On Going On Vacation

On Being Unrelated blog will return on Monday, June 6, 2011, after the author gets back from a vacation in California.

On D'Em Dashes

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What would (this or any) blog be without the em dash (--), and all those other (supposedly) disruptive, overused punctuation marks? (@&*(@&*) You/me/and everyoneweknow would read blogs, articles, and tweets without the necessary interjection of distinct personality -- tucked in between hyphenations [and brackets] -- that purposely bring life to our otherwise life-less-ish computer screens. To those editors/authors/publishinghouse know-it-all's (including the copy-editor-guy at the bar two nights ago who interrupted my private conversation about this very subject to -- in my humble opinion -- simply declare aloud that he knows best), I say Live on the Edge; Have a Drink: & Use an Em Dash Today! (Enjoy.)

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On Jobs We'll Never Forget

Don't Look Back In Anger. --Oasis

We've all had 'em - or heard stories about 'em - those jobs from which we've learned major life lessons, except the wisdom conveniently came months after the letter of resignation was signed and the war wounds were already yellow from age. My first (& fondest) lesson was in 1995 during a babysitting gig I'd inherited from my worldly, older sister. The pre-teenage girls (for whom I sat) rightfully warned me that their family's new microwave cooked food extra hot and that, perhaps, the pop-secret popcorn did not actually require the full 3-minute allotment designated by the "popcorn button." I didn't listen, of course, and the popcorn turned to thick, black smoke. The fire department was (nearly) called; my parents were (definitely) called; and the house smelled like popcorn for weeks thereafter. I was asked back only once, and never babysat again (for anyone). Enjoy!

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On Understanding Grief

Life's Inevitable Trade-Off.

Whether it's expected or not, (the idea of) losing someone we love (a parent, a sibling, a lover, or friend) is seemingly impossible to (ever) get over. And yet perhaps getting over them is not the intended goal, whereas finding a place for that loss is what actually happens when the world around us continues to go on. And regardless of how long or hard we attempt to avoid these possibilities, they will inevitably happen (to each of us) because life's trade-off spares no one, and knowing that life will go on - even in [the worst] grief [imaginable] - is a small comfort in the midst of chaos. Enjoy!

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On the Real Deal

Practicing What We Preach.

Comparing ourselves to others can be as habitual as brushing our teeth, but with only half the satisfaction rate. Our ex's new girlfriend's facebook album supersedes our memories from the BBG, even though we nearly broke-up that day. Our younger siblings maintain rank as the family comedians, even though we're the go-to-blueberry-pie-oficionado. Our co-worker's lunch hour is always 30-minutes longer than our own, even though his pay is perpetually docked. And our graduate degree carries half the prestige as everyone else's, even though our GPA is a 4.0 and the tuition was all-expenses-paid. Enjoy!

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On Taking the Lead

Hiding the Matzah.

Having skipped out on Hebrew School as a kid and then spending the majority of subsequent (Passover) Seders focused on pronunciation instead of content (once graduating - in 1987 - from the Four Questions, which I'd nearly memorized by then), I sometimes wonder if a Seder led by yours truly would even be possible. On the one hand, I could always reallocate leadership responsibilities from the head of the manischewitz-hazed table while - on the other {hand} - relying solely on the phonetic explanations on how to lead blindly. Alternately, if I stick to my role as a trustworthy, articulate audience member, the well-earned buck upon finding the matzah will continue to be well within reach. Enjoy!

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On Scrabbling Things Up

For 100 Points.

I'm a stickler for (game) rules, and when it comes to i-scrabble, it took me a few months to become comfortable with the inevitable fact that friends and family would cheat their way through google search only to squash me round after round, and there was nothing I could do about it. Do you even know what that word means?, I'd i-scrabble-chat. Most of the time my inquiries were answered by yet more words I'd never heard of, and quickly the scrabble game I once associated with weekends in the Catskills where dictionaries were called upon with great frequency, were gone. Eventually, I decided if you can't beat 'em, join 'em: K-A-Z-Z-A-M (!) for 30 points, pulease. Enjoy!

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On the Skinned Knee Effect

Getting Over It.

While it wouldn't be fair to blame our parents for all our flaws, research suggests that some accusations are justified. According to one recent study, the double rates of anxiety-prone women dates back to an overabundance of coddling when our childhood bikes crashed, knees skinned, and glasses of milk and cookies were rushed to the crime scene. Years later, those cookies came back to bite us in the you know what, in more ways than anticipated. Enjoy!

