goodbye 2016

Trump wins.

Prince, Ali, Bowie, George Michael, a Star Wars Princess and her mom all leave this world — along with my brilliant, funny and utterly wonderful friend Carol.

No where are we really safe. Not in the world. Not in our cities. Not in schools. Not in cafes. Nowhere.

We can only pray that 2017 will be better than the year we are leaving behind.

But on the other hand, we can count ourselves among the lucky if we:

• Live in a country where are our freedoms aren't restricted.

• Have good health (so under-valued when you have it).

• Are surrounded by family (even if we complain, and bicker and wish they'd understand us better).

• Have good friends to share our secrets, our joys, and to prop us up when all we want to do is crawl into bed and make it (whatever it is) go away.

• Know our child(ren) are safe and happy and making good decisions.

• Can pay our bills and not be worried about our financial futures.

• And are loved.

I have all but one.

My New Year's eves are now pretty much spent doing the same thing. Staying in. And inviting some friends over to watch a movie and share some food. To me, it's the perfect way to end any year.

So tonight, Robyn, Susan and Linda come over. We toast the new year with prosecco and sushi. Watch The Edge of Seventeen. Eat popcorn and boxes of movie candy (Junior Mints, Raisinettes, and M&M's). And say good night before the new year arrives.

It always surprises me to know that someone I didn't know is reading this blog. Your readership is deeply appreciated; thank you.

Happy 2017. 

To good health, prosperity, and new adventures.

last minute movie day

In 2008, I begin — what will become a tradition — of inviting friends over to watch a couple of movies on Christmas Day.

This year, I decide instead to invite my co-workers.

But then, Alexander tells me he's coming home, and I think it will be nice to just hang out with him.

So I dis-invite my co-workers. Nice, I know.

But then, Alexander makes his own plans for Christmas Day and they don't include me.

And so, last minute I invite some friends over. 

2pm for Manchester By the Sea; 4:45 movie TBD

In past years, few people have accepted. Both last year and the year before, only three people show up for the first movie and four for the second.

But this year, nine people say yes.

I talk to M this morning. I am not a comfortable hostess, as it's not something I do naturally.  M is hosting 24 people for a full course Christmas dinner. I am probably more nervous than she is. And her menu includes shrimp, some roasted appetizers, a beef tenderloin, vegetables, mashed potatoes, and multiple desserts. 

My menu is a pedestrian one.

Yesterday I go to Costco and pick up giant sized bags of popcorn. Veggie chips. Chex mix. Some diet coke. Lindt chocolates. And mixed butter cookies.

My guests bring fruit, wine, and more sweets.

I get the picture-taking out of the way early, before Alexander runs off.

l. to r. front row: Robyn, Estelle (Robyn's mom), Shari
l to r back row: Jill, Carol, Linda and me

It takes awhile to sort out the seating, but by 2:30 we begin watching Manchester By the Sea. It's extraordinarily sad, with a subtle, intense performance by Casey Affleck.

The second movie, Captain Fantastic, is entertaining and much lighter.

By 8:30, my guests have left, my apartment's clean, my son is home, and my house is filled with millions of calories in junk food. My doormen are going to love me.

home for the holidays

I can't count the number of times I called and texted my son this week asking variations of the same question:

"What time will you be home on Friday?"

Finally, around eleven last night, I get a text, " i'm proly taking the 6 bus."

I work all day and figure, with holiday traffic and all, Alexander won't be home before nine."

So I eat dinner alone, having skipped lunch.

But then, surprise, surprise. There's little traffic and my son is home from Philadelphia by 8:30. He grabs some sushi. Watches some football. Then says, "What movie do you want to watch?"

I have just about every single new movie.

But we don't want something too long.

Or too depressing.

Or too violent.

Or that doesn't have a 90% or better rating on Rotten Tomatoes (his criteria, not mine).

Alexander picks a movie he's seen. One he loves. One that has a 98% RT score. One he finally convinces me to watch, even though it's not my kind of movie. It's animated. Aside from The Flintstones, I never even liked cartoons as a kid. 

But there's something to be said for just hanging out with your 24-year old son, and seeing him laugh, while pointing out all the clever nuanced bits that he thinks I might be missing. Zootopia turns out to be a smart, charming film, made better by the audience I watch it with.

And who can't love a movie where all the workers at the DMV are personified as slow-moving sloths?

unspoken rules

I go to a lot of BAFTA and studio screenings this time of year. The audiences are always industry professionals and their guests. The rules are simple. Show up if you say you will. Turn off your cells — all the way. And no talking. Most people abide.

But then there are those rules that needn't be stated because they are so obvious. 

Jill and I arrive early at the Warner Brothers screening room to see Live By Night. We are among the first, and the theater is empty. There's a break in the seating about half way down and one row provides the most legroom and unobstructed viewing. It's perfect. There are 7 seats. The first two are taken by a man and a woman. Then there's an empty seat, a man, and three more empty seats.

