On Thirty-Two Degrees Fahrenheit

Wishing Away Winter.

While everyone else was mumbling and grumbling about yet another blizzard-like, anti-spring, garbage-collection interference last Thursday (photo credit: me), I excitedly emailed this snapshot to a Californian friend who, years ago, exchanged the anticipation of picnics in New York City meadows for the predictable comfort of West Coast sun. With only two (short) months left to appreciate the romantic glow of new snow falls, affordable winter coat sales, and forgiving inhalations of warm apple cider, spring awaits patiently around the (calendar) corner to ensure we don't wish away the magic of seasonal discourse. Enjoy!

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On Public Accountability

Commonplace Politicians.

In spite of several years of wasted (new year's) resolutions guaranteeing improved mental health and physical hygiene, exposing our failures to public scrutiny is the supposed missing link between wanting to change and actually following through. Intrinsic motivation is replaced by self-indulgent public declarations, as approval from strangers attempts to trump self-inflicted judgment. Enjoy!

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On Losing Our Heads

The Beauty of Inhibitions.

Too often, we get caught up in how we appear to others -- allowing the vanity of keeping face to dictate our posture, facial expressions, heart rates, senses of humor -- at the expense of experiencing ourselves in our purest emotional forms. We become children clinging to the sides of a sun-seared playground slide, fighting the inevitable moment when our arms can no longer hold us up, as we embrace the pit in our stomach that signifies both the dreaded and anticipated loss of control. We can choose to grip the sides of the slide with our self-conscious, panicked palms or, alternately, reach uninhibitedly towards the sky with tear-soaked cheeks that acknowledge the thrill associated with letting (our emotions) go, trusting the process no matter where we land. Enjoy!

(Post Scriptum: Today's entry is dedicated to my soul-mate friend.)

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On Secret Hiding Places

In the Sky.

Sometimes we need to slam our doors on the rest of the world -- to escape the noise, the nagging, the sadness, the fear, the bad reality shows, the crowded subways, the winter blizzards -- and find solace in the silence that envelopes our seclusion. In these moments, we trade in the places where everybody knows our name for the tree houses in our backyards, the romance novels on our nightstands, the ipod playlists entitled "100yrsofsolitude," and the forts under our dining room tables, to seek the the soundless escape equally as comforting as the voices of familiar faces. Enjoy!

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On Finding Your Fit

With Eyes Wide Open.

If the going gets tough before the wedding bells ring, it's not likely a few glasses of champagne, a diamond ring, and a Kitchenaid immersion blender will a solid marriage maketh. Turning blind eyes to the obvious signs that anticipate the unfortunate inevitable - the temper, the tempter, the tempted - paves the way of the regrettable path towards the bed of those forced to lie in it. But we make our own beds, pick out the sheets, weigh the options of down comforter versus quilt, and can blame none other than our own sleeping beauty instincts for leading us to Prince or Princess Not-So-Charming. Enjoy!

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On the 25-Year Itch

Texting the Urge Away.

With my own parent's 40th anniversary less than a week away, I wonder if the promiscuity encouraged by not-so-harmless texts and (in)appropriate flirty g-chats were ever-present incognito, back in the pre-historic era. A world without the constant gnawing of temptation vibrating in our back pockets or flashing beneath the glare-free (computer) screen protectors seems unimaginable, and yet the itch associated with life-long commitment distinguished by dirty diapers and endless college tuition is as commonplace an expectation as the wisdom encapsulated with age. Enjoy!

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On Home Sweet Home

Where the Heart is or is Not?

