Five things I learned while biking to work today:
1) Safety before pride.
It really doesn't matter if you slide through that yellow light or beat out that cab if it leads to you getting squashed by a bus. There is no prize for getting to work 3 minutes early.
2) NYC needs to put in some cross town bike paths in Manhattan.
The 20s and the 90s? Really? Nothing in between? That's like 70 blocks of heart-pounding, terror-filled, small margin of error bike riding. Give me just one lane somewhere in the 50s!
3) Streets are safer than sidewalks.
Intimidating though they are, biking in the streets is still more predictable than going up on the sidewalk. Also, pedestrians don't have to roll down a window to yell at you.
4) In NYC, there's even construction on the bike paths on the bridges.
And it requires a large van that forces everyone to dismount and walk their bikes, which always feels alien after having ridden for so long.
5) I love riding my bike.
This sounds much more new-agey than I usually go, but I truly end up feeling at one with my bike while shooting through intersections and navigating around potholes.
I may just make this a regular thing...until the sun starts setting at 5pm. But that means it's boot weather, which is a fair trade to me.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Leave a Light On...
Last night I had “Leave a Light On” by Belinda Carlisle stuck in my head, and it kept rattling around in my brain while I lay there, trying to sleep.
That song reminds me of a video I saw when I was twelve. I had to endure the unique brand of religious torture that public school children of Catholic parents are subjected to: CCD class. Mine was a class of 10 middle school kids fervently trying to make sure that everyone knew how little we cared about religion, how cool and above it all we were.
We watched a lot of lame videos, but for some reason the ending of this one stuck with me. It was a classically cheesy story in the vein of after school specials: a boy who seemed much older than me at the time—meaning he was probably 17—gets into a fight with his parents and decides to leave home. I remember that he left with just a backpack, and I thought, “That’s not nearly big enough to fit all my stuff.”
At some point he decides that he misses his family and would like to return home. I think there might have been a priest involved, some kind of counseling. The boy calls his parents and ends up leaving a message on their answering machine (the kind with a tape—I miss those).
The gist of his message was this: “I want to come home. I’m going to walk by the house tonight. If you want me to come home, leave the lamp in the living room window on. If it’s not on, I know to keep walking.” Cheesy, right?
So, there he is on the top of his street, backpack slung over his shoulder. It’s dusk, and most houses on the block are dark. Except his—his house is lit up like Christmas, light blazing from every window. He walks to it and stands outside, drinking it in.
And I, straining to remain cool and detached, was horrified to find myself crying.
I still get a little misty-eyed when I think about the story. All those lights! They really wanted him home!
Wonder if it’s on YouTube…
That song reminds me of a video I saw when I was twelve. I had to endure the unique brand of religious torture that public school children of Catholic parents are subjected to: CCD class. Mine was a class of 10 middle school kids fervently trying to make sure that everyone knew how little we cared about religion, how cool and above it all we were.
We watched a lot of lame videos, but for some reason the ending of this one stuck with me. It was a classically cheesy story in the vein of after school specials: a boy who seemed much older than me at the time—meaning he was probably 17—gets into a fight with his parents and decides to leave home. I remember that he left with just a backpack, and I thought, “That’s not nearly big enough to fit all my stuff.”
At some point he decides that he misses his family and would like to return home. I think there might have been a priest involved, some kind of counseling. The boy calls his parents and ends up leaving a message on their answering machine (the kind with a tape—I miss those).
The gist of his message was this: “I want to come home. I’m going to walk by the house tonight. If you want me to come home, leave the lamp in the living room window on. If it’s not on, I know to keep walking.” Cheesy, right?
So, there he is on the top of his street, backpack slung over his shoulder. It’s dusk, and most houses on the block are dark. Except his—his house is lit up like Christmas, light blazing from every window. He walks to it and stands outside, drinking it in.
And I, straining to remain cool and detached, was horrified to find myself crying.
I still get a little misty-eyed when I think about the story. All those lights! They really wanted him home!
Wonder if it’s on YouTube…
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Chipmunks
On a road trip with the fam, and we stopped the car on the side of the road to Estes Park, Colorado, which sits on the eastern edge of Rocky Mountain National Park. This little pull off is home to the sweetest and most polite chipmunks in the world. They run up to you, stand on their hind legs, place their little paws gently on your hands and take the food you've offered them.
