Pride and Hope

Today was Obama's inauguration into presidency; which lead him to become the 44th President of the United States. I've never been more confident in our Country's future, despite the downturn in the economy and the relative crumbling of my fair city. As millions around the world watched, Obama addressed the American people and in true Presidential fashion set himself aside from the pack by poetically speaking TO the people about the hardships to come along our road to recovery. And, although it's been increasingly difficult for me to understand how this country, which is full of so many different opinions, cultures, and up bringing can pull together to accomplish any thing completely, he gave us all hope. So, as I complete my cheesy diatribe and head out the door to celebrate I feel comforted, revived and full of fight for our new President and administration.

Buenos Aires

BA is so full of life and energy! The city is a hybrid between Manhattan and Mexico City. We arrived here, again, yesterday and meet up with Brian in Plaza Serrano. So far we´ve discovered:

The cafes, with afordable glasses of wine cafe con leche´s are considered places for social gatherings and business meetings.

The restaurants, which fill up around 10 PM offer so much more than the affordable steaks and trout on their menus. Their easy going slow place also offers it´s dinners a small vacation from the busy outside streets.

We´re off to explor Recoleta and La Boca....more to come soon.

From BA to Mendoza

So far, I owe my wonderful trip to Dramimine (sp.) which knocked me out cold on the 11 hour plane ride to BA and again on the 12 hour bus ride to Mendoza. I´m currently locked in a internet cafe slash Subway sando shop with a group of on lookers who keep telling me to watch my bag....apparently I look like a tourist. It´s nice to be in a place I can experience something new everytime I move my eyes away from my computer screen.

Our day and night in BA was amazing. We stayed at a fantastic, small, hotel in Palermo called 248 Finesterra. The garden and sun deck were inviting, even if we didn´t have the opportunity to spend any time on either of them. We immediatly went out for lunch at a steak place down the street after we checked in and moved on with our day by wandering through the massive park, and Palermo (SOHO and Hollywood). I should be floating by now, based on the amount of cafe con leche´s I´ve drank but I simply can´t stop (not only are they good, they jolt my tired braincells awake). After a nap at the hotel, we headed out to dinner (again in Palermo SOHO) at a Brazilian place with the best Capprisha (sp.) I´ve ever had. Then, of course, we had to have a bottle of Malbec with our flan desert, which paired together made one of the most fantastic desert expereices ever.

Today we´re in Mendoza, which is far quiter and smaller. We´re deciding on a wine tour and trecking or horseback ridding tour for the next two days. We´re off to find Jerome a guitar so he can play in the garden of our hotel (the amazing Posada de Rosas with a huge room and kind care givers).


Missing you all with tired eyes.

Alternative Responses to the question, "how are you?"

Someone, at the offical Saints bar in manhattan (Bar None) gave me an honest response to the half-hearted question, "how are you," today and it made me think...what's the best way to answer that question? Here's some options off the top of my head:

I don't speak with strangers.

Every day outside of the cell is a great day!

The grout is back.

Do you want the honest answer or the polite answer?

I feel alone, and hopeless (then watch the interviewer's face).

Alrighty then (which I reserve for geeky conversations).

Fine and dandy (which is dangerous in the south).

Like the weather.

I'm fantastic/wonderful/amazing (or any other version of theses words you'd like to use to portay wonderfulness).

Fuzzy as a peach.

Spiffy!

What's your favorite reply?

My Tribute to Pam Hamilton

Pam Hamilton savored life and lived it with a hilarious zeal.

When she laughed she threw back her head and opened her mouth wide enough to let all the sound out.

She had a certain appreciation for girlfriends that I've always cerished.

I never saw Pam "get tired" of anything -- she simply joked her way past it.

She always had painted nails and astonishing jewelry.

She loved scotch and football (an awesome combo).

She threw themed superbowl parties every year and spent a full-day finding a rotating hot dog machine one year.

She cleaned her own gutters, which she usually waited until the dead of winter to do and had a special yellow rain outfit specifically picked out for the job.

