Never Forget

Today marks 20 years since 9/11.  A grim anniversary if ever there was one.

It's a day I carry with me, burned in my brain. It changed me. And I have a sick pit in my stomach each year as I am triggered by the tributes.

They say "never forget." 

If you lived it, you know that's not remotely possible.

To mark the 10th anniversary, I wrote this.  Here's how I feel today...

I remember how much I loved my commute to lower Manhattan each day through the World Trade Center, feeling like I'd "made it" at age 28.

I remember riding the long escalator up from the PATH trains that connected NY & NJ, emerging in a sea of energy and hustle, like this was the center of the universe.

I remember working on a sponsorship for Risk Magazine's financial conference at Windows on the World on the top floor of the Trade Center, scheduled for September 11, 2001.

I remember our speaker canceling his appearance days before, so thankfully, we wouldn't need to attend that conference after all.

I remember how beautiful it was that Tuesday morning.

I remember being stopped on my way to work by a local schoolteacher who had car trouble, which put me behind schedule.

I remember parking my car in Hoboken like every normal day, then hearing a horrible boom behind me.

I remember seeing the parking attendant's face lose all color, then being afraid to turn around to look across the Hudson River.

I remember seeing smoke surround one of the Twin Towers

I remember instantly calling my dad who worked in the building to see if he was alright.

I remember he said they felt a big jolt but were ok and were told to stay put.

I remember getting cut off mid-conversation as the cell towers jammed.

I remember walking over to the entrance of the PATH to stand next to a police officer so I could hear his radio.

I remember a stranger who grabbed my hand as we watched a second plane fly into the upper floors on the right side of South Tower, and not come out.

I remember the screams and gasps of the commuters standing around me as we all saw the unthinkable with our own eyes.

I remember desperately trying to get across the river to see if I could help my dad.

I remember a kind officer who turned me away.

I remember calling my mom who told me to come right home.

I remember driving on Route 3 past Giants Stadium, with tears streaming down my face, seeing the burning buildings in the distance.

I remember Peter Jenning's voice on the radio announce that the South Tower had collapsed, then almost driving head-first into a highway divider. 

I remember pulling up our driveway, having no idea if my father was alive.

I remember walking into the living room and seeing my mother rocking back and forth on the couch while saying they just celebrated their 35th wedding anniversary.

I remember my brother coming home, eyes red from crying.

I remember the three of us standing together in the middle of the living room as we watched the North Tower collapse on live TV.

I remember my 6'5" brother drop into a ball on the floor, as I ran to the kitchen sink to throw up.

I remember hours dragging by, wavering between sheer grief and utter numbness.

I remember hearing the phone finally ring but feeling terrified to pick it up.

I remember hearing an operator ask if we would accept a collect call from John.

I remember us screaming YES into the phone and hearing my father's voice on the other end.

I remember my mom telling him to keep walking to my aunt's apartment, more than 80 blocks away on the Upper East Side.

I remember the city being on lockdown with no one getting in or out.

I remember leaving a voicemail for a good friend who worked at Aon on the upper floors of the Trade Center, worried the worst had happened to her.

I remember calling another good friend who's father was a chief in the FDNY, praying he would make it home.

I remember our relief hours later when my father called again, safe at my aunt's apartment.

I remember my aunt telling us he was dazed and covered in soot.

I remember staying up all night long watching cable news, my mind racing yet completely unable to process the day's events.

I remember my dad coming home the following day in my uncle's clothes.

I remember my whole family hugging on our front lawn.

I remember going to an Italian restaurant that Saturday night with my mom and dad, brother, aunt and uncles to celebrate my dad's life.

I remember thinking how many families were not as lucky as we were.

I remember him telling us that he helped direct traffic as people evacuated the building, amidst the carnage, and left shortly before it all came crashing down because he was looking for me.

I remember the profound sorrow, fear and anger.

I remember the extraordinary stories of courage.

I remember the surge of patriotism that united us all.

I remember returning to work the following Tuesday.

I remember seeing the missing person posters that hung all over Hoboken.

I remember riding a ferry boat to cross the Hudson River because the PATH station no longer existed.

I remember the boat being packed but completely silent, as my eyes welled up with tears.

I remember stepping onto Pier 11 in NYC alone and seeing armed guards and a giant military tank.

I remember seeing the face of my sweet boss through the crowd because my mom called and asked him to meet me at the boat to walk me to work on Water Street.

I remember the awful smell of death that still hung in the air and stung my nose.

I remember the soot that still covered every surface like a blanket.

I remember feeling like a zombie.

I remember slowly hearing familiar names trickle in of people I knew, lives tragically lost...

Brett Bailey, Billy Micciulli, Chris Dunne, Christopher Slattery, Ian Schneider, Jonathan Capello, Michele Du Berry, Paul Bristow, and Marc Murolo. 

I remember sitting in the office with my boss, Greg, and my colleague, Roger, and crying together.

I remember doing this same somber commute, across the river, week after week after week.

I remember having a panic attack one day in Battery Park on my way to work as I walked past The Sphere, a bronze statue recovered in the rubble of Ground Zero.

I remember two years after the attack when the PATH trains reopened in Lower Manhattan.

I remember seeing daylight from an underground train as we traced the perimeter of a building that no longer stood above it.

I remember the resilience of New York.

I remember three jobs later when my company announced we would be moving to the new One World Trade Center.

I remember knowing I would have to leave that job because I didn't have the heart or stomach to work where 2,753 souls were lost.

Every year at this time -- and often at times in between -- I'm reminded of this. All of it flashes through my mind like a horror movie I can't unsee.

