I thought for certain that I would be here on a daily basis now. But between the insane clutter clearing of my house, the daily pre-natal yoga and walks, third trimester mid-afternoon naps and the fifty million other things on my "do in the next 8 weeks" list, I have all but forgotten about the fact that I have a blog.
Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 6:00 PM 2 comments
Labels: daily, is it possible I like it here?, NYC
Scent of a Memory
Thursday, October 2, 2008
It's amazing the way our senses can transport us somewhere instantly. Smell in particular. I smell something and I'm carried back - to a person or a place, a room or an event.
Last week, I was walking the dogs in the early morning. Once I can actually get my ass out of bed, it's one of my favorite times of day. It's still calm and quiet and the newness of the day is fresh upon me. The air is still cool - even here in LA where it's been hotter than hell as of late. And my puppies pull me along, thrilled to be out exploring for the day. On this particular morning, we turned the corner and instantly, it smelled of camp. The scent of a bon-fire hanging in the air from the night before. A smell of comfort, of warmth, of marshmallows, of friendship. It was a smell of safety - one of those smells that you love. That you wish they made a candle of.
But in an instant, the smell changed - grew stronger, more intense, BAD. It smelled BURNT. And my memories went instantly from fond to heartache. The air smelled burnt. And the only time I remembered anything smelling like that was the days following 9/11.
I wrote this post on 9/11 this year. I posted something else, unsure as to whether or not I wanted to post at all, unsure as to whether I wanted to write about the day's significance for me. I try not to think about it too much and at the same time, I try hard not to forget.
It was easier when I was in NYC...easier when I could spend the night with people I was with that day, or just people who were there too. I do not mean to suggest that it wasn't an insanely emotional day for the entire country. I just don't think that anyone who was not in New York, or DC or near that field in Pennsylvania can possibly ever imagine what that day was for those of us that were. Just as I can not imagine what that day was for those who lost mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers and uncles and aunts and sons and daughters and best friends and co-workers. Just as I can not understand what it was like to be in New Orleans during Katrina.
On 9/11 this year, my brain whirled as I thought about all the things that have come after and all the things that are coming. I've written about the moments before. But I've never written about the moments during and the moments after. And that smell...that smell of BURNT - it brought me right back there.
I have never posted about the sound of K's voice on the other end of the phone when I finally got through after the second plane hit. "Get down here now," she said through sobs. "Walk out to the river and just keep walking. Don't stop until you get to my house." I listened. I walked and walked as my feet bled in my brand new flats, eternally grateful that I had chosen that day to wear flats instead of my normal 3 1/2" heels. The only time I stopped was when I heard the sound of planes overhead. At that moment, in New York City, you could hear a pin drop. There were hundreds of others around me - we all froze and just looked up, holding our breath, until we realized that they were US Air Force.
I have never posted about the sound of my mother's voice when I finally got through to her, or the sound of my sister who, at 21 years old, had just moved to NYC 2 months earlier after graduating from college. I told her to come down to K's. When she got there, she shared the story of the cab driver she had begged to take her. "If you'll let me call my wife to let her know I'm OK, then I'll take you to the West Village."
I have never posted about the line we waited in at St. Vincent's to donate blood. We stood among hundreds, possibly thousands, for over two hours but the line didn't move. The line didn't move because only living people need blood transfusions. They finally came out and told us all to go home.
I have never posted about the way we fell asleep, all piled on top of one another on K's bed, listening to the same information spouted on the news over and over again, waiting to understand what was going on.
I have never posted about walking through barricades on my way to work the next morning at 14th Street. There was a batallion around lower Manhattan. It was in that moment that I realized that we were truly under attack.
I have never posted about the way that I just up and left my office in the middle of the day because I was so overwhelmed and the emotions came so quickly and so hard that I couldn't possibly think about putting together investor packets for a Broadway show.
I have never posted about that one night that I stayed in my apartment alone. It was the only night I stayed there for weeks because I had nightmares all night. I needed to be with people at all times. I didn't care if I had to sleep on floors. As long as I was with someone else.
I have never posted about the burnt smell of the air that came in the days that followed. All of a sudden, the air just smelled...burnt.
Or the rain that came on Friday morning - and my own tears matching those of the sky as I watched them dig as hard as they possibly could through the rain.
I have never posted about the missing signs that wallpapered the city. The flowers on every corner. The desperation that oozed from the walls. The way you actually stopped and looked and hoped and prayed like you never had before that perhaps you would bump into that stranger on the street.
I have never posted about the way people looked at each other for a long time after that. The city was different. It was quieter. Everyone was connected in a way they'd never been before...without words, without introductions. Just with compassion.
I have never posted about the vigils in Union Square. Thousands gathered looking for a place to understand what they were feeling. We all felt lost - but at least we felt lost together.
I have never posted about the horrific fear I had of getting on the subway again. How I just focused on putting one foot in front of the other - not on where I was going. Because if I thought about that too hard, then I turned around and went home. Just one step at a time, until I found myself on the train practically holding my breath until I was above ground again.
I have never posted these things because I am not a good enough writer to be able to possibly depict what that day was. Or perhaps I just don't want to. It might just be that it's hard enough to bring back these memories, never mind the emotions that go with them. I don't want to forget, but I'm not so sure that I can let myself fully and completely remember enough to write about it. Except that, in that moment, we were all equal. Everyone in all of New York City. We were all just people - no color, no class, no religion. We were people who needed each other.
And that smell - the smell of burnt - had me back there, reliving these moments like a film where the images flash before your eyes...it's all there. A single smell and I was transported there instantly.
Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 12:31 PM 1 comments
Labels: introspection, NYC, past
Upon the closing of RENT
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
ed note: I wrote this two days ago but I needed to sit with it for a moment. RENT closed on
Sunday, September 7 after 5,124 performances on Broadway.
I watched RENT for the first time on the Tony Awards in the spring of 1996 - my Junior year of college. I was awe-struck and overwhelmed by the innovation and excitement I was seeing on stage. I knew I was seeing something new, something life changing. I felt like I was going to jump up and start dancing as they performed "La Vie Boheme". I didn't care what or how - I had to get to New York to see the show. And that fall, after I'd already memorized the entire album (and consequently had driven my Senior Year roommates absolutely mad - it was the only thing I listened to. Ever.) one of my best friends and I went to NYC for my 21st birthday to see RENT.
I saw the show at least 7 or 8 times in next 7 years. Sometimes I was madly in love with it and sometimes I was underwhelmed. That's the joy of live theater - you never get the same thing twice. But no matter how much I loved that particular show or not, I always left that theater inspired and fully and completely alive. Like tingling. From head to toe.
