Breaking Up Is Hard To Do
How I finally kicked my decades-long nicotine habit
“Don’t you want to be alive to dance at my wedding someday?” asked my 18-year-old son, Brett.
My husband and I were up in Cambridge for the first parents’ college weekend. Brett was apparently majoring in Jewish guilt at Harvard. “How can a mother possibly reply to that question?” I thought as I reluctantly snuffed out the cigarette I was smoking. Read more
Manhattan Moolah
Money may not grow on trees, but in Manhattan I keep finding it at my feet.
A native Californian, I now live and work on the Upper West Side as a full-time nanny. My workday is spent pushing a bright pink stroller, passing strangers I will probably never meet.
Still, I didn’t give a second thought to helping a high school kid who dropped a $10 bill on the ground while strutting to his headphones. I picked it up and ran down the block after him, the baby shouting, “Faster, faster!” as I tried to catch up. Read more
Tuesdays at The Met
My father and I have started a new tradition: Tuesdays at the Metropolitan Opera. In order to support such a lavish habit, we have taken advantage of the Agnes Varis and Karl Leichtman Rush Tickets program, which provides 200 orchestra seats at a mere $20 a ticket.
As would be expected, such an offer attracts hordes of New Yorkers, with the most resolute opera fans arriving as early as 10 a.m. to assure their place in line. The line itself is quite a scene, a miniature New York, complete with eccentrics, local politics and plenty of kibitzing. Read more
How to Putter
My partner Bryan surprised me this year with a very thoughtful Hannukah gift: a gray velour Ralph Lauren tracksuit.
This luxurious outfit, however, is not for jogging on the treadmill; in fact, the soft, thick fabric and sagging lines suggest the very opposite of physical activity. Bryan was instead recognizing my favorite weekend ritual: puttering around the house.
To be clear, puttering is not about being lazy, nor is it “dawdling,” which is about delaying something you should do. To putter is to move aimlessly, usually indoors. We zone out much like we’re stoned, but are in motion and vaguely productive. Read more
Monday Morning Football Flashback
My only son announced that Jerry Rice will be voted into the upcoming 2010 Hall of Fame Class during Super Bowl weekend. He specifically relayed this factoid to me because he knows that Rice will always hold a special place in my heart—not because of his maneuvers on the football field, but because of his special play on Columbus Avenue.
In 1994, I was one of five female producers at Live with Regis & Kathie Lee. Regis would often come into our meeting and request a specific guest, always a sports star. I consistently volunteered to take the assignment because the other female producers had no idea who he was talking about. Read more
Those Ubiquitous Scaffolds
We’re a subterranean lot, us New Yorkers. Not by choice, like mole people or Minnesotans, but by necessity: The subway is the easiest, fastest and cheapest way to get from A to B. Hence, we spend a lot of time underground—waiting for trains, riding trains, throwing momma from trains.
The last thing we want when we surface is to feel like we’re still down below. But, thanks to the ever-present scaffolding blighting our sidewalks, the city often feels like one long tunnel. The line between below ground and above ground—which used to be the sidewalk—is blurred. Read more
Summer Guide 2009: Music
Bronx Underground Festival
Hip-hop, indie rock, skateboarding, dancing and more will happen this summer as part of the Bronx Underground Festival, a series of events taking place in the fest’s namesake borough and beyond. Check out the June 21 outdoor concert at Orchard Beach or the May 29 dance parties where an ’80s outfit will get you reduced admission.
(May 27 to Aug. 1, various locations, www.bronxunderground; times vary, $TBA) Read more
BEFORE THE BLACK-TIE PARTIES
Most of my New Year’s Eves have been spent at parties. But my most memorable celebration involved running down Fifth Avenue, to hear what the time lady had to say.
I was a college sophomore and was home for winter break. My city friends were away for the holidays, so I was stuck celebrating New Year’s with my 13-year-old brother, Spencer. Before leaving for a party, my parents placed a champagne bottle in the refrigerator. “Only a sip for Spencer,” my mother instructed.
College had made me a champion beer drinker (back then the drinking age was 18), so I was disappointed to be spending the biggest party night of the year shackled to a minor. While jealously imagining that my friends were standing three-deep at a bar getting drunk Read more
