Rough Week

I have been having a hell of a week. It's not bad enough that the heat and humidity have transformed NYC into an enormous crock pot. I swear some ring of hell invented post-Dante is standing in a subway station in summer waiting for a train that never comes, it's like 4000 degrees down there with no fresh air.

Anyway, on Saturday I decided to bake some fresh cookies for a 4th of July party I was going to on Sunday. I make pretty good cookies, if I do say so myself. But taking the first batch out of the oven, I managed to burn my wrist on the rack. Ok, not that big a deal, something most cooks go through at some point, it happens. I got some aloe on it, and it's healing slowly, probably a second degree burn, since it blistered up and hurts a bit. But overall, on it's own, nothing worth mentioning.

On Sunday, after the party, I went out with my friend on her dad's boat for the fireworks, really nice, a great idea. Except that for the first time ever, I got really sea sick. It wasn't very rough out, and we sailed slowly out to Oyster Bay, using the slight wind to carry us, but after the sun and drinks of the first half of the day, it proved to much for me. So I ended up half watching fireworks while lying on the deck feeling gross.

I made it to Tuesday uneventfully enough, and on Tuesday, only cut my finger while dicing up some vegetables for a salad. Very minor injury, though a cut on the tip of your index finger is pretty annoying.

And then last night, I went out for an evening walk, since it had slightly cooled off and I was tired of sitting inside. I had my ipod, I was just wandering, it was nice. Then walking up sixth avenue, two men were coming toward me, an old man with a slightly younger one holding one of his arms, like he had some trouble walking. I went to the right, as people usually do when passing on the sidewalk, and they kept getting closer, so that I was all the way up against the wall of the building when we passed. And out of nowhere, the old man balled his fist and punched me in the boob. I yelled OW because it seriously hurt, and I was totally shocked. I looked back, and the two men just kept walking, didn't stop or say anything. I kept walking, with my arms curled up, just wondering what the hell had happened. Clearly my zen walk was ruined.

So here it is Thursday, the week isn't quite over, and I'm kind of afraid of what is in store for me next. After you get punched in the boob by a stranger on the street, I really don't know where your week can go from there. Of course, leaving my apartment this morning, I did open my door to find a giant roach trying to crawl in. I had to stomp him. He was gross. Maybe that will be it for today, at least I hope so.

Please wish me luck.

Noms

I have found that dieting works best when you can forget how good food can be. You don't think about the things you are missing, and just dig your fork into that salad, mmm crunchy lettuce. The problem is that if you work in an office, every so often an occasion comes up that warrants baked goods being laid out in front of you in all their sugary goodness.

And then you remember the first soft, crumbly bite into a cupcake or cookie, the way chocolate or frosting sticks to your lip, so that you have to lick off the creamy gooey goodness. It's an erotic experience really.

Don't mind me, I'm currently in the sugar afterglow of Magnolia cupcake(s). Which are certainly good, don't get me wrong, but for my money, the ultimate cupcake in NYC comes from Sweet Revenge. The flavors are inventive, and run all through, not just a topping, but a wholly infused cake. I am partial to the Ducle de Leche ones, "Argentine Caramel Cake with Argentine Caramel Buttercream." But don't forget their self-named cupcake, the Sweet Revenge, "Peanut Butter Cake, Ganache Filling with Peanut Butter Fudge Frosting." Tell me that and a glass of milk, or better yet, a White Russian, doesn't sound heavenly?

And the best cookies I've found here are from Milk and Cookies. The snickerdoodle is particularly good. (BTW, does anyone know why a cookie that has nothing to do with Snickers is named that?).

As for frozen yogurt (ok, I know, why wouldn't I just go straight to ice cream at this point? But I happen to really enjoy the mix and match flavors and toppings craze) was a place called Yogurtland, which closed. But in it's place, Phileo Yogurt opened, which is essentially exactly the same, just slightly more expensive. But it's self serve, you can choose from about 10 different rotating flavors of yogurt, mix them as you please (I usually go Oreo and Peanut butter, with a dash of Vanilla), and then put on your own toppings (almond slices, granola, and graham cracker), and then they charge you by the weight. It may be nonfat yogurt, but after the toppings, it quite a treat all the same.

And then on to donuts, because as anyone who cares about pastry knows, Dunkin is a poor choice. I am a newcomer to this place, but Doughnut Plant (they even spell it right!) is delicious. The Creme Brulee one is amazing. I go into sugar shock just thinking about it. May I also recommend the Tres Leches.

Now that your mouth is watering, do you really want a little salad, or something warm, gooey, and delicious that melts in your mouth and leaves you begging for more?

Reading update

It occurred to me that I haven't been sharing my bookshelf updates, so here is a run down of what I've read over the past few months, and my reviews.

I am currently reading two books, as is usually the case. One is my commuting book, one is my bedside book. So right now it is Under the Dome by Stephen King and Some Girls by Jillian Lauren.