I ask the man who is sitting in the middle seat of the perfect row if he can move over one;  he'll still be in the middle and no one will be in front of him.  That way Jill and I can sit next to each other. My question is really rhetorical as I'm not thinking he's going to refuse. Why would he?



"No." he responds. 

"Really?" I ask incredulously.

"Really," he starkily responds.

"Can I ask why?"

"It has nothing to do with you." Then he adds, "That seat has cat hair all over it."

I look and see nothing on the chair. Besides, this is a private screening room. I am guessing there's another unspoken rule: no pet cats are allowed as guests.

The conversation continues.

"Why don't you each sit on either side of me?" the man asks.

"Well, I came with my friend so I would like to sit next to her."

"Why?" he asks. "You're not going to talk during the film."

"Well, I think it's nice if I come with someone that I sit with them."

I can't believe I'm having this ridiculous conversation with this ridiculous man.

Jill and I (rather Jill) decides it's not worth an argument. We are supposed to be professional, after all.

But then, about ten minutes later, before the film starts, the man suddenly interrupts our conversation and says, "Okay, I'll move down one."  And he moves to the empty seat to his left, the non-cat-haired seat.

No explanation. Maybe he realized he was being a dick? Hard to know.

The movie starts. About 30 minutes in the woman to my right opens a bag of candy that crinkles and makes a ton of noise every time she digs into it. It is so annoying that someone loudly says, "Shh." And when that doesn't work, ten minutes later someone yells, "That rustling sound is so loud." And then later, when she still remains unaffected by the pleas for her to stop, someone shouts, "YOU ARE BEING SO RUDE!"

This time she stops. Either that, or by then all her candies are gone.

water, water everywhere

I've lived in my apartment for too many years.

I moved here when I was pregnant with Alexander, thinking it would be temporary. Yet here I am, 24 years later.

Throughout my tenancy, I have had a few complaints of the same issue.

Like the sidewalk shed that stayed up for 15 months, despite less than a year of actual work. Fortunately that problem is now gone.

But not gone is the horrid tenant who lives above me and has few rugs. I hear her regularly clomping around her apartment. This woman is small. Yet it sounds like a herd of elephants has invaded her apartment as she walks, heavy-footed, from room to room late at night. 

Or the night doorman who pulls up a chair when he's on duty, locks the front door, and then goes to sleep. Every. Single. Night.

And then there's my toilet. It regularly keeps running.

Mike, the handyman (who can fix just about anything), and Roberto, the super, have inspected my toilet many times. They have used some large coil thing called a snake to fix it. But it's never a permanent fix. And  they always conclude  the same thing. "You're lucky to have the older model toilet. The newer ones aren't as good." 

This morning, I get up around 6:30 to use the bathroom, planning to go right back to sleep. And that's what I would have done had it not been for the inch of water all over my bathroom floor.

I knew this would happen one day and now it has. Although this isn't my first thought.

My first thought is more like, "F@*K, I REALLY DON'T WANT TO DEAL WITH THIS NOW!" And of course there is no super and no handyman in my building any time on Sunday.

I have to beg the doorman to leave his post and come up. He sees the flooded bathroom and asks if I have any paper towels. Really? Paper towels? I'd need a case of paper towels to clean up the mess. Not to mention all those poor trees.

So the doorman goes down to the basement and returns with a mop and a bucket. He does a quick sweep, leaving lots of water behind.

I get home from work around 9, and no one one has been contacted all day. The building's response: "It's noted in the book. Someone will be in tomorrow."

And so today is tomorrow. I tell the super who has just returned from vacation. His response. "I don't know nothing." 

"Well, there's not much to know," I say.  "My toilet kept running all night, as I've been complaining about for years. And this time it overflowed and left an inch of water on my bathroom floor."

The handyman Mike comes up. Apparently some tube in the tank was too short and had become disconnected from the place it should have been.

Problem solved (I really really hope).

local bosses

Monday and Tuesday are total catch-up days. I love the mindlessness of them.

Laundry. Apartment cleaning. Emails. Phone calls. Closet organization. Groceries. Library. The usual stuff.

I go to Agata & Valentina (where I shop almost every day) with a plan to buy something healthy for dinner. Fish, I'm thinking. Instead I end up with a pound of baby back ribs. I ask for extra sauce and the person helping me tells me to go to another counter to get it.

Standing at the second counter is a well-dressed, middle-aged women in some kind of fur jacket. I ask for the sauce and the guy behind the counter tells me where to go to buy some. "I don't want to buy any, I just need some for the ribs I just bought," I say.  The lady jumps in;  "Just please put some sauce in a plastic container and give it to her."