8 years after I watched those Tony Awards, I went to work for the men responsible for bringing the show to Broadway. I sat in the audience again during a particularly impressive performance and once again, I was awestruck. I felt the magic of what good theatre does. I felt like absolutely anything was possible. La Vie Boheme.
And last night, as the curtain came down on a show that changed my life in so many more ways than I ever could have possibly imagined, I was not in NYC to witness it or to celebrate it. But I thought about it.
I thought about Seasons of Love and how much I've been reflecting on it lately without even realizing it.
Five hundred twenty-five thousand moments so dear.
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure, measure a year?
In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife.
In five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure a year in the life?
So last night, while I couldn't be there in person, I found my spirit soaring to NYC to the Nederlander Theater. And I taped those lyrics to my computer. And I said outloud "You measure in love. Seasons of Love."
That's my mantra these days. Measure in love. Not much else matters. And I find my spirit soaring to NYC more and more. Even if my body is physically in Los Angeles. Just to feel the pulse of the streets and the energy of the people. And the love of the people that I have there. And the familiarity. La Vie Boheme.
There's so much going on right now -some of which I can't post about, some of which I've been choosing not to. So I've been escaping to a story from my past - to write, to have a presence here, because I'm curious to have people read something that I've been working on in addition to my random ramblings and musings and thoughts.
But tonight I had to write. I'm feeling the end of an era. That show rocked my world in a way I didn't even realize at the time. It has become a part of my identity. It's part of how I measure my life. La Vie Boheme.
Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 10:01 PM 1 comments
Labels: homesick, introspection, musings on life, nostalgia, NYC
and the #1 reason to leave LA....
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Forget the vapid people, the stupid entertainment industry, the absence of fall, winter and spring. Forget the dearth of fabulous restaurants, the 5+ hour flights, the number of hours I spend in a car.
Earthquake outshines all these other reasons to get the hell out. It's moved to number one on my list.
A 5.4 earthquake to be exact.
I think it's time to move back east.
Someone please be kind enough to explain to me how a CONCRETE structure can sway like it's a kite, blowing in the wind?
I do not ever, EVER in my life need to experience another earthquake. EVER.
NYC...you're calling my name more and more every day.
Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 12:37 PM 3 comments
If You Can Know Where You're Going, You've Already Gone.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Before I left NYC in July of 2004, I had spent the previous five years seeing every show there was to see on Broadway. I went to open dress rehearsals, got tickets to shows in previews, was given the Tony award tickets that my bosses couldn't use. After I moved that summer, I spent my time in NYC seeing friends, not shows. In the time between July 2004 and March 2008, I saw three shows. Three shows in three and a half years. I didn't even watch the Tony Awards last year.
Last night, as I sat watching (or should I say, weeping through) the Tony Awards, it occurred to me that it was quite possible that my lack of current knowledge about the NYC theater scene had been intentional.
Yes, it's true I am usually only in NYC for a long weekend. It's true that I rarely have the opportunity to go back for extended periods of time and that the majority of the people closest to me all live in that city. Time certainly played a role.
But more than anything, I think I couldn't. I couldn't keep track of the theater world because if I did, then I was wildly aware of what I was missing. If I continued to keep track - to read all the websites, the theater section of the NY Times - I was going to stay stuck. Upset that I wasn't there. That I had moved on.
So I left it behind.
I remember going to see Clay at the Kirk Douglas last fall and that feeling I got from seeing live theater again. Inspired. Invigorated. Excited. I knew that I couldn't leave that part of me behind anymore. I knew that instead, I had to just keep it tucked away for the time being.
In March we went to see August Osage County on a Friday and went to the opening of In the Heights on a Sunday. After three shows in three years, I was seeing two in one weekend. I felt like I did when my mom took me to see Peter Pan at the Colonial in Boston when I was five. Theater felt special again.
And when I sat in those audiences, I had this visceral reaction, one which I haven't had since I was 15 years old. It was the summer of 1988. I had gone to New York City with my camp to see The Phantom of the Opera. I watched the entire show perched on the edge of my seat. And at the end of the show, as is customary, the audience applauded. They applauded hard. Harder and harder with each actor that came on stage. And when Christine came out, the audience leapt to it's feet. The sounds of hands beating together swelled and all of a sudden, I realized I had tears streaming down my face. I couldn't stop it, I wasn't even aware that it had happened. The energy in that room was so overwhemingly HUGE in that moment...the actors on stage beaming, the audience in that moment giving back what it had received for the past three hours.
And that weekend, as I sat through the curtain calls of August Osage County and In the Heights, the tears rolled down my cheeks again. When the audience is just so electrified by what they've seen that the applause doesn't stop...I'm telling you - the beating of hands over and over again, so hard that your palms turn red, so incessantly to make certain that the recipients are clear that you are grateful for the three hours in which they just gave to you so fully and completely...It makes me explode. It's why I am madly and deeply in love with theater.
If you can know where you're going
The choice may have been mistaken
The choosing was not
You have to move on
I don't remember everything about the end of In the Heights - I know the last song was about being home, coming home...something along those lines. Those are the only words I can remember because the whole concept resonated so true for me. Sitting in the mezzanine at my first opening since I moved to Los Angeles, I felt the ease you experience when you share a glass of wine with your best friend, when you walk through the door into the house you grew up in and the smells of your mother's cooking waft through the halls, that sense of familiarity and pure comfort. I was home.
And last night, I cried my way through the Tony awards. I miss the theater. I miss the sense of community. I miss the art. Theater artists give blood, sweat and tears to put on a show. They are unbelievably grateful for the work they do, for the audience that comes to see them work. They write and rewrite and rewrite again. Not for weeks or months. For years. And those actors get up and perform live - eight shows a week. They recreate these crazy, insane, exuberant, ALIVE characters...every single night. There's nothing like the theater.
I miss the theater. It time to brush off that part of myself that's been tucked away and see what it wants to do. The lyrics of that song don't only mean what they seemed to initially...I heard them and thought about leaving things behind, focusing on the new. But sometimes moving on means refinding, redefining and recreating the old.
It's time to move on.
Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 2:30 PM 1 comments
Labels: introspection, musings on life, NYC
crosswalks and other things
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
I feel like ass today, so why I'm choosing to blog is sort of a mystery to me...but I feel like I've been neglectful as of late. This is partially due to the number of papers I have had to write for my interior design class. I just finished my third. After I finish an 8-10 page paper, I can tell you that the last thing I want to do is write some more. It's also partially due to the fact that in the pasta month, I have been away for 3 out of 5 weekends. In fact, since 2008 started, I have been gone for at least one weekend a month, often two. Most of the time for fun...but also most of the time including flying back east. So while the fun is fun...the flying...starts to take it's toll.
