Snow!

So, maybe you heard...it snowed here. A lot.

Dean and I missed the Blizzard of 2010 (it's funny to use that phrase seriously, and not just to mock the dusting of snow we'd get in SC), but returned to NYC to fully experience its aftermath.

I have to say that despite all the slush, piles of snow, covered cars, and uncleared sidewalks, people are being nice. People are holding doors for each other, thanking the street cleaners, and helping old ladies cross the street. Really.

Here are some photos for your enjoyment...I'll post again really soon.

Stuff I've Seen on the Street Lately

Someone lost their headband, and a kind stranger put it on a tree.

Someone lost their Diesel jeans on Columbus Avenue.

This little doll was trying to hail a cab.

A fella dressed as a tree.

...and a book. Whoever left this out there

leaves books out a lot for people to pick up.

It's kinda cool.

Next blog: Stuff I see in windows.

Stay tuned...

A Post-Thanksgiving Cornucopia

As I walk around NYC, I jot down things I want to share on my blog. Usually, when I go back to read them, they say things like "train" or "girl," which doesn't usually help me to remember what it was I wanted to share. So, before my notes become just a bunch of weird words, I thought I'd throw these things out there for your amusement.

"Catch Umbrella"

OK, this means it was really windy yesterday, and as I was walking in the Lower East Side, an umbrella came tumbling down the street at me, chased by a screaming girl. So, I went into the busy traffic of East 10th Street (there was none) and caught the girl's umbrella for her. It was good karma, because mine had just been flattened earlier by the same harsh wind. On the next really windy day, I'm hoping a really good replacement umbrella will tumble towards me, without a girl chasing it.

"Robbing Donuts"

This is a good and awful one. As I said, it was windy (and rainy and cold), so I ducked into a Dunkin Donuts for a cup of coffee for the train ride home. As I stood there, waiting for my coffee, a huge guy comes in, squeezes between me and another customer at the counter, and casually picks up the fairly full tip jar. I thought he was friends with the people working there, joking with them, he was so nonchalant about it all. I said, half incredulous, half nervously laughing, "what are you doing?" He turns his back to the counter- remember, we are inches away from this guy- dumps all the money into his giant paws (spilling half the change on the floor), pockets the cash, puts the jar back, and walks out like nothing happened. Three of us stood there, dumbfounded, and the poor little DD employees finally turned around and just watched their tip money walk out the door. I would've been really mad if I'd just tipped them. But I didn't.

"Girls with photog on train"

THIS was the day before Thanksgiving, and I was on the C train. At one stop, three heavily made up young women got on with two photographers snapping away. The girls were really animated, talking a lot with their hands, pointing at things that weren't interesting, really posing it up. They sat directly across from me- the car was pretty empty- and I scooted down so the photographers could get a better angle. Cut to the next morning, when we were watching the Best Holiday Parade Ever, and a big pink Barbie Castle float comes by with the three girls on it! Apparently, I was riding on the train with someone named Keri Hilson? Is that it? Since then, I've learned from Perez Hilton that Miss Hilson has a pretty racy song out there, and people are a little up in arms about it. I guess that's what happens when you let your daughters wear too much makeup.

"Clear Throat Hail Cab"

I think this has to do with watching tourists hail cabs. Some of them just can't get it right. I actually saw someone standing on the sidewalk, with a line of parked cars between him and the street, trying to hail a cab with his hand at shoulder height, close to his body. Like he was sheepishly confessing he'd cheated on his high school biology exam. Another woman was whispering, "(ahem) taxi?" They just need to get OUT there. Stand IN the street, hold your arm up high and strong, and SHOUT. Or show a boob. Both work well.

"She's a Toxic Person, and I Don't Need That in My Life Right Now"

This is just something I overheard on the street. There are a million good things overheard everyday. I should start a whole new blog of just that. Plus, I get what she's saying. Sister, I hear ya.

That's enough for now...I gotta save some of these for later. Who am I kidding? I'm going to need a little more time to decipher what they mean. Help me out...what do you make of "Sorosis on Train," or "Note to Maze?"

Pre-Season Observations

Fear not, Gentle Reader. There will be an entire post devoted to the Magic of Our First New York Thanksgiving later this week. But for now...I have to tell you these things before I forget, or before I realize they aren't all that funny after all.

The Christmas windows should be up by now at the big department stores here, but the Saturday before Thanksgiving, Dean and I found ourselves outside Macy's, enjoying the "Miracle on 34th Street" window display a little early. It's full of little automated people, doing things like smoking pipes, sitting in a stranger's lap, and going on trial. It really piqued our interest in the Splendor of Macy's, so we ventured inside to experience the thrill of holiday commercialism first hand.

The place was packed- locals and tourists, perfume sprayers and asthmatics, children and their handlers, all rubbing elbows, all side by side. Kids were everywhere, especially around the special "Write a Letter to Santa" display. They could sit down, write a note to Santa, and then put it in special mailbox that is solely for letters headed to the North Pole. However, letters to the North Pole are not exempt from US Postal Service rules and regulations, and the letters would not be accepted without a stamp on the envelope. Seriously. A stamp.

