On Being Unfriended

The Pangs of Relationships Past.

The friendship, on facebook, ends as quickly as it begins: With the Click of a Button. And the debate that takes place over whether to extend your index finger the tenth of a millimeter it takes to shut the permanent e-door in the face of your long lost JHSboyfriend / neighbor / girlyousatnexttoduringdaycampcolorwars can vary from sleepless agony over whether you'll be found out that day or that decade to no thought whatsoever. Four months ago, during an impromptu need for privacy, I defriended over three hundred people (leaving me with three hundred nearest and dearest) and, since then, at least fifty have come crawling back, likely in the form of never having realized we were once bonded by the intimacy of the internet and that I actually took the time to sever our tie. But my need for privacy has passed, and so I accept each new fruitful friendship that has since come my way, and share with the world the blog I present you today. What I wanna know is why, with my new-and-improved, generous RE-friendship attitude, they can't take the time to 'like' what I've written? Because, let's face it, that's why we're all here, anyway. (Well, that and the first batch of baby photos.) Enjoy!

On Sisterly Love

The Pros of (Ya-Ya) Sisterhood.

Some folks would argue that men and women come from completely different planets - specifically, Mars and Venus - and that it's their alien roots which dictate the unique strength of sisterhood over brotherhood. But what about the men who openly embrace their emotional attachments to this daytime character or that cuddly paw print? These are the same men who willingly forfeit an afternoon of football for a rainy-day marathon of My So-Called Life and excitedly pick out celebratory cards to match the bows on their holiday gifts. (Well, okay, maybe not bows, per se.) Still, the bonds between sisters might simply reflect the emotional development of those individuals involved, and it'd be remiss to exclude the equally mature, articulate, and thoughtful men who share in the glory of a good shop or an emotional youtube clip of a favorite past time. Enjoy!

On Questions We Stopped Asking

Curiosity Killed by the Cat.

Albert Einstein wisely said, The important thing is not to stop questioning, yet we stop anyway, as we grow older, more tired, comfortable-with-what-we-already-know, preoccupied with anti-wonderment. And the loss is precarious because the universe's answers are infinite, there is always more to learn, we are responsible for invoking possibility in our children's children's children, and we owe it to ourselves. It's not hard, I'll show you:

Why do elephants have big ears?
Why do we stop absorbing calcium?
Why do babies smell like babies?
What don't I love olives anymore?
Where do rainbows come from?
Is Gordon from Sesame Street still alive?
Why are people addicted to Jersey Shore?
Why does paper turn yellow with age?
Do cats understand know their own names?
Why are some people scared of the dark but not others?

Your turn.

On What Comes Naturally

Maternal Instinct.

We grow up with clues about our maternal tendencies and conclude that we either have 'em or we don't. For some, wiping the drooling chin of our best friend's baby is second nature, and chances are likely that we were the toddlers who spent the majority of our childhood fine-tuning these skills on our Baby Talk doll, personally delivered by Santa's elves after the 'rents said no way. Others ward off heart palpitations when asked to hold the neighbor's newborn during unexpected milk-runs, and dread the day when their own neighbors are nowhere in sight. Whether we've had baby names picked out since our sixth grade home-ec(onomics) class or cringe at the thought of changing diapers for fear their tiny legs will shatter into pieces, rumors conclude the instinct comes as naturally as the indescribable and uninhibited love we feel (instantaneously). Enjoy!

On Making Impossible Decisions

Without Confidence and Clarity.

While working at a homeless shelter throughout the majority of my twenties, I jumped on one client's bandwagon (due largely to my own naivety and desire to 'do good') as soon as she mumbled the first word in a longer sentence about leaving her abusive husband. Had I waited to hear what she actually had to say, I might not have solicited donations in the form of gift cards to southern mini-malls (where I was sure she'd relocate) and old suitcases my friends considered storage space. Too quickly I convinced at least thirty generous strangers that she was eager and ready to make this impossible decision, and almost as fast as I prepared her (and her two children) to start anew over five states away, I was returning cartoon band aides and Walmart credit cards with my head hanging low and an overwhelming sense of defeat. Impossible decisions like these, though perhaps start with the helping hand of an over-eager twenty-something, require so much more than a bus ticket and a first aid kit. (Enjoy.)

On a Corner to (Re)member

Atlantic Ave & Clinton St, 1990.

Constantly bombarded by stimuli on a daily basis, our brains are forced to decipher what's worth noticing and, alternately, discarding. And while we typically live in the egocentric existence of our psyche's filter, from time to time we're afforded the opportunity to reassess our trash in light of another man's treasure. It is during these experiences when the our pace of life falters to the speed of a more appreciative drum and we're able to look around for missed moments and second chances. Enjoy!

