No Time Wasted is More Time Celebrated

If there's one thing I love to hate about New York is that New Yorkers do not waste any time. It's practically a mantra around here. 

Emerging from the Subway station near my apartment on the way home from my Thanksgiving meal tonight - the sidewalks were quiet and crisp and you could hear faint grumbles of the tryptophan working its way through stuffed Manhattanites - I found my usually empty sidewalk decorated with holiday lights, garland and rows and rows of Christmas trees.

Welps boys, turkey's barely digested, dishes aren't done yet, hey, some people still have Jack-o-Lanterns out, but we are going to start selling the pine and Douglas fir! Maybe if we start early enough and overcharge a bit, we might actually break even this year!

Even though these Christmas tree sellers are part of the majority I despise for making time run faster year after year, and even through they have set up shop on a public sidewalk, you have to applaud them for their efforts. And I guess I won't mind the fresh pine smell wafting through the grimy Subway station morning after morning and evening after evening - that is, until the evening of December 25 comes and we can go out and buy our Valentine's chocolates.

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Play Nice with Tourists, It's Better for Your Bank Account

It’s that time of year again – holiday season. The city overflows with tourists meandering through the wind-tunnels of streets, eyes focused everywhere but the sidewalk. Subways fill with map-laden passengers who don’t know how to properly squeeze and make room for others during the Monday morning rush.

Fortunately for me, I always escaped the Thanksgiving rush in Boston, leaving for the suburbs just before everyone would arrive to the largest city closest to the Pilgrim’s landing point. Thus, now living in NYC, this is my first experience with a tourist holiday in a tourist city.

With the state of the economy, I wishfully expected a slight lull in holiday traveling. But, oh no, people will never stop coming to worship the neon of Times Square and the golden Atlas of Rockefeller Plaza. I spoke with a man named Nain (pronounced nay-en), who owns and manages the café downstairs from where I work. He told me that if anything, the number of tourists has increased. The sad difference for him though – they are not spending as much money.

Well, traveling on a budget has always been big. You can’t take the curiosity out of adventurous travelers, but you can take the money out of their wallets. So we have the current dilemma of all these tourists running wild down the streets and subways of Manhattan, but less of an economic benefit. At least when they were spending hoards of money on black and white cookies and Ray’s pizza, the locals would put up with the annoyance because of the massive inflows of money. Alas, now we must cope with these outsiders even though they are no longer funding our summer concert series or our mailmen.

But hey, it’s the holidays. Sometimes I think I’m too hard on tourists, knowing that I used to be one not that long ago. Also, I realize that they don’t even have to travel, but at least they are doing what they can. Some support is better than none especially for New York City – I’m sure those that lived here through 2001-2002 really know that.

So I’d like to put forth the thought that we should all be nice to tourists this holiday season, because everyone is suffering through the economic downturn, as we have come to call it, and the tourists, big cameras and all, are doing their best to help us out. Embrace those that walk through don’t-walk signs, love those that order enormously large corned beef sandwiches from overpriced delis, and thank those that may accidentally on-purpose steal your cab.

Happy almost Thanksgiving!








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Plugging in to Advertising

New York City is like the Mecca of advertising. I cannot think of a single place in the world where you would be surrounded by more billboards, neon signs, placards, postcards, banners, commercials, signs, posters, brochures – I could go on.

Walking through Times Square, I am often in awe of the millions and billions of dollars in advertising expenditures surround me with every step. I don’t know who brokers that space, but they must be making a pretty penny. After all, what would Times Square be with out all the ads? But even with all the lights and the glitz, I can’t help but wonder: does there come a point when your surroundings are so saturated with advertising that none of them end up having their proper effect?

I’ve always said that advertising doesn’t affect me like it does most people. I will definitely admit that I love the gecko commercials for Geico and I’m quick to point out the recent upsurge of Vitamin Water product placement in “Gossip Girl,” but I’m not about to call up for some car insurance or buy a leader of Dragonfruit (although that is my favorite flavor).

However, despite my ability to distinguish advertising from entertainment, I was extremely intrigued by a subway ad today. You’ve seen them – posters lining the walls of every single meticulously tiled subway stop; some for Broadway shows, some for Spanish speaking lawyers and many for [name your favorite TV show]. But today I saw a new take on the traditional subway ad.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Christina Aguilera’s large spider-mascara-ed eyes flirting with me to buy her new album. (I didn’t even know she was making another comeback, although I did fancy her last one). But poster after same poster of Ms. Aguilera’s peepers, I see a man with his headphones plugged into her. Wha..wha..what? How could this be? Headphones into the wall?

