home sweet kitchen

One of the perks of being at home is the luxury of using a full sized kitchen. It is a beautiful, beautiful thing. When I grow up and have a house of my own, my kitchen will be as decked out as it can possibly be...or at least as decked out as my wallet can sustain. It is a lovely thing to have an actual table, a full sink, counter space and a normal sized stove/oven. While New York kitchens are functional, they certainly limit what you can do. Gourmet is not always an option. But for the last 5 days and for the next 6, gourmet here I come!

its raining men

Something strange is definitely afoot. Over the last two weeks I have had more random men approach me, have received more phone numbers, and have been the recipient of more acts of gallantry than I have in a long time. I have had two serious dinner invitations from men just walking by. I have had my ear talked off at a work event, on the train, and on the sidewalk. One man offered to walk me home. Another offered to carry my groceries. Doors have been opened, words have been exchanged. Its been a strange phenomenon, I tell you. If only men that I'm interested in could pay me this much attention. Perhaps there is something in the water. Perhaps I should start bottling it...

get it together already

I don't know what my deal is, but I haven't posted in quite a while. I'm not really sure why. Things have happened. Noteworthy things. I have had thoughts. Some clever, some amusing, some worth sharing. But time passes, events come and go and I fall behind. So far behind, in fact, that I feel the need to recap those events before I can post about a new one. But the truth of the matter is I don't recap those events, which causes me to hold off on writing about the new ones, putting me even further behind.

Why am I posting now? Not sure. I'm not sure about a lot of things right now. About two months ago I had a plan. Now I have no plan. I have no idea what I want to do, where I want to be, etc. I'm extremely contemplative, but I can't make sense of my thoughts. I'm searching for answers, but coming up empty handed. I know this is just part of life, but come on! Get it together already!

do over?

The other day I was walking up Broadway and I saw three men congregated in between two storefronts. One man was trying to sell the other two men something so they were engaged in conversation. As I approached, I overheard the following:

Salesman to Man 1: Are you single?
Man 1: Yep.
Salesman: “I’ll tell you why in a second, but first let me…”
Man 2: (hearty laugh and slug to friend’s shoulder)
Salesman to Man 2: I’ll get to YOU right after.

I was laughing too but walked away very quickly. I didn’t want him telling me why I was single. I wasn’t in the mood. But then again, maybe that wouldn’t have been so bad. Do over? :)

jury duty

Now I'm not one to complain or to shirk my duties...especially when it comes to the law, the government, or my duty as a citizen, however, when I received the call to serve as a juror, I was not as thrilled as perhaps I should have been. In fact, I contemplated postponing. Now whether you have postponed or not, that is not the issue, I just didn't want to be a juror at the time. Work was especially busy and it was just bad timing all around. And then there is that fear that you will get picked for a really complicated case that would last longer than the typical 7 to 10 day gig.

Despite my wishy-washy attitude, I decided to serve.

The morning of Jury Duty came and I headed down to the courthouse a few blocks away from Chinatown. I saw other confused people meandering around the area with summons in their hands and knew that I was in the right place. I proceeded up to Room 1116 and waited for everything to start. A middle aged man entered at approximately 8:45 and with a thick New York accent proceeded to tell about the day and how things worked. "You will be doing a lot of waiting" is what he said. Great! That's just what I needed, sitting around and not doing anything. I didn't even bring a book. To top things off, I was starving because I didn't feel like breakfast and all I had was a $20 bill. The machines took dollar bills or change.

I grabbed a few magazines and settled into the leather seats that filled the room, still cursing the fact that I was so unprepared. To the court's credit, they do make every effort to make waiting as pleasant as possible, restrooms, a computer room, a TV room, magazines and comfy leather chairs. Still, I was distracted.

Finally at the end of the day, my name was called to be interviewed on a panel. I, along with about 60 other potential jurors were herded across the street to criminal court. We filed into a court room and there before me sat a scene that you see on TV, but not quite, because this was real.

The court was in his robe and looked grumpy. The Defense Attorney and the Defendant were to his left and the Assistant District Attorney was to his right. The jury box was in the corner and the stenographer sat between the judge and the attorneys. I was a little surprised that the Defendant was in the room and that made me slightly uneasy. Don't worry, I fully believe in the mantra "innocent until proven guilty". I think the thing that threw me off was the possibility of "judging" this man who has a face and who was right in front of me.

And then the District Attorney turned around and everything else seemed to turn hazy. He was tall, had dark hair, and blue eyes. He was clean cut and looked sharp in a suit.

I don't know why, but my attitude completely changed at this point. I suddenly wanted to be a juror and hoped that I got picked.