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On Those Darn Tourists

Say Cheeeeeeeeese!

In New York City, tourists are a native's worst nightmare. They block the crosswalk in the West Village, Midtown, and Columbus Circle. They huddle on corners outside of Washington Square, Central, and Prospect Parks. They make lunch lines twice as long and morning commutes twice as crowded. They talk trash about us in unfamiliar languages and sneer at our perceived 'New York attitude.' And yet there is no escaping them, as tourist season in the City is year-round, and the Empire State Building is timeless, and John's Pizzeria will always be delicious. The best strategy we can implement is to (occasionally) offer wayward directions, and keep the neighborhood best kept secrets to ourselves. Enjoy!

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On Graduation Day

Let the Commencement Commence.

After four years of graduate work at NYU - some in psychology, some in social work, and most in non-profit management - I finally get to walk down the (graduation) aisle in a (royally) purple robe today to celebrate my trials and tribulations of finding the ideal career path. (Pffft, how naive.) Yet as I reflect on the timid, twenty-something, 'first-year' psych student I was back in September 2007, who rigorously wrote - and re-wrote - endless hours of non-graded prose on personality theory associated with Freud, Jung, and Erikson (through the lens of Tony Soprano's Mother), I feel a sense of appreciation towards the enormity of the the ever-evolving world around us, as (I assume) it typically goes before walking down an(y) aisle of accomplishment: friends & lovers have come and gone, illnesses (& wars) have been discovered and fought, grandparents have passed, self-reflection has ensued, confidence was gained, skills were fine-tuned, goals have been set (and met, and missed), failures have been learned from, countries have been visited, presidents have been elected, fears have been (nearly) conquered, and wrinkles have deepened (with wisdom, of course). As Dr. Seuss so articulately reminds us, "[We] will, indeed [succeed]! (98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed.)" In life, aren't those odds high enough? Enjoy.

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On Love at First Click

Redefined Flirting.

Facebook, gchat, and twitter flirtations - among others - represent the natural progression of relationships today. As pokes and winks are publicly exchanged via fb walls and twitter feeds, family histories, favorite colors, and self-conscious idiosyncrasies are slowly but simultaneously divulged. G-chats eventually inquire about exchanging digits and solidifying Saturday night plans, as the gap between the anonymity of the computer/ipad/iphone screen and the natural nervousness of waiting for the doorbell to ring (or text to arrive) is finally bridged. Enjoy!

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On Friday the 13th

...this blog website was temporarily out of order; creepy!

On Public Displays of Affection

"Get a Room."

It's hard to look away when romantic bystanders are making out, holding hands, or whispering (sweet-nothings) into each others' elegantly-pierced ears -- in public. And yet the judgmental editorials behind our indiscreet stares are far from the sappy, empathetic, wish-that-were-me reactions we typically have when, say, Dawson and Joey are getting it on in the rain for the whole Creek to see. The difference lies in the balance between truth and fiction, where the latter attempts to capture the inaccurate mystique of the former, with the generous option of changing channels when the young lovers' PDAs becomes overbearing. Enjoy!

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On a Scale of 1 to 10

How Happy Are You Right Now?

At a Catskills sleep-away summer camp in the 80's, 90's, and - yes - 2000's, I learned a somewhat reliable, semi-scientific method for checking the emotional well-being of my fellow bunk-mates, and - when eventually promoted to counselor status - of my 15-year-old hormone-raging campers. The method was called "Fist or Five" and when instigated by the leader of the pack (the counselor) - who routinely announced Fist or Five in the middle of meals, on the way to flag-raising, during waterfront, after sing-downs - it was understood by the pack's members that they should indicate silently with a simple hand gesture where, on a scale of zero (fist) to five (the total number of fingers on one hand), how good or not-so-good they were doing at that moment. As one can imagine with dilapidated cabins full of self-conscious teenage girls, who dolled themselves up for campfires and sporting events alike (aka Sunshine Appreciation; running? pulease!), variations of fists predominated this daily ritual while deep down inside multiples of five (ten! fifteen! twenty!) abound because, after all, this was summer camp. Enjoy!

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On the Morning After

Brand Name or Generic?