And the worst part of it is, despite the heroic efforts of our troops for two decades, I fear we're less safe today than we were on September 10th 2001.  I pray for everyone who is suffering right now and more than anything, I pray for peace.

I'm Not Lovin' It

I took the day off on Friday to do one of my favorite things.

I rented a car.

Man, I miss driving! I'm thisclose to buying a new car now that I live outside the city. Not that I really need one... everything here is in walking distance. But I just WANT one.

A car is freedom.

If I know me (and I think I do), I'll hold out until maybe February then pull the trigger. They always have Presidents Day sales. And I believe George Washington would want me to have another BMW.

Anyway, back to my mini roadtrip...

About an hour before my Zipcar was due back, I got hungry. But I didn't have time to stop and eat. So, I did what about a billion other people do every day.

I went to McDonalds.

Why? Large fries always hit the spot. Especially when accompanied by a large orange Hi-C because that is a delicious drink that takes me back to my childhood. Occasionally, I'll mix it up and order a vanilla shake for salty-sweet nirvana. But I ignored about a 168 (yes, I counted!) things on the drive thru menu.

I go to Mickey D's for the fries, just the fries, and nothing but the fries.

I'm sure we've all been reading that the Golden Arches is in trouble. The only fast food restaurant with a bigger mess on their hands is Subway, and don't get me started on THAT.

How can this be?

Here, thankfully (?), declining sales are to blame. I've seen lots of finger pointing (questionable ingredients! health nuts! hot new competition!), and tons of random new ideas (customized menus! pay with love!).

But no real solutions.

Well, listen up, Ronald! The solution is simple: Embrace who you are.

This means 3 things:

1) Understand your customer.
Nobody walks through your doors because they're making good decisions. That ship has sailed. There are a thousand healthier places to get a salad or a wrap. The people who want that for lunch or dinner don't want YOU, and no amount of fat-free dressing will fix that. Your people want fast, filling, cheap eats. So give the people what they want!

2) Stop trying to be fancy.
Ignore Chipotle or Five Guys or whatever other "fast casual" restaurant that some consultant (who doesn't eat your food) recommended that you emulate. This means ditch the Angus burgers and the artisan grilled chicken and the Sriracha mayo and the frappes. Double down on the Dollar Menu.

3) French fries make your world go round.
I don't know how you make your fries. I suspect crack is involved. Because when they're good, they're amazing. Focus on being consistent with them (never stale, always fresh and hot and perfectly salted). Go back to your roots and make them the centerpiece of everything. Every ad. Every menu. Every order. It's not, "Would you like fries with that?"  It's, "What would you like with your fries?" And while you're at it, turn Friday into a social media holiday called Fryday. You're McDonalds -- if you want to own a day of the week, I bet you can.

So, quit clowning around and get down to McBusiness.

Those taters aren't going to fry themselves.


PS: I just heard you're about to launch breakfast all day... now you're talking!


tags: city life, food, rants

New View

Remember when I mentioned I was moving?  Well, I did! 

Goodbye Big Apple, hello Garden State. 

I spent the first 5 years of my life in the Bronx, and the last 6 years in Manhattan.  And I liked it!  But let's face it, it's not like I was out at da club every night.  Or any night.  Ever. 

Aside from my easy breezy commute and delivery of absolutely anything to my doorstep, I don't know that I took advantage of all NYC had to offer, and that's on me.  But I don't have the free time, the wardrobe, or the energy to keep pace with the city that never sleeps.

I do know this: It feels good to be home. 

And probably not a minute too soon, as a lingering black mold situation in my old apt was probably killing me.  Or at the very least was "the match that lit a flame in my immune system," according to one of the docs I saw.

Anyhoo... my new digs are nicer, newer, 50% bigger, $600/mo. cheaper, and 100% more Jersey.  Yeah.  I may need my head examined next. 

Why didn't I do this YEARS ago?

Oh, and did I mention my view?  Remember my old view?  Now, this is what you'd see if you were standing on my terrace.  Not too shabby, right?  Come over sometime and I'll grill you up a juicy burger!

I've always said New York looks prettiest from New Jersey.  And when I'm not working, I can still keep an eye on her, but live in peace and quiet across the river.  Win win. 

With all this savings, I may even get a car again!  You didn't think I would actually SAVE the money, like, in a bank account, so I could buy a place and stop flushing $ down the toilet on rent -- did you? 

Silly.

So, a few days ago this blog officially had its six year anniversary.  Sadly, I've been blogging FAR less than I would like to, but I still love the old girl just the same.  And I love YOU for still reading it!  I know it's been a little stale lately.  Ok, ok, okaaaay.  A lot stale. 

I'm sure I will get inspired by my new view...

Now, as I did in 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and 2013, here's a fond look back:

Total Posts I've Written (including this one):
253

Average Number of Posts I Write Per Month:
1.9 (down from 3.2 last year)

Average Number of Unique Visitors Per Month:
282 (up from 245 last year)

Average Pageviews Per Month:
1,490 (up from 1,071 last year)

Most Traffic Comes From:
Pinterest

Most-Read Blog Posts Ever:
It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Pinterest (December 2012)
20 Apps I Adore (January 2012)
Pepe Le Pew (June 2011)
Comfort Food in a Storm (October 2012)
Miss Jennifer Goes to Washington (August 2012)
How the Hell is John Stamos 50? (August 2013)
Let Them Eat Jelly Beans (February 2011)
Facelift (July 2010)
Leftovers (November 2012)
Time (November 2010)

Most-Read Blog Posts This Year:
Dear Verizon
Spring Fling

Posts Nobody Gave a Crap About:
Rejected Candy Hearts
Jingle All the Way

Most Comments:
Dear Rheumatoid Arthritis

Most Popular Poll:
I Heart Rodolphe Lindt (this year)
Please Fix Voting (It Is Broken) (all-time)

Most Frequently-Used Tag for the Posts I Write:
Pop Culture

Most Popular Search by Visitors:
Dating


Here's a look ahead -- soon I'll update you on why I'm in a big fat fight with Ikea, and Fall TV is finally back, so the Loveseat Potato can't be far behind.