They called the first round of 20 people and the judge asked them a series of questions, "where do you live", "what do you do", "marital status", "have you ever been the victim of a crime", "have you ever served before", stuff like that. Each juror had to answer and the judge asked clarifying questions as needed. The ADA followed and the Defense followed him.

During this round of questioning, as pathetic as it sounds, I found myself smiling and staring at my new friend.

The day ended and our presence was requested back on Wednesday. The same scenario played out again as they only chose 6 of the 20. This time another 20 were selected. Not me. I still found it really interesting to sit in on the questioning, to see people's reactions, to hear their responses. I found it interesting that many people had been victims of crimes, many couldn't be completely impartial, but that there were many who could. And of course, I continued to enjoy the view....I mean everything that was before me.

This round of jurors only yielded 3 so they called 20 more. At this point, there were only 2 people in the audience who hadn't been picked (its done randomly) so they decided to interview us as well. Yes! I still had a chance! The questioning went on and it was finally my turn. I answered the questions beautifully. Completely unbiased, a social worker, the only person living in Harlem. I was a shoe-in, right? Wrong! I did not get picked. Nor did the majority of the group, but they had their 12 with a few alternates. We were thanked for our service and promptly dismissed. It was then that I snapped back into reality and realized that I was glad I didn't get chosen for this case. I left happily with an elevator full of other dismissed jurors.

After thinking about it, however, it was probably a good thing that I didn't get chosen. I mean, when you've got an ADA that was as cute as that, how could I be impartial!? :)

trick or treat

I've been in the city for nearly 5 years and for some reason I haven't seen a single Trick-or-Treating activity….until this Halloween. Imagine my delight to find little bunches of children dressed up as princesses, super heroes, monsters, and animals, walking from store front to store front, filling their bags with candy. Definitely different from my childhood Halloween experiences. I admired the diligence of parents as they escorted what seemed to be whole neighborhoods, around the city. Along with fun costumes and happy children, rambunctious teens roamed the streets a little later in the evening, throwing eggs and being their happy selves. I safely avoided being egged and was happy about that. I wondered if any of my center kids were doing the same thing. Probably. And finally, to top it all off, an older "Cassanova" stopped me as I was walking to the subway and in a overly-grand gesture he presented me with a Hershey's kiss. I was a little hesitant to take it not knowing if there was any expectation that accompanied it, but I took it still the same. However, just like any other child who was taught diligently by her parents, I decided not to eat the candy. He was, after all, a stranger. Another holiday in the city…how fun.

For some reason I failed to take any pictures of the little kiddies but managed to get one of me and some friends at dinner.

Happy Halloween!

ryan didn't start this fire

Sirens and flashing lights are a commonplace occurrence here in the city. They are even more common, in my neighborhood. So common in fact, that I usually sleep right through them. However, visitors do not and that is probably a good thing.

Recently my close childhood friend, Cheri, came to visit. One night, after a very long day, I lay sleeping in my room which faces the street. Cheri slept down the hall in the living room and was suddenly woken by some yelling. Sound carries well in the building so it sounded as if it was right outside the door. Unfortunately, she wasn't able to make out what they were saying...multi-lingual building.

Then as she continued to lay there, she started to smell smoke, closely followed by raging sirens which happened to stop right in front of the building. Now a little more alert, she sat up, looked down the hall and saw the flicker of red light. It was at this point that she decided to wake her unresponsive host.

She flipped on the light, explained the situation, and we both hopped on my bed to look out the window. Down below were two fire trucks, a fire marshall, three cop cars and a whole bunch of men in uniform teeming around the street. Not knowing what to do we walked to the front door to see if we could see anything. Remembering the fire safety training of my elementary years, I decided to put my hand near the door to see if it was hot before I slowly opened the door. We didn't see anything, but the smoke was definitely permeating the building and it reeked of burning.

We ran back to the bedroom and peered out the window yet again and noticed that the firemen really weren't doing anything. They did, however, keep looking up in our direction. It was at that moment that I wished everyone knew ASL so that I communicate with them without having to open my window, yell down to the street, and look completely pathetic. After much debate, Cheri and I decided that it would be best if we called 911 to see whether or not they were just having a party or if we needed to evacuate.

I called 911 and they transferred me to the fire department. I explained the situation and told them that we just wanted to know whether or not people were leaving the building and we hadn't received the memo. I was told that they were going to send someone up. I told them that it wasn't necessary and that we just need to know the status of the building. Apparently they didn't understand me because they told me that they were sending someone over.

About 1 minute later, we heard another firetruck pull up, sirens blaring and everything. We decided we had better make ourselves somewhat presentable if we were going to have company.

