these culinary adventures were in his past.

A few months later as I stood in front of a room full of mourners reading the words I had carefully, lovingly written to remember my father, I chose to share what I realized was my fondest memory of our time together. He had just emigrated to Kennebunk, Maine. When my sister and I came to visit he wanted to show off his new home and took us to the Cape Arundel Inn (in view of the Bush’s vast compound, he pointed out.)  I was enjoying an amazing meal of steamed clams, lobster and other delights when the dessert menu came. I studied it furiously for several minutes with my brow furrowed. My father looked over to me and asked what was wrong. I replied, “I can’t decide between the chocolate mousse and the lemon cheesecake.” It was then he said three words that I would carry with me forever: “get them both.”  And I did.

Those words have stayed with me because he was acknowledging our shared love of food and of the dining experiences. He wanted me to indulge and to be happy and he wanted to be the author of that joy.  And that is the reason why restaurants will always be a huge part of my life and continue occupy enormous real estate in my heart and mind.

 

 

Karen's favorite restaurants/best and worst dining experiences:

Current Faves

Mexican: The Little Place – my favorite local haunt. Family-run authentic joint on Warren and West Broadway.

Vietnamese: NhaTrang – Baxter between Bayard and Walker

Chinese: Great New York Noodletown – 28 Bowery

Comfort Food: Bubby’s – Hudson and North Moore (skip the brunch to avoid crowds – but save room for dessert.)

Tex/Mex/Southern/Trailer Trash: Cowgirl Hall of Fame – Hudson and West 10^th  (nutty great place for events)

Haute Italian: Petrarca – Church St and White. Mellow and fab food.

Old Time Italian – Arturo’s – West Houston and Thompson (mobster ambience and jazz!)

Greek: Kyclades in Astoria – fresh fish done simply and deliciously. In Manhattan: Uncle Nicks on 8^th Ave and 29^th .

Ukrainian: Veselka – 2^nd Avenue and 9^th Street. Borscht and pierogies say no more.

Spanish: El Coyote – 23^rd Street between 7-8^th. Real swanky, great lobster and paella.

Midtown Lunch: Lugo – 33^rd between 7-8^th. Good service, outdoor options and tasty small dishes along with amazing pizza.

Dining Experiences

Best: A shout out to my dear friend (and avid reader, Andrew) who FINALLY escorted me after a long-held bet to Lutece just months before it closed. I will probably never experience such exquisite service.

Worst: Nobu L. After years of anticipation, I finally booked a table on my birthday and was treated about as kindly as Leper at a germophobe convention. In a nearly empty restaurant, I was given a tiny table right next to the kitchen and bathroom. When I asked for a better table the seater left us for 3 minutes and came back to put us in the 2^nd worst table.  There’s no excuse for this kind of discrimination – especially years after a hot opening. Boo Hiss! Won’t ever go again. 

Trash or Treasure

A few days after Christmas a few years back, I was walking with my beloved Border Collie, Rollo, when we spotted something rather odd. Piled upon a large snow-filled tree planter was a box of brand new dinnerware and a lovely small white vase. Remnants of tissue and wrapping paper were still in the boxes. Clearly, these were discarded gifts. Maybe a scorned lover couldn’t stand the sight of them post nasty break-up, or a frustrated spouse or adult child was disgusted that these were not her taste. For whatever reason, these brand new beautiful, useful objects were now trash. Well, not really. That lovely small white vase is now on permanent display in my living room (after a thorough steaming hot wash.)

In my eight years in Tribeca I have collected more than that white vase walking the streets. I gleefully saved a fabulous pine book case, found a new home for a really cool porcelain jug, repurposed some construction materials to shore up holes in our dog run, and picked up an interesting book or two. I have spotted a few chairs and promptly alerted friends, and nearly dragged home some pristine heavy plastic storage bins but couldn’t carry them on my own. 

It’s not that I can’t afford to buy my own vases, bookcases or books; it’s more that I can’t stand to see something that still has life and value go to waste – especially when you consider that garbage is taking up a lot of valuable real estate on earth.