Under the Dome is my bedside book, meaning I get through about ten to twenty pages a night, which in a book this long (1,074 pages), will leave me reading it for a long time. As a Stephen King fan, this reminds me of earlier books, like 'Salem's Lot, where there is a large cast of characters, and even the town is a character. Because of the dome encapsulating the town, the setting is especially limited, but there are so many different key people to follow and keep straight, and many times, watch die horribly. But this is not a horror story, nor is it that supernatural, beyond the mysterious origin and composition of the dome itself. More than anything, it is a character study, which is something Stephen King knows how to do well. This of past characters like Jack Torrance or Annie Wilkes or Roland Deschain. In this book, Jim Rennie and his son Junior are some of the most fascinating characters, using the dome as an excuse to allow the monsters within them to feast on the helpless town.

I have only gotten a couple of chapters into Some Girls, but am already intrigued. Plus I have sat in on countless meetings discussing the book, so I know what I'm getting into. It's an autobiography of a girl who decided instead of finishing her theater degree, to drop out and learn from the world. This included stripping, working as an escort, and finally embarking on a trip to Brunei to become one of Prince Jefri's girlfriends. She tells her story in a compelling and contemplative way I am enjoying so far. For further reviews and interviews, click away.

I began the previous book after finding myself so disappointed with Broken Glass Park by Alina Bronksy that I actually couldn't finish it. I rarely leave a book unfinished, but I have such a stack of books to read, I couldn't keep at it. Basically, the problem was that the story is so non-linear, jumping in time and place, that I couldn't keep track of when I was. Beyond that, the author doesn't introduce characters, simply brings them into play, so that I couldn't be sure of how they related to the narrator, a young girl going through family turmoil in a country that isn't her own, who has promised her brother to avenge them against the man who killed her mother and potential new step father. This is about as far as I got, and extracting that much of the plot took some work. I have nothing against translations, I enjoyed Elegance of the Hedgehog, and am a big fan of all books by Paulo Coelho, but this one left me feeling lost.

Before this one came two books I really enjoyed and in which I appreciated the voices and contexts so out of my repertoire. These were The Color of Water by James McBride and The Well and the Mine by Gin Phillips.

I came to The Color of Water in a roundabout way. I went to see The Rock Bottom Remainders in concert in NYC, and after hearing how well James McBride plays the saxophone, I wanted to read his writing as well. It turns out, it matches his musical skills. His story goes back and forth between learning about his mother's past in her own words, and telling his story of growing up the son of a white mother and a black father in a world not quite ready for the melding of the two cultures. He is insightful, poignant, and very readable.

The Well and the Mine takes place during the Great Depression in Alabama. It begins with a young girl seeing a woman drop her infant into the family's well, and continues on, looking through the eyes of each member of the household, as they try to uncover who the woman was, try to keep food on their table, and to struggle with racial relations which already feel outdated to them. While writing in an accent can come across hokey, it is well done here and helps to bring you into this small town which revolves around the mine where most of the men work. But Albert Moore wants better for his children, and works hard to give them a chance at a better life. It is a mystery, a coming of age book for the two girls, Tess and Virgie, and a glimpse into a time and place forgotten.

Before these great literary tales, I indulged my fantasy bone (does that sound wrong? Ah, well), and read the most recent installment of the Sookie Stackhouse novels, the inspiration for the hit HBO series True Blood (which I also adore). I had been waiting for this book to come out for six months, so my expectations were high, especially after the dark events that finished the previous book, Dead and Gone. Maybe those expectations lead me to some disappointment. I was glad to finally have Sookie with Eric, though I would have liked to see more of him in the book, especially since Alexei was such a haunting character. And I enjoyed Sookie at the werewolf meeting tripping out on shaman juice. But I didn't feel like Charlaine used this book to move forward much on the pressing issues of the werewolves in the mainstream culture or the power struggle in the Vampire hierarchy. Instead, it had a very neat conclusion to events only created within the scope of this book. I wanted more, since it's another year until the next installment. But I will eagerly await that book as well.

Skanking

Back in the day, when I was a teenager in the suburbs, underage and under-entertained, we had to make our own fun on Friday nights. Sometimes this meant going to TJ Maxx with a disposable camera and taking pictures of each other in the ugliest outfits we could find.
Or going to Bradlees (the Walmart of the times) and raiding the bargain music bin for the most awesomely bad hits to add to our Friday Night Cruising mix (because we had to listen to something as we hit up all these rad locations), like the classics of New Wave, Give Happy Head's Atomic Candy and Wave That Breaks Forever. Seriously, this is some amazingly ridonculous stuff.
Or going over to where the guys were having a sleep over and peeking in at them watching porn (and someone will have to explain to me why teenage boys watch porn in a group together, how is that not kinda uncomfortable?). And then just for fun, riling up the dog, so it keeps barking and spoiling the dialog for them by leaving messages written in dog biscuits and red vines on the hoods of their cars. Like I said, it was a small town.
But sometimes the thrill of these silly escapades wasn't quite enough to keep us going. That's when we decided to go skanking. Being underage in a small town meant we couldn't get into any clubs or bars or anything, there was literally no where but a bowling ally we could have gone to hang out. No, that's not entirely true, we could have hung with the cool kids at the Mobil Station in town. Exactly.
So, a couple of us girls got dressed up in our mini skirts and belly shirts and heels, put on our make up and did our hair, basically made ourselves look ready for the frat parties we had another year or two before we could attend, piled into my Acura, turned up the Friday Night Cruising Mix, and went skanking, driving around the local area, flirting with guys at red lights in other cars, and feeling hot in our skankiest ensembles.
On one of these occasions, I was driving us through town and stopped at a stop sign at the top of a hill before turning left. A cop car was coming from the right, but put on his signal to turn off, so I made my turn. Boom, he suddenly decided to go straight, lights and sirens on behind us. Now, I wish I could tell you I hit the gas and we fled to hide out in some seedy bar until the heat tapered off. But no, I pulled over, rolled down the window, and greeted the (male) officer with a friendly smile. He asked if I saw him coming, I told him I saw him signal, and he took my licence and registration back to his car, while us girls giggled in ours. He came back, gave me a warning to be safe, a smile, and let us go. No joke.
I think I may go listen to some Happy Head and relive the good days.

