last day of the year

I'm always reflective at the end of anything. Graduations. Birthdays. Jobs. Years.

This one, like so many of the recent past, has been filled with a bit too much anxiety.

I wonder almost everyday how I can afford my life and continue to live where I do. And whatever concerns my son, concerns me even more.

But the things that make me smile continue to outweigh the ones that don't. A part-time job. Family. Friends. Health. New York City. A weight of 125.8 (thank-you Saks for the residual benefit of exercise). And getting to see my son regularly, who infuriates me sometimes, but makes me laugh regularly.

I've never loved New Year's Eve. So much pressure to have a great night. Alexander goes to a party with his college friends, many he hasn't seen since graduation as they live out-of-state. My evening is more quiet. 

Two good friends (Robyn and Linda) come over to watch a movie.The dress is casual, the make-up little. We toast the new year over glasses of Prosecco. Overdose on sushi. Watch Phoenix, a so-so PPV movie. Eat cookies and ice-cream. Talk some. And end the evening before any ball drops.

A friend of mine sends me this email:

here’s to many more great evenings of theater, movies, star photos, deep conversations, superficial conversations, and raucous laughter shared in 2016!

So I pass the same sentiment to all of you. Happy happy New Year.

past necessities

In the middle of a busy day, I end up cleaning out a shelf of my armoire.

CD's. DVD's. A "sock" covering for an early iPod. And even a Supertape 8MM Video Hi-Grade Metal HG-60.

How quickly the world has changed.

My new computer has no CD drives. I can use a flash drive to transfer information. Or even dropbox or iCloud.

I never put info on a DVD anymore. I can barely remember what I used it for.

My computer screen, at 21.5 inches, is larger than the 19 inch TV I had for many years.

And those big video cameras that used 8MM Video are long gone. Now I can use my small phone to video most things.

As I throw away these items, I am briefly reminded of the memories they evoke.

The CD I made for my dad of all the songs I knew he'd love.

The first few years of Alexander's life, sporadically recorded.

Backing up data onto a CD, long before the word cloud, used as a noun, meant anything other than a white or grey mass in the sky.

Alexander's first iPod, received as a Bar Mitzvah gift in 2005. By then, I was on my second iPod; this time a nano.

The many hours I spent making a tape of songs and then creating a story around the songs to give to Eric, when I first started seeing him back in 1989.

All this makes me wonder about the future.

• Will landlines still exist?
• Will today's mobile phones seem archaic against the phones of the future?
• Will interactive TV's be in every home  allowing us to click on a TV character and get the actor's name, background, other roles, etc?
• Will scheduled programming still exist or will everything be on-demand?
• Will everything be wireless?
• Will money still exist or will all cash be virtual?
• Will my mom finally get an iPhone?

really, american express?

I finally buy a new computer. 

My 2009 MacBook Pro has slowed to the point of near death. In people years, it's probably approaching 100. It moves at a snail's pace. Forgets or ignores things I command it to do. And never acts 100% alert.

After much debate between another laptop or a desktop, I fall in love with the gorgeous 21.5 inch retina-display iMac. It's a much better value, and since I don't travel much and do have an iPad, this is the better choice for me.

I decide to use my Amex points that have been accumulating since my last computer purchase. Amex has sent an email telling me that through the end of the year I can get 20% off; that's 160 points for every dollar spent vs. the normal 200 points per dollar.  This  compels me to buy the computer now. 

I opt to buy directly through Apple, since they will match the Best Buy price of $1,399 (vs. the $1,499 on the Amex rewards site).  I order the computer. It comes two days later, and after a painful migration and a few problems that eventually get solved, my new computer is up and running. I call Amex to apply the points to my account.

That's when I learn that in order to qualify for the 20% discount, I would have had to have purchased the computer through the Amex Membership Awards site. If I am just applying points to my Amex bill, the 20% discount doesn't apply.

The unhelpful supervisor at Amex, Genei from North Carolina, won't budge.

But then I learn that the points used directly against my card, and not through a specific purchase on the Rewards site, are always valued at 166 points to the dollar — that's 17% less than the Rewards site where it's normally 200 points to the dollar.