(Note: Article is Excerpt from This Short Story.)

On Miserable Meetings

How Not To Pull Your Hair Out.

Unfortunately, there's no simple solution to the meetings that make you want to meet your death instead of your next assignment. At my previous job (one of my favorites to date) Wednesday was my least favorite day of the week in spite of its glorious and much-anticipated hump. During the F-O-U-R hour meetings in which less than thirty minutes of material was covered (at best), I learned more about how to deal with misbehaving daughters (no kids here!) and which local eateries serve the best burgers in Chinatown (salads preferred but thanks anyway!) than what I needed to know for my programs. Years later, when my last day on the job arrived, it happened to fall on a Wednesday afternoon, and so, lucky for me, I had four hours to sum up four years of hard work with less than fourteen people, which meant there were forty minutes left to say goodbye to the meetings I'd never miss. Enjoy!

On the Little Clown that Could

When All Else Fails.

Like the Circus Clown who can't catch a break, life will inevitably be filled with moments when the rain consists of over-sized cats and dogs and the hill to Jack and Jill's well is strewn with unpredictable landmines. The good news is the Clown never loses his sense of humor, rainbows are often on the periphery, and Jill refuses to abandon her sidekick. Enjoy!

On Being Conned by Con Ed

Op Ed: June 8, 1974.

Perhaps Con Edison earned its name not for the American inventor of the late 1800's but for the grief imposed by its unnecessarily outrageous guesstimates. A perpetual victim of CE's generous calculations, I've found myself, at times, fantasizing about taking this battle to the courts (CE vs CE has a nice ring, dontcha think?), and it pains me further to realize these grievances predate my own existence. C'mon Con Ed, how many years does it take to change a light bulb? Enjoy!

On Finding Hope

In Odd Places.

We never know when and where we're destined to fall in love, but it almost always happens when we least expect. Whether it's on the trails of the Rocky Mountains or the Obama campaign, the guarantee of being thrown off path is as strong as the attraction that ignites, and as uncertain as the future that follows. And yet with each unpromising romance, comes hope for the unknown which, like the uncertainty of the president elect, has its memorable moments worth remembering. Enjoy!

On Breaking the Chord

From 2,500 Miles Away.

For most, going off to college is the first step (of many) in breaking the umbilical chord that binds the world-as-we-know-it-until-the-rents-drive-away, and inevitably proves to be a necessary and healthy step in the lives of all participants. Easy it is not but the consequential confidence, empathy, and individuality that unfolds is worth the pangs and heartache of the lonelier moments in between. And besides, the comfort, support, not-so-gentle-reminders to callyourgrandmother/changeyoursheets/meetaniceboyorgirl hardly dissipate even as the steps that follow ensue. So as broken as the chord gets, it inevitably maintains a grip comparable to crazy glue when you accidentally bind your thumb and forefinger during art class. Enjoy!

On Making Memories

One Alien at a Time.

Whether it was the family road trips to the nearest UFO sightings or the rivalry scrabble games with your siblings, cousins, and other nameless faces whose participation you willingly accepted at the time, the memories of the details you hardly noticed, and the morals that illuminate themselves only in hindsight, inevitably shape the people we are constantly becoming. And every once in a while, in a moment of clarity as rare and fleeting as an eclipse or an urban shooting star, we are able to acknowledge the magnitude of what's happening around us. In those few seconds, we balance the weight of glimpsing life's secrets with the vowels we're pretending to select with our eyes (nearly) closed. Enjoy!

On Why I Started This Blog

(An Article I Hope Everyone Reads in its Entirety.)

I have less than one hundred pages of the best novel I've read in six years, and the dread I feel for the characters' inevitably bleak futures is on par with the excitement that overwhelms me when I have a free moment on the subway to join them again, in spite of my two jobs, grad school obligations, family and friends, kick boxing, and Mad Men/Gossip Girl/Parenthood/etc. I can also recall, with great detail, the other equally unforgettable novels that trumped all life responsibilities, including the year and location in which I read them: 1996/Circle of Friends/the Catskill Mountains under a tree by the town pool; 2003/ AHWOASG/Allentown, PA on the deserted college campus in which I was (regretfully) employed; 2006/The Hours/Brooklyn anywhere and everywhere. When I meet new people, I read them excerpts from my favorite chapters, (wrongfully) assuming that they will fall in love as I have but a testament to the transformative experience of the great (American) novel. Moved or otherwise, in those moments, the listener and I are brought together because of a shared commonality that has brought you to this blog today: a desire to immerse yourself into the magic of the written word. In life, little else compares. Enjoy!