I just don’t understand how people can throw out undamaged, working items. It boggles my mind. And, as the years go by, the usable trash issue seems to be getting worse as a younger, richer generation slowly becomes the majority in lower Manhattan.  But, in all honesty, every neighborhood, every culture has their share of good garbage.

At my former job, we all had to pack up an enormous office (an entire floor of a large midtown building) we had occupied for more than a dozen years to move across the street. Because we couldn’t afford to hire professional movers for this part of the dirty work, staff had to spend extra time each day going through desks, closets, filing cabinets etc. and toss or pack literally tons of papers, supplies and weird miscellany. As the weeks went by, people got hastier and lazier with this task and just began chucking stuff without much thought. I was both mystified and angered. How could someone toss a gross of padded envelopes – something we’d surely need across the street – just because it was too bulky? As, a non-profit, this was not just wasteful, it was unethical, I thought. So each day, at the end of the day, I’d take a step stool and I’d search through the large bins to rescue envelopes, pens, cassette tapes, stuffed toys, sets of unused still-packaged beauty products, paper clips, staplers, tons of reference books and even the step stool I was using.  As coworkers watched me they chose to ridicule me rather than pitch in. Fine. I knew I’d never run out of supplies.  And those dictionaries and other books were sent to libraries in poor communities.

It doesn’t take a lot of research to find new owners for useful objects. Having cleared out two homes of deceased loved ones and undertaken my own kitchen renovation, I’ve become a bit of an expert on what to do with stuff you no longer want, need or have space for. In most cases, you don’t even have to leave your home to make the stuff disappear. And, in other cases, you might have to make the short trek to the post office of local thrift shop. Ironically, I found those dishes and vase one block away from our local Housing Works Thrift Shop. I know they would’ve been delighted to receive these objects and earn some funds for their cause.  

For large bulky items like sofas or electronics that you can’t hoof over, Housing Works, Goodwill and the Salvation Army will come collect it. But beware; they all have their own rules and restrictions. Housing Works will only take wooden furniture and might want to check out anything upholstered, (hello bedubugs!) Salvation Army won’t pick up items other than furniture, so if you’re getting rid of an entire household of stuff, you might want to go elsewhere. I used Goodwill to clear out whatever was left in my mother-in-law’s home that my friends, family and neighbors couldn’t use. They came and carried out an entire household of furniture, clothes, tchotchkes, books, cookware, electronics and more. They came when they were scheduled, were efficient, quick and polite and I got a substantial tax deduction.  Whomever you chose, it’s a win-win-win: you get rid of things, someone gets something they like on the cheap and a worthy cause gets to help others with the proceeds.

Maybe you want to cut out the middleman and just make sure you find a new home for your vintage stereo, trampoline or waterbed, then there’s Freecycle. The Freecycle Network™ is made up of 5,107 groups with 9,394,089 members around the world. It's a grassroots and entirely nonprofit movement of people who are giving (and getting) stuff for free in their own towns. It's all about reuse and keeping good stuff out of landfills. Each local group is moderated by local volunteers and membership is free.

If you’re feeling more mercenary there’s always Craigslist, Ebay and other resale sites.  When I said sayonara to my office job a year ago, I was left with an extensive wardrobe of strictly work-appropriate clothes along with the lack of a steady income. My dear friend Marilyn turned me on to Poshmark, a clothing consignment app with a social media component. If you have a smartphone or tablet and some time each day to market your stuff (really easy) then you can turn your cardigans into cash – not tons of cash, but enough to finance the purchase of some more appropriate garb such as shorts and sandals.  For those of you interested in my gently used apparel you can check out my Poshmark closet: kazeez315.

And for my bibliophile friends, the Strand is still buying back books. Of course, you’ll have to cart them to their Union Square location and deal with their snotty staff, but at least the books are no longer taking space on your shelves you get some latte money. Amazon also offers to buy back textbooks and I’m sure other online retailers will do the same – maybe even for other books.  Senior centers and hospitals will likely be interested in adding your unwanted books to their library too.