Two minutes later, there was a knock on our door...then it turned into pounding. I hurried to answer the door and five firemen spilled into my doorway. Did they run?

Completely embarrassed at this point, I explained, yet again, the situation and asked if we had anything to worry about. The spokesman of the group proceeded to tell me that someone on the second floor had burned their dinner. Who cooks dinner at 2:00am??? That's what I want to know. One of the other fireman volunteered to come in and open my windows for me. I told him that I was fine, but almost felt bad because he looked a little deflated upon my response. Oh well.

So in the end, we were safe, but the night did not prove to be restful. The smell of smoke eventually drifted away and all we were left with was a fun memory of firemen and firetrucks. Sad thing is, neither of us can even remember if the fireman were cute! So many women's fantasies and niether of us can really remember. Boo.

true devotion

Amidst the thousands of reasons that I love the Fall, General Conference is among them. Finding myself in a place that I've never before been, I approached this round of Saturday sessions with questions and hope for answers. I could comment endlessly on the things that were shared, that which I heard and felt--but instead I wanted to comment on Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin's message. Whether he was cognizant of this or not, the power of Elder Wirthlin's message came not only through his words, but also his actions. While his prepared message of Charity and "what defines us" as members was something I needed to hear, what I found most profound was his delivery.

These last few years I have eagerly awaited his Conference addresses. He always seems to address topics that are of particular interest to me. He has this fabulously dry sense of humor which makes me laugh. And more than that, I adore it when he laughs at his own jokes or pauses for the congregation to catch on. I love this man. So as he began to share with us the feelings of his heart, those watching closely noticed a subtle shaking overcome his aging frame. As he continued to share his message of love, the shaking continued and got progressively worse. I, along with every member, I'm sure, began to worry for his immediate health. I wanted to reach out and steady him and wondered if he would need to sit down. Elder Nelson, at this point, came up from behind him and put his hand on his arm. I wasn't sure if he was trying to convince him to sit down or rather, he was simply steadying him.

The shaking continued. Elder Nelson stood by. The anxiety of those watching was tangible. And yet Elder Wirthlin continued. Gripping the sides of the podium and with intense focus, he read his talk, never skipping a beat. Despite uncontrollable shaking and labored breath, Elder Wirthlin finished his message of hope, bore his testimony of love and of the gospel, and resisted the all-to-easy option of just sitting down.

As I watched this beloved apostle struggle to make it to the end of his message I was struck by his devotion to his calling, to the gospel, and to God. He was not going to sit down without finishing what he was called to do. In my mind, in that moment, and even now, there was not a greater example of true discipleship or of how we should conduct our lives.

I'll be the first to admit that I have been wallowing lately. Not proud of it. Not done with it. That's just where I am. But Elder Wirthlin demonstrated today that life is not about "sitting down" even when things are extremely difficult. The inclination to do so is easy and almost natural. Instead what we should be doing is standing, gripping the sides of the podium, holding on with all our might to things that are true and things that steady us, and finish our assigned task--that which we call life.

I do not know what the future holds. I anticipate the journey to be arduous, but it's nice to know and it's good to see examples of faith and true devotion like what I saw today.

could it be worse?

"When you try your best, but you don't succeed
When you get what you want, but not what you need
When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep
Stuck in reverse."

"When the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone, but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?"

Penned by Coldplay these depressing words seem to speak to me. Intense and emotional by nature, I find meaning in life through relationships. Money, prestige, power, career, opportunity--everything the world deems as important seems to pale in comparison with an intimate attachment to another person. In my mind's eye, nothing is more important than a friend or a family member, another human being. Loyalty, even before self-preservation.

But life has taught me that few people share this. The natural instinct to take the easy road or to bail when things are tough usually overpowers any inclination to make a continued effort--to make a sacrifice. Holding others to this same standard could be thought of as impractical or a little rigid. Many make that argument. But for me, when push comes to shove, when it is time to hit the pavement, I will not deviate. A promise is a promise and nothing will cause me to go back on my word. I do not understand the other option.

And so these words caught hold of me. Losing those I love is one of the greatest challenges that I will ever face in this lifetime. It is crippling. But I cannot think of a greater "hell on earth" than having someone you love choose to leave, choose to walk away, choose to break promise upon promise. Loving someone--not necessarily romantically (but those relationships would absolutely qualify)--and having them throw it back in your face is devastating. Love completely wasted. History, experiences, and feelings disregarded. Disposed, just like that. Selective selfishness over sacrifice. I ask you, could anything be worse? My answer? NO.

Fix You
http://youtube.com/watch?v=r259kFx3l7g

so long summer

Finally, the city has blessed us with Fall. I cannot even begin to explain the personal gratification I feel from saying goodbye to hot and humid in exchange for cool and crisp. But before our three weeks of Fall disappear, I thought it only appropriate to recap the summer...well, at least part of it.