Thanks (as always) for reading!

PS: I took this pic one night outside my building, I think it's time to update the header...

tags: city life, health, holidays, jersey, writing

Spring Fling

Lately, I've been up to my elbows in all things girly -- planning a Spring Fling party at work. If I show you some pretty pics, will you forget I haven't blogged in a month?

Didn't think so.

Still, here you go...

I asked for a plant wall with our logo written in flowers.
If Picasso and Miracle Gro had a baby, it would be Steve from Superior Florist.

Every party needs cute boys in pink & orange ties. We had 74 of them.
Did I mention they were models? And super nice? It's like spotting a unicorn. 

I never actually had the chance to eat the food, but if I had, I would have chowed down on this
fried chicken and watermelon like it was my job.

This was our perfume station. Guests could blend different scents and take 3 home
from Bergamot based in good old Brooklyn, NY.

This was our tribute to beauty then (as teens) and now (as ladies).
Doesn't it kind of look like a set out of a Wes Anderson movie?
 

Who could that be? I swear it's not me.  I'm definitely not at the 8th grade prom (minus my date).
And I'm certainly not wearing braces and electric blue eye shadow. Or a perm.
 

These were the stairs to the penthouse, lined with candles & flowers. Just like in my apartment,
minus the stairs, and the candles and the flowers and the penthouse.

We filled the clawfoot tub with flowers. And it was the prettiest tub in the history of bathrooms.
 

We taught all the women, and some men jockeying for husband/boyfriend of the year,
how to choose the perfect shade of MAC lipstick. I jumped into this station for a while when the line got too long
so I could help out, and I'm pretty sure I told a woman she was an "autumn" (whatever that means).

About a month ago, we saw this selfie machine at a conference and just had to have it. It's from a company called SOOH.
I still don't know how to pronounce that and now I know exactly how people feel about my last name...
 

Coachella's got nothing on us with these flower crowns from Urban Outfitters.
To no one's surprise, they "disappeared" in about an hour.
 

I would like these straws in every drink I ever have for the rest of my life.
If you would too, I suggest you contact For Your Party.

Our mixologists taught guests how to make 3 cocktails. This one is a strawberry tequila sour.
I'll have 7.

Who wouldn't want to eat healthy with this amazing spread at the build your own bruschetta bar?
The only question is... should you pronounce it bru-SKET-ta? Unless your name is Giada, I'm thinking no.

Can you get over this space? It's called Gary's Loft in midtown -- the elevators suck but the rest of the place
is so beautiful that it can make a raffle for shampoo and nail polish look like a work of art.

Our talented photographers Ashley & Scott took over 700 pictures, including the ones you see in this post. 
This is the only one of me (if you don't count the then & now pic), and I look like I'm about to sneeze. Super.

Anybody could learn to cook in a kitchen like this.

We used this for a dessert station, and I asked for liquid nitrogen so we could make sorbet & ice cream on the spot.
Somehow, our caterer, Scott and his team at Bite, made it happen. See the smoke? They are magic.

This is Jilly Hendrix, the coolest (and only) DJ I know. 
I wish I could keep her in my pocket so she could make the soundtrack of my life.

We opened up the roof deck just as the sun was setting.  This was the view.
Man, this city is pretty.

A look down at the kitchen from the roof.

String lights and outdoor heaters made a cozy atmosphere for something I called Night Brunch.
Who needs dessert at the end of a party when you can have chocolate chip & banana pancakes? 

I wish you could have been there too! 

If you still read this blog, I promise I'll post something new soon. Maybe next week. Definitely before summer. 

Definitely.


tags: city life, holidays, work


 

Woohoo, My Ikea Catolog Is Here!

Guess what was in my mailbox tonight?

The 2014 Ikea catalogue!!

Well, happy early birthday to me.  There's nothing better than snuggling up on my couch for some me-time with my old Swedish pal.

Ok, ok, there are SOME things that are better.  But this is up there.

I read someplace that each year Ikea prints 3x more copies of their catalogue than there are copies of the Bible on the PLANET, so chances are you have one too.

Lucky us!
 
I wish I could crawl into the pages and take a nap.  I can't wait to see what Ektorp, Hemnes, Billy, Ingolf, and Lack have been up to.  I wonder what unpronounceable names Ikea will introduce me to this year? 

Sure, their tiny meatballs freak me out.  But don't think there aren't days when I'm schlepping my groceries home from Fairway that I wouldn't kill for one of Ikea's giant blue & yellow plastic totebags.

I think they get a bad rap (much like my beloved Jersey).  There's this idea that because the furniture is cheap, it's also crappy.  I disagree. 

All my living room furniture is from the (discontinued -- sniff, sniff) Markor collection.  It's super heavy & made of actual wood.  At least I think it's actual wood.  Anyway, I've had it for about 10 years.  It's been through about 5 moves and it's still looking great. 

Plus I like having the satisfaction that I built my own furniture -- like an urban Paul Bunyan.  Or some other pioneer-type lumberjack.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to order a chandelier that looks like Sputnik. 

While you wait for YOUR catalogue, please enjoy this video:


 


Isn't Ikea the best?!  No?  Huh. 