Remember when we used to buy CD’s and before you knew what was on the CD – because you only knew the two singles on the radio and had no clue what downloading music off the Internet was – you would use the headphones on the wall in Virgin Records or Best Buy or those other places you used to buy CD’s? Well, this ad worked just like that except instead of targeting people browsing a music store looking for CD’s, it targeted anyone with extra time – namely subway riders, almost all of whom already have headphones in their ears.

I think this is ingenious! What a way to make an ad so interactive and have a captive audience at the same time! I’m not advocating that the new album is any good or that everyone should love Christina Aguilera, but if I were a recording artist, I would want her marketing manager on my case.

Leave it to NYC to create the latest and greatest advertising trends, but this is a keeper. I expect to see more of these ads around town, and who knows? Maybe you’ll find me plugged into one.







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Lost and Rarely Found

Allow me to begin where I often do. Below the blacktop of Lexington Avenue, on the level of the rats and drip water, I took the subway to work this morning. Deeply absorbed in my light-hearted fiction novel (I’d highly recommend “The New Yorkers” to anyone who wants an escape and loves dogs), I was pressed between a pole and a hard backpack for several stops mindlessly enjoying my story when I hear something drop.

I’ve begun to be paranoid about losing possessions on the Subway these days. With so many people and so many trains, I always imagined it would be impossible to find lost items. So when I heard something drop and no one around me bent down to pick it up, I looked down and picked up a pair of sunglasses. Holding them up, I looked around to a sea full of blank I-would-never-be-so-irresponsible-as-to-lose-sunglasses-on-the-subway faces. No one claimed. “Maybe she already left,” a younger woman in a red tweed coat suggested, as if we were at a party and the lady had gone home early.

Now what was I supposed to do? I picked them up hoping to be the Good Samaritan who saved someone else from having to the bend-over surf in the subway – not an easy task. But now I was responsible for the sunglasses. “Is there a subway lost and found?” I asked with a half smile to indicate that I probably already knew the answer and, at the same time, that I cared about getting the glasses back to their proper owner.

So I did some research. A subway lost and found actually DOES exist in New York. The New York City Transit’s Lost and Found unit collects about 8,000 items each year, either by riders turning things in or by employees cleaning out trains. Initially when I saw this I was tempted to call the phone number and see what I could do. However, then I read on this NY Times blog that only about 18% of these items are actually claimed by their owners. Whether this is because the owners do not know there is a Lost and Found, or whether the owners even know they lost anything to begin with, I’m not sure. In the end, I decided there was nothing I could really do except maybe keep a pair of made in China black sunglasses with a gold stripe down the sides.

Now thinking about all the germs on the train floors, I should pry wash before wearing.

If you do ever lose something of real value on the Subway and think it might have been turned in, the New York City Transit's Lost and Found unit is open M, T, F, 8 AM – 4:00 PM and W, Th, 11 AM – 7:00 PM. The phone number is 212-712-4500.







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Fake Foyers

Being from California, I’m still not “used” to this weather. My Mediterranean-climate trained blood will probably never be.

Maybe it’s because of this fact that I am fascinated and captivated by all these winter-doors popping up all over the city. Restaurants, hotels, even Starbucks have their own canvas igloos, welcoming in the weary to inviting hospitality. If you’ve walked around the city you’ve seen them. Plastic windows line the flimsy magnetic latching doors. Some even have glowing heaters to truly ease the transition from outside to inside, although they usually end up creating a higher temperature in the “halfway space” than what is inside.

I can’t recall these winter-doors in Boston – maybe they were just built in. Ever heard of a foyer? (Even after working in a real estate office for two years, I’m still not sure how to correctly pronounce that…foy-err or is it foy-ay. Linguists?) Where are all the foyers in Manhattan? Better yet, where do all the fake foyers, halfway spaces, really hot rooms, whatever you call them go in the summer? Why are they suddenly erected all at once?

I suppose these venues could merely be trying to save space with the price of a square foot in Manhattan these days. If an establishment set aside certain space inside for patrons to remove their coats and close their wet umbrellas, what good would that space be in the summer?

Being from California, I guess I still have a lot to learn about New York. Have a great weekend!






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Drinking Green

I attended an event last night that was so much fun I have to share. The event was a monthly gathering of a group called Green Drinks at LQ Bar in midtown.

Basically, this networking/social group was founded several years ago by people who want to meet other ecologically-minded people in a social setting. It has grown so large that there are Green Drinks gatherings in cities all over the world. In fact, last night there were several hundred people in attendance.