On Living Without Privacy

The Solution: Lease a Car and Lock the Doors.

Roommate gettin' on your nerves? Coffee shop patrons typing away your alone time? Not enough room for your picnic blanket in the park? Welcome to New York City; good luck with that. The truth is privacy is a rarity here, and if you're lucky enough to have a vehicle with four wheels and a radio, only then (with your eyes wide shut) can you convince yourself otherwise. And if not, public transportation will gladly assist your escape to the outskirts of New Jersey for the low, low price of sharing your seat with everyone else who's fed up. Enjoy!

On This Coop...

There is Animosity.

I was neither a skeptic nor a fanatic before I joined the Park Slope (Brooklyn) Food Coop almost three years ago, but it's not too difficult finding out on which end of the spectrum most other locals stand. As a 'volunteer walker,' in which my sole task is to accompany members to their homes while they push (coop) carts full of fresh produce and coop treats (and I bring the empty cart back), I am rewarded with slices-of-(their)-lives as enticing as chapters from the novel I've regretfully neglected by my bedside. The less-than-three-hour shift (per month) is rewarded with dental horror stories worthy of campfire s'mores, the ins and outs of the Big Apple Circus (from a manager high up in the ranks), and tips about how to spice up sunny-side eggs (over sauteed kale and red onions) from recent culinary graduates. To me, the coop is unworthy of extreme stances but, rather, represents unexpected adventures of strangers and neighbors alike. Enjoy!

On the Joys of the Juror

Stop and Smell the Waiting Room.

Nowadays, once you complete jury duty in New York City, you're off the hook for eight whole years (but don't quote me on that). Some people dread doing their time-the painful hours of sitting and waiting that ultimately lead nowhere-while others sign up for it willingly (my grandmother used to volunteer). People like myself fall into a third category: They could give or take the time but the dusty novels on their nightstand beg to differ, and what better excuse to dive into a good book than court mandated leisure? It's kind of like flossing at work, where you get paid to do-a-body-good. Enjoy!

On Being a Guest

In Our Own Lives.

I can list on one hand the overzealous welcomes I receive on simple errands to refill the milk, to replace my tattered black tank(top), or to catch the latest flick: Trader Joes Supermarket! American Apparel! The Local Movie Theater! The greeters make you feel as if their sole existence has culminated in the moment you arrived and all of a sudden the inconvenient milk replacement feels like a less epic lottery success. Enjoy!

On Normalcy

Out With the Old.

Getting through life unscathed is like forfeiting a coffee addiction sans headaches: an unlikely story. So we take pleasure in the small stuff-smiling babies in passerby carriages, the blessing of our sneeze by Perfect Strangers, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches before 10am, and the drink that's on the house. Until the moment when the wind's knocked out of us like the Tornado which Grew in Brooklyn. But we get through it because a) we don't have a choice, and b) we come out more resilient and loved than when things were as simple as childhood lunches for breakfast and bartender rituals which feel like anything but. Enjoy!

On Growing Up, Literary Style

On the Road (as) The Sun Also Rises.

The grass is almost always more romantic in other people's lives, recollections, and daydreams compared to our own, and so we take strides to emulate the imaginary shimmer that reflects from their version of our same stories. The occasional coffee shop rendezvous transforms into an afternoon in Paris, and the local library walkway into the Arch de Triump. Road trips mimic the spontaneity of Kerouac's drug-induced rants, with unexpected texts instead of unpredictable pills. And, nowadays, walks through the burbs (and I do mean those of William's, burg not Shakespeare) or faux vintage facebook albums inevitably transform us to generations past, where friends work effortlessly to fit into grandmother's promiscuous teenage years and iphones mirror tattered memories. Enjoy!

On Reunions in the Park

Minus the Festivities.

Not all reunions are meant to be joyous, which explains why nine out of ten potential run-ins result in one or both parties crossing the street / averting their eyes / developing a sudden yet devoted superstition to the cracks in the sidewalk. But even when the ploys to avoid-the-reunion-at-all-costs fail, the results are comparable to the action flick your lil' bro dragged you to, or the flu shot you'd prefer to live without: not as bad as you feared. And you inevitably get through it, move on with your day, and recall all the alternative reunions that could've been worse. (Phew.) Enjoy!

On Uphill Battles

The Household Health Inspection.

If a certified health inspector came into your home, you'd probably fail with flying colors, too. Kitchen sink hand-washing? Minus ten. Outdated cutting board? Minus twenty. Appetizers? Minus thirty. Pets? Fuhgeddaboudit! You're better off ordering in/paying for/and then poisoning yourself with the scraps from the gutter. (Enjoy.)