Seriously, I want them as pets. Here's what might just be the best picture ever.
Seriously, I want them as pets. Here's what might just be the best picture ever.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
I think that the ability to publicly compare Obama to Hitler and Lenin without fear of government retribution completely invalidates the point of this billboard.
After all, it wasn't so much their fiscal policy that was the problem. I think it was the mass murders and the wars and the media control and the closing of the borders and the brutally violent repression of opposing ideas...and kind of the overall crazy-pants dictatorships that were the problem.
After all, it wasn't so much their fiscal policy that was the problem. I think it was the mass murders and the wars and the media control and the closing of the borders and the brutally violent repression of opposing ideas...and kind of the overall crazy-pants dictatorships that were the problem.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
America: College Drop Out of the World?
You know that stereotypical happy jock character in popular culture? This kid, we'll call him Brad, was the king of high school. He was confident and nice and a bit incorrigible, did mediocre in class but amazingly well on the football field.
Teachers always forgave Brad his transgressions because he was just so damn charming and funny. His main goals were playing a sport, dating girls, and getting drunk with his friends. He was all about having fun and enjoying himself. Brad sounds like a pretty cool dude, right?
But then, as high school came to an end, Brad didn't really have much direction. Most of the kids who spent high school working hard and studying went off to great colleges, but Brad's grades left him no choice but a community college.
Perhaps Brad quickly realized that he should put some effort into his education, right? No, he partied too much to actually learn anything, and didn't really get why he needed to take all those "dumb liberal arts" courses. Brad ended up dropping out and getting a low-wage job, maybe as a salesman in a sporting goods store or a similar position that requires charisma but not skill.
Perhaps Brad worked really hard at this job and quickly advanced, right? No, Brad didn't really want any responsibility, and, anyway, he didn't really get how to use the computer system and didn't want to learn. He spent his free time hanging around, watching TV and amassing a pretty amazing empty beer bottle collection. But man, did he have some fun times.
All the nerds coming home from college--and eventually from their high-earning jobs--kind of felt bad for him. All the confidence he had that his charisma would get him by, that he could continue to float on the good feelings people had about him, have finally bitten him in the ass, and he didn't even know it.
Those kids, the ones who worked really hard in high school and college, went on to get jobs creating new software platforms, launching companies that change the way people do business, researching how to cure diseases, or being Steve Jobs.
But what happened to Brad?
Sometimes, I feel like America is Brad, with India and China looking at us with pity as their stringent academic standards allow their citizens to take over all the high-tech jobs. America had such potential after World War II, full of booming factories and a great education system. But in the intervening decades, the country has gone from sweet high school jock to over-confident college drop-out.
Our academic standards are slipping, with some school districts tightening their belts and meeting budgets by shortening the school week. Forget not getting new books, or cramming too many kids in a room. There are schools where kids are losing entire DAYS.
If we truly allow the education of our children to become such a low priority that days begin to fall off the calendar, that we'd rather invest in less taxes than a population that can find their country on a map, we're going to go from that over-confident yet low-paid college dropout to an illiterate migrant worker...working on Chinese and Indian farms.
Teachers always forgave Brad his transgressions because he was just so damn charming and funny. His main goals were playing a sport, dating girls, and getting drunk with his friends. He was all about having fun and enjoying himself. Brad sounds like a pretty cool dude, right?
But then, as high school came to an end, Brad didn't really have much direction. Most of the kids who spent high school working hard and studying went off to great colleges, but Brad's grades left him no choice but a community college.
Perhaps Brad quickly realized that he should put some effort into his education, right? No, he partied too much to actually learn anything, and didn't really get why he needed to take all those "dumb liberal arts" courses. Brad ended up dropping out and getting a low-wage job, maybe as a salesman in a sporting goods store or a similar position that requires charisma but not skill.
Perhaps Brad worked really hard at this job and quickly advanced, right? No, Brad didn't really want any responsibility, and, anyway, he didn't really get how to use the computer system and didn't want to learn. He spent his free time hanging around, watching TV and amassing a pretty amazing empty beer bottle collection. But man, did he have some fun times.
