Tuesday, February 28, 2017

my uniform

In 1994 I gave my notice. I was a Gillette Brand Manager, and had just taken a job for a similar position at Lever Brothers in New York City. I was excited about the move. 

Someone in Gillette's creative department surprised me with an illustration. In it, she had me wearing her imagined NYC uniform. A fur coat (mine was a light-colored raccoon coat I had purchased at Filene's Basement). Heels. Sheer hose, regardless of weather. And never too far from Bloomingdales. 




Times have changed. Now of course, my retailer of choice is Saks. My raccoon coat has long since disappeared from my wardrobe. And I haven't worn sheer hose (or heels to casually walk the streets) in a million years. 

Now, it's black tights (or no hose at all if the weather permits). A Moncler coat (if it's winter). And, according to my colleague Bobby, Jimmy Choo short biker boots ("that's an UES white woman boot," he tells me).  I own a pair — not because they're stylish, but because the rubber treaded soles make them remarkably comfortable for a long day of walking on hardwood floors



When I go to work, my uniform there is a black skirt, with either a white or black top. That, despite a relaxed dress coat where "personal style" is encouraged and applauded.

And when my mom visits, she generally comes wearing her uniform. Black leggings, a longish black top with a white long-sleeved tee underneath. She fits right in.

I have many different versions of my one uniform.  And while the overall look might be the same, I know the difference. 

I think it's funny when people come in to shop and say, "I don't want black. I have so much of it already."

80% of my closet is black, and I never get sick of it. Black is slimming, easy to wear, pairs well with almost everything, and conveys sophisticated chic. Plus, it never ever goes out of style.

Unlike oversized raccoon coats.




Monday, February 27, 2017

virtual party

For as long as I can remember, I have never missed the Oscars. And it's most fun watching it with friends. 

But Sunday is a good stay-at-home night. And the Oscars always run late. And wouldn't it be nice to watch the show live with friends, and lounge in bed at the same time? And I'm working Sunday, so buying food, putting it out, showering and getting ready is not something I really want to do. So I invite some friends to watch the Oscars with me — virtually.

Everyone can get in their sweats. Not worry about makeup. Eat their own food. Leave when they want. And text live.

At 8:30 I start a thread with six friends. One friend checks out ten minutes later. I think she was "attending" another virtual party with her family. Stephanie is gone within the hour. Two of my friends stay on but say little. Shari and Susan are the most vocal. Like me, they have seen all (or at least most) of the nine nominated films. 

Most of the fashion is tame. Not many big losers, which is too bad. I think Emma Stone is the most stunning. She looks ethereal in her shimmering gold dress. And why can't men stick to a black tux (or navy) with a classic, well-tailored white shirt? I don't like ruffles on men. Or black shirts with black tuxes.  Or necklaces, like Pharell wears.

The wins are fairly predictable.  I'm probably the only one who thinks Viola's acceptance speech feels like a performance. Or that Casey Affleck really needs to trim that beard (even if it is for some future role). Or that Justin Timberlake should win something; he embodies perfection.

But the show is long and slow, and I am tired. I fall sleep at my own party 

I get up early this morning to watch the last hour. I don't check my texts or emails. I want to be surprised.

And of course I am. Very.

How many expected tasks does that poor accountant from PricewaterhouseC have to do? He (or she) is not on stage. No need to worry about public speaking, or even what to wear. This person doesn't have to present before a crowd of millions. Sure, they may be nervous handing an envelope to Warren Beatty, but other than that, I'm guessing they have little to be worried about. All they have to do is make sure the envelope they are giving to Mr. Beatty is the right one. How difficult can that be?

Well, a major mix-up makes for compelling TV. 

Too bad both Moonlight and La La Land couldn't have won. 

Wednesday, February 22, 2017

worth the wait

Last June (that's eight months ago), American Express released some seats to their platinum cardholders. Lucky for me that my friend Susan has one of those cards.



She gets us seats, third row, right next to the seats that cost almost $400. 