I was in NYC last weekend. It was totally overstimulating between the reason I was there (my grandmother's unveiling), seeing "Sunday in the Park with George" (to which I need to devote a whole entire post...), seeing "Sex and the City" in New York City (to which I will need to devote yet another post), and how upset with myself I got every single time I got to a cross walk and looked for the button to push to change the sign to walk. (For those of you not aware, this does not exist in NYC. This only exists in LA. I am a NEW YORKER!!!! AAAAAARGH!) I'm sure the last of that list is what has my brain feeling as though it's swimming in a sea of sludge right now. I'm sure it has nothing to do with taking a redeye in on Friday night and a 7 AM flight back on Monday morning. I'm sure it has nothing to do with not wanting to miss anything or anyone - so spending time with friends and family and seeing theater and rarely sleeping and overthinking the 3000 miles away that I am while yet another one of my closest friends gives birth. No, it's entirely about the crosswalks.
But then, I guess it is about the crosswalks. The crosswalks are a function of the rest of it...aren't they? The crosswalks are the reason I don't get nearly enough time with the people I love. The crosswalks are the reason that I'm not there for the babies. The crosswalks are the reason that I have more frequent flier miles than any person not flying for business should have.
Happy Wednesday. Let's hope that tomorrow my brain makes it way out of the sludge.
Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 12:27 PM 1 comments
Labels: daily, LA rant, NYC, travels
Musings on a plane ride from coast to coast
Monday, May 12, 2008
Apparently Samantha is living in LA.
I found this out last night on the plane ride back from my 36 hour jaunt to Boston for Mother's Day. I bought Vogue because SJP graced the cover and even though I still mourn the fact that she's not half as cool in real life as Carrie is, I couldn't resist anything having to do with Sex and the City. Yes - that Samantha.
There is a line in the article that reads: In the story, all the girls have moved on: Samantha is living in L.A., Charlotte is settled in with her adopted Chinese daughter, and Miranda...is married and living in Brooklyn.
As I read "Samantha is living in L.A.", all of a sudden I had tears spilling over onto the page. I practically rolled my eyes at myself. It wasn't enough that I've cried EVERY SINGLE TIME that I've seen the trailer for this stupid movie. Now I was crying at a magazine article? What the hell???
Well, I'll tell you what the hell.
Things change. Even in Sex and the City things change. Yes, their lives were always constantly shifting - men, jobs, apartments. But through it all, they were together. In New York City. When Carrie moved to Paris for four episodes it was impossible that it would ever last...she was obviously going to move back. Because while everything else around them was constantly changing, Carrie, Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte stayed put.
But things change. And Samantha goes to LA.
I got an email from a friend of mine who's still in college. She just got back from Semester at Sea. She wrote that she hasn't been able to stop crying since she got home. I felt the corners of my mouth turn up slightly in acknowledgment as I read her email. It wasn't a smile per se. It was an understanding. An ahhhhhh, yes. I recognize her ache. I have felt that too on so many occasions. The end of camp. The end of college. The end of a show. Moving to NYC. Moving from NYC. The end of wedding planning (ummm - RIDICULOUS but true.) It's the feeling of wondering how it could it possibly ever be better than this moment. The fear that it will never be as good as this again. And ultimately, the realization of exactly how special the moment you were just in actually is.
Things change. Samantha goes to LA. And I did too.
But here's the thing.
Those moments DO happen again. New ones. Even better than the last ones. Or sometimes different. We will forever long for those days (of college, of early 20's, of whatever...). Or I. I should say I. I'm speaking for me. But if I stayed in those moments that I end up mourning, I don't think it would stay special. I don't think I'd continue to appreciate it. And within those little microcosms, things would begin to change too.
So it's true that nothing lasts forever. That dreams change and trends come and go. But at the end of the day, the most important part of all of that is that the best friendships never ever go out of style. They, too, may change. Shift. Perhaps have growing pains. Some may fall by the wayside from missed communications or just growing up and growing apart. But there are people that just become a part of your chemical makeup. That I can say with the utmost certainty, will be a part of my life for the rest of it. No matter the location, no matter the situation. My Samantha and Charlotte and Miranda, my Anthony and my Stanford will be around. Forever.
Those friendships will never, EVER go out of style.
Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 5:27 PM 2 comments
Labels: friends, introspection, moving to LA, NYC
NYC - day 2
Friday, March 14, 2008
First of all, thank you for all the quiche tips and recipes. It was resoundingly unanimous that none of you make your own crust. I am now determined to do a taste test and see if a homemade crust really and truly does make a difference. But I decided that if my grandmother could make crusts from scratch until she was about 82, well then, I better learn sometime so that I could start making her world famous (or at least Massachusetts famous) apple pies.
So on Wednesday evening, I made my first crust. I don't know what the hell I was so scared of...it was new and unfamiliar, so I wasn't certain that I was doing it correctly, but it turned out fabulously and it has inspired me to try to try a few different recipes for Sunday. I will let you all know how they turn out.
In the meantime, I've only discussed a small fraction of my New York extravaganza and the rest of it is in need of discussion...
We woke up on Saturday morning around 9 and headed out to Scarsdale to spend the day with my brother and sister in law (How do you say that? They're both my in-laws. Do i have to say my brother-in-law and sister-in-law? That's a lot of freaking words. Anyhow, you now know what I mean. In fact, I don't have a brother so it could ONLY be my brother-in-law.) It was a perfect day to leave the city given that it was pouring rain and I can't think of anything worse than feeling trapped inside on 1 of the 4 days that you are visiting NYC. We lounged with the kids, who never cease to amaze me with their gorgeous faces and how funny they are. It was nice and relaxing and by the time we got back in the car to come back to the city, the rain had stopped.
That night we walked down to another friend's restaurant in Greenwich Village. Smith's is on Macdougal between Bleecker and Houston and it is FABULOUS. It's warm and cozy and sexy at the same time. Now y0u have to understand something about me. I love food. LOVE. That's a whole other post, but my friends can not believe that after eating a meal that I love, I can effectively repeat back the entire menu that we ate. And not just like "Oh yeah, we had tuna tartare and a salad and steak." I list back all the details of every dish, sometimes in more detail than the menu has given. My husband is starting to get used to the fact that when we sit down to dinner I don't just say, "Oooooooh - deviled eggs!" Instead, I read to him from the menu, "Oh. My. God. Deviled Eggs with marscapone, parmesan, and truffle oil!?!??!" I proceed this way with EVERY SINGLE ITEM on the menu that sounds incredible to me.