If you’re lower tech-oriented there are still community bulletin boards to post items. My condo has one and I nearly bought someone’s entire bedroom set that was listed (the dresser was too big sadly.) Check out churches and school – they can usually direct you to people in need as well. I have a friend that needs to unload a grand piano and I directed her to three of our local music schools.

If I haven’t convinced you yet not to just throw away your stuff, please consider this: the plastic waste in the Pacific Ocean is now floating along as an island larger than the state of Texas.  The largest dump in America, the Puente Hills Landfill, has risen to a height of a 50-story building. My fevered brain is obsessed with these thoughts. Does that mean I have ceased my use of all plastic? No, but I recycle every bit of it I can – along with every piece of paper, cardboard and metal. But, in a gleaming ray of hope, our own Fresh Kills Landfill in Staten Island -- which covers more than 2200 acres -- will soon be a new community park and entertainment center.  Which just goes to show that the damage can be reversed of we use our hearts and imaginations.

So I urge you, before you toss something just think about it. Consider the energy that went into creating it, the value it might have to someone else and the space it will take up in our dumps or oceans.  And see if there’s something else you can do with it other than abandon it on Warren Street for me to collect.

If you have something today you don’t want, feel free to post it here and see if someone else will give it a good home.  Also, please post other ideas to reuse or repurpose unwanted usable stuff. Thanks!

"And here it is, the most important day of your life." Keys to a Successful Wedding

By the time I got married at age 43 I had probably attended 100 weddings. I was maid of honor three times and a member of the wedding in several other affairs. I’ve witness Jewish, catholic, a zillion denominations of protestant ceremonies; I’ve attended mixed race weddings, gay weddings, second weddings, third weddings and shotgun weddings. I’ve dressed for black-tie, beach casual and everything in between.

Sufficed to say, being the judgmental control freak that I am, I had gathered quite a few opinions on what I wanted – and more importantly did not want -- for my own wedding. Also, I should humbly add that in addition to all the weddings I have attended, I’ve hosted, organized or helped to run dozens of events during my 25+ careers as a professional fundraiser.

So, you may ask, was my wedding perfect? Basically, yes. I can honestly say that I have only one or two teeny tiny regrets (which I’ll get to later.) Therefore, because I feel that I successfully threw a wedding that didn’t break the bank, made me and my husband eternally happy and grateful and seemed to entertain my friends and loved ones, I thought I’d share my not-so-secret secrets with you.  And, while I’m at it, I think I’ll also share some opinions about wedding do’s and don’ts.

Lesson # 1 – Splurge on what’s important (but only what’s important.)

My beautiful and tasty cake!

Unless you have rich and traditional parents who want nothing else than to spend their fortune on a single day (albeit an important one) in their daughter’s life, or you are a Kardashian and have big corporate sponsorship, you probably want to reign in the costs of a wedding where you can. So figure out what means the most to you -- whether it’s flowers, photography, dress, venue, food, limo, invitations, music, favors, or the honeymoon -- and give yourself relative carte blanche on those one or two areas. And then you cut corners and expectations for the rest. For example, I am a cake fanatic so there was no way I was going to have anything but my dream cake and that was one from the Cupcake Café.  I was shocked at the cost (roughly $10/person or $750 in 2007) but I didn’t think twice about it.  In the end, it was delicious, beautiful and worth every penny to me.

Lesson # 2 Cutting Corners by Getting Crafty

The wedding industry knows that you have a big budget and that’s why things like favors and invitations – basically paper and ephemeral -- cost so damn much. So these were two areas that I decided to take on myself to save some bucks.  Nowadays there are many websites that allow you to create your own invitations. They provide a variety of card stock, designs, places for photos and text and even envelopes. I did mine through the now defunct Kodak website and paid under $100 for my invitations. I asked my guests to call or email to RSVP saving all of us time and money. For favors, I recorded a CD with songs that we played at our wedding. I through in a bottle of water and candy for the ride home too. Final cost: $2.50 per guest.  The CD is my mom’s favorite piece of music – but that could be because she’s my mom!