The play premiered at The Public Theater in February 2015. M, who hates theater, had heard about it and asked if we should go. But when she described it —a musical about America's founding fathers —she didn't have to add that it was three hours long. I didn't want to go even if it were a 90-minute single act. One, I generally don't like musicals, and two, a mostly-male cast about Alexander Hamilton and his friends? The guy on the ten dollar bill? No thank you.


That was then.


Today I meet Susan. The long lines to get in, and the enthusiastic theater-goers in that line, make it feel like Hamilton is opening today.





Our seats are a little close, but that's fine.





What isn't fine is the guy with the gigantic head who is sitting directly in front of me.





The musical opens and before a word is sung, the packed house is already cheering. It's as if everyone knows that this is going to be an extraordinary three hours of entertainment.


And they are right.

The play lives up to its hype and the three hours fly by. It's an ingenious concept, powerfully delivered, and exceptionally performed. I loved every single second.


Tuesday, February 21, 2017

stoned

Sometime in the early 70's I saw the Stones at Boston Garden. And yes, if I had to guess, I was probably stoned. I'm not sure if people even use that word anymore. I think the vernacular may have changed. It's been that long.


Robin and I get tickets a couple of weeks ago, and today we meet to see a multi-media exhibit on the Rolling Stones.





We are immediately welcomed in.




The exhibit is much larger than I thought it would be.

I love seeing actual handwritten entries by Keith Richards in a miniature-sized diary.

Learning about the influence that blues had on their work.

Seeing a recreation of the early (and disgustingly dirty) flat they shared before their fame. I guess Mick, Keith and Brian didn't care too much about cleanliness.





Viewing hideous —yet memorable — costumes from the 70's.

And learning about the creation of their iconic logo.





But the best part, of course, is the music. A short 3-D concert. A segment narrated by Scorcese on the Stones' films. And a chance to adjust the vocals, backup singers, and instrumentation on a few songs.


The protracted section on the actual guitars used is not as interesting. All I got from that is that the guitars are personal, expensive, and lovingly acquired.


But I'd like to heard more of Mick's voice (both in narrative and song). I miss not knowing more of who they were then and who they are now. Didn't Bill Wyman, at 47, have sex with a 13 year old and then marry her? Hasn't Keith Richards been married forever to model Patti Hansen, and now lives a quiet life in Connecticut? And didn't Mick Jagger just welcome his 8th child? And what about poor Brian Jones who died of an overdose?


The exhibit misses on communicating the band's personal stories. How'd they get to where they are, and what affect has that had on their lives and their families? At heart, I'm most interested in the Stones as people and the incredible library of music they've created.


It takes me and Robin two and a half hours to get through the exhibit. It is absolutely worth seeing. Even if it doesn't tell the colorful off-stage stories of these fantastically talented guys.

Monday, February 20, 2017

girls day in

Recently Saks was selling beautiful cashmere sweaters by Alberta Ferretti.

If I had to guess, I'd bet that this one was the least popular. Not for its colors, but for its day.  Who would claim Monday as their favorite day? Who, that is, besides me.



I love Mondays.

I generally work Friday, Saturday and Sunday, so Monday begins a four-day stretch of not working. It's generally my catch-up day. You know, phone calls. Emails. Errands.  Fixing those small troublesome things that need to be fixed. And just generally getting stuff done. It's probably a lot like everyone else's Sunday.

But today I can't do much because I have no computer. My new computer, bought in late January, doesn't hold its battery charge. Apple replaces it today, but I ask them (and they agree) to migrate all my data. If I don't have to deal with that, I'd rather not. I leave the Apple Store around 11:45, feeling both liberated and naked.

I email a few friends and ask if anyone is free to watch a movie. Surprisingly, three friends are.

By 2pm, Shari, Robyn and Stephanie are all here. The coffee table is filled with junk food. We watch The Light Between Oceans. The movie has a slow start, is beautifully shot, and poses moral questions that are difficult to answer, despite knowing what the right responses should be.

It's a perfect way to spend an afternoon. Hanging with close friends. Eating good comfort food. Watching a film worthy of discussion. And not worrying about hair or makeup.