So it's a big deal for me to hand over the ordering to someone else because it's often either a joint venture, or it's someone else handing the task of ordering over to me. But when you're dealing with the owners of the restaurant, how could you possibly order better than they could? And so, for the second night in a row (Nizza being the first), I put the ordering into someone else's hands. After excited hugs and hello's (and by the way, AP is one of the best huggers I know. AP and SK hug you like they mean it - like they aren't going to let go until you know how much they love you. I love getting hugs from them) we slid into the black booth, and were greeted immediately by a perfect glass of Sauvignon Blanc. The air outside was still warm and a little damp and a nice cold glass of crisp white wine was the perfect start to the evening.
Shortly after, a plate of Smith's famous deviled eggs (which are now available in the dining room as well as the bar) was placed on the table. And they lived up to every expectation I had. A perfectly smooth salty sweet and savory center topped by an eensy parmesan crsip...I could have eaten these all night and been happy. (But that's only because I wasn't yet aware of all the other things to come.)
The restaurant definitely has a buzz but it's remarkably intimate at the same time. I could hear every word that was spoken and I loved that we were next to a huge window looking into a courtyard (I think...it was night so I couldn't really see.) The white and black decor feels clean and crisp, and the intimate size and din of diners lends a sexiness to the atmosphere. The bar i the back looked like a perfect place to perch myself (especially since the bar menu differs from the dining room, and while you can order anything from the dining room at the bar, the bar menu can only be ordered there. Next time...)
Being one of the people in charge, CC took it upon himself to pair wines with our next 3 courses. Ummm...heaven on earth. He brought us another sauvignon blanc - this one from Bel Air - who knew!? We drank and indulged in an arugala salad with apples and parmesan and a light vinaigrette that was slightly sweet, beets simply roasted matched perfectly with a horseradish creme, and a steamed egg with polenta and gorgonzola foam which was unlike anything I'd ever had before but something I would DEFINITELY want to have again.
The chef sent out a mid-course of a seared sea scallop with celery root risotto and another foam (sorry, the kind is slipping me given that we were now tasting our THIRD kind of wine - a fantastic Pinot Gris from Alsace). Once again, divine.
Meanwhile, I got some amazing time with AP. Matt's never really had an opportunity to spend more than an hour with her and the same is true of me with her husband. Even though CC was running the show, I was amazed and thrilled by the amount of time we got to spend with him at our table. It's been a long time since I've had real time with my friends in NYC. Last year, almost every single trip was about wedding stuff and while I got glimpses of their faces, this was the first trip in a really long time that I was able to truly relax and soak my friends in. That's how I felt at this dinner - as relaxed as though I were soaking in a tub with the grandest glass of wine you've ever seen. The booths swallowed us up and sucked us into a world where we could indulge and feel as though we had days together when in fact it was only a few hours. And when you're visiting old friends, time is the greatest luxury of all.
Our main course consisted of brussel sprouts sauteed with almonds - but they were pulled apart almost like you'd pull apart a head of lettuce - retaining all of the flavor but making them extra crunchy and light. The cauliflower gratin was doused with tallegio and was among the best I've ever had. We also shared the dourade with a lemon vinaigrette (and forgive me for forgetting the accompaniments but it was one of my favorite fish dishes I've had in a while and at the end of the meal, there wasn't a drop of anything left on that plate). All of this accompanied by a perfect pinot noir.
We had no room for dessert but who needs room for dessert? My first bite of the meyer lemon tart made my mouth sing. Often places don't get it right...the lemon is too sweet with not enough tart. There's too much crust...etc. etc. But this was a perfectly smooth and creamy lemon filling with just enough freshly whipped cream to compliment. And I think I may have had a glass of port with dessert...
Over dinner we decided that the 4 of us would vacation fabulously together. This is not true with everyone that you love. Just because you like each other, it does NOT mean that you will have a great time on vacation together. Given that vacations are supposed to be RELAXING, it is IMPERATIVE that you feel that you are able to be yourself completely, that your vacation partners have similar tastes and vacation styles. It is not possible to go away with just anyone. But we were in resounding agreement that the four of us were a good match and we're planning a long weekend in Napa this summer. Can you think of anything better than going to Napa with a wine expert and restauranteur (besides going with the person you love OBVIOUSLY)?
Feeling fully satiated both in my belly and my heart, we said our goodbyes with excitement for our future trip. I'm going back to Smith's again because the filet at the table next to us looked perfect and I'm dying to taste the homemade corzetti (which is a pasta.) Perhaps I'll sit at the bar...
Despite gale force winds, we hopped in a cab after dinner and headed up to Chelsea to SK's apartment for dessert. Yes, I know we'd already had dessert but they hadn't. So I suppose you could say we went up for a night cap. Does anyone really use that word anymore? It's a great word. I think I'll use it more often. "Do you want to come over for a night cap?" Love it. I don't know how long we were there but as always, it was amazingly fun and I've gotten to spend so much time with SK in the past 6 months between her visits out to LA and mine to NY that it's not like visiting at all anymore. Perfect.
We finally dragged ourselves home (although I'm quite convinced that I might have been able to stay up all night, high on the sheer joy of being with my best friends) and went to bed. I did need a few hours of sleep so that I could get up the next day and do it all over again.
Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 10:22 AM 0 comments
Labels: food and drink, NYC, travels
The perfect day
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
We arrived at JFK at 6:03-an hour later than scheduled. I sat in the middle seat on the plane which meant that anytime I fell asleep, my head flopped over too far and woke me up. Or if I rested on my husband's shoulder, as soon as I'd fallen comfortably asleep, he shifted. Essentially, I was miserable. But no matter...we were home. We got in the car and I immediately dozed off. I'm sure it was no coincidence that I didn't open my eyes again until we were in the city. They cracked open long enough to let the high rises welcome me home. There's nothing that I love more than driving into the city at that time of day, before the hustle and bustle has completely taken over. The sun rising over the buildings is a reminder that it's a new day in this land of possibilty and anything can (and will) happen.
We arrived in the West Village at 6:36 and promptly crawled into bed. Is it completely deranged that the construction of the new apartment building across the street lulled me to sleep? I awoke 5 1/2 hours later to watch "Lost" and eat an egg and cheese sandwich generously picked up by my mother-in-law. There are no egg and cheese sandwiches like NYC egg and cheese sandwhiches. No one else knows how to make them the way New Yorkers do.
We got dressed and ventured out for my favorite kind of NYC afternoon...the kind where you just wander and let your feet lead you wherever it is that you're supposed to go. The air was brisk enough to feel refreshing but not cold. We ventured down Bleecker, stopping in my favorite stores and admiring new ones (thank you Tommy Hilfiger for my new 350 dollar boots on sale for 99.99. I love a good bargain.)