Lesson # 3 Cutting Corners with the Help of Friends

Like most New Yorkers I am blessed with many talented artistic friends. So I asked them to provide their services in lieu of a gift to us. One friend played flute while we walked down the aisle, another did my makeup and a third took pictures. And an old DJ friend gave me a discount – I tried to get her services for free but couldn’t quite call in that favor. But, hey I tried.

Lesson #4 – Cutting Corners by going UnWedding

I had no idea what to do with my hair when my photographer friend said, “I know someone who can make you look like a movie star!” I was impressed and excited. I called his salon just to get an idea of what this service would cost me. An assistant wouldn’t quote me a price nor would he allow me to even speak to the hairstylist until I answered the following questions: where was the wedding being held, what kind of venue and how many guests. What on earth did these things have to do with my hair, I asked? Well, my musician friend who had played untold weddings revealed the answer. People in the wedding biz set their price based on the wedding’s budget. They hear you’re having a wedding in a fancy NYC hotel with 300 guests, well then you are going to pay probably twice as much as the woman having a backyard affair in Queens with 50 close friends. I was quoted something like $300 for the hair style run-through and $250 for his services on the day of wedding. No thanks.

Instead I went to a local salon and scheduled a trim. I asked the guy (who had done my hair satisfactorily a few times) what he would do to my hair if I had a big event? He took some time and played around and we decided to flat iron it. I asked if he would open up early on a Saturday so I could get prepped for such a party and he said yes. I never mentioned it was my own wedding.  It cost me nothing for the run-through and something like $50 the day of (I added a big tip for the sin of omission.) I continued to see him for my haircuts until the salon moved.

Lesson #5 – Cutting Corners by Going Off the Rack

I watch not one but three different shows about wedding gown hopping so I know for some this may sound like sacrilege. But I had no vested interest in looking like a princess so I was happy to shop in normal stores for my wedding dress. Even if you want a floor length white gown there are many non-wedding options: evening gowns, prom dress and good ol’ cotillion gowns all come in white, ivory and blush and are practically indistinguishable from wedding dresses but cost a lot less. I wound up finding an beautiful, ethereal Kay Unger knee length halter dress with tiny gold point d’esprit. I felt lovely, airy, special and comfortable – not like some corseted doll. Just saying. Oh, and it was on sale, and I opened an account at Bloomingdales to save an additional 10% so it cost me under $400.  One of the few regrets that I have is that I didn’t take the time to have it professionally altered. I had my dry cleaner’s tailor adjust the straps a notch but I should’ve done a tad more. I was busy. No biggie though.

Lesson # 6 – Cutting Corners by Trimming the Guest List

Here was our credo: Only invite people we love (and their partners – if we hadn’t grown to love them yet!) The fewer people the less you’ll spend. But perhaps more importantly, the more time you’ll have to spend with each of them. Both of these things were important to us so we decided to keep the guest list to under 80 people. It wasn’t super difficult because we both have small families, but we did have to make some tough calls. The old co-worker I hadn’t seen in a year didn’t make the cut, neither did the friend of my husband’s that always picks fights with me and owes us money. People get over it and if they don’t well maybe it’s just as well.

The Lesson to end all Lessons: Enjoy yourself

Perhaps the most important thing I learned from my years doing events was that inevitably something would go wrong but that probably nobody but me would notice. Knowing that, I could avoid sweating all the details and be mindful of the miracle of the day. The morning of the wedding I just kept repeating to myself, “be here, be present.” And I was. As I walked down the aisle holding my husband’s hand, the crowd turned to watch us. I saw a sea of happy faces from every aspect of our lives. There were my friends from college, Steve’s old cop buddies, my crazy family, his less crazy family, his kung fu classmates, my work colleagues -- everyone we loved was in the same room. It made me laugh and my laughing made the whole room laugh. It set the tone for a wonderful day. 