Wednesday, February 15, 2017

good decision

A friend and I were scheduled to see Jitney a few weeks ago. Neither one of us had any interest in the play; It came with our subscription package to Manhattan Theater Club (MTC).

My friend cancelled outright; I rescheduled for a matinee today.


I wake up and decide to cancel. 


I call MTC.


Tim, a never-met friend who works in the subscription office, tells me the play is  fantastic and I'd be crazy to miss it. I consider rescheduling again, but know that if I don't feel like going today, I won't feel like going a week from today. I tell Tim I'll think about it and hang up — and then argue with myself the rest of the morning.


I really don't feel like going into midtown. 

I know this is a ridiculous argument. It's easy enough to get there. And it's not like it's raining or snowing.

I haven't loved any other August Wilson play that I've seen. In fact, I fell asleep during the recent movie-version of Fences.

But he is an important playwright.

I don't like dialogue-driven plays. I hated Conor McPherson's The Weir, for example, and that won all sorts of big awards.

But the reviews on this production of Jitney have been universally excellent.

I just went to a play last night.

So what, people visit NY just to see  good theater. And besides, it's not like I'm sacrificing other plans.

I don't really want to go.

But I feel guilty not going.  

It's two and a half hours long.

I can always leave at intermission if I hate it.

Finally, around one, I decide to go. I grab a yogurt, throw on some makeup, and leave. The play starts at two. I just make it.

Everyone seated around me is decades older than I am and short. I have a perfect, unobstructed view seat, just five rows from the stage.

By the time the riveting first act ends, I'm totally hooked. 

Thank-you Tim; I'm glad I listened.

Tuesday, February 14, 2017

a play in two days

I meet Susan at Westville.

We are having dinner before seeing a new play called Yen by Anna Jordan. That was last Tuesday.

Westville is my favorite go-too place for a casual, inexpensive dinner. It's a nondescript whole-in-the-wall I discovered years ago. The food is outstanding, the menu long and varied, and the prices gentle. It's unfortunate that the desserts are as good as they are as we always end up getting one.

Our seats are first row. We are practically in the squalid apartment watching porn with the two teen boys when the play opens. It's a brutal first act. 

Should we stay for act two?  I don't know. The play did start to get more interesting in the last scene before intermission. But it's so dark and depressing. These are not the kind of people I want to spend time with. And you just know the ending is not going to be a happy one. Not that I need a happy ending. It's just all so dismal. We leave.

My Via picks me up in literally two minutes.

I get home and then read the reviews. Now I wish I'd stayed. 

I call MCC theater the next day and get another ticket for tonight.

I'm glad I went, but should have stayed the first time around. The second act, far more powerful than the first, costs me an extra $15, another Via, and three more hours of time. 

Tomorrow I'm supposed to see Jitney. A two and a half hour play by August Wilson. Lots of dialogue and little action is my guess from the reviews.

I'm thinking of skipping both acts.




Thursday, February 9, 2017

a challenging task

First PlayMobile, and later Legos. These were Alexander's earliest obsessions.

He would open the instructions (usually several age levels above his own) and meticulously follow them. I was in awe of this talent;  it certainly wasn't inherited from me.


I have never been good at simple instruction-following. I resist buying things that require assembly. But sometimes there is no choice.


My all-in-one printer isn't compatible with my new MacBook Pro (that I love).  I have to get a new one. 


I order a wireless Canon printer (Pixma MG7720); better than the Canon I bought eight years ago at almost half the price. It arrives. And it sits in my living room in a huge cardboard box for about a week. 


But today it's snowing. Finally. So it's the perfect day for indoor jobs — even ones I find intimidating.

I use a box cutter to open the huge box.


It's filled with lots of brown paper that I remove. Environmentalists would not be happy.


I next cut the clear tape that's hiding in a million places. 

I remove the printer from the box, unwrap the five ink cartridges, and find the four-page quick set-up instructions, knowing it won't be quick.


I unplug and move my old printer to make space for the new one. 


I carry the new printer back to the space where the old printer was.


I then take a break —shower, make some calls, do a few emails.