Every time I walk down the streets of Manhattan I feel high. It never goes away - I am invigorated, alive, and on top of the world. I find myself breathing more deeply, walking more quickly, wanting to go places even when I have no place that I have to go.
After a jaunt through the West Village and a stop at my favorite coffee shop, Panino Giusto, for a perfect latte, we headed home. I looked at about 20 stores I could have gone into but it was just day 1...there was no rush.
At 5:30, we went to a pre-theater dinner at old standby, Orso, with my in-laws and my sister. And then we were off to the theeee-ah-tah to see August Osage County.
A. Maz. Ing.
Honestly. You can not miss this work of art. Tony awards are going to abound but more than that, I was riveted from start to finish. A genius piece of theatre about relationships and families and the truth of it all. And if you think you're fucked up, you'll leave this feeling shaken up, but normal. The second act is the most riveting act of theater that I have EVER seen. Period. Beg, borrow and steal to see this one, baby. It's the best and most exciting play I've seen in a long time.
But also know that it will leave you fairly frazzled. After the show we wandered over to meet our friends at their new restaurant, Nizza. Along the way, we talked about the show in partial sentences, unable to fully express our thoughts. I didn't realize how my heart was racing and my mind was reeling until we sat down and I couldn't hold a proper conversation for at least five minutes. I was literally a babbling idiot. In order to calm my nerves, I decided to order my new cocktail of choice, the very appropriate Manhattan. I had my first Manhattan at Thanksgiving in 2007 and I've never looked back. It's fitting that my favorite drink and my favorite place are one in the same. Anyhow, we sat down at Nizza and once we both finally relaxed, had a fabulous evening of catching up with our friends, not to mention a delicious post-theater meal. I was starving - as far as I was concerned, "dinner" was lunch and this was dinner.
Nizza is a sexy atmosphere and a fabulous option whether or not you're seeing theater. The menu is conducive to sharing small plates which is my absolutely favorite way to eat. The socca - a crispy chickpea pancake, was a perfect combination of salty and sweet and the broccoli bruschetta was piled to the ceiling with the delicious topping. You can't go wrong with the talleggio panini with fig marmellata. Figs and tallegio? To die for. But my favorite, by far, was the focacette - fried ravioli filled with gooey cheese. Oh. My. God. I could eat these every day for the rest of my life and not get sick of them. My ass would get sick of them, but my taste buds would not. At this point, you could have rolled me out of the place, but I had to taste the pasta al pesto which used flat wide noodles with a perfectly savory pesto. And once I tasted, I couldn't stop. (There's no use for self control when you're visiting New York City.) I didn't even get a chance to taste the tomato soup with fresh ricotta or any of the mouth watering pizzas...which clearly means that I'll just have to go back on my next trip! And I highly recommend that you do too...
I love being with friends and having so much to say and to talk about and gush about and be thrilled about for each other that you practically choke on the air. And then what is it about New York that makes you feel like you can drink anyone under the table? Two manhattans and several fabulous stories later, we poured out of Nizza with satisfyingly full bellies.
Something happens to me when I'm in New York. I can stay up for HOURS. In LA, I fall asleep on my couch at 10. Despite the fact that I'd barely slept, my body clock was all sorts of fucked up, I'd just seen a 3 and a half hour marathon of an emotionally depleting show, and I'd had two extremely strong cocktails, I was still up for more. We hopped in a cab downtown and met Aisha at Employee's Only. But determined not to ruin the following day with a hangover the size of the entire island, I refrained from any more Manhattans and hydrated myself with water. At 2, I left my husband behind to play with one of his oldest friends while I journeyed home.
This is what I love about New York. At 2:15 on a Friday night, the city was a pulsating mecca of life. I barely noticed that my feet were hitting the pavement - it literally felt like I floated down the streets of the West Village, once again breathing in the crisp air, feeding off the energy of those around me and giving them mine right back. The street lights flickered and the cabs raced by and I played my New York game of seeing how many blocks I could walk without having to stop to wait for a light at a cross walk. The night was on my side and I made it home without having to stop once. It's a good thing too because my body was flying through the streets with such excitement and movement that it felt as though stopping was impossible.
I pranced home, downed a bottle of water, and let my head hit the pillow. I had to be up at 9 for tomorrow was a new day and I wasn't willing to waste much of it with sleep.
Panino Giusto, 551 Hudson between Perry and 11th
Nizza, 630 9th Avenue between 44th and 45th, 212-956-1800
Employees Only, 510 Hudson between Christopher and 10th, 212-242-3021
Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 5:45 PM 1 comments
Labels: food and drink, NYC, travels
Innocence Lost
Thursday, February 28, 2008
She awoke that morning, just as she would on any other - the southern exposure allowing the beautiful streams of fall sunlight to shine in. She had prime Manhattan real-estate...southern exposure and a half block from the park. So what if that southern exposure came through a single window which led to a fire escape which made the size of her miniscule apartment exponentially bigger? She was in Manhattan with a place on the Upper West Side. Plus, she had high ceilings.
Still half asleep, she climbed down from her lofted bed and shuffled over to her radio to turn on NPR - the first ritual of her morning routine. She never really considered the fact that she was just about to get in the shower so there was really no need to turn the radio on until after as the words would go unheard. This was her routine. It was just the way she did things. She directed the toothbrush toward her mouth, demanding the minty-fresh feeling to help her rise and shine. She stuck one foot in the shower as she gave her final spit into the sink. The two were close enough together that this posed absolutely no problem at all.
She continued her morning routine, only occassionally bumping into the stove which was directly across from her dresser as she opened and closed drawers, trying to figure out what to wear. It was pure coincidence that she wore flats on this day. Most days she could be found strutting the streets of Manhattan in 3 inch heels. She may have chosen differently had she known the number this would later do to her knees. Or she may have chosen exactly the same. But on that particular morning, she had a new pair of tan leather slides calling her name and she wanted to get a wearing or three in before the weather turned cold.
As she slipped into her new slides and slid a fresh coat of gloss on her lips, her normal NPR morning edition was interrupted. She would have missed it had she still been in the shower. She may have missed it if she'd left just a minute earlier. But as she walked toward the radio to shut it off, confusion seemed to ensue on-air. There was an accident and no one was quite sure exactly what had happened. A plane had crashed or accidentally flown into the top of the World Trade Center. She froze as she listened to the words. A horrible accident they exclaimed. Not sure how this could happen. Accident, accident. Over and over they said the word accident. They reported that they had no more details at that time and they would update as they received them. And then, they returned to their regular broadcast. She stood still for a moment wondering how on earth a plane could fly into a building. But they were reporting an accident. A horrible accident indeed...
