On Daydream Believers

A (Half) Waking Life.

Through the unscripted haze of a daydreamed reality, insignificant strangers become long lost soulmates as brightly-colored snowflakes fall from crisp blue skies, and limitless courage, world peace, and heart-healthy bacon are granted by Wizards of emerald Ozes. First kisses are rewritten one hundred and one different ways, last words are rehashed, and ghosts from holidays past are willingly revisited. Enjoy!

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On Other People's Babies

Nieces & Nephews.

As I countdown the days until my very first nephew is born (January 7th, 2012, according to the medical experts), I peruse facebook posts of fellow first-timer aunts and uncles, whose praiseworthy delight is claimed to be matched by no other. Gifts already wrapped and airfare options calculated, my aunt-hood duties are ready for (the little guy's) blastoff. Enjoy!

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On Remote Control

e-vasion.

Our accessibility to the rest of the world has invaded every aspect of our lives, from once-leisurely dinner conversations to effortless walks to the subway station, during which we tend to indulge our nagging itch to be both constantly needed (by others) and aware of mundane details (of long-ago acquaintances). Yet life without this unyielding destruction of privacy seems wildly inconceivable in spite the woes and heartache associated with forgetting to smell the coffee and roses, each morning and afternoon. And so e-goes... Enjoy!

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On the 500 Days of Summer

Autumn Red, Yellow, Orange ... and Blue(s).

As summer comes to its usual melancholic close, many of us ponder workable calendar dates around annual pumpkin patch road trips to ensure we don't miss the changing-of-the-leaves, as we did (the) last (few) year(s) when hand-me-down pickings from more ambitious friends, colleagues, and classmates inspired false promises that next year would be different. Enjoy!

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On Thirty-Plus Singledom

Hard, Fast Rules.

During happy hour dates, text messages, and (most recently) skype conversations with my 30-something single friends -- many of whom are diligently dedicated to life, liberty, and the pursuit of lasting romance -- I am semi-fondly reminded that there are no hard, fast rules to this ever-tireless dating game. While a far from comforting notion to the school of eligible women and men looking for love, when Mr. or Ms. Right do eventually come along, the seemingly endless hours devoted to everyone else will become foggy memories of (dinner conversations) past. Enjoy!

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On Transplant-ation

Not-So-Great Expectations.

You can take the girl out of Brooklyn but you can't take her persistent insistence that public transportation in cities other than the Big Apple is anything but reliable. And yet ... her first clue came in the form of a 2-hour wait in the middle of a deserted parking lot, miles from any walkable road and amidst the midst of unexpected watering sprinklers around midnight. Her second clue consisted of an hour-long wait on a stranded street corner near a semi-frequently visited intersection (by non-yellow cars, that is, and hardly any people) resulting in an unaffordable final fee sans tip for the cab driver who willingly forked over his favorite 'cab jokes of the week.' Her final clue came during a 4-mile walk home, which she equated with a hop and a skip over the Brooklyn Bridge, without a single opportunity to wave her arm in the air for a life-saver when her foot started to cramp at the mile two mark. Car mix suggestions, anyone? Enjoy!

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On e-Coordination

Lost in the Text(s).

Juggling the myriad of electronic communication devices, it's easy to forget to press SEND on that response to so-so about this and that. Pretty soon unreciprocated flirty texts, inter-office meeting requests, e-vites to cousins' brothers' sons' first birthdays, and rambling requests for forgiveness from [insert most memorable blow-out], result in moral dilemmas over relationship-ending (e-)follow-ups. Enjoy!

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On Hand-Held History

The Last Page.

Ten copies of my favorite novel will sit patiently on my bookshelf, waiting to be cast off onto the next (un/fortunate) fiction guru, before actually lending my original read, for fear that the novel will be returned in the same condition I (willingly) afford my own literary journeys. To read is to devour both the characters and pages simultaneously, with residue of rushed morning coffee breaks and crowded (shoulder-to-shoulder) subway rides smeared on the indents of seemingly irrelevant chapters, where life lived in real-time overlaps with hours passed in imaginary time, and both heroes and heroins continue down their (fictional and non-) paths of self-discovery. Enjoy!

