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!

Wardrobe Malfunction: A Four Step Recovery

Some families are athletic, some are musical, some are criminal…mine was sartorial. Honestly, if it wasn’t for the sorely missed B. Altman, I wouldn’t even exist. My parents met while working there. Although my father moved on to other pursuits, my mother stayed in retail fashion until she retired.  

Being part of my DNA, I understood early on the need to accessorize.    Evidenced by my kindergarten class picture which features a jauntiltied  tied silk scarf around my Sears and Roebuck dress. Clothes were always important to us. But perhaps more important, was the shopping experience. My mother, sister and I will still pick up the phone following a particularly piquant shopping victory, “I just got four cashmere sweaters at Macy’s 65% off and with a 20% off coupon!” My husband says it’s only a matter of time until they pay me to take the merchandise home.

So, with all that being said, why do I – and every red-blooded American woman -- utter the same desperate cry when opening her closet, “I have nothing to wear!” Why do we continue to shop and buy new clothes and still feel our wardrobe is horrendously inadequate whether it’s for work, a wedding or dinner with friends? 

A few years ago I actually analyzed this phenomenon and decided to start a side business to address it. Now – having no time to pursue a side anything (unless napping is a cottage industry) -- I’m giving away my knowledge and advice for free.

I wore this shirt to every party from 1979-84 

Let’s start with the problem: the Wardrobe Malfunction aka  “I have nothing to wear.”

Well, most likely you have some nice, appropriate items on hand but they are engulfed and hidden by a lot of crap including these common culprits:

• Stuff that doesn’t fit
• Pieces you bought online and feel tepid about but are too lazy to return
• Old favorites which are now out of style but you keep for sentimental reasons
• Old favorites which are too young for you now (ouch!)
• Clothes that need mending or tailoring or are beyond help

The cure is a four-step process: Inventory, Purge, Reorganize, Restock.

Please note: these steps are not for the faint of heart and should NEVER be taken alone. You need my friend Kate – or someone like her. Someone who loves you and has known you through thick and thin (I mean sizes 6-14) but won’t put up with hoodies that make you look like a 15 year-old skateboard punk, or let you keep pants produce camel toe or a tragic VPL (visible panty line), or allow you to resurrect that purple satin jacket from the 90s just because you got lucky wearing it.

Once you’ve chosen your friend then begin Step One: A fearless and thorough inventory of your wardrobe. Pull out all your clothes (and shoes if you have the time) and try them on for your full-length mirror, your friend, and God (praying helps!) Ask yourself these questions for each piece of clothing:

• Does it fit NOW *
• Is it flattering?
• Have I worn it in a year?
• Do I have someplace to wear it (now or in the foreseeable future)
• Does it still suit my lifestyle and age?

Step Two: Items that don’t meet ALL criteria (I didn’t say this would be easy) are put into the purge pile for donation or rags (I give all my clothes to Housing Works with multiple locations in NYC http://www.housingworks.org/locations/category/thrift-shops )

When purging is over take a look at what remains and be proud of your work. Take a breath, hydrate and get ready for Step Three.  Reorganize your closet and drawers with a system that works best for you whether it’s by season, type of item (sweaters vs. pants) or by purpose (work vs. casual vs. dressy). This way you can go directly to the correct section when it’s time to get dressed. Discard trashy and broken hangers, dust, clean up and make it look friendly. This is also the time to mend, clean or tailor any items that are worth saving but need help.

Once spiffily organized, we begin Step Four: We make a list of what we’re missing and become willing to restock. Most of us have a tendency to purchase the same stuff over again but neglect some staples we really need. I, myself have about a dozen sailor stripe tops but can never seem to find an appropriate cardigan. The reason is simple: I find cardigans boring, but I’m always looking to put something over a shell that’s not a jacket…what could that be? A CARDIGAN?...duh!

Just some of my striped shirts...My kingdom for a good black cardigan! 

We’ll also need to replace the staple that have reached the end of their shelf life: the worn out khakis, the snug skirts, the stained blouses and the pilly sweaters, etc.

So, in Step Four we make a list of these items and a promise to restock when we can.  If you have some cash flow at the present, then prioritize and make a budget and get out there. If not, keep the wish list handy and restock as you can. Ask for these items as when your birthday, Christmas or Mother’s Day rolls around ask for these as gifts -- or more safely – ask for gift cards to some good stores.  And that last part is important. We don’t restock with crap. Seriously, if you’re over 30 stay out of H&M and Forever 21 (sorry Lauren).

When it’s time to shop and try on potential new items, bring a friend and ask yourself those same questions you did in Step One. Disregard sale prices – let the only criteria for purchase be fit, functionality and fabulousness. Don’t settle for mediocre, the garment should make you feel – and look – alive. We live in NYC for crissakes. If the sweater doesn’t break your heart, then move on to the next store** until you find one that does.