Jared Dahl--an icon in New York City for the last four years left us this summer to move onto "greener pastures" in Southern California. Jared really deserves his own blog of a tribute, but we will settle for a portion of one. Jared was an integral part of the whole "system" out here. Making "statements" left and right, preventing the ward from collapsing upon itself, and philosophizing about life in all its complexities were some of his greatest talents. Additionally, Jared was and is a true friend to all who knew him. Serving and sacrificing behind the scenes, Jared enriched the lives of those around him. Needless to say, we missed him when he left and we are still missing him even now. (Jared is the one in the 2nd row in the middle.) And as this sounds similar to that of a eulogy, let me just clarify that he is alive and well...last time I heard from him at least.

Sometimes, I just love my job!

One of the perks about non-profits is that they are usually generous with their vacation days. As has been tradition since I moved here, I go home every July for a good chunk of time. While there, I went to a luau that my brother and sister performed at. Oh, how I miss the Polynesian culture. New York city is basically devoid of all things Polynesian. Why am I here again?

Here are more pictures of the visit home. I love my family. (1) Me and Kat (2) James taking after my dad and practicing the fire knife dance. He's pretty good. (3) Me and mom at dinner (4) Grandma and me in Vernal (5/6) My cousin Greg's family....part of them anyway (7) a picture of my Grandpa when he was a little boy.

Sarah Swensen--Just as the beginning of summer started with an icon leaving, so will the summer end. Sarah Swensen, another vital organ to the city's makeup will be leaving us on Monday for adventures unmeasured. Starting in Senegal then moving onto Mali, Sarah will be spending the remainder of the year in Africa. A love of adventure and a desire for a change prompted the overseas move. As with many, she will begin her new chapter of life in Northern California. Sarah is one of the kindest, most generous people I have ever met. She is one of the reasons I love this city as much as I do. I will sorely miss her laugh, her stories, her laughing at her own stories, her willingness to just hang out or experience a new adventure, her compassion, and simply her zest for life. She has become one of my dearest friends and I am truly sad to see her leave. We maximized the summer by walking the Brooklyn Bridge, watching the US Open at Madison Square Park, going to movies, having dinner, and just spending time together. I will miss my Malia and Sarah time desperately. Love you lots!

As indicated earlier in my blog, my family experienced a great tragedy. My cousin, his wife, and his youngest daughter were killed in a car accident leaving their 8-year-old daughter behind. I was fortunate enough to be able to fly home to be with the family. It's all still very surreal and our family is obviously left with a huge void. We are lucky, however, to have the knowledge that we do have of eternal families. But still, we miss them very much.

A little New York lovin'...

U.S. Open--Miss Livi first introduced me to the possibility of the US Open here in the city. I don't know why this is the first time that I have done this my entire four years of living here. It was so awesome. My dear friend Livi is a hoot and a holler and makes everything, and I mean everything, fun. We saw Serena Williams and Mr. Roger Federer (dreamy!) and even John McEnroe--someone I remember watching with my dad when I was little. As you can see, he is smiling for my picture. Isn't that nice? Needless to say, I had a blast and love tennis even more than I did before.

So that was my summer in all its glory. Here's to Fall!

1/2 + 1/2 = 1

The other day a kid came into my office to ask me for help with his homework. “Sure!” I said enthusiastically as he sauntered over to my desk. He put his backpack down and pulled out his math workbook. He opened it and there it was staring back at me—“Adding and Subtracting Fractions”. I looked over the worksheet, reading the instructions and searching frantically for a sample problem. But alas, there wasn’t any. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember how to do this simple math problem. I remember something about having to find the lowest common denominator, but even then, I couldn’t remember how to do it! Remembering that tutors don’t necessarily have to know the subject matter, I pulled out some “tutoring strategies” that I teach my mentors. I asked, “So, tell me about this problem. What are you supposed to do?” “I don’t know,” he responded. “Ok, well, what do you remember your teacher telling you about these kinds of problems? Do you remember anything that she wrote on the board?” “Nope.” Feeling desperate now, I asked, “Well, what do YOU think you are supposed to do?” “I don’t know, that’s why I came to you,” was his innocent reply.

It was at that point that I was grateful I was in front of a computer. We looked up “Adding and Subtracting Fractions” and figured out how to do the problems together and he went on his way. But there I was, a working professional with a Master’s degree, and I couldn’t do simple 6th grade math. I was mortified. Later that week I went to the store to buy a 6th grade math workbook. I’m proud to say that I can knock those babies off without much thought now.