Name ONE thing better below...


tags: city life, shopping

The Sandy Six

I just spent 110 hours in my apartment. Alone. From 7pm on Friday to 9am today (Wednesday).

I'm on the 28th floor. During the worst of hurricane Sandy, my walls creaked, the building swayed, and my windows bent. I was glued to Channel 11, WPIX, the entire time.

I stress-ate my weight in mac & cheese.

And I inhaled a whole bag of marshmallows.

I took this pic on my way home from work tonight. It’s 2nd Ave, looking south, from outside my building.


You’ll notice it’s dark in the distance, where 40-story apartment buildings should be. I missed the blackout by a block. The East River also rose over its banks and flowed past 1st Ave. That means I missed the flood by a block too.

I got pretty lucky.

That doesn’t mean I wasn’t scared.

It’s chaos out there. Taxicabs under water. Army trucks in the streets. Flooded subway tunnels. Failed hospital generators. Dangling 7-ton cranes. Boats in living rooms. Houses on fire. Rollercoasters in the Atlantic Ocean.

So many people that we know, that we’ve read about – and that we’ve yet to discover – are struggling. Maybe even you.  My heart and prayers go out to anyone suffering as a result of this storm.

I know I couldn’t have stayed sane the last few days without what I’m calling The Sandy Six (and no, I’m not referring to the weight I gained from eating all that pasta – that’s more like nine).  A big thanks goes out to...

1. Local News Anchors:
I love WPIX. Always have. Every night I go to sleep to Friends and I wake up to their morning "news." It’s the only news I ever watch, mainly because it contains a healthy dose of fluff. And since they’re located just a block away, when they show PIX Plaza, that’s my neighborhood. This week, their tireless anchors worked 8-12 hour shifts, around the clock, to keep us all informed. I felt like we were all in it together with familiar faces like Suki, Tamsen Fadal, Kaity Tong, Howard Thompson, and Larry Mendte. That was immensely comforting.

2. Weather People:
I typically feel like it’s ridiculous to try and predict the weather. Stick your head out a window – that’s the weather. But there was a science to this storm, and the minute-by-minute updates from Linda Church and Mr. G helped curb my anxiety. Bonus: they were right-on.

3. Field Reporters:
Everybody from the President to the Mayor urged people to stay indoors, so I’m sure it was hard for reporters and crew to be tossed about, all wet and cold and hungry, for hours on end. Monica Morales and Dan Mannarino in lower Manhattan, Mary Murphy on Long Island, James Ford and Mario Diaz in Jersey, and so many others did an amazing job. My imagination is always my worst enemy, so I was thankful to have their eyes and ears on the streets.

4. Phone:
Calls, emails, and texts with family and friends were the next best thing to having them with me.  That Alexander Graham Bell was really onto something!

5. Facebook:
I may have complained about a few “friends” last week, but I took your advice and hid them from my newsfeed. This left me with nothing but updates from people whose well-being I actually cared about.

6. Fridge:
Thank God for food. I must’ve eaten 10 times a day. I might not fit in my pants anymore, but it's a small price to pay.  A warm meal is a form of comfort too. Right? Anyone who needs one should come on over. I still have half a tray of homemade mac & cheese left.


I also enjoyed Mayor Bloomberg's Spanglish and the animated woman doing American Sign Language during all his press conferences.  Plus, I'd like to give Chris Christie a hug.

To everyone in NY, CT, and my beloved NJ -- here's hoping your blessings outweigh your losses and you too were able to find some comfort in this storm. 

To donate $10 to relief efforts, text REDCROSS to 90999, or find other ways to help.


tags: city life, jersey

Volunteers

In the continuing saga of things I never do like bowling, Primus, and eating Pringles (actually I do that last one pretty often)…

My dear friend and I spent Sunday at the NYC Marathon alongside 47,107 runners.

I say alongside, because we were amongst the 2 million spectators ALONG the route. I mean, you didn’t think we were running, did you? (Well, actually, SHE probably could run it.  But not me. I’d rather have toothpicks shoved under my toenails.)

We were volunteering at the Hydration Zone on Mile 17, at 1st Ave in the 70s. That meant going to bed at a reasonable hour the night before AND waking up early on Daylight Savings morning.  No extra hour of sleep here!

We really give until it hurts.

When faced with the choice of running 26.2 miles for hours or pouring cups of refreshing water for hours, I’ll pick the pour. Every. Single. Time.

So, while a couple of Kenyans were busy making history, we were being schooled by fellow volunteer, Seth. He was a likeable enough guy. Very excited to be there. Took a lot of pictures, striking the “double thumbs up” pose.

Seth took his hydration volunteerism quite seriously.  And he had three strict rules:
1) Be precise about the amount of water in each cup – 1/3, no more no less.
2) Stack the cups 3-high in a “honeycomb formation” to ensure stability at each level.
3) Thoroughly inspect all cups for dirt, dust, or floating debris of ANY kind before distribution.

It was the last one that was the toughest to enforce. You have NO idea how much crap flies into thousands of water cups that have been sitting out for hours waiting for thirsty runners to whiz by. I was going nuts trying to keep them fresh!

Personally, I felt his standard was too high. If it were me, I'd say, dirt? Ok. Giant leaf? Not ok. Hair?

On the bubble.

Didn’t this guy ever play beer pong in college? There was so much junk floating in those cups I’m amazed we didn’t all get trenchmouth.

Keeping up with The Water Monitor wasn't the only drama on the sidelines. Z-100 was there (and my 12-year-old self was SUPER psyched). PLUS, I watched a sweaty runner man go off-course to propose to his girlfriend. AND I watched a sweaty runner lady go off-course to sit on a stack of boxes. I’m no doctor, but I’m guessing her immediate need for rest was largely due to the strange bone protruding from her shin.