So I ask, "Why would anyone then purchase directly on your site?"  "For the convenience," Genei answers.

But I'm thinking, it's not for the convenience. It's because no one knows.

So that's why I'm writing this. DON'T EVER BUY AN ITEM on the Amex site using points. Just have the points applied to your account after purchasing somewhere else.

Now you know.

professional courtesy

I go to the bank to deposit four checks.

The ATM eats my checks, then spits out this message:

Really? The money was not deposited into my account and I no longer have the checks.

I call the 888 number. I go through a 40 minute question/answer scrutiny.  In the end, I am told that the stated totality of the checks will be temporarily added to my account as a "professional courtesy." A claim will be filed and I should hear back in "7 to 10 business days."

How nice. 

I want to yell, "How could this happen in the first place? What if you never find my checks? Will I still get your professional courtesy?"

Instead I just say thank-you, and leave grateful that I hadn't deposited cash.

xmas movie day

As I do every Christmas, I invite some friends over to watch movies.

Three things are different this year:

1. I've seen all the big movies so only the smaller, quiet ones are left.
2. I host earlier because I am working tomorrow.
3. I opt against taking pictures this year because most prefer that I don't.

After some debate and consultation, I choose The Hateful Hate for the first movie with a few warnings ... the movie is long (three hours), violent and slow (at least the first half which I've already seen). Most decide to skip this film, with one writing:

as much as I love you I can not sit through 3 hours of anything

The small group eventually comes down to those who like Tarantino. Around noon, Jill, Shari and her husband Stew arrive.

Stew finds his chair comfortable and soon falls asleep. I read old People and EW magazines. Jill stays focused but does ask, "Can you fast-forward?" And Shari follows the film despite half-watching.  The second half keeps us more interested. But still, no one ranks this among Tarantino's best.  This group leaves sometime after three.

Around four, Carol and her friend Ajit, Robyn and Susan arrive. We watch 45 Years, a smart, well-acted film that everyone enjoys.  

I only wish it were a little whiter and a little colder. Mid-60's just doesn't feel like Christmas. But good friends more than make up for the non-holiday weather.

t'was the day before christmas

and the weather outside is frightful... but not in the way the song suggests.

Holiday lights sparkle throughout midtown.

A Christmas wreath sits above the entrance to St. Patrick's Cathedral.

And people walk the streets without coats.

\

I get an email today from Bellmarc that says, in part, 

I wanted to let you know that the East Side and West Side offices will be closing next week.

I am sorry to break this news to you in an email, but this has happened suddenly and i couldn't reach everyone by phone.

This really doesn't have much of an impact on me, as I gave up my short-lived career in real estate a while ago. But it will have a profound affect on many others.

Yup, it sure doesn't feel all that Christmas-y right now.

how can I annoy her...let me count the ways

Alexander has developed a new game. 

He deliberately does things that he knows will annoy me. And though I know exactly what he's doing, he gets to me every time.

Sure, frequently my son doesn't make his bed. The dishwasher can sit un-emptied for days unless I unload it. And the shirts Alexander plans on taking to the cleaners can pile up before he thinks to take them across the street to be laundered. But these are not the kind of things I'm referring to.

I'll start with intentional use of very bad grammar.

Alexander has been trained well. Great schools. Rigorous classes on sentence structure, word usage, and basic grammar. But still, just to irk me, my well-educated son might say, "That don't matter none. He's a great player." I try to ignore this, but can't.

I'll have my back to Alexander and he'll come up to me and tap me on the shoulder, knowing this makes me cringe.

Or he'll peer over my shoulder with his head inches from mine, pretending to be interested in something I'm doing on the computer, and say, "Hey, what are we working on here?" 

Sometimes when I speak Alexander will totally ignore me. I can't distinguish between his being deliberate or this being just habit.

And while Alexander's dining manners are excellent, he'll chew loudly and slurp his soup just to see how long it takes before I scream, "STOP IT."

Or I'll open my mouth, about to speak, and before I say one word, Alexander will put up his hand, palm facing out, and shout, "Shoosh!" He'll do this when I'm clearly interrupting nothing at all that he is doing.