Then the lady points to some kind of fried thing and asks the same guy what it is. "I don't know," he answers. "But I'll find out for you."  The woman patiently responds, "You should know what it is; you work here. Plus, if you know what it is you'll be able to sell it better." (Turns out it's some kind of potato nugget). 

I ask the woman if she's in the food business. "I am," she replies. "Actually here."  

"Are you Agata, by chance?" I ask.  "I am," she tells me.  I am honored to finally meet her.

On my way home I pass the bagel place and notice that the pricing sign has't been changed. The egg salad sandwich is still listed at $4.45. I stop in.

Coincidentally the boss is also in.  She's female and Asian — not  male and Jewish. I mean, the place only serves bagels and deli food. I tell her the story of the other night. She apologizes and says, "I totally agree with you. We should always go by the prices printed on the sign." I thank her, and then the guy who helped me the other night suddenly appears. "Oh, hi," I begin.  He is all smiles. The lady-boss then says, "Next time you're in, whatever sandwich you order is on the house." This is surprising and unexpected. But even but more surprising and unexpected is the big hug the deli guy gives me.

I love a happy ending.

secret pricing

Long, good day.

I walk 7.5 miles in my Mephisto's and by the time I leave work I feel like I am walking on small needles. I even Google home remedies for foot pain.

I carry, hang, and lug truckloads of clothes from the dressing rooms to the freight elevator area where are "go-backs" are placed.

I get a workout worthy of a military boot camp.

I am exhausted.

And hungry.

Before leaving for work at eleven this morning I eat two slices of cranberry walnut bread with tuna.

I don't break for lunch. 

I have two cups of coffee and one delicious cookie that my co-worker Vince made. That's it.

I am starving by the time I leave work at nine.

I don't want to take time to eat in a restaurant. I don't want pizza. And Agata is closed.

So I stop in at the local bagel place.

I order something easy. An egg salad sandwich, avocado, one slice of tomato, all on a flattened bagel.

I go to pay. "That's $10.83," says the guy behind the counter. 

"How can that be I ask?"

"6.45 for the sandwich. An extra dollar for the bagel because it's flattened. (This is worthy of an argument that I chose not to have). $1.50 for the avocado. And $1 for the tomato. Plus tax."

I look up at the big pricing board above the deli counter and see, "Egg Salad Sandwich: $4.45."

I tell the guy that it's $4.45 and not $6.45 for the sandwich.

"Ya, I know.  We need to change the sign. Our pricing has changed."

"Well, you need to go with what's posted. That's the law."

I say this with authority guessing that it has to be true. You can't just change pricing without telling your customers. 

Imagine people coming into Saks and the dress they want to buy has a tag on it for $445 and I charge them $645, with the explanation, "We changed the pricing on that dress last week and plan to change the tags soon. Sorry for the inconvenience."

So the deli guy and I get into a bit of an argument. It ends with him saying,  "Fine, just pay whatever you want. And then leave." He is not happy with me. The feeling is mutual.

I pay $8.50, come home, and eat my sandwich. 

It is not very good. 

Too much mayo in the egg salad. And too much drama in the ordering.

uptown girls go downtown

The same group of us get together to celebrate each others birthdays. We've been doing it for years. I don't know when this tradition started, but I am grateful that it did.

At one point, we all had sons in the same class at Horace Mann. They've all graduated, but our friendships have endured. Tonight we meet to celebrate Janice's birthday.

Since all of us have apartments on the upper east side, we typically select a restaurant somewhere in the neighborhood. But when Shari suggests Lafayette (Grand Cafe and Restaurant), we all enthusiastically agree. Lafayette is fairly new (it opened in 2013), is a 'sprawling belle époque style brasserie and bakery,' is housed in a beautifully updated old building (I think), and has a large and varied menu. We are meeting tonight at 7:45.

Half of us are delayed when the #6 train gets stuck. The other half are luckier and make it downtown in less than 30 minutes. Once we all arrive (minus Brooke who unfortunately can't make it), we toast the birthday girl. Then shockingly, everyone agrees to a photo – with not a single person requesting veto power over the posted photo

l to r: Ronda, me, Zelia, Pam, Shari, Janice

We all chose the burger; it is the perfect size, the brioche roll is homemade, and it comes with a generous order of fries. I would rank the burger as one of the best in the city.



The desserts taste as exquisite as they look. We order three to split, and not one morsel remains.

The food is outstanding. The restaurant charming. And the conversation engaging and expansive... from the election to kid updates to work to things I'll keep private. 

The restaurant would be without flaws were it not for the noise level. We are seated near the front of the restaurant; six of us at a rectangular table. The most common comments of the night are, "What did she say?" "Can you repeat that?" "I can't hear anything." "I think I'll try reading lips."

Making conversation is easy; hearing it is not. 

But even still, it's a night of shared laughs, excellent food, and lucky-to-have friends. 




Happy birthday Janice. And may your wish to grow very very old be granted!