Thankfully, I also avoided seeing the dreaded Poop Leg.  I won't go into the details, but you know it when you see it.  And then you can never erase that image from your brain for the rest of your life. 

Anyway, on our run home (and by run, I mean taxi cab), I felt good knowing I’d pitched in -- gave something back to a city I love (sorta).

In fact, I enjoyed it so much, I think I’d like to hand out new things next year. Tissues! Breath mints! More modest ladies running gear! (Seriously, ladies, cover up.  You can’t possibly chafe if your thighs don’t touch.)

Oh, I know, I'm just jealous.  My thighs rub so much I could burn the crotch out of a suit of armor.

So, to sum up... volunteering is good, Poop Leg is nasty, dirt won't kill you, and I must stop eating Pringles.

Have YOU ever run for fun?  Any distance at all?  List it below and you'll win a cup of water!


tags: city life, sports

Primus

Roseland Ballroom. Primus. Floor Seats. Mosh Pit. Me.

Which one of these things doesn’t belong?  If you said, ME, you really couldn’t be more wrong.

Don't believe me?  Have we met?  I'm not all pearls and sensible shoes, you know (yes I am).  My concert history isn't ALL Bon Jovi and Dave Matthews and Hootie & the Blowfish and Celine Dion (she really does put on a helluva show). 

No! 

I almost saw Radiohead and the White Stripes once.  I HAVE seen Tool and Nine Inch Nails.  On purpose, even! 

So when my brother invited me to see Primus with him on Friday night because his buddy bailed out, I was, of course, down for an adventure.  How could I resist? Me and Primus are like peanut butter & jelly.

Ok, okaaaay, more like peanut butter and onions. But whatevs.  I'll always jump at the chance to hang out with my (not so little) brother, and we had a total blast. 

It was an illuminating evening in Primusville... here's 5 life lessons I learned at the show:

1. The band I thought was Primus… wasn’t.
All day long, I had an angry metal song stuck in my head, I'm doing the best I ever did.  I'm doing the best that I can.  When I told my brother that Whatever was the only Primus song I knew, his eyes just about popped out of his head.  Turns out, that's Godsmack.  Huh.  Oops?  Then he played, Jerry Was a Racecar Driver, and I realized THAT was the only Primus song I knew.

2. My idea of edgy… isn’t.
See that shiny silver-ish foot sticking out from a very wide pant leg?  That's me.  I thought this getup would help me blend in with the natives.  Unfortunately, my fashion sense is a step past Amish and I don’t own the appropriate clothes/footwear to swim in this pool.

3. My thought that I can go beer for beer with a guy… can’t.
First, there was the 6-pack we split at my apt.  Nothing but the finest (Bud Light).  Then, there were the beers at dinner.  Next, came the giant bar at Roseland.  By the time I nearly cut my thumb off while whipping up late-nite snacks for us back at my apt, I remembered a lesson hard-learned in college: I do NOT have a hollow leg.  Luckily, homemade BBQ chicken quesadillas eaten at 1am soak up quite a lot of alcohol.

4. My worry that I’m too old and no longer cute… shouldn’t.
It's amazing what hanging out in a room loaded with stinky, hairy dudes does for your self-esteem.  Suddenly, you're a supermodel!  It was literally 200 to 1 in there, so flashing my pearly whites just after the intermission equaled a 1-way-ticket to the VIP balcony.  Always a quick thinker, my first question (to the bouncer) was, can my brother come?  My second question (to my brother) was, do you have a $20?  Ahhh.  Worth every penny.

5. The concert I was afraid might suck… didn’t.
See that big red thing behind us?  That's the bar.  That helped.  And sure, I didn't REALLY understand the giant inflatable astronauts that flanked the stage.  Or the screen behind the stage that showed film of car crashes and albino flying squirrels and kids playing Ring Around the Rosie.  Or the fact that the fans chant, "Primus Sucks," and that's a good thing.  Or the exceptionally long Popeye cartoon that ran during intermission.  OR the Willy Wonka theme song that played while we exited the ballroom.  But the concert was awesome, nevertheless. 



I'm pretty sure that had more to do with the company I was with than anything else.  Plus the beer.  But mostly... the company.  Good times!


So, what's the strangest concert YOU've ever been to?  (Bonus points if you could actually identify their hit songs.)


tags: city life, music

Angels

To say I have unresolved feelings about 9/11 is the understatement of the decade.

I thought about not writing this post because I don’t want to read it. I have spent the last 10 years burying every emotion, ignoring every image, and suppressing every memory because I just can not deal.

Even now.

It was a time of bottomless sorrow.  No question about that.  Although I must say, of all the unimaginable things to come out of that sunny September day (and the weeks, months, and years that followed) came one important realization: I now believe in guardian angels.

Call it fate, faith, whatever you will, I am thankful for several interventions that changed the course of events that day. Here's how the universe said, it’s not your time... 


SCHEDULE
Several days prior to the attacks, an executive at my company was scheduled to attend a conference.  He was to be a guest speaker at a breakfast being held on Sept 11th at Windows on the World, a restaurant on the 106 & 107th floors of the World Trade Center, Tower 1.

I had a good relationship with the publication sponsoring the breakfast, and I had been in contact with the event organizer via phone and email several times to coordinate the details. My boss, another colleague, and I were determining which of us would attend the event with this executive, when a scheduling conflict arose.  He decided last-minute to cancel his appearance, making it unnecessary for any of us to go.

I can't even remember what the excuse was, but everyone who did attend, including the woman I was emailing with, lost their lives that day.