And then she picked up her bag and was on her way, out the door in her fresh new leather slides on a beautiful September day in Manhattan. She thought about the plane and the World Trade Center and this accident as she walked the block and a half cross town to catch the bus. She thought about it until she saw her bus on the block ahead and she broke into a slight jog in hopes of making the bus. With a smile on her face and the sun at her back, she bolted across the street, grateful for her flats, momentarily able to relish in the sun and the day. She had no idea she was relishing in her final moments of true innocence.
Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 4:04 PM 1 comments
Labels: NYC, past, writing exercise
A song for Monday
Monday, January 28, 2008
Today I feel like a bloated whale without a brain. But a friend played this song for us on Friday night and I loved it. It's by a band called The Brendan Hines. I couldn't find the lyrics online so I interpreted myself...there's one word I can't understand so I'm just putting an asterisk there, but given the rest of the song, I'm sure it's witty and apropos. And check out their other music...I like them.
I MISS NEW YORK
Hobos and tacos and broken down Hondas
No-doz and slow-mo's and Jane fucking Fondas
Sunshine and red wine and "How was the torque?"
I miss New York
Fuck you but thank you
May I ask who's calling
Run-thru's and Jet Blues and beach volleyballing
Palm trees, exposed knees, a punched Mickey Rourke
But I miss New York
Washington Square are you still there?
Do you still have drugs, jugglers and bugs to spare?
Sunglasses, free passes and come see my band
Valets and bad plays and condoms and sand
Freeways and delays
Carnitas means pork
But I miss New York
****, mad dog stares and avocados
Drunk driving, high fiving, money up my nose
Texting and sexing
I hugged mickey rourke
I miss New York
Tompkins square are you still there
Do you still have bugs, mohawks and drugs to spare?
Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 6:02 PM 0 comments
Labels: daily, moving to LA, NYC
The things you miss
Sunday, January 27, 2008
I'll tell you what I miss. I miss the energy you get from being on the street. I miss the pulse that drives my body to go, go, go. I miss the stimulation. I miss the buzz I get from the way the air hits my face when I step outside and whips against my cheeks as I pass through the streets, by the buildings. I miss the spontaneity of wherever my feet may take me in that moment, the ease of changing course. I miss the people I may run into that I already know and those I've yet to meet but might - today or tomorrow or possibly next year. I miss that feeling of being wildly aware. I miss the things I don't see more than the things I do. But then I guess that's sort of obvious. If I'm not seeing them...then I'm missing them.
Today I walked a few blocks. Blocks that I've driven at least 365 times - possibly, no most probably, more. I've driven these blocks time and again but today might have been the first time I walked them. And I found new things. I found an amazing gardening store. It's been there the whole time - I just didn't see it. I couldn't see it because I had to keep my eyes on the road in order to make sure that I didn't bump the car in front of me or run a red light or God forbid, hit a pedestrian. So while I keep my eyes on the road, they aren't allowed to explore and experience all the nuanced changes that happen - or even to find things that are old to others but new to me.
In New York, I was forgiven for the times I was so preoccupied by the new windows going up or the calls of "coming soon" that I mistakenly walked directly into another pedestrian. Often, they were just as enthralled as I was...neither of us were paying attention to the "road". When you walk the same streets every day and every night, weaving your way in and out, up and down, for coffee and dinner and drink dates and commutes to work, you notice the newest billboard, the building going up or coming down, the newest crack in the sidewalk. You notice everything. You are wildly aware because you don't have a choice not to be.
I suppose I'm aware in a different sort of way here. I have to keep my eye on the car in front of me, lest I mistakenly bump someone when I'm going 5 mph and have them sue me for $30,000. But that's another story for another time. I have to keep my eyes on the road. And trust me - it's not easy. Do you know they have electronic billboards that change about 5 times in 30 seconds? How are you supposed to keep your eyes on the road when the signs in front of you are begging you not to miss the next ad...wait! oh! It's changing just as you start to pass so don't slow down, just look behind you for another minute because you absolutely positively CAN NOT MISS THIS AD!!! Seriously? This is safe?
But the truth is, I crane my neck anytime I notice something new - a new facade, a new awning, some new construction. I crane my neck for the opportunity to be in the know, to be wildly aware. But then, the road beckons...safety calls my name. Because if I bump into the other person...it ain't gonna be a pedestrian that was looking, too.
So today, I walked. (Of course, I was with 2 of my favorite New Yorkers while I did so.) And I found the most amazing gardening and home goods store. It's about a block and a half from my house. Can you imagine? A block and a half and I didn't even know it was there. And it's not new. It's been there the whole time. All 365 times plus that I drove that street.
I could still tell you most everything within a 10 block radius of my Perry Street apartment and my 45th Street office. I miss being wildly aware.
Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 11:30 PM 0 comments
Well said
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
I literally couldn't have said it better myself. I've tried.
It is 5:28 PM. I am staring at the screen which is fairly blurry given that my eyes are brimming with tears. There is a choke hold in my throat and a throbbing in my brain. I'm in my cubicle in my office and I don't care if anyone sees. And they would probably think me a fool if they were to ask what's wrong anyway.
I just finished reading the second part of Jon Robin Baitz' article on HuffingtonPost.com about his departure from the show he created, Brothers and Sisters, and from Los Angeles. It's appropriate that an award winning New York playwright has put into words everything that I feel about Los Angeles with such perfect genius and clarity. I was reminded of a lyric that a reader sent me about a month ago from the Neil Diamond song, I am I said:
LA's fine, but it ain't home
New York's home but it ain't mine no more
Baitz says so, so many striking things about LA - about how lonely it is, the obsession with looks and youth, about how the industry runs and how no one talks about anything else, about the way this town reeks of desperation. But that was not what brought me to tears. It amazed me with it's accuracy, with everything I have felt in my gut and soul but not quite found the words to say. But it did not bring me to tears.
No. What brought me to tears was his beautifully perfect description of New York:
"However, in New York, the life of the street, the flirtation and ebb and flow of strangers getting off of the bus, makes for a perpetual energy machine. New York is just sexier, smarter, and better dressed, less vulgar, more diverse, filled with accident, and unexpected encounters, as a rule. There is the Neue Gallery across from the Met, down the street from the Guggenheim, which is up from the Whitney, just a twenty minute walk to MOMA, across Central Park, etc, etc, forever and ever. You will see, smile at, spy on, talk to, stare at, be enchanted by any number of utterly different kinds of people within twenty minutes of leaving your apartment in NYC. A barrage rather than the white noise of the undulating palms and brackish skies of the dream coast."