All the nerds coming home from college--and eventually from their high-earning jobs--kind of felt bad for him. All the confidence he had that his charisma would get him by, that he could continue to float on the good feelings people had about him, have finally bitten him in the ass, and he didn't even know it.
Those kids, the ones who worked really hard in high school and college, went on to get jobs creating new software platforms, launching companies that change the way people do business, researching how to cure diseases, or being Steve Jobs.
But what happened to Brad?
Sometimes, I feel like America is Brad, with India and China looking at us with pity as their stringent academic standards allow their citizens to take over all the high-tech jobs. America had such potential after World War II, full of booming factories and a great education system. But in the intervening decades, the country has gone from sweet high school jock to over-confident college drop-out.
Our academic standards are slipping, with some school districts tightening their belts and meeting budgets by shortening the school week. Forget not getting new books, or cramming too many kids in a room. There are schools where kids are losing entire DAYS.
If we truly allow the education of our children to become such a low priority that days begin to fall off the calendar, that we'd rather invest in less taxes than a population that can find their country on a map, we're going to go from that over-confident yet low-paid college dropout to an illiterate migrant worker...working on Chinese and Indian farms.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Fancy Pants and Dress
Dan and I got all dressed up last night for our dinner at Babbo -- he in dress pants and a black and gray striped shirt, me in a dress with heels that aren't really logical for walking (but they have ruffles on them!). First thing I have to say is that they give you a large piece of really incredible Italian bread that they continually replenish throughout your meal. This should be industry-standard as far as I'm concerned.
I did not take any pictures, but I did bring the menu home. Behold:
As you can see, there's a lot of Italian on there. Here's my translation:
COMPLIMENTS OF THE CHEF
(not on the menu)
Chick peas marinated in some kind of balsamic-y vinegar and oil with some herbs, sprinkled on top of tiny toasts.
Verdict: good
FIRST COURSE
Sweet peas whipped into a tiny little cake-looking mold, covered in carrot vinaigrette with slices of duck meat laid next to it. I think this was one of the best examples of flavors melding together to blow your mind.
Verdict: very good
Wine: a light white wine that was very, very good. And I don't even like white wine that much. Looks like I've been buying the wrong kind.
SECOND COURSE
Wide pasta noodles with tiny mushrooms in a garlic, butter, and olive oil sauce with thyme sprinkled on top.
Verdict: OH MY GOD
Wine: bolder white wine that felt like it was a touch carbonated. Good, not my fave.
THIRD COURSE
Duck meat in folded pasta that looks kind of like tortellini, covered in red sauce that has been cooked with pancetta. Very bold sauce that also had a lot of oil in it.
Verdict: very, very good.
Wine: really nice red wine, my favorite of the night.
FOURTH COURSE
Small slices of steak covered in a sweet and sour sauce that actually tasted a bit like A1, sitting on roasted turnips and mushrooms.
Verdict: the steak was a little rarer than I usually like it, but it was all really amazing. Great sauce.
Wine: really bold red, good but not what I would normally go with.
FIFTH COURSE
Cheese! Goat cheese with peppercorns in it, with some fennel honey on the side. I love goat cheese, so this was perfect for me, though I am still kicking myself for not even noticing the little toasts on which to spread some cheese. I just ate it all with a fork.
Verdict: mmmmmm....
Wine: Champagne. I normally don't really like champagne, but this stuff was amazing. Dan left the table for about 3 minutes after this course and I came thiiiiiiiiiis close to finishing his off.
SIXTH COURSE
Dessert! A fig cooked with a wine reduction, served with marscapone cheese. The fig was good, but I was all about that cheese.
Wine: our first dessert wine, a really sweet red. Not my thing.
SEVENTH COURSE
More dessert! Hazelnut gelato covered in very, very good chocolate with a cherry in the center. Apparently this is a very traditional dessert in Italy.
Verdict: Would move to Italy to eat this more.
Wine: white dessert wine, too sweet for me. Sweet wine makes me ill.
EIGHTH COURSE
2 dessert: one from the tasting menu, and one a surprise from the chef.