If you follow these steps you will love every item in your closet and they will fit you. And  I promise you will never say, “I have nothing to wear!” again.

More tips on a happy shopping experience to come!

*Unless you’re in the middle of a successful weight loss plan you must toss all clothes that are too snug. And if you are in the middle of a successful weight loss plan, wait to do this process until you’ve reached your goal. The same goes for those of you who lost weight unintentionally and need to gain it back.

** I strongly caution against online shopping for this exercise because of the importance of trying things on first

Middleclass Death

(not to be confused with the death of the middleclass)

I didn’t realize until now that death is a class issue as much housing, taxes or dinner reservations in Manhattan. And until late last year I didn’t realize how fortunate I am to be able to afford the experience of middle class death.

November 13, 2011 was a quiet Sunday. I had just come back from Whole Foods and was puttering around the house in my sweats when I got the call I had been dreading every since my father was diagnosed with incurable bladder cancer. His wife phoned to say that the hospice nurse estimated that he only had a day or so left to live. I had watched this scene in movies but now this was real life and it was my life. I shifted to some kind of autopilot, ran to the computer, booked a flight to Palm Springs for 3pm, showered, threw some random items in a carry-on, kissed my husband and dog, and grabbed a cab to Newark Airport. Eighteen hours later I was holding my father’s hand as he took his last breath. Forty-eight hours later I was on a flight back home to seek much-needed comfort in the arms of my own family.

My father had asked to be cremated, and his wife and friends planned a small, spiritual “celebration of life” (judgment of that title withheld…well, at least not expressed on this page) in Maine where they had lived until last year. So, three weeks later my husband Steve, our dog and I -- along with my sister and her two kids -- drove up to Kennebunk, Maine and stayed in the local Comfort Inn (very accommodating for pets but a lousy continental breakfast) to attend my father’s lovely and tasteful memorial service. As my sister drove us home, we cheered ourselves by playing Bruce Springsteen on the ipod and singing at the top of our lungs.

But this nostalgic comfort came to an abrupt end somewhere in the middle of Connecticut when my husband got “the call.” His mother had been admitted to the hospital ten days before with a nasty infection that she contracted in a nursing facility a month earlier (figures.) She was deemed "on the mend" just the day before (hence his decision to accompany me) but now her blood pressure was dropping rapidly. My sister drove at the speed of light – or as fast as her Altima would take us. But we were too late. We burst into her hospital room and saw such a peaceful look on her beautiful 90-year old face that we knew she was gone.

At once, Steve and I were thrust deep into a new level of middleclass adulthood as some “great men” have power thrust upon them. We were faced with decisions about flowers, prayer cards (an entity I needed defined), burial clothes and coffins. We made endless calls, texts and emails to everyone his mother ever met and most of our friends too. And we pulled off a lovely, appropriate middleclass funeral in Astoria, Queens. Something I had looked down my new-age, modernist nose at for years. Of course, ironically, this bastion of middleclass tradition of prayers, goodbyes and endless lines of well-wishing friends brought me more comfort than I could have imagined.

It also brought a hefty bill: $11,000.  My sister’s jaw dropped when I told her the sum and she asked, “what would someone do if they couldn’t afford to pay.” Good question, I thought. And I gave it a lot of thought.  I added the funeral bill to the cost of several flights out to Palm Springs, the trip to Maine, dresses needed for all occasions, dog-sitting and a myriad other death-related costs and all of a sudden I didn’t feel so resentful but wonderfully grateful that I was able to afford these things. I could be with my dad without hesitation, I could honor my mother-in-law appropriately and not have to worry about the money.

Then came the paperwork: the endless bills from the hospitals, Con Ed, credit cards and the like; searching through years of disorganized files for bank statements, 401 (k) documentation and life insurance policies. And slowly our gratitude turned to anxiety and fatigue ,and we began to wish that we – like the 1%ers -- had “people” to handle these things. We pined for a staff of lawyers, accountants, trust managers and personal assistants to do this painstaking work so we could just sit around and feel sorry for ourselves for being down two beloved parents at Christmastime.

And there it is,  Middleclass Death: forcing you to grow up when you least expect it and adopt  the trappings of tradition, then demanding your time and energy when you feel you are depleted. But, in the end, enabling you to take stock of what you have, and reminding you of what is truly important and what eventually will pass – as everything does.

Lovingly dedicated to two extraordinary middleclass parents:

Richard A. Azeez and Dorothy Archer Dahut.