Just in case any of you would like a little practice, here are two helpful websites:

Fact Monster
Scholastic

a tribute

Nicholas, Ruth and Audrey Weaver

Nicholas, Ruth and Audrey Weaver Nicholas, Ruth and Audrey Weaver died August 18, 2007 due to injuries sustained in an automobile accident. NICHOLAS KEDRIC WEAVER was born September 1978 in Vernal, Utah to Howard Burton Weaver and Susan Weaver, the third of five children. He graduated from Uintah High School in Vernal, Utah in 1997 and moved to Logan, Utah where he married the love of his life, Ruth Campbell, June 23, 1998. They were sealed for time and eternity in the Logan Temple July 10, 1999. His favorite pastime was riding horses with his daughters; Nick was a family oriented person. A dedicated member of the LDS Church, Nick assumed many responsibilities including serving in the Elder's Quorum Presidency, as a Sunday School teacher, and working in the Primary nursery with Ruth. Nick worked at AppLabs, excelling in the field of information technology. He loved to help out family and friends with their computers or anything else that they needed. He was preceded in death by his father, Howard Weaver, stepfather, Ellis James LeFevre, two grandfathers, Kedric Caldwell and Clifford Weaver and two uncles, Kimo Poai and Bruce Petik. He is survived by his mother Susan LeFevre, Evanston, Wyoming; two brothers, Chris (Heather) Weaver, Ft. Rucker, Alabama; Spencer (Amy) Weaver, Vernal, Utah; two sisters, Angela Consolo and Priscilla (Brandon) Rettberg, Evanston, Wyoming; two grandmothers, Freda Caldwell, Vernal, Utah; and Doris Weaver, Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania; seven cousins, 20 nieces and nephews, three aunts and one uncle. RUTH CAMPBELL WEAVER, beloved mother, wife, daughter, sister and friend, was born in June 1977 to Stan and Diana Campbell, the eighth of twelve children. Ruth grew up in Juniper, a small farming community in Southern Idaho, where she graduated from Raft River High School. At the age of 21, she met and married the love of her life, Nick. As a wife, Ruth was devoted completely to Nick and building an eternal life with him. In August 1999, they were blessed with the birth of Diana Jo, followed by the birth of Audrey Esther in 2004. Ruth was a very loving and adventurous mother. She lived life to the fullest and allowed her girls to do the same. She taught by living every moment and loving everyone, blessing all around her with her humor and generous spirit. People were drawn to her because of her sensitivity and sincere heart. Her family appreciated her ability to unify and make peace, yet she met life head on with grit and determination. Wherever Ruth lived, she touched hearts and offered willing service. Ruth has been an active member of the LDS church and has served in many capacities. Her knowledge and testimony of her purpose on earth was evident in all she did. AUDREY ESTHER WEAVER was born October 2004 in Boise, ID. Her little life was full of fun loving laughs and smiles a true fireball and attitude to rule the roost. She blessed our lives and the lives of everyone around her by just being in the room. She was a true cutie, very intelligent, very sweet and friendly. She would always approach others without hesitation. She loved her horses, her boots, baby dolls, and pink things. Audrey admired and loved her best friend, D.J. Audrey felt like she could do everything D.J. did despite the five year age difference between them. When it came to her Daddy, he was her "Nicky Noodle" and the love of her life. Audrey and her mom were inseparable in life and are together today. This sweet doll has touched our lives and changed us for the better. We'll miss you sweetheart. They are survived by their daughter and sister, Diana Jo, Nick's mother, Susan LeFevre, Ruth's parents, Stan and Diana Campbell, her grandmother, Rosalie Campbell, and a very large, loving, immediate and extended family. A viewing in their honor will be held Thursday, August 23, 2007 from 6-8 p.m. at Rogers and Taylor Funeral Home, 111 North 100 East, Tremonton, UT. The funeral will be held Friday, August 24, 2007 starting at noon at the Cedar Fort Chapel in Cedar Fort, UT located on Highway 73. The funeral will be preceded by a viewing from 10-11:30 a.m. Interment at Cedar Fort Cemetery. The families would like to thank the emergency responders, the Utah Highway Patrol, the staffs at Bear River Valley Hospital and Primary Children's Hospital, and especially the White Hills Ward along with all those from the community who have helped and shown an outpouring of concern. On-line condolences may be expressed at www.rogersandtaylor.com Published in the Deseret News on 8/22/2007.