Dean was especially aware of the irony there, and as we walked away from the mailbox area, he declared- in the midst of many, MANY young children- "Why do letters to Santa need a stamp? I mean, come on! Guess they're really making their money off this, aren't they?" I looked around, noticing the number of kids holding their parents' hands, and I loudly replied, "Because they want to make extra sure the letters make it to the North Pole! Everyone knows Santa won't get the letters without proper postage!" And that was how Dean almost ruined Christmas at Macy's.

We actually were looking for a good terry cloth bathrobe for me, and it's worth sharing that these days, most ladies' robes are this polyester fleece stuff. After lots and lots of looking, we realized that cotton terry cloth robes are in the same section as towels. Did you know that? It was news to me. It's like putting baby clothes in the lingerie section. I guess one leads to the other...?

And speaking of babies, I have a request for all the holiday shoppers with babies. Please leave your strollers at home when you know you'll be in close quarters. After Macy's, we wandered down to Union Square to check out one of the city's Holiday Markets. They're great, full of little pop-up stands with people selling handmade and specialty items- it's where Dean found my new hat! It's a cute place, and very popular and crowded. But people, space is at a premium there. People make faces at you if your coat is too big, or if your shopping bag infringes on their personal space. When you take a giant stroller and shove it through a crowd of people, we resent you. We aren't thinking how sweet it is that you have been blessed with a sweet little miracle; we are thinking, "I was going to stand there." Take a tip from the hippies, and use that Baby Bjørn you got at your baby shower. Take it out of the box, sling it around your neck, and put your baby in it. Parents all over the world carry their children like this- close to them- and their fellow shoppers are grateful. And we will be, too. Now excuse me while I look at these hand made dog sweaters.

We did other things that weekend- we saw "The Coward" and "Looking at Christmas," and really enjoyed each other's company. We also went to mass at St. Patrick's Cathedral Sunday morning (my birthday), and it was really strange in some ways. It was like going to church during a football game. People were jockeying for a seat with a good view of the priest, sometimes settling for a good view of the television monitors. Tourists kept opening the side doors during the service, checking things out and taking pictures. Communion was rushed and a little unorganized, with one priest looking like he was just shy of tossing a handful of wafers out over the crowd, like beads at Mardi Gras. But on the flip side, it was very moving. The church itself is ornate and historic, and I just felt better for being there. While Dean and I go to another church on occasion, I found that I missed the familiarity of the prayers in a Catholic mass. I like knowing the words without looking at the book. I like incense, and the ceremony and ritual of it all. While it may be awhile before we head back to St. Patrick's Stadium, it was good to go, especially on my birthday.

So there you go, Gentle Reader. Let's review what we've learned from this entry:

1. Letters to Santa need stamps

2. Cotton terrycloth robes are located in the towel section.

3. Keep your baby close to you while shopping.

4. Church can be like football.

Until next time,

Monica

Why Our Neighborhood Rocks

I will be the first to admit that sometimes I joke about our neighborhood. I often fake-complain that it's full of pregnant women and strollers, or I pretend to be really annoyed by all the tourists on Central Park West, taking pictures of the Dakota or asking me for directions in the park.

But I wouldn't want to live anywhere else.

Case in point: I got home from an agent audition tonight (it went really well, thank you for asking), and Dean has gone to a play reading, and I thought it would be nice to have a glass of wine waiting for him when he gets home. I realized there was no wine in the house (it doesn't last long around here), and I looked at the clock- it was 9:03! So I grab my keys and dash around the corner to Nancy's, our beloved wine shop which normally closes at 9:00. Mike was bringing in the plants, closing for the night, but he said, "come on in, and take your time," which was really sweet. But what was even SWEETER was that the other guy...the bald one...the one who wants to look at our groceries before he recommends a wine...Jerry? JERRY says, "and you're taking home some pinot." I thought it was a sales pitch, but it turned out he was sending me home with FREE WINE! They'd had a tasting earlier, and I was the lucky recipient of the leftover wine.

Reason number two: our Italian landlords yell at each other a lot, sometimes in Italian, and it's pretty entertaining. Pedestrians are treated to Romance-language arguments on a nearly daily basis. It's a shared experience, really, and it's fun to make "yikes" faces at the other people on the sidewalk when Luigi and Maria are going at it.

Reason 3: An old guy was sitting on our corner today, playing Christmas carols on the sax. The best part? He was wearing a Rudolph nose that lit up. He threw in the theme from Spider Man, but all I could think of was Homer Simpson singing "Spider Pig."

Reason 4: As mentioned in a recent post, the Most Famous Parade in the World starts two blocks over. Enough said.

Reason 5: We find the coolest stuff on the street. First it was a really good quality bookcase, and the other night it was what is likely a haunted portrait of a woman holding her creepy baby. It was a total score. And bedbug free!

Yep, we have a great apartment...a little messy on occasion, but a great place to live in a super neighborhood.

Come visit us and see for yourself.