With the unexpected influx of perfect strangers to Brooklyn, New York over the last ten years, my childhood neighborhood has remained my early-adult-hood as well, making family Thanksgiving festivities and birthday celebrations an easy Sunday afternoon activity (8 minutes by car, 40 minutes on foot, to the other end of Park Slope), comparable to a stroll through Prospect Park or a chick flick at The Pavillion. Through and through, I am a New Yorker in heart and soul, with little doubt that a relocation to Portland/Austin/Chicago/SanFrancisco could fulfill the same sense of comfort and familiarity that I've associated with my Brooklyn upbringing. And, yet, with this influx of naive and entitled transplants (you'd be bitter, too) came an unaffordable future without the luxuries - a backyard, a house, a country house - that I've always taken for granted. And so, here I am, forced to reevaluate my concept of 'home-sweet-home,' only moderately resentful of the folks who stole my coffeeshops/videostores/playgrounds/libraries, in order to find a potential alternative that will, no doubt, include square footage specifically set aside for relocated family holidays and month-long-visits from my 'rents. Enjoy!

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On the Class of 1987

First Graders Primed for Success.

Thank you, Ms. Hall (far left), for instilling in your six-year-old students the diligence and skills required to become the hard-working (early) 30-somethings we are today, and to facebook for the unanticipated ability to track down names and faces we might otherwise have forgotten. Last row - blue and white stripes - my childhood nemesis with whom I was frequently paired in class photos, school performances, and classroom configurations - turned out to be a fellow English major and favorite facebook companion, with more in common than we ever would have guessed. Four heads to the right, a seasoned photographer in London whose birthday parties were once marked by piñata's filled with strawberry-flavored powder sugar, stands alongside Mr. Yellow Sweater, a musician in the City of New York whose refusal to chop off his (then) permanently-braided (ten-inch) tail received overly-enthusiastic adulations from classmates and teachers alike . A curly-haired successful Apple manager on the end (with whom I ate pickles in my backyard on a daily basis) stands behind two proud parents of (separate) bright-eyed children, encompassing the best features of their parent's childlike selves. And a few toothless smiles to the left - brunette in red sweater and blond in the interminable pink - my elementary school crush unsurprisingly became a lauded grade-school science teacher and recent father to a praise-worthy son (nicknamed Chicken Nugget) while my childhood best friend, also a (nursery school) teacher, pursues her masters degree in education (--we have plans next weekend). The front row unknowingly reflects the eventual photographic accomplishments of white-dog-shirt-girl, who sits quietly next to a revered and deeply missed classmate - my 1992 valentine - who died in a tragic bicycle accident a few short years ago. And, finally, three seats to the right, my newest facebook friend (to date) proudly shows off his rugged work boots and matching tie, years before becoming a father (and devoted fan of The Simpsons). Enjoy!

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On Prioitizing Drawbacks

The Inevitable Real Estate Compromise.

During a recent apartment hunt in Brooklyn, New York, the necessity to prioritize the pros and cons of ideal living became increasingly apparent. In my highly-sought-after childhood borough, the comforts of square footage are constantly compromised for popular locations, leak-less ceilings for noisy neighbors, landlords for landscapes, and backyards for bank accounts, while the disadvantages become sugarcoated in creative solutions. Signing a lease is as much about one's willingness to sacrifice values as it is about finding imaginative ways to make the best out of a bad situation. Floor fans are purchased off craigslist mid-winter (to drown out the French siblings squabbling upstairs) while Chinese food delivery is a mere skip and a hop down the hall from the ground floor walk-up. Enjoy!

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On the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

Out with the Old.

As we get older and wiser, we outgrow hobbies, bell-bottoms, piercings, and relationships, as our taste buds acclimate with the changing of the seasons. (Not so) all of a sudden, train sets seem infantile and skinny jeans more fitting, while the dinner menu trades in its bitter tolerance for oregano and olives for anything-ginger and square. And as we live our (ever-evolving) new personalities, we take solace in our pauses for what once was, as we re-trace the dulled outline of our aging tattoo, wondering where have all the flowers gone, and so on. Enjoy!

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On the Disconcerting Zodiac Shift

Once a Taurus, Always a Taurus?