She intimidated the hell out of most men who tried to cross her and simply couldn't see how anyone could be scared of her.

She had a bit of Clevland, NYC and Marin personality in each sentence she spoke.

She cracked me up.


Pam was my first real "boss" and introduced me to the wild world of PR (not to mention the insanity of working in front of a computer screen M-F). She remained in my life as a supporter, cheer leader and mentor. She passed away in Marin County, CA this morning and moved on to a pain-less, happier place.

Quote of the day...

"Damn brotha, you're as old as Yoda."

"I know Yoda, I kicked his ass last time I saw him."

-Overheard on the block of 122nd between Adam Clayton Powell and Fredrick Douglas.

Eureka!

The Eureka's -- an stellar team of friends including Jerome, Bonnie, Erick, Davina and myself -- took the Conflux East Village scavenger hunt by storm yesterday. We scavenged (see photo) throughout the village, solving puzzles about everything from the location of the 1988 riots to the meaning behind Adam Purple's garden on Eldridge Street. We were supposed to earn points by gathering items from seperate challenges, proposed by the teams who were playing alongside us. But, either the heat/humidity or our hangovers got the best of us and we decided to just focus on the puzzles. At the finishline, the Eureka's lack of challenge points hurt our final score significantly, and we came in close to last (close being the key word here). But - I'm pretty sure we had the most fun....and in my book, that's all that counts.

Storm King

Finding serenity in NYC can come in a variety of forms, from a quite subway car to an old-fashion in a heavily wooded bar, or from a few quite moments in front of an air conditioned store with their doors open to a jog through Central Park. Last weekend, we found a new form of serenity -- just outside NYC.

We had heard of a magical place called the Storm King Art Center, but we never imagined it would actually re-set and restore our serenity-meters the way it did. We booked a zipcar for the weekend, after a lazy Sunday afternoon conversation with our friend about heading away for the weekend and began searching through our "NYC getaway" notes and resources for a place to go. After a rainy Saturday in NYC -- which we spent at the Buckminster Fuller exhibit at the Whitney (which I highly recommend)-- we were hesitant about the weather. But when the sun shone through on Sunday morning we packed our picnics, beach towels, hiking boots and friends into the car and heading towards the mountains.

Pictures can describe Storm King, far better than words. But as an overview, this 500 acre park, marries the relationship between art and nature better than any other sculpture garden I've visited. The careful placement of each sculpture and care for the grounds gave each visitor pause as they approached a new piece. To finish off our abandon-NYC-day we did a quick 1 hour hike up Bear Mountain, watched the sunset over the hills and dined on NYC Dinosaur BBQ. Ahhhh, refreshing!

It's nights like these...

What makes NYC special? I know it's different for everyone, and has changed for me over the years -- but it all comes down to the people. Last night, like many nights in NYC, I sat table side on the sidewalk of a busy pedestrian street (this time it was St. Marks Place) and hung out with my friends. We drank wine and dined on Korean food letting hump day pass us by. It's the best way to kiss off summer, even if I don't want to let it go.

Camping in NY

Camping a few hours away from NYC was a completely new experience for me. Past my quite California and European camping trips, there's something to be said for NY camping. Here's my positive spin on it....

 

• You show up at midnight and your campsite is already brightly lit by your neighboring campers ultra bright lantern.
• You set up your tent to the base of rap music coming from the campsite 2 sites down, with a metal swing set on it.
• You meet George, the firewood delivery guy who manages this campsite, and is somehow living your quasi-dream-life.
• You watch in amazement as your friends swiftly build a fire, a talent you never knew they had.
• You can hear a slight babble from the creek you sleep beside, over the music and crackling fire.
• You realize that the motor homes on the campground may have been there longer than just a few days, as their Christmas lights and turf lawns spot the landscape.
• You can walk to get another bag of ice when you run out.
• The local store you buy ice at is also the town's DMV.
• Your hike for the day includes of a mile and a half long walk along a highway with no sidewalks.
• You hike up to the top of Mt. Temper Tantrum, which takes about 2.5 hours, exposes beautiful views of the entire Catskills Park.
• Your dip in the creek after your hike feels a fresh and cold, but it doesn't quite "clean" you off.
• Waterfalls are note the easiest places to pee in the water.