If I didn't know better, I'd think this was my son's strategy for getting me to move out. But I'm sure he's smarter than that.

may the force be with you

Star Wars premiered on May 4, 1977. I was living in Chicago, engaged to Tim. 

I have kept calendars and diaries with notations about events and life since I was very young.  On June 6, 1977, my entry read, 

"Star Wars after work w T, Michael and Joannie. Super movie. Left feeling good."

Not much in the way of insight.  I later came to hate the word super as a descriptor of anything.

Tim and I married, then split a couple of years later. He went on to become wildly successful as one of this country's top wealth managers, even appearing a few years ago on the cover of Worth magazine.  Joannie and Michael had a great marriage, two daughters, and then sadly Joannie died in 2000. We stayed long-distance, sporadic friends. I last saw Joannie in the mid-90's when one of her  daughter's was at Tufts, my alma mater.

Michael, Joannie and Tim

with Tim, Joannie and Michael 

A few weeks ago, Alexander starts asking, "Can we go to a screening of Star Wars?" Up until he poses the question, I hadn't given it much thought.  But his excitement for the film, along with all the positive buzz circulating through the media, convinces me to register.

Tonight we go, a night before the movie opens. 

The almost-500 seat theater fills long before the credits roll. And when the movie starts and the iconic John Williams music plays, the audience excitement is palpable. The characters are both familiar and not. The story has more heart than I remember. And I fall in love all over again with the droids and other creatures.

Again, I leave feeling good.

unusual begets unusual

It must be the weather.

It's been the strangest December. Temperatures regularly in the 50's and 60's. My favorite winter coats sit abandoned in the closet, itching to go out. The streets are filled with people walking coatless, some even in shorts.

Many love this balmy spring weather. I think the middle of December should be cold and snowy, not 65 degrees.

So maybe it's unusual weather that leads to other unusual occurrences.

Like finding myself alone and in conversation with Bradley Cooper, Robert DeNiro and the stellar David O. Russell.

Or sitting next to Jennifer Lawrence's very nice parents, here to listen to their daughter talk about her new film,  Joy.

Or finding the stunning Helen Mirren, whose husband I just met, in the seat directly behind me.

It's a great night of movie-watching and stars.



Last May I bought my first flower box. I  remember the florist telling me that the plant should last until fall. Maybe November if I'm lucky.

Before leaving for the theater I look out my window and see this:




A flower blooming in December? 

Briefly meeting some big Hollywood names?  

Both equally unusual.

not safe anywhere

Soon after 9-11 I remember walking down the street with my friend Susan.  I asked her if she thought we'd ever feel safe living here again.  I think we both felt that over time, we'd be comfortable again, but it would never ever be the same. 9-11 changed the world, and it's impact on New York City was a profound one.

In the days following the attack on the world trade center, I was afraid to live here. I even worried that terrorists would come barreling down my street in the middle of the night and throw bombs in apartment windows. I knew I was being foolish but I couldn't erase my fears, silly as some of them were.

I remember thinking that to really scare Americans, our new enemy should display random acts of terrorism in unsuspecting places. Like a restaurant in small town America. Or a stadium full of sports fans. If that happened, I recall saying, no one would feel safe anywhere.

Today I receive this news alert:



Living in New York City, I never feel completely safe. I am aware of my surroundings. I  travel on crowded subways. I go to public spaces overflowing with people. I see armed police throughout the city. I view posters asking me to say something if I see something. It'd be impossible to forget that New York is always a city at risk.

But now that fear has spread. I don't feel more of less scared today than I did a week ago. A month ago. Or five years ago. But now it feels like the rest of the country is catching up.

How sad. Fourteen years after 9-11, and if anything, our world has gotten more dangerous and less predictable.

Obama says we will prevail "by being strong and smart, resilient and relentless." That's not much of a plan.

I sure wish someone had one.

a little coat story

A cousin of mine reads about my rave of the perfect steel mug for keeping cold cold and hot and hot, and ends up buying 20 to give as holiday gifts.

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00HYOGTU0?psc=1&redirect=true&ref_=oh_aui_detailpage_o04_s00

I bump into someone I know (a friend of a friend) who tells me her son is graduating from Cornell this May, and thanks me for my blog. She now knows to make any reservations a year in advance. 