Turns out, not necessarily. Even the non-believers are up in arms this week about the recent news regarding the (literal) misalignment of the stars, questioning everything they've always (half) believed about their zodiac destiny, which all of a sudden seems more like a crock than ever before. As we peruse our list of frenemies with whom we've always identified as [insert newly assigned sign], we question the possibility that we're more like them than we hoped. Enjoy!

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On Growing Up Too Fast

And Preparing For It.

While some people coast through life without a second thought for their eventual nostalgia, my self-aware, overly-reflective attitude and approach to nearly everything around me requires a constant preparation for this emotional contradiction. Eager to welcome back my baby brother to New York City, equipped with a brand new set of bachelor degree skills and confidence, I wince through the pangs associated with my childhood mattress being thrust onto the sidewalk to make room for his self-imposed office. A masters degree that took one year too many to achieve instills both expertise for a promising career and sadness for the textbooks I'll never buy and the grades I'll never show off. Fantasies of the children I will one day raise flash before my eyes as friends overproduce facebook albums of weddings and toddlerdom, as I secretly reminisce about afternoons in the 11th street playground with childhood classmates I now sentimentally watch from afar. Enjoy!

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On Finding Your Soulmate

One Click at a Time.

In a technology-driven society, the options for tailoring the criteria of your future life partner to match the interests of your weekend hobbies are limitless. Perusing the list of quirky yet creatively-crafted website dating opportunities (ahem, see article for details), I ran down a laundry list of what my single self would entertain. Favorite page-turner? Anything Eggers. (alikewise.com) Mac or PC? Mac, circa 2007. (cupidtino.com) Ivy Grad? 'Little three', close enough. (dateharvardsq.com) And in this hypothetical pursuit, my not so single self smiled at the glaring irony of this fictional companionship, which would undoubtedly replace my current dining room conversation - delineating the pros and cons of literary fiction versus modernist prose - with repetitive recitations of overly-familiar Eggers, Foer, and Chabon passages, elicit tacit wars between the macbook and macbook air, and shamelessly solidify my unfounded East Coast College Snobbery. Thanks but no thanks, Alternate Universe, as I've really enjoyed catching up on (all) the Russian literature I seemed to miss during my tenure as an English major at a (seemingly) prestigious university. Enjoy!

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On the Truth about Snowflakes

"Friends are like snowflakes: beautiful and different." (Starbucks Sign)

Each season has its own distinct, identifiable moment that fills the soul with simultaneous excitement and peace, as the grace of nature impresses upon us its persistent enigmatic presence in a world often characterized by chaos and disappointment. The first celebratory chirps of springtime distract from the consecutive weeks of rainfall, eventually accompanied by the pink and white blossoms we'd nearly forgotten from three hundred days prior. Warm summer nights in backyards and front stoops, during which tank tops and cutoffs abandon the stickiness of daytime sweat, welcome barbecued delectables and refills of white wine as friends swap stories of family vacations and weekday gossip. Rainbow-colored leaves invite the first batches of warm apple cider and cinnamon-coated donuts from the local farmer's market, as autumn shoelaces replace the nakedness of flip flops and pedicured toes. And the first fall of snowflakes, in their fragile, crystal-like glory, coat the streets of New York City with a magical glow and sense of calm found only in the curious diamonds that fall from the abyss above. Enjoy!

(Photo Credit: Wilson "Snowflake" Bentley)

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On the Sad Guy in Pajamas

The Non-Weekend Blues.

The comfort of wearing our pj's after 8:30am dies down sometime between getting canned from our jobs and running out of Dexter reruns. And while our gnawing alarm clocks persistently arouse us into our daily routines for which we feel a mixture of animosity and gratitude, it is only after the 1960srock/NPRupdates/incessant-beeping-comparable-to-chalkboardsandnails ceases to bring forth this excitement do we realize the necessity of paychecks and early morning commutes to keep our self-confidence and heart rate from plummeting into a pit of depression. Enjoy!

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On Notes from the Underground

Sans Dostoyevsky.