Skydiving!

Everyone has their super power they wish they had, be it telepathy, invisibility, or for me, flying. I have never been afraid of heights, I love roller coasters, and never worry about turbulence on airplanes. I've wanted to go skydiving since I first heard about it.

As another birthday approached, I decided, no more waiting, I'm doing this now. I already had a trip to LA booked to visit friends, so I found a skydiving place to go near LA, an hour north in Camarillo. None of my friends were up for the leap, but it meant more for me to do it than to do it with anyone.

I drove up the Pacific Coast Highway this morning, beautiful coastal views, clear skies, sun shining. I was sorry I didn't bring my camera for the drive, even if I couldn't use it on the dive. Up in Camarillo, I went into the small airport, found the little one room office, and signed my life away on five pages of liability waivers. I kept wondering what would happen if we fell into a hawk or something, but put that out of my mind.

My tandem partner strapped me into a harness, gave me a pair of goggles, and we climbed into the tiny propeller plane. It was much too small to stand up inside, we sat in the back, me practically in instructor's lap so that he could connect my harness to his. I use instructor loosely, as the directions were: when I put my left foot out, you do the same, then we hang our right feet over the edge, arch back your back and neck and jump. Since I wasn't put in charge of the parachute, I didn't really need to know much more.

So we flew up to 10,000 feet over farmland near the coast. When we got to the right place, my partner opened the door of the plane and we looked down. This was my only moment of fear, sitting there with the door open, I thought, I'm gonna fall! And then I reminded myself that was the whole point, and I was fine. We stepped out, leaned back, and jumped. First we flipped around, then leveled out, I stuck my arms out and I flew. It was amazing, the wind hitting me, carrying me, the world tiny and spinning below me, not like I was plummeting towards it, but like it just existed far below, nothing but a vista.

After about a minute of free falling, he pulled the parachute cord, and we slowed significantly, the wind rush in my ears quieted a lot, and we fell perpendicular to the earth. The instructor let me take the reins of the parachute and steer us, so that we leaned and turned one way and the other the rest of the way down to the ground. We stumbled a bit on the landing, but it wasn't too hard, and then it was done.

I'm ready to go again. I bet it's more nerve wracking without the tandem instructor, but working up to it (as I can afford) sounds like fun to me.

No, it's not Ironic, but still funny

An old man turned ninety-eight He won the lottery

and died the next day

It's a black fly in your Chardonnay

It's a death row pardon two minutes too late

It's like rain on your wedding day

It's a free ride when you've already paid

Mr. Play It Safe was afraid to fly He packed his suitcase and kissed his kids good-bye He waited his whole damn life to take that flight

And as the plane crashed down he thought 'Well isn't this nice...'

It's a traffic jam when you're already late

It's a no-smoking sign on your cigarette break

It's like ten thousand spoons

when all you need is a knife

It's meeting the man of my dreams

And then meeting his beautiful wife

And isn't it ironic... don't you think?

NO. I DO NOT. IT'S NOT IRONIC, IT JUST SUCKS. ARE WE CLEAR NOW?

Seen in NYC

So when you live in a big city, you are likely to see some strange or unusual things as part of the day to day. What's more, you are likely to walk right by without thinking much more about it. Like when I used to sit outside at restaurants on the Upper East Side, and see a guy in a thong leotard and nothing else come walking by. So here is my list of somewhat unusual things I walked right by in the past week or so:

• A man standing having a smoke on the sidewalk in a full length dress
• A man splayed out on the ground bleeding from the head as someone tried to ask who they should call to help him
• A woman sobbing as a disinterested looking man held her for a long time
• 3 separate caravans of film crews (and not a single star!). (From the looks of it, I have been seeing the crews for the Smurf Movie and White Collar. I'm upset to keep missing NPH)
• A full out bitch fight between a cabbie and a man driving a Lexus, neither of which seemed to show any damage
• Jeremy Sisto of Clueless and Waitress fame, eating a gyro

So that's my latest list. I am fairly certain there are more things I've just forgotten about. Ah, the joys of living in the city.