Thursday, June 30, 2016

not good at pretending

I get an email today from a friend asking if I'm going to Massachusetts this weekend. I'm not. 

She writes, "I thought maybe you were going to take a long weekend to the cape because of your recent blogs of unhappiness…."

Huh?  I thought I was masking it so well.  Guess not.

Life is basically good. Everyone I know is healthy and reasonably happy. And my days are not spent locked in a room feeling miserable. Really, I only have one major problem. If I could figure out a way to solve it, I believe I'd be happy. Or certainly a lot less stressed.

There's no point in describing it. For anyone reading this blog, it's been stated over and over. I've been trying for a long time to find a solution, and I haven't given up.

First I tried tutoring. I had hoped to build a business helping families navigate the application process to college. I created an online site. Sent flyers to private school students. And depended largely on word-of-mouth. I got a few good clients. Loved what I did. But earned barely enough to cover my phone bills.

Then there was real estate. A lot of time and energy went into this. Had to take 20 real-estate courses. Study (and pass) two tough exams. Secure a job. And then find clients. I sent out mailers. Contacted everyone I knew. Networked where I could. But when three people very close to me used other agents to sell their apartments, it kinda broke me. I was deeply hurt and became thoroughly disillusioned. The company I worked for is now close to bankruptcy; the owner had to settle some nasty public lawsuits; and the office I worked in has since closed.

Next was J. Hilburn. Great product — custom men's clothing sold directly, with top fabrics from Italian mills. All was good there until the commission structure changed last May, thereby reducing my small income to a minuscule one. 

And now there's Saks. I enjoy fashion and think I'm good at selling. But there is little correlation between effort and pay.

This week I participated in three different BAFTA meetings. One with the Board. One via video with top executives in the UK. And one this morning with the NY Events Manager. I like discussing strategy, and being involved with such talented people. Their insights and observations continue to humble me.

I know I still have much to contribute. I just wish I knew how to channel my strengths into a job that pays.

Let me know if you have any ideas. 




Tuesday, June 21, 2016

playing tourist

My back feels the same. Miserable. But moving is good. Staying still is not.

I go to a museum, but not a big famous touristy one.




I've been wanting to see the exhibit Anti Semitism 1919-1939. 

When I saw The Power of Poison, an  exhibit at The American Museum of Natural History a couple of years ago, I remember snaking through room after room. Same with a lego exhibit I saw in 2013. And even recently when I saw the work of cartoonist Roz Chast at The Museum of the City of New York; multiple large rooms held her work. The exhibit I see today is not like any of these.

I read every word of copy. And still, I am able to see the entire exhibit in 30 minutes. It takes up less space than my bedroom. But its power is not diminished by its compactness. A sign about the exhibition states that it traces the "incremental stages by which anti-Semitism moved from ideology to state policy and finally, to war." It's a frightening testimony to how one man's insidious beliefs can systematically sneak into a culture and poison it.

I also learn some Hamilton history (to prepare me for finally seeing the show next February 22 when the cast has completely changed). And I love the multi-screen movie about New York's history, ending with Jay-Z and Alicia Keys singing Empire State of Mind.  That song grabs me every time I hear it.

Then tonight I see a play. Not a big Broadway musical. A quiet, off-broadway piece of theater. I meet Jill downtown on Barrow St. to see a thought-provoking play originally staged in London.



It doesn't matter how many times I go to the West Village; every time I'm there I have to ask for directions. Or, I can get lucky and bump into someone I know who lives downtown, as happens tonight.  

I love playing tourist, but am glad I'm just playing. 

I've been living here for over 31 years and the novelty still hasn't worn off.


Monday, June 20, 2016

oh my aching back



The last time this happened was February of 2014, over two years ago. But now it's returned. And it is debilitating. 

Lower back pain.

It started sometime on Saturday, wasn't too bad, and easily remedied by Advil.

But by Sunday, I could barely get out of bed. The pain had radiated down through my thighs.  

Standing was fine. 

Sitting was fine. 

But any movement in between wasn't, including getting from sitting to standing. I couldn't bend.

I drafted a note to my boss, saying I wouldn't able to make it in. Moving was too painful.  I took three Advil and miraculously felt better. So I didn't send the email and went to work instead.

Throughout the eight-hour day I felt little pain and came home feeling okay. 

But this morning, things are bad again.

As soon as I sit up, a sharp, intense pain almost knocks me over.

I exit my bed gingerly. 

According to the web experts, moving is good; lying prone is not.

I drop something on the floor and need to figure out some convoluted way to retrieve it. 

Getting dressed is easy above the waist, difficult below. I avoid wearing anything that requires opening a bottom drawer.

Picking up the morning paper takes some figuring out.

I try to skip Advil but by mid-afternoon, I give in and take three.


By seven, I feel little difference.

Unloading the dishwasher takes a lot of effort, except for the glasses on the top shelf.

I'd like to soak in a hot bath but what if I can't get out? Thoughts of calling my super to rescue me kill that thought.

Is this what 90 is going to feel like? G-d I hope not.

I research back pain. Usually harmless. But can last weeks. Am assuming mine won't. Can't bear to think otherwise.

Wednesday, June 15, 2016

getting rid of frizz

Finally, a year has passed since my last Keratin treatment.  I'm ready for my next one. Actually, I've been ready for months.