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On the Ebbs and Flows

(of) Human Existence.

The vastness of New York City easily distracts from the beauty with which its masses of bodies flow effortlessly into and out of subway stations, street corners, restaurants and cafes, elevators and stairwells, doctor offices, police stations, parks and recreations, yoga studios, comedy shows, Broadway musicals, rock concerts, beaches, boutiques, tea lounges, supermarkets, bodegas, independent films, graduate school classes, relationships, breakups, one-night stands, and birthday celebrations. Enjoy!

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On the Two of Us

When Sickness Calls.

A fortunate offspring of a happy marriage, it was - and still is - a mutual (family) understanding that when sickness calls (the stomach flu, in particular), father dearest takes the couch - indefinitely. As chicken soup is brewed and temperatures recorded, work clothes are patiently retrieved from maternal territory before ailing children rise and sleepy sun beams set. Enjoy!

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On Clothing Swaps

Binge and Splurge.

When the latest florally-decorated evite unexpectedly arrives in our non-work inbox for the well-intended clothing swap promising champagne and strawberries to soften the blow -- hosted by friends, co-workers, acquaintances and neighbors -- our closets full of unworn blouses, dresses, skirts, and pants (for weeks! months! decades!) flash before our moistened eyes. Will power to hold onto drawers full of sentimental attire (prom night, first kiss, that one failed attempt at vegetarian lasagna) prevent us from binging our pasts and splurging on futures that might surprise us with sequins and pastel purples matched perfectly with our eyes. Enjoy!

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On Random Acts of Fate

Click, Un-Click, and then Click Again.

It's hard to remember a time (not too long ago) when clicks on our computer screens didn't provide us with a seemingly rigid sense of self-control over every minute detail of our daily existences, from who we date to what we eat. Apartments are now secured via craigslist advertisements, appointments made (and broken) within milli-seconds of their arrival, live concerts appreciated through (other people's) youtube lenses, and future lovers hand-picked on cupid-approved websites. Enjoy!

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(Come) On Irene

Photo Credit: Manhattan Circa Summer 2011.

Nothing brings New Yorkers together like the hazards of terrible weather, from the blizzard of '96 (snow day!) to the more recent, widely-anticipated Hurricane Irene. Monopoly games are prepared, netflix dvd's pre-ordered, and vats of mac & cheese pre-cooked, for neighbors and friends alike, as the City shuts down for what always feels like the first time in decades. Enjoy!

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On (My) Couch of Thrones

Addicted to Dragon Eggs.

Having spent an inexcusable number of hours watching marathons of both legendary series and otherwise, my usual hard, fast rule is fairly consistent: no science fiction. And yet, time after time, I find myself ignoring my well-intended reasoning to discover the secret beneath the hatch (Lost), to root for the blood-sucking, beautiful vampires (True Blood), to watch dead people have heart-to-hearts (Six Feet Under), and - most recently - to watch dragon people hatch (dragon) eggs in blazing (dragon-producing) fires (Game of Thrones). The latter (GoT) came and went too fast - two and a half days, to be precise - and now I am left science-fiction-less until next April, during which I'll be (semi-)forced to 'fill this void' with less magical operating rooms (Grey's/Private Practice), UES relationships (xoxo, GG), and pimps disguised as high school basketball coaches (Hung). Enjoy!

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On a Moment in Time

Impossible to Capture.

Photograph albums, journal entries, email exchanges and overflowing (voicemail) cellphone in-boxes all attempt to impossibly capture the details of the (many) moments that make up our lives, replacing the presence of the present with fractured skeletons of the past. Names and dates in (un)familiar scribble recall people and places whose paths we once crossed, as new connections momentarily distract us from the life we've (nearly) forgotten we (just) led. Enjoy!

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On Angry Birds

Andy Happy Campers.