And in LA...well it's all a 20 minute drive away in your isolated car and there's not even the opportunity for a chance encounter or a new meeting on the subway. And when you get where you're going, everyone turns around to see if you might be "someone" (which of COURSE you are...just not someone they know.) And I feel grateful for the few friends out here that I know with my heart are true friends because I have found that there are so many more that are not. People are harder to trust in LA. Everyone's in it for something and rarely is it just to get to know you.
As my husband and our good friend Jessica have often said, "My favorite thing about LA is leaving it."
It was appropriate that I read this after a conversation with one of my best friends and former roommates from New York in which he told me about August Osage County, a new play on Broadway that I've been told I absolutely CAN NOT miss. I haven't seen a Broadway show or an off-Broadway show in over a year. It used to be my daily life. I told him that I didn't know when I would be in New York next, that since it's a limited run, I might miss it.
But I don't WANT to miss it. I want to see it, and every other show that I've missed in the past three years.
Uch. I miss my home.
***
Find Jon Robin Baitz' posts here:
Leaving Los Angeles, (Part One: Work)
Leaving Los Angeles, (Part Two: Love)
Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 5:26 PM 4 comments
Labels: homesick, LA rant, NYC
The day before the slush
Thursday, December 13, 2007
There's a snow storm on the east coast. I always loved the day it snowed in New York. The city looked and felt so gorgeous and serene covered in blankets of fresh, pure white snow. No matter that the following day it all turned to hell what with huge puddles of gross, dirty slush everywhere. The day it snowed was just...magical.
I have many memories of New York snow days -- drinking wine at noon, bundling up to walk down the street to the bar on the corner on New Year's Eve day, Sex and the City marathons at 135 Perry Street, kissing on the sidewalk surrounded by white, cuddled under covers watching bad movies and wearing warm turtlenecks, cozy dinners at Freddy's with the white showers falling outside -- to name a few.
Somehow it always feels warmer outside when it's snowing. If it were colder it would be sleet or even perhaps be too cold for anything to drop from the sky. But it's not too cold and the beautiful little snow caps fall to the ground. Warm enough to spend some time taking a walk through the West Village with hat and scarf and mittens, sipping hot chocolate or hot coffee. Warm enough to throw just a few snowballs. Warm enough to catch a snowflake on your tongue before you run back into the heat of your small but perfect New York apartment where you'll order in Thai or Indian and sip port and watch the inches pile up.
And isn't it funny that no matter how special the people that you spend snow days are to you, they become ten times more special when you're huddled inside together as snow falls outside. Whether it's a friend or a husband or a new found crush, snow days and snow moments are impossibly romantic.
Ahhhhh -snow days. New York is such a fun and fantastic winter wonderland.
Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 3:58 PM 2 comments
In Style
Friday, December 7, 2007
"They say nothing lasts forever. Dreams change. Trends come and go...But friendships never go out of style."
That, my friends, is the opening voice over from the trailer for the Sex and the City movie. And it couldn't have come at a more apropos time.
I decided to move to Los Angeles at the same time that Carrie Bradshaw moved to Paris. I was still living in New York when the finale aired but I was out in LA visiting my betrothed before he was that... I watched the entire episode with tears streaming down my face. It was the end of an era -- Sex and the City was ending and so was my time in New York. My life had often mirrored Carrie's sans the 50+ pairs of Manolos and Jimmy Choos. And yes, I'm aware that 1 million other women, New Yorker or otherwise, feel the same way. But I bet you'd be harder pressed to find as many people that faced the dilemma of moving away from their beloved city at the same exact time that Carrie did.
It was a double whammy - I felt like I was losing not one, but TWO of my closest friends.
So it's ironic that on the same day that I get to hear that fabulous voice over again that so often forecasted the goings on in my life, one of my best friends (shall we call her the Samantha to my Carrie?) is visiting Los Angeles. She's only been here for about 18 hours, but already, I feel more at home. I've been in Los Angeles for a little over three years - and in that time, I've not had nearly enough time with Sharon. And while so much has changed, some things have stayed the same. And our friendship is one of them. So yes - dreams DO change and trends absolutely come and go...but there are certain friendships that never, EVER go out of style.
Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 11:24 AM 1 comments
Chemistry
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
I've been thinking a lot lately about a conversation I had with my husband and a friend a few weeks back. Talk of NYC led to the revelation of an interesting observation made recently by my mother in law. She had asked my husband if he felt I was at all different in LA. Not different in a hugely noticeable way - just a bit less...excited. My husband actually said to me, "Do you feel like you've lost any of your spark in LA?"
I sat in silence for a moment, pondering his inquiry.
Now, upon initial reading, some might take offense to this question. But it actually gave me a huge sense of relief, for I have felt ever so slightly different in LA from the moment I arrived. Initially, I chalked it up to the newness of the circumstances...moving to a new place at almost 28 (especially across the country) was daunting. Add the fact that I was moving without a job to be with a boy to whom I was not betrothed and mix well with a splash of neurotic Jewish nature and a dash of occasional anxiety. As you can imagine from this recipe, the transition was not an easy one. But I slowly settled in and got used to my new place of residence (which I still fear I will never call home) and patiently waited to, well, quite frankly feel like ME again. But three years and a few months later, I find myself still waiting...
At times I've wondered if its just that I've gotten older. Or if perhaps this "spark" that I felt I had was a figment of my imagination. I've wondered if that small feeling that I was special was pompous. I've thought about this intensely and frequently because I haven't been able to understand how a city can have the power to take that away from you. Could it actually be possible that New York City had the power to give me such a small but noticeable kick in my step?
So when it was said out loud - acknowledged by another person that I truly DID have that spark in New York and that I was just a little bit without it now...well...I felt relieved. I felt relieved to know that I hadn't been pompous or delusional - that it really was missing from me in LA. And FURTHER, it seemed that my husband had also noticed the fact that the second I stepped on Manhattan concrete, the zip was back in my step, the twinkle in my eye.
For the time being we're still in LA. Moving back exists only in discussions of what ifs and possibilities. Bit having the LA sparkless version of me acknowledged has made me ever so slightly more comfortable with it. Because at the end of the day, certain chemicals just don't create a spark. And while I seem to spark like a firecracker with New York City, my reaction to Los Angeles is just more mellow.
Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 3:55 PM 0 comments
Labels: musings on life, NYC, west coast prejudice
An ode to Tennessee Williams
Friday, November 30, 2007
Last Wednesday night, I had a wonderful reminder that, in NYC, I can always depend on the kindness of strangers. Thank you Blanche Dubois.