The Tragic Tale of the Sneaky Jalapeño...or...The Post My Mother Doesn't Want You to Read

Beware the jalapeño. Though it is little, it is mighty. And sneaky.

Last night, Dean and I made pizzas for dinner. Individual sized pizzas, so we each had our own toppings. Dean is not a fan of mushrooms, so I loaded them on MY pizza, and I am not a fan of jalapeños...and will never touch them again.

I do a lot of chopping in our kitchen, while Dean does most of the cooking. True to my job description, I chopped our toppings, including the jalapeño, and as I chopped, I told Dean the story of the last time I chopped one of those little buggers. I’d been wearing contacts at the time, and found out the hard way that touching the jalapeño, and then touching my eyes was a bad idea. I went on to tell Dean that I’d tried everything to get the pepper oil off my hands: I soaked them in milk, I doused them with bleach, I washed, rinsed, and repeated- to no avail.

As we were enjoying our pizzas, I happened to wipe my mouth, and the sudden burning was a pretty good clue that once again, I’d fallen victim to the sneaky, injurious jalapeño. I did my best to avoid touching my face for the rest of the meal, and then we settled in to watch “Raising Arizona.” (“Turn to the right.”)

And then, I went to the bathroom.

You never stop to think about just how one goes to the restroom. The actual gathering of the toilet tissue, the folding, the...using. One never really has cause to think about just how much of the tissue’s surface is actually touched by our hands. Or how much of our body is touched by the tissue. I’m here to tell you, you’d be surprised.

I came out of the restroom, sat back down...and that’s when I felt the burn.

Apparently, the oil from the seeds is transferrable. As I sat there writhing, Dean suggested I take a shower to try and wash it off. Even though I’d washed my hands multiple times without benefit, I thought it was a pretty good idea, and figured it couldn’t hurt.

And...I was wrong.

I was standing in the shower, when it dawned on me: I would have to use my hands to wash myself. I thought back to the toilet tissue issue, and did some quick calculations. There was no way I could touch the washcloth and then touch myself. Nor could I not use a washcloth. My hands were poisonous. I was helpless. And most of all, embarrassed.

At this point in the story, I will spare you the details, but will say that being married has its benefits. And I can say without hesitation that Dean Poynor is the most caring, helpful man I know, both in and out of the water.

I'm typing this with bandages on the three offending fingers, bandages which serve as a barrier between my contaminated hands and every touchable part of my body. If memory serves, it takes a while for this to wear off my skin, so I'll still be extra careful--and extra grateful that I'm not wearing contacts these days.

And if I find myself needing some extra help until then, no problem- because with Dean around, I am in very capable hands. (Pun intended.)

Holidays in the City

New York is America's City. It's Big Apple Pie, it's the country's second-greatest baseball rivalry, it's Mom and Mama Mia.

Veteran's Day was yesterday, and veterans got an all-American parade up 5th Avenue. A couple of weeks ago, our city hosted the legendary West Village Halloween Parade, and in a couple of weeks, we will roll out the Mother of All Parades, the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. People all over the country will pop the turkey in the oven, and plop themselves in front of the TV to watch boy bands lip sync, Disney starlets waving out from under furry parka hoods (provided they get a day pass from rehab), and high school marching bands working it all the way down Central Park West and Seventh Avenue, never letting on that they've lost the feeling in their frozen toes.

The Thanksgiving Day Parade begins TWO BLOCKS FROM OUR APARTMENT! And they inflate the giant balloons the night before right next to the Museum of Natural History, also TWO BLOCKS FROM OUR APARTMENT! Our friend Jill gets up at the crack of dawn to secure a prime viewing spot on Central Park West, and this year, I'm getting up with her. We'll all watch the parade live, then come inside to watch it on TV as it reaches the finish line at Macy's in Herald Square. There will be turkey in there somewhere, and our friends Tim and Stephen, and probably some pie. It's going to be a good, good day.

And as we all know from watching this parade for years and years, the parade ends with the arrival of Santa Claus, and the start of the holiday season. Christmas in New York City. Think about that one for a minute. Isn't it like a fairy tale? NYC is where America comes to do their holiday shopping! It's horse drawn carriages in Central Park, it's hot nuts for sale on every corner (not just in the Village), it's big shopping bags and twinkly lights and F.A.O. Schwarz. Christmas here means ice skating under the giant tree in Rockefeller Center, it means the Rockettes' Christmas Spectacular at Radio City Music Hall, and this season, it means Elf, the Musical on Broadway.

I have this running list in my brain of all the New York City Holiday Things I Want To Do, and Dean can tell you, the list keeps growing. Sometimes I forget that we live here now, and that we're not tourists who want to pack as much NYC fun as we can into a few short days. We have weeks and weeks to check out the windows at Barneys, visit Santa at Macy's, and gaze at Christmas lights. But time flies, doesn't it? One minute you're mad because your mom makes you put plastic baggies on your feet to go out to play in the snow, and the next minute you're married to an amazing man and living in New York City.

So, I'm going to start on this list before it's too late. And once I've checked it twice, I can start thinking about how to spend St. Patrick's Day in America's Most Irish City.