a moment changes everything

Death reared its ugly head and has visited my family once again today. My cousin Nick, his wife Ruth, and his daughter Audrey were killed in a car accident just a few hours ago. Their 8-year old daughter, was flown to Primary Children's Hospital. Her condition, critical. In one single moment, an entire family lost their lives and another's hangs in the balance. Those of us left behind, especially parents and siblings are left with the bitterly painful questions of "Why? How? For what purpose?" Still in shock, I keep wanting to call the hospital to see if they had made a mistake, to see if they are really sure. Maybe they made a mistake and it wasn't really them? I recognize the same thought process emerge as when my mom called about my dad, and when my sister called me about my Grandpa. It really doesn't sink in at first. Suddenly, my stomach begins to churn and my gag reflex kicks into gear. I hurry to the bathroom and throw up. Even now, I'm still fighting the urge to vomit. Adrenaline is still coursing through my veins and my actions and thoughts seem to stall on the simplest of tasks.

Death is a complex life event. The loss really doesn't sink in those first few moments, or days, or even weeks afterwards. Life goes on all around you, but you are stuck in time with a life that has changed dramatically--a life that will never be the same. You are missing a part of your earthly family. Never again, in this life, will you see them. They won't be a part of any family activity or important event. Holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries will forever be bitter sweet.

And then there is DJ, their oldest little girl, the sole survivor of a terrible, devastating accident. Her entire world was shattered today. She is, even now, fighting for her life. I don't know what the outcome will be. I don't know what I think. I am having a hard time even knowing what to feel. Life is so fragile. Time is so fleeting. A moment can change everything.

mmmmm....brownie

A friend sent this to me and I couldn't stop laughing. Kind of disgusting if you think about it.

the first 5 seats!

The other day while I was on my way to 22nd street, a frazzled group of mother/daughter tourists entered the train. One mother, in her southern drawl, yelled to the other “It says we are supposed to be in one of the first 5!” They were breathless and appeared to have been running. Because of the confusion and panic-like expressions they wore, I decided to step in and help out. I asked if they were trying to get to South Ferry. They nodded and said that they needed to be in the first 5 seats. I smiled as I pictured them running from car to car trying to sit in one of the first 5 seats but finding them occupied. Their expectant look broke my side bar daydream and I then explained to them that it was the first 5 cars that they wanted instead. Since we were in the 2nd car, I told them they were fine. Relieved, they parked themselves in the middle of the car and continued to talk to one another in abnormally loud voices about their plans for later that day.

Ah, tourists!

freezer pains

The other day I noticed my freezer wasn't freezing as well as it should. Thinking it was a minor problem, I cleaned things out a bit and hoped for the best. I checked it the next day and things seemed to still be frozen. However, 24 hours later, I once again had slushy chocolate creamies. I called the super and left a message explaining the problem and asked him to call me back. Several hours passed and so I called again. He told me that he would call the repair place and then ring me later. Night came and went and still no call. I called him back and he relayed the following: They hadn't called him back so he would call the Landlord as soon as he hung up with me. Somehow, I don't think he was as worried about rotting food as I was.

I went to work and surveyed a few co-workers about the life span of my food residing in the freezer. The consensus was that if I kept it shut and if things were still frozen it might be ok until the repairman comes.

Two more days passed and I have since relieved the freezer of its contents. Hundreds of dollars worth of food, gone. (Yes, hundreds of dollars...I live in the most expensive city in the world.) I went to bed upset.

Now Friday is upon us and I am still lacking a freezer. I called early this morning with the intention of whipping out some New York attitude. I was supposed to have received a phone call. I first called the Super, then the Landlord, then the repair company. For some reason, that I still can't explain, I didn't have the guts to pull out the attitude. Instead I was polite and understanding. What is wrong with me?

Obviously, I have been thinking about this all day long and came up with the following two options:

1) I didn't want to create problems with my landlord as I am hoping for a particular favor in the near future.

OR

2) It was pointless. Customer service in New York City essentially doesn't exist. And the little that does is a joke. If you are unhappy with a business and never patronize them again, it doesn't matter. There is another fool right behind you that will take your place. There will be no repercussions, no changes made, just more angst for me.

So, here I am, Friday night, still no freezer until tomorrow morning and complaining and mourning the loss of my ice cream and resenting my building more than ever. Oh the pain...

oh harry!

There used to be only one Harry in my life--Harry Connick, Jr. Ah, dreamy on the inside and out. That man makes such beautiful music and has such a sexy voice that I swoon every time he croons. No joke! But alas, my heart has made room for another Harry--Harry Potter. Granted, my fascination with Harry Potter and friends is nothing like that of my jazz musician, but there is affection still the same....maybe obsession is more accurate.