And then there is the friend who reads about my returned knives to Zwilling/Henckles after learning of their lifetime guarantee. She later emails me:

I sent 2 steak knives to Zwilling/Henckels — they are out of stock on my knives until December.  So the woman I spoke to is sending me a brand new set of 4 of the same knives.  (I did not even ask her to do this!!)

My kitchen shears have a new model number, so she is sending me the best NEW one they make.

My serrated knife model was discontinued, she is sending me a BETTER one that they currently make.

I love when this happens.

So, in the spirit of maybe someone will find this information useful, here's my little coat story.

I am walking out of a restaurant and my favorite black lightweight Moncler coat catches on the side of a counter and I hear the awful sound of tearing. 

And then I see the proof, a small wispy white feather.

I take the coat to my reliable seamstress who looks at it and says, "Oh, I don't touch these coats. When they first became popular I tried, but the needle in the nylon fabric just makes the hole bigger."

I come home and call Moncler. They tell me  there is one place, and one place only, that they use to fix their coats. So today I take a trip to SOHO.

I take the subway to Bleecker, and then walk west on Houston, passing an interesting wall.



A few blocks later I find the place I'm looking for on Sixth.



Apparently King Garment Center receives Moncler coats from all over the country.  I show Gissett (the nice young woman behind the counter) my coat.





She calls over Rosa, the Moncler master seamstress.



Rosa explains to Gissette in Spanish what needs to be done, and Gissette translates for me.  Rosa will replace the torn panel with an identical Moncler fabric. Unfortunately, the tear is not on a seam, but instead near two zippers, making the repair more complicated..



I'm told my three-year old coat will look like new.  For $175 it should!

no such thing as a simple request

I think Alexander's goal in life is to give me a hard time.

About everything.

If I ask him to do anything he calls it nagging.

If I remind of something he said he'd do and hasn't he'll go into a rant of, "Do this, do that, have you done this yet, why haven't you done that, "in a poor (and unfair) parody of me.

And if I ask my son to be in a picture, he thinks I'll use it in some nefarious way. 

Tonight  I want to send a picture of a leather jacket I have and no longer want, to a friend who might want it.

"Here, hold this so I can take a picture of it."



"You're not going to put this on your blog, are you?"

"Why would I put this on my blog?

And here's where Alexander finds a way to confuse the phrase, "much ado about nothing."

"I don't know," Alexander says.  "You have a way of making nothing out of everything."

And with that,  I decide to post this on my blog.

too many people

Some sample sales are huge. Lines can snake through multi-city blocks.

And when the doors finally open, there are security people stationed at the entrance. It's their job to limit the number of people who enter. So maybe the first 50 people get in. And no one else gets by until someone comes out. It's a great strategy for maximizing the safety of those in the store, while guaranteeing a more pleasant buying experience.

So why can't Times Square be a bit more like that?

Today I see a powerful revival of Arthur Miller's play, A View From the Bridge.

The streets surrounding 42nd and Broadway are impassable. Every sidewalk intersection is five deep. There is no room to move.  Impatient people (like me) are thrust onto the streets, into traffic, just to be able to walk. 

And because the world has become such a dangerous place, there are police dressed in black combat gear, carrying fierce looking weapons, just standing at attention. And all around them are smiley happy people iPhoning pictures of their friends and kids with Spiderman, the Hulk, and a whole cast of Disney characters. Guns and Minnie Mouse should not be side-by-side.

Why can't the police stand at the perimeters of Times Square? They could limit admittance to  a few hundred at a time, and make sure no one goes in until someone comes out. Sort of like a Manolo Blahnik sample sale.

And there could be a few rules.

"I'm sorry sir, but there's not enough room to enter just yet. You might want to go over to Bryant Park instead."

"Double strollers aren't allowed here on the weekends, but you can use them on Fifth, just a short walk away."

"Ma'am, you and your five person entourage cannot all walk abreast. Please divide into two groups and walk behind each other so others can pass."

"Sidewalks aren't like streets. People can travel in two directions."