Each gathering has different sponsors or presenters (just a quick talk, otherwise the event is mostly social). Last night NBC was there promoting their GreenWeek television series coming up and the people from CERC were promoting their programs as well.

They had green drink specials, which were literally…green. I tried a Melon Ball (Midori, vodka and pineapple juice) and my friend tried a Tykyu Martini (though it turned out more yellow than green). NBC even thought to bring along green cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery…they know me too well!

Networking was going down all over the place; so many people from so many different professions – lawyers, businesspeople, designers, planners, non-profiteers, young, old. The best part was that you could strike up a conversation with anyone without any dirty looks, though there were inevitably the awkward moments when I would just pass along my business card and head for another cupcake.

All in all, it was a great night. What else is going on Tuesday nights anyway? I’m looking forward to the holiday party on Dec. 7 I believe. Green Drinks meets the first Tuesday of every month at a different venue each time. Sign up for their mailing list to find out more. I hope to see you there soon!







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Bar-Hopping in the Boroughs

Someone once told me that you are not a true New Yorker until you’ve visited all five boroughs. So over the weekend I trekked out to Brooklyn for a night on the town with a couple of my new New York friends.

Boyfriend in tow, I hopped on a 5 train heading south to Brooklyn. It actually only took about 25 minutes to get to our exit at Nevins Street. Of course it took the same amount of time to find our destination, a restaurant called Stan’s Place on Atlantic Avenue, only a few blocks away. The streets are nowhere near as organized in Brooklyn as they are in most of Manhattan. What is a newcomer supposed to do but amble on like a lost pony? So amble we did.

I couldn’t quite put my finger on our surroundings. It went from graffiti-ed steel grates on shops to quaint boutiques to elaborately decorated turn-of-the-century brownstones to high-schoolers chumming on the street to yuppies trying to find the latest new hang-out spot. It was such an eclectic mix. Very intriguing.

We finally find Stan’s place, after learning that we’d turned down the wrong street because we couldn’t find any street signs, only to learn that our friends were just finishing their dinner and wanted to take us to another bar. Turn after turn, I quickly lost track of north I thought I’d found, and soon enough, even our guides who had lived in Brooklyn for several years were misguided by the angled streets and missing street signs.

We squeezed in to a very crowded Brooklyn Inn, a quaint sort of bar with a very old-time rustic feel, complete with ornate, blue wood décor surrounding the large wall-to-wall windows. This was all I was able to sample, though, because our Brooklynite friends whisked us away in search of a little space.

We end up on Smith Street in Carroll Gardens. Again I found the mood of my surroundings a bit odd. Interspersed between closed shops, small groceries and a couple of delis were happening bars. Music would spew out and then end abruptly each time a door opened and closed. Dim candle lights could be seen through the darkened and decorated windows. Yet, hardly anyone was on the sidewalk.

When we walked into Camp, you would hardly know how empty it was outside. With walls covered in bark, deer heads hung high throughout the room, marshmallow roasting and drinks like the Dirty Girl Scout, this place took me straight to the great outdoors. I had a lot of fun watching various bar-goes play a hunting video game from my comfy log-cabin chair while sipping my CAMP signature martini (absolut vanilla and godiva white chocolate with, literally, a flaming marshmallow on a stick). Someone e

Getting home wasn’t too hard; only took about an hour to get back up to E. 94th Street. I’d consider that pretty good considering the fact that trains don’t come that often at 3 a.m.

So that was my adventure to Brooklyn. I’d say that I got quite the tour in one night. I’m on my way to becoming a “true New Yorker” and hitting the other three boroughs soon.







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Shoes! Shoes! Shoes!

I grew up in awe of the number of pairs both my mom and my Nana amassed. I’ve always known the difference between patent leather and suede, pump and wedge, peep-toe and sandal. I watched Sex and the City. I always thought I understood the shoe thing.

Until last week.

When I started working, I had to put the Puma’s and flip-flops aside for more professional looking footwear. I already owned a couple pairs of “nicer” looking shoes - a solid black, solid brown and a couple in betweens. Even though none of my shoes were too high-heeled, the bit of extra height became cumbersome to me and I would find myself packing my flimsy little ballet flats in my bag to wear in case blisters decided to pay me a visit.

I’m on a limited budget, so the thought of spending hundreds of dollars on shoes gives me nightmares. Although, the thought of spending thousands of dollars on bunion surgery in 20 years also gives me the creeps.