I remember when Harry Potter first came out. It was all the craze and for some reason, just to be different, I decided I would have no part in it. I didn't read the book. I didn't read the next one either and was perfectly happy with my decision. Then, right before the publication of the third book, my good friend, Brock, invited me to see the first movie on opening night. I agreed despite my stubborn streak. Little did I know that my life would soon change forever with the release of the first Harry Potter movie...Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. I was mesmorized by this fictional world that was unraveling before my eyes and amused by the thoughtful detail put into every storyline. It was love at first sight. I went out and bought the first book that very night.

Since that fateful evening, I have consumed each book in approximately two days immediately after it was published and have watched each movie dozens of times. I have daydreamed about possessing the ability to turn back time, the power to render my nemeses (yes, that's plural) utterly helpless, and the thrill of the elements obeying my every command. These books have whisked me away into a brilliant, magical world and I've enjoyed every minute of it. I have become one of millions obsessed with J.K. Rowling's most famous creation.

And now we are at the end of the series. As usual, I devoured the book--759 pages in all--in just a couple of days. But at the same time, I found myself not wanting to finish it as quickly as the others. I didn't want the story or my little fantasy world to end. Harry Potter was 10 years in the making and I was finishing his "final chapter". And so, I read and savored each word. I marvelled at the author's ability to fill in the gaps, tie up loose ends, and explain complex mysteries of Horcruxes, wands, and shady pasts. I was shocked at certain deaths, cried at others, and was touched at how things ended. For some silly reason, despite the happy ending, I was sad to leave it, sad that there wouldn't be another book to "take me away", sad to not be a part of his life anymore. Harry Potter's story had come to a close whether I liked it or not. And yet, I am satisfied with the adventure. It was a good ride while it lasted and the "boy who lived", though story complete, will continue to live in my library for years and years to come.

drink no liquor, and they eat but a very little meat...

I'm not the vegetarian type. Don't get me wrong. I love vegetables--all kinds, all of the time--cooked, raw, steamed, mixed into a medley of sorts; it doesn't matter, I love it all. However, I have also been a fan of meat and have pretty much had the mindset that a meal wasn't complete without some source of "hearty" protein (lentils and legumes just didn't cut it). And yet, I have also been a bit squeamish around the stuff. If I start to think about where the meat came from and how the poor animals died, I can't really stomach the stuff. I've been like this my whole life and have tinkered with the idea of giving it up completely, but I like it just enough to not be able to banish it from my kitchen/table forever. In addition to my fair weather affair with meat, I also have some pretty strict rules concerning the consumption of animal flesh that make it hard for me to continue with this meaty relationship:

1) I don't want to see it in its whole form--dead or alive--ever.

2) I will not eat meat/poultry outside of the following: chicken, pork, been, turkey. Anything other living creature is safe and will never end up on my table.

3) Despite my love to cook, I don't like to touch meat and will go to great lengths to keep it that way.

4) WELL DONE. Must be completely well done. Burnt offerings are better than even the slightest hint of pink.

5) No chunks of fat. I don't care if it adds flavor.

But recently, despite my previous addiction-like need for the stuff, I have been thinking twice more often than I would like. And I wonder, "Do I want to become vegetarian?" The catalyst for this drastic thinking came the other night when I went to dinner with a friend. She was craving lobster. How anyone can crave that is beyond me, but she was. We walked into the restaurant and there they were, front and center...little lobsters crawling over each other not knowing that soon one of their buddies would come up missing. Already I was starting to feel queasy.

We were promptly seated and were handed gargantuan menus. This was a Spanish/Chinese place and so there were basically two complete menus to choose from. I choose lemon chicken, my friend the lobster. A few minutes later we were deep in conversation when the waiter appeared out of nowhere with a large bowl and a squirming lobster. He shoved it in our faces, at least it seemed as if he did, for my friend's nod of approval. I was completely caught of guard and the whole scene reminded me of when I was little. Bratty boys teasing girls with live rodents or reptiles. Ewww. Even thinking about it now makes me shiver. As the waiter walked away, I couldn't help but think of the poor animal and its pending fate.

Eventually our waiter came back with our food. Mine was simple enough, but hers came with cracking and scooping utensils, extra napkins and a sizzling platter. The lobster was plated atop a mound of crackling garlic so the smell was overwhelming. And then it began--the cracking, the twisting, the digging, the gutting, the sucking, the chomping, the chewing, the smacking. Somehow it didn't look as graceful as it did in the movies and all I could think about is how she was ripping this animal apart to feed on its flesh.

I spent the entire evening looking at my food or her forehead so that I wouldn't have to see the massacre before me. I tried my best to eat my meal, but found that the rice and the lemon wedges were my favorite part. I finished well before she and silently prayed that she would get full or eat faster. Neither happened and so I sat there, chatting, avoiding eye contact with the lobster head (minus the brain and flesh), and sipping my Coke until she was through.