I made the trek to Red Hook for a dinner party - my first (and possibly last) time to this part of Brooklyn and I'm sorry, but no, I do not see the charm even if there is a grand Fairway down the street. One of the major points of living in NYC is convenience and Red Hook may be many things but convenient is NOT one of them. As far as I'm concerned, if you're going to live in Red Hook, you might as well live in Los Angeles.
I will say that once there, I enjoyed a fabulous evening with wonderful friends and incredible food and far too much wine (not to mention a delicious Manhattan which I have taken up drinking in an homage to my hometown.) However, getting there was anything but easy. I'll happily take a subway somewhere (I love the subway but I'll save that for another day...) I'll even take two subways somewhere on occassion. But a subway, another subway and then a bus or a cab is asking a lot. A REAL lot.
That said, if it had simply been a simple subway ride, I wouldn't have been happily reminded of the fabulous kindness of New Yorkers. I got off my second subway and intended to take either the bus or a cab - whatever appeared first. Being that we were in Brooklyn, this was not necessarily a cab. I waited ten minutes by the bus stop and when a cab finally made an appearance, I hopped in. I gave the address where I was going, but instead of pulling away from the curb, the cabbie turned around and looked at me befuddled.
"You'll have to tell me how to get there."
I stared at him. That's the kind of thing a cab driver in LOS ANGELES SAYS. NOT NEW YORK CITY!
"Ummmm...I don't know how to get there. That's your job."
"Well, I don't know either."
I got out of the cab and went back to my spot on the sidewalk. Now I was fairly pissed. It was 7:15...I had gotten on the subway at 6. That's far too long to take to get anywhere in New York. But at that moment, I got reminded of just how awesome New Yorkers are. In a matter of seconds, I had three people who had noticed I'd gotten in and out of the cab and were asking me if I needed help, where I was going, etc. They were all equally as disgusted with the cab driver for me and as helpful as they could be in telling me that the bus should be there shortly.
One of the guys was going to the general area I was going to and we waited together for another 10 minutes before the bus arrived. He told me about Red Hook and agreed that it was ridiculously tedious to get to. I thought of how Kate had always refused to come to Park Slope from the West Village when I lived there many moons ago - a mere 25 minute ride (and one subway I might add.) I thought about how she should know just how much I loved her for trekking all the fuck the way out there on my one and only evening in NYC. And then the bus came.
It was only then that I looked at my single ride metro card and realized that for some ridiculous and unknown reason, I could not use this card for a bus transfer. I could literally only use it for a single ride. This hardly seemed reasonable given that if I had a regular metro card, my same $2 would have gotten me on a subway then a bus and if I needed to, another bus again (which apparently, is only necessary if you live in Red Hook.) But it was true. And there it was in front of me...the bus that I'd now waited over 25 minutes for.
"Oh shit." I said. Out loud.
My new friend looked over and asked what was wrong. I explained the ridiculous situation I had gotten myself into and said that it must be my punishment for no longer living in NYC and owning a weekly unlimited metro card. He smiled warmly, and offered me a ride.
"Really?" I said, simply delighted by the man standing next to me. The stranger. The kind, kind stranger.
"Of course," he said. "You have to get there somehow and you aren't waiting for another bus. Come on. I get off at the same stop so I'll tell you when to get off."
I practically floated onto the bus. I was overjoyed by the sweetness of this man. I smiled at him. I couldn't possibly explain to him the feeling that I had from his acts of kindness. I felt mildly overwhelmed. And touched. And...well...I felt at home. New Yorkers take care of each other - whether strangers or friends. They are happy to help.
I don't know whether Angelenos do or do not have this capacity. The reason I do not know this is that I so rarely have the opportunity to come into contact with Angeleno strangers...Everyone is so separated and to themselves and in...cars. It's one of the things I miss most about New York - that ability to be with people, to experience human nature, to feed off of energy on a daily basis. And in my short visit to NYC, I got a full dose on my trip to Red Hook.
I invited my new friend to come to dinner. He smiled and laughed. I was serious but he had a friend to meet at home. He told me when to get off and we parted ways into the unseasonably warm November evening. I jaunted down the road to Kate's apartment. All of my annoyance at having to take a two hour trip to Red Hook was gone. All due to the kindness of a stranger...
Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 3:50 PM 0 comments
Labels: NYC
I miss bodegas
Monday, September 17, 2007
About a year after I moved out here, I got sick. I left work with a terrible headache, and as a result, ridiculous nausea. Ginger ale truly helps me when I'm nauseous. It might be completely in my head, but all I wanted that evening was a bottle of Schweppes ginger ale on my nightstand. I drove home, figuring it wouldn't be a problem since there were several places for me to stop and get it on my way. First stop - Bristol Farms. I walked in and looked up and down the soda aisle. I looked up and down the soda aisle again. Every other soda you could imagine - but no ginger ale. I hit Rite Aid. Another strike. No problem - there were three gas stations lined up on Sunset. One of them would surely be able to fulfill my need. Three gas stations later, I went home empty-handed with a worse headache than when I'd started. I walked in the door, got under the covers and cried. I cried because I couldn't get a ginger ale in LA. I cried because I missed bodegas.
There is something just fabulous about the ability to walk out your front door and have access to anything and everything that you could ever possibly want or need. Ben and Jerry's, Advil, cigarettes, black and white cookies, a six pack, toilet paper, a cup of coffee, ginger ale. You know...life's necessities.
I miss egg and cheese on a roll or a toasted, buttered sesame bagel in the morning on the way to work. I know I can get that here...but it's not the same as from the bodega on 43rd between Broadway and sixth. I miss the selection of gourmet chips (better than any grocery store anywhere ever). I miss being able to buy a single beer after a long day at work to enjoy in the privacy of my own home (No silly. I can't get that at a gas station. I can get a Bud Lite at a gas station. At a bodega, not only can I get a Pete's Summer Ale or a Hefeweizen, I can also get a lemon to go in it). I miss being able to just run down the street to grab toilet paper when we realize we're on the last piece of the last roll. I miss black and white cookies and chinese sprinkle cookies (the ones that are like sugar cookies with the colored sprinkles on top). I miss British candy bars which happen to be available on nearly every corner of New York City. And I miss fulfilling my monthly chipwich craving by simply walking 20 steps to Norberto's Deli. I even miss the fairly revolting smell of the bad hot food bars in Midtown
I miss bodegas. But for now, a trip to the gas station (which shockingly, happens to be within walking distance from my house) will have to suffice. But in the event that I need ginger ale, well, I'm shit out of luck.
Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 2:27 PM 5 comments
Labels: NYC