Subway riders are glued to the angry birds and evil pigs peering back at them from above ground stations as incoming calls are waved away, and family, friends, colleagues, and telemarketers contemplate whether unanswered rings are intentional or (rather) consequences of saving the survival of an electronically endangered species. Heroes are made within thirty minute commutes, sometime between shutting down company laptops and tuning into the latest rerun of Mad Men, putting the long-fought battles of actual warriors to shame. Enjoy!

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On Cat-astic

RIP Bungee Einstein.

After coasting through multiple household fetis catus/i over the last several decades - first, DoDo in the early 80's, followed by Oreo in the early 90's, then Bungee (aka Bung-inator, Mean Cat, Mr. Personality) in the early millennium, and, most recently (in 2011) -- siblings-by-adoption -- Ravioli & Juliet, one might surmise that the domesticated cat is hardly equal in intelligence quotient to its (cuddly) counterpart. And yet Bung-inator kept us (Einstein's) on our toes, glaring across baby-blue counter tops during breakfast, lunch, and dinner; intentionally ruining Monopoly board game marathons spring, summer, and fall; sitting in reserved (living room) seating right when your favorite show came on without so much as a friendly pet, leg rub, or purr. Loved and feared from afar, we came to terms that if Bungee were human, he'd likely be smarter (and meaner) than all of us combined, but - like family - we loved him (to pieces) anyway. (Rest In Peace Bunginator; we miss you from afar, as you so often preferred.) Enjoy!

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On Reading Purgatory

In Between Books.

Being in between books is the waiting place for the addicted reader, who craves the inability to look momentarily away for note-worthy conversation or take breaks for favorite meals. Fictional characters become companions -- their plights, your own -- as actual responsibilities fall by the wayside and planning around chapters ensues. Enjoy!

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On (My) Secret Identity

Time after Time.

As we switch hats, we switch roles. Our voices and postures change. Our words resemble the personality best known by our current companion(s). We encompass the character of that particular moment, leaving our (0ther) secret identit(ies) for the discovery of the next audience -- and the one after that -- as our whole becomes the sum of our parts, culminating into the person whose signature we've mastered and whose photographs look strikingly similar regardless of where we are and who we're with. Enjoy!

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On the Day of Labor Appreciation

Takin' the day O-F-F.

Or, for me, the last day off. My new job starts tomorrow after a month of non-employment while transplanting across six states (depending on how you map it) and acclimating a mile above the sea (and sun) levels I've grown accustomed to. Although afforded thirty days longer than most to appreciate today's day off from laborious (moving-across-the-country) responsibility, my own appreciation for this holiday is as fruitful as everyone else's, as I sport (for the first - and last? - time ever) white (Labor Day) skinny jeans in 70-degree (Denver) weather, wondering if my time spent on the East coast would have been any different. On that note, time to skype my family... Happy LD and Enjoy!

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On Stoop Sale-ing

Other People's Memories.

Rummaging through other people's stoop sale items in anticipation of the negotiation, purchase, and eventual (picture perfect) placement into your apartment nook that - until now - was never fully complete, is as good as catching glimpses into other people's pasts. The wear and tear of your latest [popcorn machine, paisley-printed shrug, pale purple - leather - purse, Prada perfume] reminds you of the corn that popped and shoulders that shrugged during the years prior to day you decided to go stoop sale-ing. Enjoy!

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On Wearing Sunscreen

Advice Occasionally Headed.

At age twenty-three, while walking into the Brooklyn subway station on the block I grew up on (and - at the time - still lived) en route to catch a train (to a bus) to the Jersey Shore (for the weekend), I remember quite well the moment my best friend's (late) 20-something cousin shared words of advice: One day [in a far off land], you, too, will wear sunscreen. At that moment, still invincible from eye creasing and aging skin (and eventual sun damage) I thought to myself that time would never (ever!) come. And then it did, and I listened to the "Wear Sunscreen" commencement speech on repeat, regretting years of naivete while longing for the healthy glow I knew I'd miss each spring. Enjoy!

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