When planning the day I arranged for food and beverages that Steve and I liked – besides the cake – instead of what I thought might impress. I asked the venue (Battery Gardens – a lovely restaurant/event space in my beloved downtown Manhattan.)  to create a special lemonade for me during the cocktail hour. I ate the dinner – something that not many brides do – and spent quality time with people I love. It was a beautiful day and I remember every second of it. 

Now a few words on being a proper wedding guest:

·         Don’t wear white…ever, under any circumstances! It is still wrong and it will always be wrong.

·         Don’t give a gift that’s not on the registry. If you don’t want to deal with the registry, just give cash. Anything else is a waste of your money and awkward for the couple.

·         Don’t call the night before the wedding with questions (directions, what you should wear, if you can bring someone else, etc.) Figure it out yourself or ask someone close to the couple.

·         RSVP by the required date. Don’t make them chase you down they have enough to do.

·         Ask if there’s anything you can do to help – it will be well-appreciated.

·         And when it comes to the reception, have fun but not too much fun…if you know what I mean.  It’s not fair to the couple to make a scene and in these days of instagram, twitter, facebook and instant videos it’ll come back to haunt you.

Feel free to post any other tips you may have

 and enjoy wedding season!

 

 

My Name is Karen and I am a Feminist

            I was born in the middle of the “women’s liberation movement.” It was an exciting time when women replaced apron strings for miniskirts, they joined “consciousness-raising groups, they wrote sexually-explicit novels where the heroines called the shots,  they demanded equal pay for equal work and to be considered for non-traditional work in offices, construction sites and in government.  Divorce rates rose and disgruntled and smothered women left their husbands to “find themselves.”  This movement was mirrored in movies, television and magazines (the entirety of the media basically in that age.) Media idols like Mary Tyler Moore, Jane Fonda and Sally Field showed us we could still be feminine and attractive while forging new trails for our sisters.

In those days how could you be anything other than a feminist? You’d have to be an Archie Bunker-like ignorant blow hard to deny our rights and our equality.  Those who defied us were, in fact, portrayed as old fashioned buffoons.

So when did feminism become a dirty word?

As my readers now, I am currently enrolled at NYU pursuing a certificate in Wellness. I am currently in a class studying the psychological aspects of wellness. Half of my class are bright, young women a year or so post college. The other day one of them began to explain her feelings about gender differences with regard to emotional relationships. She abruptly stopped herself and apologized for “sounding like a feminist.” 

I, in my inimitable subtle style blurted out “what wrong with that.” No one answered me and the class discussion continued as if this apology had been accepted without question. My heart sank.

In the 30 years or so since I’ve been a teenage girl looking up to my feminist role models it seems that not only have we stopped progressing but that the movement never happened. It’s like waking up after a long coma to find that aliens have taken over your planet and the society now worships something as despicable as earthworms.

It is clear that women in this society are in crisis – but non many of us know itWe’ve made little progress protection women from domestic violence, and our rights to terminate pregnancies is quickly vanishing.  It is horrifying to me that many women politicians are joining in to strip these rights away. Even something as simple equal pay for equal work – the foundation of the once controversial “ERA (Equal Rights Amendment) never did pass and is rarely discussed seriously in corridors of power anymore.

Worse still, women’s self-esteem and body issues continue to grow worse leading to eating disorders, cutting, drugs promiscuity and other dangerous behaviors. 

Pervasive non-stop media (social and otherwise) is most certainly a cause. Girls and young women are bombarded with images of overly thin, overly sexualized women. These images transmit the message that their bodies are commodities and their self-worth is tied to whether their body resembles these “ideal” forms.   