"I'm sorry, selfies are allowed only in the non-vehicle areas. You can't hold up sidewalk traffic flow."

I love the tourists who come to New York. I love showing off the city I'm so proud of. I just wish they'd disperse themselves better.

Because really, New York City has so much more, and is so much better, than just Times Square.

costco, football, and alexander

Our proverbial cupboards are bare.

Last week I say to my boarder, Alexander, "We have no food in the house. We need to go to Costco and you need to come with me to help."

"I can't go this week.  I have to (fill in the blank with any number of excuses.)"

We finally decide on today. 10am, no later.

We leave the house at 12:14.

I figure I'll use the bus ride to catch up on emails but Alexander has other plans.

"Who should I start this week, Amari Cooper, or LeGarrette Blount?"

"Amari Cooper."

"Why?"

"He's faster."

"What defense should I start, Houston or Kansas City?"

"Kansas City."

"Ya, I think so too."

It's an inane conversation as my son, who's become a fantasy football addict, loves to engage me in discussions I know nothing about.  I respond randomly, and then he quizzes me on my response.

We get to Costco and take two carts.  Within seconds my son has disappeared into the cavernous warehouse.

I fill my cart, call my son, and get no response. 

Finally we connect. Alexander's cart has three things in it; the rest of the time he's been hanging out at the free food stations sampling pierogi's, cheeses, and anything else that looks appetizing.

But my son is strong and a good lifter; he helps unpack the taxi, and then begrudgingly helps unpack the bags when we get home.

Three hours and many dollars later we're done. At least until the new year.

remember Shayla?

In October of 2014 I get a call from Shayla, a girl I've never met.  She's the great grand-daughter of my mom's best friend and lives in Florida.

Shayla wins me over in a few minutes, and I agree to help her with college applications. She comes to me with all the right stuff (top of her class, good board scores, hard-working, smart, resourceful). Shayla is amazingly sweet, despite a life filled with challenges. Her optimism is a defining part of her personality. I wrote about her last May.

http://www.nycdiarist.com/2015/05/shayla.html

When I first spoke to Shayla, she was hoping I could help her with her college essays. I was happy to, but I also wanted to help her with school selection. She was pretty set on staying in Florida, and was reasonably sure she'd get into Florida State.

After learning more about Shayla, it became clear to me that she should aim high. I told her about schools she'd never heard of. Schools she'd heard of but knew nothing about. And schools she thought might be too much of a reach or too expensive. I also introduced her to a program called Questbridge.

Shayla is the ideal student.

She learns quickly. Is smart. Takes direction well. Is diligent and hard-working.  And never sends me anything that is almost-done, hoping I will add the finishing touches.  It's one of the gazillion things I love about her.

Shayla applies to Questbridge and today learns that she's been matched. That means that for the next four years, tuition, room, board, books, and a travel stipend will all be covered. Swarthmore, the #3 liberal arts college in this country, has accepted Shayla, and that is where she'll be going this coming fall.

This is a girl who will go far. Swarthmore will be her first step into a world she as yet doesn't know.

I am beyond happy for her.

shame on you, Williams-Sonoma!

My toaster oven is falling apart. Food doesn't cook evenly and it looks decrepit.

I have been researching its replacement, and finally find one I like, made by Breville.

I call Amazon last week and someone tells me, "Wait until Cyber Monday when everything will be 50% off." I know this can't be true, but wait anyway.

Cyber Monday comes and the price is the same.

I search the web and come across this big banner on Williams-Sonoma's site.

I find the item I want and lucky me, it's already on sale.

Sugg. Price:  $200
Our Price: $134.97

Williams-Sonoma is discounting the price by 33% before I even apply the extra 15% off.

Well, not really.

The suggested retail price has been inflated by 48%, and the product is selling everywhere, including Breville's own website, for $134.97

Still, I figure, 15% off.  

I select the item, already picturing how nice the toaster will look on my counter. I begin to check out, and enter the code SAVEMORE. 

Nothing happens. 

I must be doing something wrong. 

I call Williams-Sonoma and get Travis in Oklahoma City. "I'll look into this for you." 20 minutes on-hold later he returns.