Anyway, it has been about two weeks now, and I think that I may have had meat twice. The thing is, I think that I am OK with that. I'm excited to look for alternate sources of protein and excited to create new medleys of vegetable dishes. I don't know how long this will last...perhaps only the summer...but we shall see.

the legend

I'm a tad bit upset with Blogger right now. I tried editing my last post and as a result my beloved video disappeared. I have tried everything I can think of to restore the video to it's original post, but have failed miserably.

SO, this video goes with the posting below...

can i get a little patriotism?

I have always been a little sensitive when it comes to being patriotic. Simply put, I love America. I am grateful for the freedoms that we have, the opportunities that are ours because we live here. I am grateful for those that have sacrificed their time and even their very lives to preserve these freedoms. I feel very blessed to live here. I am unsure, however, what prompted such national pride. I don’t ever remember being preached to about the greatness of our country. It was just something that always was, I suppose.

To prove my point: I was the kindergartener who had tears in her eyes when we recited the Pledge of Allegiance, the 3rd grader who glared at those who disrespected the flag. I was the 5th who got choked up when we all sang, “God Bless the USA” for the school assembly. I was the first to rise when the colors were being posted and the last to sit when it was done, somehow thinking that this was directly correlated to the amount of Patriotism one had. I remember during the Gulf War an All-Star performance of an original song entitled, “Stand Tall, Stand Proud” during some program honoring the soldiers over seas. I remember standing in the hall, refusing to come into the living room to watch the program with my mother because I didn’t want her to see the tears streaming down my face. I remember being asked to sing the National Anthem at a high school basketball game and thinking it to be such a privilege because it was not only our country’s National Anthem, but also one of my most favorite songs. And finally, I remember this very performance of the National Anthem in 199--ultimate diva, Whitney Houston, Super Bowl XXV. I don’t know if it was the beauty and power of her voice, or if it was my patriotism kicking in--probably a combination of both. But this rendition gave me chills. And let me assure you, there were tears. Even now…yeah.

Also for your viewing pleasure:

Faith Hill: http://youtube.com/watch?v=WJI_rlar68M

NSYNC!!! 2002 Winter Olympics in UT: http://youtube.com/watch?v=kxBRMMgo254

forget someone hypnosis

For most of us, when we think of hypnosis, we think of people "letting go" of their inhibitions in a comedy club, or the type of therapy that involves lying on a couch and being hypnotized in order to remember and deal with traumatic events. But what if there was a type of hypnosis, a therapy of sorts, that helped you to actually forget? A hypnosis that not only helps you forget a specific time or event, but one that could actually help you to forget someone. A therapy that could help you forget that this person was ever a part of your life. Would you do it?

It's called "Forget Someone Hypnosis". Creative name, I know. The therapist basically creates an environment where the patient can be put into a deep somnambulistic state of trance. The deeper the trance, the more effective the therapy. The end goal is amnesia or specific memory loss surrounding said person or event. Most therapists and doctors of all sorts would refuse to treat a patient this way. Considered highly unethical, most would suggest trying to work through the issues and reassigning new meaning to these experiences. But what if you don't want to? What if it is too painful? What if you have tried and nothing has worked? What if you just want to forget it ever happened? Forget this person ever happened? What if you just want to be free from the hurt, the worry, and the rejection?

Think about it. How would it be to be free of the sting when you hear this person's name or see their face? How would it be to visit a place or repeat an activity that you two had been to or done before, and not be pained by or brutally nostalgic about it? Even more weird, how would it be to meet this person again and not remember anything that transpired between you two? You wouldn't remember the good times or the bad. You wouldn't hurt every time you saw this person. Would you feel that something was missing? Once upon a time, this person added to and enhanced your life. Now he/she only bring sadness. Would you feel the loss? Or would it be liberating?

Is this treatment unethical? Maybe.

Sanctioned by legitimate health care professionals? Nope.

Dangerous? Probably.

Would I do it? The jury is still out, but I think that I would...and that is sad to me.

sister, sister, never knew how much i missed her

Our NYC adventure

U.N.

Double Header--Fantastic 4: Rise of the Silver Sufer then Ocean's 13

not sure what Rob is doing, but we look great

American Museum of Natural History--Pacific Peoples: cloesd to the public, opened for us

Toys-R-US Lego car

I look weird

she likes to take pictures of herself

watiting for the train

Met: Rodin on the roof

we like self-portraits...


trying to expand her appreciation for art....Met: Modern Art

taking a little rest in the Met

all day long at the zoo

smiling on the train

waiting in line at The Color Purple

sisters, sisters, never were there such devoted sisters...