Chestnut cake with a cherry sauce, some roasted nuts, and some kind of whipped cream on the side. The second was Saffron Panna Cotta with "Tre Agrumi" which is a panna cotta with orange sauce, pieces of grapefruit, and grapefruit sorbet.
Verdict: Both were incredible...but I'm all about the cherry stuff.
Wine: peachy and appley dessert wine. Still not my thing.
COFFEE
Dan got espresso while I got a decaf cappuccino and these came with biscotti and tiny cookies. The coffee was amazing, but I'm not a big fan of biscotti. I ate it all, though.
Final verdict? Great bread (I would go back just for more of that bread), good coffee, amazing food. Worth a month's wait for a reservation? Maybe. It's casual enough that you don't feel pressured to act perfectly, but it's still pretty damn fancy. I look forward to going again, but as far as becoming my "favorite" goes? Nah, I'm a casual girl, so I'd rather go to Vesta.
Sometimes, though, it's nice to get fancy.
I did not take any pictures, but I did bring the menu home. Behold:
As you can see, there's a lot of Italian on there. Here's my translation:
COMPLIMENTS OF THE CHEF
(not on the menu)
Chick peas marinated in some kind of balsamic-y vinegar and oil with some herbs, sprinkled on top of tiny toasts.
Verdict: good
FIRST COURSE
Sweet peas whipped into a tiny little cake-looking mold, covered in carrot vinaigrette with slices of duck meat laid next to it. I think this was one of the best examples of flavors melding together to blow your mind.
Verdict: very good
Wine: a light white wine that was very, very good. And I don't even like white wine that much. Looks like I've been buying the wrong kind.
SECOND COURSE
Wide pasta noodles with tiny mushrooms in a garlic, butter, and olive oil sauce with thyme sprinkled on top.
Verdict: OH MY GOD
Wine: bolder white wine that felt like it was a touch carbonated. Good, not my fave.
THIRD COURSE
Duck meat in folded pasta that looks kind of like tortellini, covered in red sauce that has been cooked with pancetta. Very bold sauce that also had a lot of oil in it.
Verdict: very, very good.
Wine: really nice red wine, my favorite of the night.
FOURTH COURSE
Small slices of steak covered in a sweet and sour sauce that actually tasted a bit like A1, sitting on roasted turnips and mushrooms.
Verdict: the steak was a little rarer than I usually like it, but it was all really amazing. Great sauce.
Wine: really bold red, good but not what I would normally go with.
FIFTH COURSE
Cheese! Goat cheese with peppercorns in it, with some fennel honey on the side. I love goat cheese, so this was perfect for me, though I am still kicking myself for not even noticing the little toasts on which to spread some cheese. I just ate it all with a fork.
Verdict: mmmmmm....
Wine: Champagne. I normally don't really like champagne, but this stuff was amazing. Dan left the table for about 3 minutes after this course and I came thiiiiiiiiiis close to finishing his off.
SIXTH COURSE
Dessert! A fig cooked with a wine reduction, served with marscapone cheese. The fig was good, but I was all about that cheese.
Wine: our first dessert wine, a really sweet red. Not my thing.
SEVENTH COURSE
More dessert! Hazelnut gelato covered in very, very good chocolate with a cherry in the center. Apparently this is a very traditional dessert in Italy.
Verdict: Would move to Italy to eat this more.
Wine: white dessert wine, too sweet for me. Sweet wine makes me ill.
EIGHTH COURSE
2 dessert: one from the tasting menu, and one a surprise from the chef.
Chestnut cake with a cherry sauce, some roasted nuts, and some kind of whipped cream on the side. The second was Saffron Panna Cotta with "Tre Agrumi" which is a panna cotta with orange sauce, pieces of grapefruit, and grapefruit sorbet.
Verdict: Both were incredible...but I'm all about the cherry stuff.
Wine: peachy and appley dessert wine. Still not my thing.
COFFEE
Dan got espresso while I got a decaf cappuccino and these came with biscotti and tiny cookies. The coffee was amazing, but I'm not a big fan of biscotti. I ate it all, though.