There is an undeniable comfort in believing our situations are unique, whether it's the fight we've had with our ex (over road rage), the 24-hour stomach bug (after sushi), or the semi-spontaneous-would-never-have-happened-without-pressure-from-my-sibling tarot card reading (that actually predicted the truth!). And yet when we observe the world around us -- on the streets, in the supermarkets, at the parks, on the lunch lines -- the conversations we "accidentally" overhear and the ordinary activities of other-people-lives we can't help but relate to (tripping over sidewalk cracks, being yelled at by the boss, awkward subway flirtation with the new beau, checking email two seconds later just-in-case), we realize that the world is filled with (lots of) people just like us and situations just like ours, and the comfort we originally took solace in feels strangely overly-familiar. Enjoy!

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On Running for Your Life

A Star is Born.

Yesterday, while working a shift at the Park Slope Food Coop, a neighborhood mother shared an anecdote about her mediocre-at-best athlete son, whose final year in Little League has him warming the bench, much to both his horror and surprise. A local sports culture that apparently nurtures even the worst baseball players well into their sports career, Brooklyn's budding stars have little sense of how far from the final bloom they actually are. The (young) mother laughed off her requisite weekly pep talks during which she explains (to her son) that he's just not that good, while compensating for his bench-time with after-hours family games where his stardom dictates the plays. Enjoy!

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On Cities in Your Veins

A New York State of Mind.

It's unclear to me, just yet, how a native New Yorker transplants to greener pastures where the altitude is higher, the mountains are larger, and the sun shines 350 days per year. And yet I'm preparing for it--by scoffing at particularly crowded subways when my head aches and I want to sit down (but can't); by practicing my significantly slower pace on the space-deprived sidewalks only to inevitably get bumped from all sides (grrr); by conjuring up visions of tossing my (fashionably) red pumps into my first-ever (neon-colored?) automobile in exchange for a (refreshingly) accessible quick hike before dinner. Whether I sink or swim (or fish) remains to be seen, but it won't be without an honorable attempt to make space in my ever-present New York state of mind. Enjoy!

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On the One Hand

And On The Other.

Do you count the number of friends on your (virtual) left hand who allow you a glimpse of their wedding/child birth/graduation/valentinesdaydinnersurprise through the glare of your employee's computer screen, and yet haven't taken the time to wish you a happy birthday via your facebook wall? Or are those peripheral non-friends simply today's generation's acceptable work-week entertainment? And so the technological debate over quality companionship versus the number game goes, and goes, and goes... Enjoy!

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On Strangers on a Train

Pictures Worth A Thousand.

Aside from my myriad of long-lost, kindred-spirit, fellow subway-riding Dave Eggers connoisseurs, I typically find myself even more intrigued by the plethora of strangers who are seemingly engrossed in self-help books, as if their discovery of a lifetime of success, friendship, and wealth depended on their five-stop commute (from Manhattan to Brooklyn), just in time for dinner plans where their wisdom would inevitably be dispersed. As I not-so-secretly strain to glimpse the best-selling titles of their soul-searches, I find myself judging the likelihood that a person like them - with their impeccable posture, crossed legs, and eye flutter - could possibly need advice on such-and-such, while making a futile and tacit attempt to memorize the title. Enjoy!

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On My Missed Connection

True Story:

A stranger really did once post a Missed Connection about me - appr seven years ago - and when I occasionally relay this almost unbelievable anecdote to friends and family, their response is 100% predictable: how do you know the Missed Connection was about YOU? My answer is also almost always the same, and I go on to explain what happened: my headphones broke en route to meet a friend for dinner at Grand Central, and two men - one cute, one not - who noticed me fiddling around with them both offered suggestions on how to make them work (--neither was right). The not-cute one went home and wrote a Missed Connection. The moral of my story is this: Missed Connections are romantically anticipatory until the not-cute one is the Romeo seeking his Juliet, at which point your long lost soul-searching internet love letter becomes romantically disappointing. Enjoy!

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On the Great Divide

Screensavers, Emoticons, and the Delete Button.

The digital age adds a whole new level of contemplation regarding whether to attempt the survival of a long distance relationship with lovers and whatnot. Computer-equipped cameras allow couples access to the not-so-glamorous details of monotonous daily life as an IRL partnership (computer geek speak for In Real Life), minus the morning breath, clogged drains, and mile-high (dirty) dishes. And yet it's these squabbles over whose turn it is to take out the trash, refill the toilet paper, and pay the overdue rent checks that leads to fits of giggles and appreciation for the companionship in which the activity is secondary to the IRL company. Enjoy!

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