It feels as if an entire decade has passed since Jack and John (Locke) discovered the hatch for the first time, a moment during which we all sat up a little straighter, turned the volume up a few notches, and waited eagerly for what came next. Our innate curiosity for the unknown is so infrequently pursued in real life - due, of course, to a lack of necessary resources such as time, money, and Oceanic Airlines flight 815 - that the closest we come to Adventures in Babysitting is the occasional 150 bucks vicariously pursued through fond memories of numeric sequences. Unless, of course, you're reckless enough to download the Dharma Initiative widget on your mac book, forcing you to hyperventilate when your computer starts beeping as you scramble to recall the Valenzetti Equation (4 8 15 16 23 42) during dinner parties and poker games, as your guests look on with uneasiness and confusion. Enjoy!

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On Cyber Mind Reading

Mathematical Brain-quations.

I cannot deny the pang of envy that surged through my eternally cold bones as I read about this stranger's uncanny connection to the nets (in spite of his complaints), as if his self-worth lies in the seemingly calculated decision of an emotionless machine to spring to life for the sole purpose of guiding him towards his next soul-mate novel or Sunday afternoon activity. Am I not worthy of such wisdom, my interests uninspiring or - worse - immature? (Dawson's Creek 4-eva-EVA!). And then it happened. Less than a split second after I googled a local shoe store to discover the hours of operation during which I would eventually replace my beloved Tretorn's (which, fyi, betrayed me during my greatest hour of need - the blizzard!) zappos.com sought me out via a personalized email entitled, "this is YOUR year!" with caps and exclamation point included. Yes, zappos, this IS my year! (Enjoy.)

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On Moments of Clarity

Far and Few Between.

Often times, it feels as if the world is happening to us rather than a series of events within our locus of control. In these (majority of) moments, attributing abysmal luck and occasional good fortune to explain experiences we might otherwise (wisely) own up to as consequences of our actual decisions is significantly less work and requires zero responsibility. But in the rare moments of clarity, during which we feel empowered to truly realize the actual lens through which we see ourselves in the world - the one we create for ourselves on a daily basis - we can appreciate existing in that moment rather than the moment that might have been or has yet to come. Enjoy!

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On Finding Faith

In Affordable Places.

Whether I have a stomach of steel or an unnamed relationship with the powers that be, the facts are as follows: An emetophobic my entire life, my eighteen-year streak came to a traumatic end during a camping trip out west two summers ago. I was the first of (at least) ten people (including three out of my five camping companions, two out of our three hosts after the camping trip, and almost everyone our hosts came into contact with once we returned to nyc) to become cursed with the one affliction I've spent my entire life avoiding: the stomach flu. And yet I was the only victim to whom the affliction was kind - a one shot deal, so to speak - while everyone else recounts endless hours of what they all agree would surely have driven me to an early grave. Since then - two years into my next hiatus (knock on wood) - I've wondered many-a-times why I was spared, to which I am, once again, drawn back to the facts: As I lay frozen on the floor for the ten hours that followed, moving only to sob into the receiver to my semi-comforting mother, I recited my usual anti-nausea prayers - the consistent exception to my atheist tendencies - and, well, I cannot deny that my prayers were answered, whether by my own fierce will power or, alternately, by someone or something greater than myself. Either way, if you haven't knocked on wood yet, now is not the time to start tempting fate. Enjoy!

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On a New Decade

Greetings 2011: Where'd You Come From?

Somewhere between ages twenty-five and thirty-years-old, time has transformed into one big blur, so much so that upon reflection of memories from the last 365 days (as it goes on the eve of the new year), the seemingly infinite holes of details about who, what, where, when, and why make me wonder if "senior moments" begin years before we actually qualify for medicare. Just this morning, on my way to a job that does not open until tomorrow, I marveled at how quickly the next birthday of my college roommate has crept upon us (just ten days away), and how we will have known each other for over a decade, a self-reflective realization that was further humbled by my office security guard telling me to go home because they're closed. Enjoy!

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