SCHOOLTEACHER
I was living in Pine Brook at the time, and left for work that Tuesday like I did every morning. I would drive to Hoboken, park my car in a lot, and take the PATH train across the river to my office in lower Manhattan -- about 8 blocks from the WTC.

I was about to turn on to Changebride Road, the main street that ran through my town, when a woman flagged me down. Never in my 20+ years of living there had someone stopped me, but there she was, needing help. She said she was a teacher at one of the elementary schools in town. Her car had broken down (though there was no car in sight), and she wondered if I could give her a lift to school. Taking her clear across town would have made me very late for work, so I offered her my cell phone instead to contact her principal, or AAA, or her husband for help. She made a quick call and we parted ways.

The whole exchange took less than 10 minutes, but I know the time I spent with this stranger on a street corner in the middle of nowhere saved both my life and my dad’s. Here’s why…



DISCONNECTED
I was running late after stopping for the schoolteacher, eventually pulling into the lot in Hoboken around 8:45am. I should have already been on the train, so I quickly paid the parking attendant. My back was to the city, as I simultaneously heard an explosive sound and saw an expression cross her face that made me afraid to turn around.

Past the train station, I had a clear view of lower Manhattan.  One of the Twin Towers was billowing with grey smoke. My dad worked in Tower 1, on the 25th floor. I panicked and immediately called him. He told me they felt a pretty good jolt but they were alright. He said they’d been instructed to “stay put” and then the phone cut out.

I tried re-dialing but it was no use. The lines were all jammed, and would remain that way for hours. I saw a crowd gathering by the entrance to the trains, and I made my way over to a policeman so I could hear his radio. It was then that I watched the second plane fly directly into the left side of the second building, disappearing into a puff of fiery smoke. It was about 9am.  I remember someone in the crowd grabbed my hand and cried, “Oh no, not again.”

Completely frantic and realizing no one was getting in or out of the city, I ultimately left to be with my mom. I was in a fog, driving past the Meadowlands on Route 3 about an hour later when Peter Jennings’ voice on the radio told me the first tower had come down. I nearly ran my car into the barricade in the median.  I was home with my mother and my brother, glued to the TV, when we saw the second tower fall at 10:30am. No one had heard from my father since he told me he planned to stay put. We all feared the worst. My brother collapsed into a ball on the living room floor. I ran to the kitchen to vomit in the sink.

Sometime after 12:30pm, the phone rang. It was my dad, from a pay phone.  I can remember screaming to the operator that yes, we would accept the charges of his collect call.  He sounded disoriented, and had no idea the towers had fallen. Apparently, he had been assisting the first responders to pass out wet rags for people to cover their faces and was in the lobby helping to direct people away from seeing the carnage left by people who jumped 100 stories out of sheer desperation. Then, he suddenly left and headed south towards the Staten Island Ferry. He knew I worked on Water Street, but he wasn’t sure in which building, so he went door to door looking for me.

Our call earlier had been disconnected before I could tell him I never made it across the river that morning. He just assumed I had. His need to find me is what drove him away from that scene in the nick of time and undoubtedly saved his life.


ELEVATOR
Several hours after we heard my dad was ok, he arrived at my aunt’s apartment at 65th and Madison. With no way to get in or out of the city, and all streets shut down, he walked the 5 miles, covered in ashes. A dear friend of mine worked in Tower 2 of the WTC at the time. Her company occupied some of the highest floors in the building, putting her above the point of impact and seemingly sealing her fate.

I can remember being too afraid to know the truth, but I gathered up my courage to give her a call. It rang and rang, then went to voicemail. I had a sick pit in my stomach. Around 5pm that evening, my phone rang again. It was my friend. She would later learn that her colleagues made a life-changing decision to leave when they did. The group that went down in the elevator with her -- in the 15 minutes between the first and second hit -- were saved. The others were among her nearly 200 co-workers who never made it out.


FACE IN A CROWD
Thousands of stories surfaced over the next few days.  It took a full week for the city to open up again. The following Tuesday, I boarded a ferry, bound for lower Manhattan because the PATH trains were nonexistent. The boat was jam-packed, but totally silent, as we rode across the Hudson, utterly shell-shocked.

The smoke and soot still hung in the air, coating every surface.  A burnt smell stung my nose. Tears were streaming down my face as we pulled into the dock. Along the shoreline, I could see dozens of armed guards, dressed in camo and carrying assault weapons. A tank was there to greet us. It would stay like that every day, for months.  It was more than I could handle. This wasn't New York. It was a warzone.

As I stepped off the boat, a familiar face appeared. It was my boss. No, he was more than that -- he was a wonderful friend who came down to the ferry to escort me to the office. It turned out my mother had called him to let him know how upset I was. Ordinarily, I would have been humiliated by that, but these weren’t ordinary times. I was a petrified 28 year old girl. I will never forget his kindness that day, especially when I later learned that his partner had been sick, but he dropped everything to help me. He is an angel on earth, and still has a special place in my heart.




Divine intervention changed the course of our lives, and countless others, that day. I personally knew 10 people who were not as fortunate.

Every year, I go out of my way to avoid the retrospectives. I'm just not that strong.  Besides, I don't need to watch a recap of that unthinkable day -- all I need to do is close my eyes and see it unfold. This year, I decided to avoid the city altogether and set up camp with my brother, sister-in-law, and the munchkins up in CT.

We'll spend the day at the zoo, celebrate life, and count our many blessings.  Here's hoping you can too.


tags: city life, family, jersey, politics

Creepy Peeper

I’m stuck at home (as I’m sure many of you are), thanks to a total jerk of a gal named Irene. If you want to read about HER, hop on Facebook or Twitter.