No matter how much work I put into my hair, unless the weather is totally on my side, it looks bad within hours. All my effort is erased, and I'm left with curls that aren't pretty. Frizz that is ratty looking. Locks that look dry and brittle. And zero shine.

For the past four years, I've been going to Julie at Sergio Limpopo. She charges $99 and does a fantastic job. 

When Julie got pregnant a couple of years ago, I got nervous she'd leave. And was grateful when she didn't. But this year when I call, I'm told she's left. Assuming she's at another salon, I ask where she's gone. I know she lives in an outer borough and I'm already thinking, I don't care. I'll take the subway to Queens. Or Brooklyn. Even Staten Island, though I think that could require a ferry. "Julie got her nursing degree and now works at a hospital." Hmmm. Not the answer I expected. Good for Julie, bad for me.

Last week Stephanie, a co-worker, comes in with great looking new hair. She tells me about Adriana at Davida Hair Salon on the Upper East Side. I book an appointment and today I go.

Adriana is great. She recommends Lazio's Mocha Silk treatment. "It's particularly good for very dry hair." It's supposed to remove 100% of the frizz, last up to four months, and, I can wash my hair in just 24 hours.

We both don masks, which makes me question the formaldehyde level. But I quickly rationalize that thought away with, I only do this once a year and it makes such a big difference


By the time I leave, 90 minutes later, I'm happy.

Monday, June 13, 2016

safe nowhere

I am both sad and grateful.

My son is working in Philadelphia, and figuring out how to live on his own. I speak to him often, and mostly he is happy.

My mom is fine, having spent yesterday at my nephew's graduation; today she's busy playing cards with friends.

My sisters are both good, as are their families.

None of my friends are facing any serious issues, physical or otherwise.

I am healthy and reasonably okay with life.

I am living in — I suppose arguably — the best city in the world.

I live in a country that allows me to speak my mind and live life as I please.

I am lucky.

I see a mother on TV crying for answers as she looks for her son. She later discovers that he is one of  49 killed in yesterday's shooting in Orlando.

Others, too, face the pain of losing a child or friend.  All because of one person's unexplained hatred.

2,606 go to work one cloudless September day and never come home.

20, six and seven-year old children, go to school and are shot dead.

3 people are killed and many more maimed as they participate, or watch, a major sporting event.

129 people die on a relaxing Friday night in Paris.

After 911 I thought I'd never feel safe again. But time passed, and eventually I stopped worrying that a busload of terrorists was going to come barrelling down 79th St. and randomly toss a bomb inside Alexander's window.

And while I don't live my life in fear, I am much more conscious of how precious life is, and how quickly it can change.  

My heart breaks for the Orlando victims and their families. 

And I am grateful that those I love are safe tonight.  I pray they stay that way.



Wednesday, June 8, 2016

life outside the city

A few weeks ago Robin and I talk about going to Costco together; she has a car and I don't.

Today we make it a full-day adventure. 

Robin picks me up at noon. "We're having lunch at Blue Hill," she tells me as we're driving up the FDR.  I've never been there, and know the restaurant only by reputation.  It's formal and expensive. But then Robin adds, "They have an informal place where we can eat outside."

The restaurant is about 45 minutes outside Manhattan in Westchester county. Halfway there we hit a torrential downpour. While yesterday was in the 80's, today is 20 degrees colder. Not exactly outdoor eating weather.

But by the time we arrive, the rain has stopped. I get a small salad; Robin gets cold asparagus soup, and we split a piece of toast topped with beet and goat cheese — that alone makes the trip up here worth it.

lunch at Blue Hill at Stone Barns

meal with a view

After lunch we go to see the movie Weiner at a local strip mall.




I can't remember the last time I paid for a movie, but here in the burbs, and being of-age, it only costs $7.



As expected, the theater is empty.  And, we are maybe the youngest people here.
.

The movie begins with Anthony Weiner being interviewed.  I hear a woman (making no attempt to whisper) say to her husband, "You know, that's the real Anthony Weiner." Did she think this was a documentary with actors playing the actual people?

After the movie, Robin gives me a little tour. She lived up here for 13 years. 



Before hitting Costco, we stop at "the Disneyland of dairy stores" according to The New York Times.




It's almost 8 before we are back in the city. It feels like we've been gone a week to another country.

But the best part of the day? Getting to know Robin better. I think we've moved past a professional working relationship into one of friendship. I hope so.

Oh, and I almost forgot.  The theater let me have some tap water with no charge at all for the cup! There's a lot to be said for the suburbs.



Thursday, June 2, 2016

theater with friends and others

Up early for a BAFTA board meeting in midtown.

Back home for color with Lico (formally know as Lyo) at noon.

Then theater at 7:30 with Jill, Shari and Zelia.

I leave at 6:30, thinking I'll arrive early. Instead, I wait 20 minutes for a bus, hit tons of crosstown traffic, and show up just as the lights are dimming.

The play is well-written, well-acted, but bleak.  Neither sunny skies nor happy people show up in this piece of theater.

As we are leaving, Jill and I see Lyn A and Jane.  The four of us, in the late 80's, comprised the first integrated marketing team at CBS. I haven't seen Jane since the department was disbanded in 1989. It 's a nice — albeit brief — reunion.


Before leaving, the cast comes out, and Shari ends up in conversation with Tim Daly, who happens to be a friend from college. 

 

In person, he is far nicer than the creepy (and convincing)  English character he plays on stage — shows what a good actor he is.