Why don't they just leave sports broadcasting up to the experts?

I've been trying to catch every last bit of the Olympics that my schedule allows. Sadly, I love the coverage but can't seem to stand the commentators. Aside from a few past athletes that are reporting on behalf of NBC, many of the reports seem to lack any hope or aspiration for the game. The negative tone, and lack of knowledge leave me saddened, and missing my ESPN sports reporters.

Unfortunately, I usually end up so frustrated with the commentators that I have to turn the sound off and watch the swimmers motor through the pool to a Jack Johnson tune, or gymnasts tumbling across the floor to the sound of Rancid. Life is usually better with a unique soundtrack anyway.

Screaming at the TV makes the Olympians work harder

Maybe it's because I was raised as an NFL fan and althlete, but I'm part of that special slice of Americans who believe yelling at the TV will make a diffrence. Luckily, I wasn't raised to scream slurs at the opposing team or player, but I certainly feel like hollering at my own team to "go, go, go," gets them there faster. Despite some tough losses, I don't think anyone can disprove (or prove) my theroy....so I'll keep doing it until my throat is sore and my lungs hurt. Just be happy you're not in the room with me when it happens.

Rancid - Round 1

I survived a Rancid, Sick of it All, and Bloodclot concert last night. Of course, that was only round 1. Round 2, which includes one of my all-time favs, Westbound Train, is tonight. Round 3? That's Sunday. Hopefully I'll live to blog about it.

The Lock Out

So, for the first time since moving to this wonderful city I locked myself out of my apartment last night. Technically, I didn't lock myself out, my brain damaged mind locked me out.

So, I bought a new work-out bag on Monday to encourage more frequent trips to the gym. But, on Tuesday while giving the bag a trial run I decided to test out all of it's many pockets and cubby holes while rushing to get ready for my spinning class. Obviously, not the best idea in the world...but really, who would be stupid enough to loose something in a bag they are carrying on their shoulder?

I would.

So, after a fun-filled work-out I jumped on the train home (yes, sweaty and all) and barely climbed the subway stairs out of the 125th Street station. By the time I made it to my door at 8:45 the exhaustion that I'd been fighting off for hours swept over me. I unloaded myself on to my stoop stairs and began searching for my keys. I searched through my day purse and continued searching through: the outside mesh pocket, the inside mesh pocket, the outside long pocket, the inside small pocket, the hidden key pocket, the water bottle holder pocket. No keys.

I tried buzzing my neighbors to no avail. I called my boyfriend who didn't answer. I even called the gym to ask if they had my keys and they didn't.

I sat on the stoop and waited. 20 minutes later some of my braincells started firing again and I decided to shake my bag and listen for my keys. I heard them (enter shining light music). I poked and prodded around my new bag until I found another zipper. The large side pocket zipper. I opened the pocket and found my keys....feeling like a complete idiot.

So, at 9:30 I walked up my stairs and began my evening at home. I found an amazing recipe in Jerome's Food and Wine Magazine for a triple tomato sauce (sun-dried, fresh and paste) that actually complimented our watermelon and feta salad amazingly well. And of course, watching the men's 4X800 relay in under 7 minutes made the evening even more divine.

So, it turns out my evening was not a complete waste :)

Fall in August?

Fall-like weather took over NYC this morning. Although the streets still give off their very own heat, I think I'll exercise outside today instead of heading off to spinning class with my colleague as planned.

Perhaps I'm just a bit stir crazy. I moved into a new office last week, a window-less office. It has all the perks my last office was missing like foot-traffic, my own space and a full-sized desk but lacks the ever important...sunlight.