"I'm sorry to have kept you on hold so long, but there are some exclusions. It says it right on the website." That's when he points out the teeny-tiny minuscule lettering on the bottom right of the home page that does say, "Some exclusions apply."  If you squint really hard you might be able to see it in the ad above. 

I also point out to Travis that the suggested price of $200 is wrong. 

"Every retailer is selling this item for $134.97, including Breville," I say.

"Well," Travis says. "The $200 is our suggested retail price."

It's impossible to argue with illogical people; I don't even try. 

Needless to say, I don't buy the toaster oven.

thanksgiving

My favorite holiday is usually spent on the Cape, with family. This year is a little different. I'm now in retail and the Friday after Thanksgiving is a must-work day.

7:10 am
Alexander kisses me good-bye, as he leaves to go up to Falmouth with his cousins, aunt and uncle.

9:15 am
I see Andy at Sashimi Express and pick up a big platter of sushi that I've pre-ordered. It'll make a nice pre-Thanksgiving appetizer.

2:15 pm
I imagine the scene as if I were there. Everyone's sitting in my mom's living room, with football muted in the background. Hors' d'oeuvres are passed and eaten. Lots of catch up conversation, with a touch of politics thrown in.

3:45 pm or so
All the females get up to start preparing the meal. Most of the work has already been done. We're talking final touches. Putting the food out. Slicing the turkey. Filling the glasses with ice. That kind of thing. The men will stay seated and will continue to watch football (the sound is probably on by now) until my mom announces, "Dinner's ready."

Jim will say grace, and the meal will be splendid. Turkey. Stuffing. Gravy. Cranberry sauce. Yams. Mashed potatoes. Peas, and probably things I'm forgetting. My nephew Adam will eat the most, and people will tease him. He won't care. My niece Sally will make kind remarks about global warming and wasteful consumption. People will tease her. She will care.

The conversation will be animated, with lots of people interrupting lots of other people. No one will be taking pictures this year. Jack, who's the real photographer in the family, prefers nature to people. And Ellie the cat is most likely locked away in my mom's room, where Valerie and her sons won't have to see her.

After dinner and before dessert, the men will go back to watching football and the women will stay behind to do the kitchen stuff. My family is liberal, except when it comes to meal-related tasks. The men almost always have nothing to do with them. And strangely, the women all accept this. My son loves this particular aspect of my family and happily immerses himself into the do-nothing-in-the-kitchen-'cuz-I'm-a man role.

5:45 pm
While my family on the Cape is eating their multi-berry pie from Crabapple's, I leave for Shari's where my Thanksgiving will begin.

It's pretty similar to my family's Thanksgiving. Same great food. Same familiar warmth. And same men hanging out watching football.

It's nice to have great friends; I have much to be grateful for.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

meeting leo

I dress as if it were a date.

Black fitted dress, high shoe boots, more makeup than normal.

I get to the theater early. It's a screening for The Revenant.

Everyone thing is going smoothly.

Moderator has arrived.

Photographer is present.

At least five studio people are at the theater.

Lots of security roaming around.

And a full house.  All as it should be.

The plan is to watch the movie and greet the "talent" about ten minutes before the end.

So at the climax of this two hour and thirty minute movie, I leave my seat.

The studio rep finds me to tell me that the talent has not been cleared for photos — major disappointment. 

I meet Will Poulter; he's very sweet. I see no one else.  Then I realize they are all hanging in a stairwell waiting for the film to end and the Q&A to begin.

I'm intimitated, but work hard to pretend I'm not.

I walk down the stairwell, past the three tough-looking security men, and approach the director, Alejandro Iñárritu. I compliment him on the exquisite movie he's directed. We speak briefly.  Standing next to him is Leonardo DiCaprio, looking very much the movie star he is.  

I introduce myself, shake his hand, and say, "You clean up nicely." Throughout most of the film, he's half dead.

I add, "You share my son's birthday (November 11), so happy belated birthday." He laughs.

I tell him I was cold watching the movie, and he says, "You have no idea. Some days were 40 degrees below zero. We shot in Calgary."

We talk a few more minutes and then he's being lead away. It's a short encounter, but an encounter nonetheless — one I'll not soon forget, even without the selfie.