Here, I’ve decided to discuss the creepy Peeping Tom who lives across the way. My windows are like his personal giant movie screen.

I first noticed him a few months ago. It was hard not to, really, since his apt is directly across the street, on the same floor as mine. He used to hang out over his terrace (occasionally eating a banana or what appeared to be a bowl of soup) to watch me.  For hours. Like a 200lb paperweight.

And he wasn’t shy about staring. I felt like a brisket.

At first I thought, this guy can’t possibly be looking into my tiny 550 sqft studio. There must be a naked pilates session happening in the apartment directly above mine. And then he waved.

At me.

Since I didn’t reciprocate his friendly gesture, he retreated to his living room, where I could see him perched on the arm of his couch like a large bird. There he sat, night after night, with all the lights on and the terrace door open.  He doesn't appear to have much in the way of furniture. 

Recently, I’ve noticed his apartment goes completely dark around 8:30ish. I don’t know what he’s doing in there, but I can only imagine it involves a telescope that rivals the Hubble in both size and intensity.

But what a blockbuster movie he’s watching!

I mean, who can resist when I get home at night, tie my hair up in a ponytail and change (behind a closed bathroom door) into sweatpants? Who wouldn’t want to be a fly on the wall as I bask in the soft glow of a laptop while paying bills, or catching up on work, or blogging? And really, how could you NOT be riveted as I devour microwave dinners at my coffee table and burn through marathons of bad reality TV on my DVR?

Needless to say, this is the most boring pervert ever.

So, before the inevitable happens and he fashions a 3-piece skin suit from my flesh, I would like to publicly establish my wish that Tiffani (hold the Amber) Thiessen play me in the made-for-TV movie. I’d like it to follow in the grand cinematic tradition set by Mother, May I Sleep with Danger, Baby Monitor: Sound of Fear, and Do You Know the Muffin Man?

Please also cast Tracy Gold as his nosy neighbor who reports a foul odor and Kelly Lynch as the detective who shoots from the hip and goes with her gut. And Tori Spelling should make a guest-starring appearance as the jealous co-worker who openly wishes I would just disappear.

Every thriller needs a red herring.

As for the Creepy Peeper, they should find someone stubby like Jason Alexander. But my story might be too pedestrian for him.  So lock Joey Lawrence in a closet full of Whoppers for a month.  He'll pop out all pale and bloated and will be perfect for the part.

Whoa. 

So before this hurricane knocks out the electricity... tell me, who'd play you in the Lifetime movie of YOUR life?


tags: city life, entertainment

5 Reasons I Love The Great Food Truck Race

It’s NO secret I love TV.

I’ve been equally open regarding my love of food. So, whenever the worlds of TV and food collide, you can bet I’m buckled in for the ride.

There are tons of culinary competition shows out there (and I watch most of them), but one of my new favorites is The Great Food Truck Race. If Top Chef and Cannonball Run had a baby, it would be this show.

It’s an 8 week road trip from Malibu to Miami and the second season just started on Food Network.  After watching the first episode, I’m happy to report it’s still a tasty little morsel.

Here’s 5 reasons why:

1. Tyler Florence. Tyler Florence. Tyler Florence. Yum. 
2. The prize is for real. $100K in cash. Not a fake title as executive chef at a restaurant they may never work in. Not a restaurant makeover of a business that may not succeed. Cash. And while that may not go super far to support a restaurant with 4 walls, I’m guessing it’s a jackpot for one with 4 wheels.
3. The challenges in each city all come down to who makes the most money. Earn enough and you move on to the next. Earn the least and drive home, broke and humiliated in your giant yellow truck shaped like a banana. Ouch. That stings.
4. The cities they visit are like a character in the show. Teams start each leg from scratch without supplies, permits, parking spaces, or customers. And each place they visit throws its personality into the mix, for better or worse.
5. Food trucks are just plain awesome.

Forget restaurants.  Some of the best food in the city is coming from trucks.  We’re NOT talking street meat here. This is not fast food -- it's food served fast, with good, local ingredients. Plus each truck usually has a gimmick, which I kinda love. And they’re easy to find... like right now! 

A quick check of my handy Eat Street app (iPhone, I heart you so much I could EAT you), shows Korilla BBQ, who just happens to be in the race (go NYC!!), Cupcake Stop, and Feed Your Hole trucks all within a few blocks of my apt. 

Good thing I’m afraid of the dark, or else I’d be chowing on a Porkinator right now like it was my job.

Sold yet?

Whet your appetite with the meals on wheels that I've eaten recently (glamorous desk not included):

Wafels & Dinges
Motto: Good Things Belgian
Order: The BBQ pulled pork on a Brussels wafel, with a side of slaw and a coolickle (kinda like a red pickle)
Tip: Try their Spekuloos Spread – it looks like peanut butter and tastes like gingerbread cookie goodness.

Red Hook Lobster Pound
Motto: Serving the best crustacean in the nation
Order: Lobster roll, Maine style, on a buttery toasted bun split down the middle
Tip: Bring a $20 -- the roll is $16 alone, pricey but loaded with big chunks of tasty lobstah.

Mexicue
Motto: The sweet, sweet love child of red-hot Mexican cuisine and down-home barbeque
Order: A smoked short rib taco, BBQ beef brisket slider, and pulled pork slider.  I like to call that the Carnivore's Trifecta.
Tip: Budget about 30 minutes for this one, the line is long, but worth the wait. 

Eddie’s Pizza Truck
Motto: Home of the Bar Pie
Order: No clue.  The first time I tried to eat here, they closed the main window in my face.  The second time, they gave me attitude about needing to order through the passenger seat door instead of the giant, gaping hole on the side of the truck.  Needless to say, I left.
Tip: I hear the wait is 20 minutes.  Hopefully they're as good at making pizza as they are at being rude.