Final verdict? Great bread (I would go back just for more of that bread), good coffee, amazing food. Worth a month's wait for a reservation? Maybe. It's casual enough that you don't feel pressured to act perfectly, but it's still pretty damn fancy. I look forward to going again, but as far as becoming my "favorite" goes? Nah, I'm a casual girl, so I'd rather go to Vesta.
Sometimes, though, it's nice to get fancy.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Becoming a Biker
My last post was Feb 8th. That's just embarrassing.
I spent this past Saturday riding a bike around Queens. My bike is an old Giant, rescued from the refuse pile and fixed up by my mechanically-inclined boyfriend. It’s not shiny or pretty, but the worn body makes it look like I’m much more of a biker than I am, like I’ve been riding for ages and know my way around the city’s bike lanes. Which I don’t, at all.
The Giant is quite a step up from my first and second bikes, both of which were pink. My first had a white banana seat with pink polka dots on it that I absolutely begged my parents for, and thin white streamers coming out of the soft white handlebar covers. It was a single speed with pedal brakes, and I’m pretty sure it came from Target.
The second bike, which I graduated to in Texas, was a pink ten-speed, though I never actually used the gears—I mean, I flipped the little switches, but couldn’t figure out what they did beside make it much harder to pedal. On this bike I moved up to handle brakes, and I remember the amazing feeling of coasting around corners in Texas, the hot air suddenly much cooler as it blew through my sweaty hair.
The Giant is a city bike, covered in dings and with some of the paint peeling off. It’s the first bike I’ve owned that doesn’t have a kickstand but does have a lock attached to it. The grip tape is dingy and some of it has slipped off, but there is a light on the back that blinks for when I’m riding at night. I’ve become familiar enough with the gears to use them all, but I still need a little reminder on how they work (“Go UP for downhill, and DOWN for uphill,” I sing to myself).
This it the bike I rode up and down the hills of New Paltz, through the busy streets of Park Slope, over the Pulaski Bridge from Queens to Brooklyn, and along Vernon Boulevard and the East River. This is the bike on which I rediscovered that wind-though-my-hair feeling, that freedom that comes from using your own human energy to propel yourself forward, and the feeling of coasting—which might just be the most delicious reward in the world.
What I have been missing, up until now, is a helmet. Rest easy, Mom, I bought one.
On the back it says “I love my brain.” I should add “and my bike.”
I spent this past Saturday riding a bike around Queens. My bike is an old Giant, rescued from the refuse pile and fixed up by my mechanically-inclined boyfriend. It’s not shiny or pretty, but the worn body makes it look like I’m much more of a biker than I am, like I’ve been riding for ages and know my way around the city’s bike lanes. Which I don’t, at all.
The Giant is quite a step up from my first and second bikes, both of which were pink. My first had a white banana seat with pink polka dots on it that I absolutely begged my parents for, and thin white streamers coming out of the soft white handlebar covers. It was a single speed with pedal brakes, and I’m pretty sure it came from Target.
The second bike, which I graduated to in Texas, was a pink ten-speed, though I never actually used the gears—I mean, I flipped the little switches, but couldn’t figure out what they did beside make it much harder to pedal. On this bike I moved up to handle brakes, and I remember the amazing feeling of coasting around corners in Texas, the hot air suddenly much cooler as it blew through my sweaty hair.
The Giant is a city bike, covered in dings and with some of the paint peeling off. It’s the first bike I’ve owned that doesn’t have a kickstand but does have a lock attached to it. The grip tape is dingy and some of it has slipped off, but there is a light on the back that blinks for when I’m riding at night. I’ve become familiar enough with the gears to use them all, but I still need a little reminder on how they work (“Go UP for downhill, and DOWN for uphill,” I sing to myself).
This it the bike I rode up and down the hills of New Paltz, through the busy streets of Park Slope, over the Pulaski Bridge from Queens to Brooklyn, and along Vernon Boulevard and the East River. This is the bike on which I rediscovered that wind-though-my-hair feeling, that freedom that comes from using your own human energy to propel yourself forward, and the feeling of coasting—which might just be the most delicious reward in the world.
What I have been missing, up until now, is a helmet. Rest easy, Mom, I bought one.
On the back it says “I love my brain.” I should add “and my bike.”
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