What happened to my female heroes of the silver screen? They seemed to have retired quietly. Women rarely portray brave, everyday heroines who stand up to men or giant corporations. Instead prominent female roles primarily support the flashier male roles. In fact, over the last ten years, the roles that have garnered actresses Oscars have been historical figures such as Margaret Thatcher or Queen Elizabeth, June Carter Cash or the serial killer Eileen Wormos.  Sandra Bullock snatched her statue for playing a strong, affluent southern mom who champions a poor African American boy so he can play football for her alma mater, all the while by putting food (albeit take out) on the table. Not exactly Norma Rae. Then of course there’s Jennifer Lawrence’s quirky, slutty dance fiend who draws Bradley Cooper out of his funk. Or poor Hillary Swank who dreams of boxing to pull herself our of poverty and misery only to be ostensibly murdered in the ring and “saved” from further misery by her patriarchal coach. Sigh.

 

These are not women that young girls can exactly aspire to be.  Sure, one can argue that women have become action heroes. And I guess that would be a bit of progress if they didn’t appear to be just heavily armed Barbie dolls with guns like Angelina Jolie in Lara Croft series. And on TV, women are back to being frustrated moms, sexy girlfriends – but that’s scripted TV. Of course reality TV is where the devil resides when it comes to this crisis.

Reality TV shows pitting women and against women for the attention of a strange man, instant fame and fortune due to sex tapes, and waif-like supermodels have created a world for girls where the skinniest and sluttiest are winners. But that of course is not the case in the “real world” where the seats of actual power – the boards of Fortune 500 companies, elected government positions, religious hierarchies and the leadership of media organizations -- are primarily still occupied by men. 

Now, as a student pursuing my certificate in wellness, I am very interested in helping women overcome eating disorders, malnutrition among other self-destructive behaviors that are clearly the end result of low-self worth.  When trying to have someone adopt a new behavior or belief system it is more effective to give them a new positive notion to adopt rather than just information that the old idea is harmful.  For example, when helping someone change eating habits you can’t just tell them to stop eating burgers and fries, you need to show them what foods are good for them and ones that they might enjoy.  So, when attempting to remove patterns of negative thinking from individuals

Therefore, to me the answer is both simple and yet seemingly impossible. We need work to eliminate the negative messages on TV, the internet and movies that tell us that our bodies are merely commodities and our worth is tied to whether these bodies resemble some warped ideal. We need to replace them with images of women and girls succeeding because of attributes other than conventional beauty. This could inspire a new generation of women to rise to take back their power.  For every well-armed Barbie doll we need equal or greater access to images that celebrate intelligence, compassion, courage, creativity, humor, strength and other important qualities that actually lead to success in life. I would love to give a current example of popular character who exemplifies that but I can't think of one. 

The first step is that we stopping participating in the problem. What does that mean? It means that you don’t watch The Real Housewives of Anyplace or any show that depicts women as greedy, dependent, idiot fembots. It means that we reconsider our relationship to designer clothes and accessories that encourage us to spend our capital on useless ephemera instead of saving or investing funds that will ultimately lead to greater independence and power.  If you think about how many women -- even midldleclass women -- who are unable to leave their abusive husbands or just unfulfilling relationships because they can’t afford to leave, and you might think twice about your next pair of Louboutins. And if you already have a healthy bank account, perhaps those shopping dollars could be better spent in the coffers of organizations that help women escape the horrors of slave trafficking, or that educate inner city girls, or provide equal access to sports in communities that only focus on boys. The opportunities for you to help are limitless.   

 

And,  because words have so much power,  I ask respectfully that you please remove the word girl from your speech when referring to any female over the age of 18. Girls don't enact laws, girls don't run companies, girls don't change the world. Would you call Hillary Clinton a girl?

 

But, more importantly, we need women to stop being afraid of being feminists. So, if you already agree with everything I've written then please speak up. Shout if from the rooftops. Be proud of being a feminist. 

Come on join me.  Say it…My name is _____ and I’m a feminist. Simple. Together we can reverse the regression of our movement just as quickly and insidiously as we have lost our way. Happy Friday my sisters (and brothers!)

 

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