So, do YOU have any favorite food trucks?  List them below! 

And remember, this is best left to professionals: Don’t cook and drive.


tags: city life, entertainment, food

Saving Big in the Big Apple

So I’m kinda obsessed with watching the Extreme Couponing show on TLC. Now, I know what you’re thinking: That’s 14 cats and a couch doily away from a very scary Saturday night.

But before you judge me too harshly, have you SEEN this show??

They make it look SO EASY to walk out of a store paying 10 cents for $1000 worth of groceries. (Nevermind why these savings wizards would expose all their secrets on national television so grocery stores can get wise and shut down the fun.)

These people actually get paid to take stuff home. Some may say it’s borderline stealing, but who among us couldn’t use 93 bags of croutons, or 105 deodorants, or 217 jars of mayonnaise?

I wanted in!

But is it an impossible dream here in NYC where a single bag of groceries can equal a car payment? Maybe. No doubt this savings quest would take unwavering dedication and a level of preparedness that I haven’t employed since I took the SATs.

Oh yes. Challenge accepted.

First I watched, re-watched, and re-re-watched an entire season of Extreme Couponing. Next, I became a student of the limits – many stores only allow you to purchase a couple of the same items at one time, a register can only handle around 250 coupons per transaction, each receipt can only print around 1000 lines. Then, I boiled down HOURS of footage to a 21-step extreme savings blueprint…

     1) Fall on hard times
     2) Have an epiphany that coupons pave the road to riches
     3) Start to pronounce it “Q-pon” (this is critical to success)
     4) Know that you or a member of your immediate family must be morbidly obese
     5) Spend thousands on newspaper subscriptions, or steal inserts from the neighbors and dumpster dive
     6) Gather a mix of weekly sales, store loyalty cards, and manufacturers rebates to ensure maximum savings
     7) Arm your family members, no matter how young, old, or feeble, with scissors and let the clipping begin
     8) Organize your new Q-pons in a 3-ring binder, accordion folder or shoebox
     9) Make a spreadsheet of items, quantities, and costs for each trip, arranged by aisle
     10) Spend 30-60 hrs/wk on Q-pon maintenance, between prep, dealfinding, shopping trips, and binder cleanout
     11) Pre-order large quantities so the store can't run out of sale items
     12) Pile into your minivan to visit a non-brand name supermarket in the sticks
     13) Strictly purchase what’s on sale, nothing else
     14) Expect to fill multiple carts, so bring along a helper (who you may or may not choose to berate along the way)
     15) Prepare to sweat it out at the register
     16) Ignore nasty looks from the people in line behind you
     17) Watch the cashier like a hawk
     18) Keep your cool when the register inevitably jams from all this Q-poning activity
     19) Take a bow as the manager grits his teeth over the Q-pon robbery that just occurred in his store
     20) Enlist an army to unload the van
     21) Stockpile all loot in every basement, garage, closet and crevice as though you are preparing for the apocalypse

Ok.  Sounds easy enough.  Sort of.

The final step was to put this plan into action. Armed with a binder, a stack of newspaper inserts, an excel spreadsheet, and a dream, I organized, clipped, counted, and hit the stores. I probably spent about 10 hours a week over the last 2 months in pursuit of savings on food, health & beauty, and cleaning products.

And you know what I learned?

It’s impossible to save 98% off your grocery bill.

I’m sorry, it just is. Over 9 weeks, I spent $432.78 on $1,248.03 worth of stuff. That’s 65% off. I know this because it’s all calculated in a spreadsheet. I saved on every bill using a combination of in-store specials, manufacturers coupons, and gift cards I got from cashing in points on my credit cards. Without the gift cards, the savings would have been more in the neighborhood of 38%.  Good, but not great.

I also learned that I don’t have the patience or complete lack of self-consciousness to haggle over tampon coupons with the same checkout lady who thinks it’s ok to put my toilet bowl cleaner in the same bag as my English muffins.

But I do take away these 7 Lessons in Saving from my adventures in frugality…

• Get a loyalty card for every single store you shop in. And use it.
• The NY Post generally has more/better coupons than the Daily News.
• Coupons are really only worthwhile when they can be used in conjunction with in-store specials. 
• Don’t bother using a coupon just because it’s about to expire. The only exception there is the buy one, get one free coupons. Those have the most savings of all, assuming you actually WANT the item.
• Buy only what’s on special, and don’t worry that you can’t actually make a meal out of pita chips, pasta sauce and marshmallow fluff. Eventually, they’ll put guacamole, macaroni, and ice cream on sale and then you’ve got a tasty 3-course meal!
• D’Agostinos and CVS have MUCH better deals and loyalty programs than Food Emporium, dirty Gristedes (they put the gross in grocery store) and Duane Reade.
• Get creative to find deals.  The Harmon Face Values section in most Bed Bath & Beyonds is good for health & beauty items, and Jack’s World/99 Cent Stores are worth a trip for random cheap food -- and it’s not even expired!

I’m sure my savings experience can apply to any big city. But if you live in the burbs, you can probably shave another 1/3 off the total. Plus then you get to drive to and from the store so you’re not forced to strap all your groceries to your back like some kind of urban donkey.

So what does $1200 worth of stuff look like?  Check out my linen closet, fridge, and fully-stocked pantry:

All I have to say is, wow, I'm anal.  My fridge door looks like Noah's Ark, with 2 of everything.  I should get a side job stocking shelves.  I'd have Gristedes in line in no time. 

Are YOU a coupon clipper?  Tell me why (or why not) below...


tags: city life, food