So I came to the conclusion which my great grandma had always preached to my dad when he was young: Be frugal, but never skimp on doctors, dentists and shoes. The doctors and dentists thing makes sense, but I used to thing the shoes thing was more for vanity.

If you never walk, you buy shoes for pure aesthetic reasons. If you are carried everywhere, whisked around in a limousine, lifted into a piggy-back or if you by chance have wings (although that would be a whole other medical problem), you need comfortable shoes.

I moved to New York because I love walking and I hate driving. Southern California traffic raised me to loathe gasoline, abhor stoplights and fear parallel parking. I’m not ashamed to admit any of this and I’m sure I will most likely own a car someday when I live somewhere else, but right now I’m content. The trade off with this agreement is that I must walk or ride the Subway everywhere. By now I’m sure you’re familiar with my Subway exploits, but I’ve done my fair share of walking as well. Just this past weekend I walked back and forth across Central Park, from my apartment on 94th down to 50th and then back up to 58th.

So I decided to give in. With the financial support of my generous Nana (yes, the same one with at least 300 pairs of shoes, I counted once), I purchased a new pair of brown Bandolino boots. Chocolate brown, buttery soft leather, they are practically heaven for my feet, and the low heel allows them to be classy but comfortable. I also indulged in a pair of black, patent-leather, Franco Sarto pumps (they were on sale!) which are like paradise for my feet. Super shiny, even my boss commented (that’s saying a lot).

I do get the shoe thing, finally. Now I own heaven and paradise, and unless you fantasize about bunion surgery, I’d suggest you do the same.


PS: Go Vote!!








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Watch out for those Banana Peels

Continuing onto part 2 of embarrassing me stories, right after I finished my last post I fell. Literally. On the sidewalk. Boom. Cement. Skinned knee.

I am definitely a klutz (not such a good trait in a big city with lots of sharp corners and broken glass). It's not like this happens all the time. In fact, I can't remember just falling on the sidewalk since probably elementary school at recess or something. But alas, I legitimately fell on the sidewalk and yelped out a very strong expletive - that's a new touch since my grade school days.

I feel like there comes a day when you practically aren't allowed to fall anymore. When you're young and wildly running everywhere, you fall, skin your knee, and are soon back up running around again. You have less distance to fall, so maybe it doesn't hurt as much, but you are practically expected to fall. My mother always had Bactine and Band-aids on hand just for that reason. But after a certain age, it's taboo to fall. You are supposed to have balance and poise and stand on your own two feet.

You only hear of an adult who falls with either balance issues or who ends up in the hospital with a broken hip. You don't hear of a healthy twenty-something falling on the sidewalk (well, maybe if they were in 3 inch heels - but I was wearing flats).

I'm sure you're wondering why I fell. Does she have balance issues? 

This is where my New York theme comes in. 

Back up 20  minutes. I was in a Whole Foods (NYC's most worshipped grocery store - it's like a really expensive cult) trying to pick up a light dinner before heading over to the Chelsea Recreation Center to do my SAT tutoring. My favorite thing about Whole Foods is that you can pick up some of their read-to-go food, eat it at the tables in the store and head out and be on your merry way.

It was a chilly afternoon, so I ladled some pumpkin spice bisque into a cup, grabbed a wedge of cornbread and headed for the cashier. I inquired where the seating area was.

"Oh, we don't have tables, but you can grab a spoon and a napkin on your way out."

Literally, it was thirty something degrees out, I had 15 minutes to eat, there was absolutely no space to slurp (even the wee bit of counter-space available was taken up by fall floral arrangements), and the cashier expected me to walk down the street with my free spoon to eat my soup?  They really should advertise that fact before you enter the ready-made food section. It's deceiving. 

With no other option, I zip up and trekked outside in the chilly wind with the idea of eating my soup in the tutoring room hurriedly before the kids came. Yada, yada, yada, so I fall. Possibly because I was so focused on the soup that I didn't watch my feet, partially because I'm a born klutz, but mostly I'm convinced someone slipped a banana peel under my foot, but I fell hard on my left knee and the back of my hand. 

An older lady walking behind me (thankfully the only witness to my humiliation) runs up to make sure I'm ok. The back of my hand surprisingly had no scratches, but my knee was in a lot of pain. I was still bitter about the Whole Foods not having tables.

So the moral of the story is, Whole Foods has great meal preparation options for people with no time, but make sure they have tables first, or be prepared to carry out.

Oh and in case you were wondering, I didn't spill the soup. Somehow it stayed together, cap strongly in place. I gotta watch out for those bananas next time.

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