The Real Price of a New York Kitchen Renovation

(Hint: it's not in dollars)

If you have a passing acquaintance with your kitchen – meaning if you use your oven to bake salmon and not to store off-season handbags – then you’ve probably fantasized of a kitchen renovation.  Shiny new appliances, sturdy, roomy, clean cupboards, maybe more counterspace…these are the things of dreams. Ironically, I found out their implementation is a nightmare.

My own particular summer in hell included two months of living with a construction staging area in my living room, a food prep and dining area in my bedroom and debris everywhere. It starred a relapsed drug addicted contractor who lied about his skill set (we discovered this after the pipes broke, a cabinet face fell off, and a strange hissing sound began in the wall), lived on our couch for six weeks, and eventually lifted all the cash from my wallet while I slept.

I know I’m not the first to tell a horror story about a contractor or a renovation gone awry. But there are specific, easy – and not so easy – things you can do to avoid some of my pitfalls, and I consider it my duty to tell you them. So here goes:

Investigate Your Contractor:

Ask friends, friends of friends and neighbors for recommendations on contractors they’ve used. Read those last two words closely – THEY’VE USED -- not the new dude your friend is dating, or a nice guy they knew from high school. Contractors are notorious Jekyll and Hyde characters: they seem sweet and normal in social settings but turn crafty, lazy, greedy and mendacious on the job. So do your due dilligenc: check other references; ask to see photos of their work, licenses etc. Angie’s List is also a great resource and not very expensive to join. If I ever feel insane enough to reno again…that’s where I’m going first.

Set House Rules:

Large sweaty men with tools can be intimidating, but remember, it’s your apartment and you’re paying so you make the rules. Our rules included a daily wrap up of what had been accomplished and what was left to be done, a nightly reorganization of any building materials, a thorough weekly clean up of debris, and no food products in the reno garbage. You pay for the hauling of construction materials so why pay extra for stuff that can go in your apartment’s regular trash? And why stink up your staging area/living room with the stench of burger wrappers from Tuesday?

Be prepared…totally prepared:

Why does a four week project turn into a two-month week project? Because when you need a special electrical plate it may take your happy workers three hours to go to Home Depot to find it -- whether or not they stop to cop drugs. So before you swing the mighty hammer that launches your demolition, go through every step of the work and inventory what you need. If that fails and you happen to be around, go get it yourself – likely it will take less time.

Finally, trust your gut and nothing else:

When my contractor began missing important appointments, broke tiles, drilled holes in the wrong place and seemed generally “out of it,” we could’ve nipped upcoming future disasters in the bud, but we didn’t. My husband and I have known our share of drug addicts and liars so why did we believe him when he blamed others for his mistakes and depression meds for his fogginess…why didn’t we trust our instincts? Because we wanted to believe that we were in good hands and that everything would work out fine. We feared confronting a person in our employ and our social circle. And, we dreaded the prospect of stopping work midstream and searching for a new contractor. So instead we shelled out more money for “materials” that were undoubtedly spent on pills, got shoddy work that had to be redone, and eventually got ripped off and abandoned. Like it says on the subway: if you see something, say something!

In the end I must say that I love my new kitchen (below) – imperfect as it may be – and that I actually did a lot of things right.

And, if you want to know what those were let me know and I can post those as well.

Karen A.'s New Kitchen includes:

Viking Stove and Microwave, Liebherr refrigerator, Ikea cabinets, CaesarStone countertops, backsplash from Swann Tile, GE Profile dishwasher... and a small part of my soul.

The Last of a Dying Breed

I am the last of the Mohicans. Well, not the last…and not a Mohican either. But, I’ll tell you this, I am fast becoming an alien in my own land. Who am I? I am middle class and live Manhattan.

Have you seen me? I am the one with an actual shopping list moving efficiently through the aisles of Whole Foods. I am not lingering by the fancy cheeses holding the hand of my new lover. No, I am on a mission to provide food for my family and to do so at a relatively low cost.

I am unloading the trunk of a Zip car with my purchases from Ikea. I am spending time by the Hudson with my dog on a Sunday afternoon dressed in velour sweatpants and a great fleece zip up from Old Navy (when they actually made good stuff) --  not in J. Brand Jeans and a motorcycle jacket.

I don’t live paycheck to paycheck and I’m not in debt. I can afford to eat out at most restaurants. I can afford to buy new furniture now and then.  I have annuities and investments but I worry about my retirement and it’s more than 15 years off.

I don’t remember the last time I was in a limo. I don’t share a 1 bedroom apartment with 2 friends. I am middleclass.

If you are out there, if you are like me, I hope we can find each other and share what keeps us going, what keeps us living as a diminishing species in a harsh environment. The tips, the bargains, the respites from entitled 25-year olds barfing at your doorstep and recapture the magic of living in the greatest city in the world.

Hello? Is it me you’re looking for?