I start where I left off, and the next part goes pretty smoothly. 


Until I get to the wireless connection part. There is no connection. I do a few obvious things; nothing works.

I call Canon. Get a great guy. Very knowledgeable and clear in his directions.


"Log on to your computer. "


"Go to Applications."


"Open a folder called Canon Utlities."

"Now click on this and download that. Use this program instead of the one labeled that."

"Okay, now open Settings."

"Under settings blah blah blah."

I do everything he tells me to do and it works.


None of his instructions are anywhere in the Quick Set Up Guide; and nothing he directs me to do is intuitive.

Still, I test the printing and it works. The scanning too.  And the copying.


Everything is functioning as it should. 

The pride I feel is disproportionate to the task. 









Monday, February 6, 2017

a ride on the #6

I am on my way home from a BAFTA meeting. It's rush hour.

The subway is packed. Standing room only. I am squished between other riders, barely able to breathe.

"Ladies and gentleman, this train will not be stopping at 125th street due to construction. We will be stopping at 138th Street instead and you will have to take the downtown 6 back to 125th."

This doesn't affect me. But I see others grumbling.

A few minutes pass.

"Okay ladies and gentleman, again, I want to make sure you heard my first message......" (and he repeats the information previously announced).

A few stops later.

"Hey everyone. I just got news. 125th Street is now open. You can now ignore my previous announcements to the contrary."

Then the train stalls. Stopped between stations.

"I apologize for the delay. We will be moving shortly. There's traffic up ahead due to the New England Patriot's win in the Super Bowl."

Sullen subway riders are now smiling.

Tom is on minds and hearts everywhere.

Sunday, February 5, 2017

come and gone

"Are you coming home this weekend?"

That's been my question to Alexander just about every weekend since he left last December.

And I always get the same response.

"I'm not sure yet. Maybe."

By Thursday the maybe has morphed into I think next weekend I might come home.

I love seeing my son.  Even if it's just a quick dinner and maybe an episode of SVU.

Finally, around Wednesday of this week, Alexander surprises me with, "Im coming home for the weekend."

I begin thinking of where we can go for dinner.

But by the next day, the weekend has been shortened. "I'm not coming home Friday. I don't feel like rushing to jump on a bus after working all week." Alexander lives in Philadelphia and it's only a two hour trip and he is only 24. Still, I understand.

I get home from work on Saturday around 8. Alexander has already come home, dropped his stuff, and left for a Knicks game with Daniel.  On the table I find this note.






It's an exact replica of the kind I leave for him.

Around one a.m. Alexander announces his arrival home. I wake up and we talk for a few minutes.

In the morning I kiss him good-bye before leaving for work, and by the time I get home he's back in Philadelphia.

I see him for a total of 15 minutes. His funny note makes me smile; the empty toilet roll in the bathroom doesn't.


Thursday, February 2, 2017

giving up a vice

I smoked for a brief time, but only with a lifesaver, and never before the sun went down. I wasn't a serious smoker. But when John, my boyfriend in 1982, asked me to give it up for a month, I did, and never went back.

I don't drink, except socially. And even then, it's probably some unsophisticated sweetened drink like a Cosmopolitan.

Drugs were fun in my youth, but it's been many years since I've touched anything illegal.

But games can keep me occupied for hours. 

Words With Friends is interactive and social. I have about 40 games going with about 15 people, all of whom I have some connection with (hometown, tv business, past jobs, and friends), although three I've never met.

Solitaire requires zero skill, but because it's so mindless, I play it late at night,  usually while watching Jimmy Fallon. It's better than Ambien.

When I was at Tufts, I became friendly with Toni. She was from Turkey, and arrived at college with a backgammon set. She taught a group of us how to play, and it became something we did often. In fact I bonded with Jeannie — a good friend of mine from Maine — over hundreds of games in her small dorm room, a floor down from mine. But then I graduated and didn't play for years.

In 2001 I found a site called Backgammon Motif, created in 1998 by some guy. I began playing again.  And for some inexplicable reason, this is the only backgammon site I've ever played on. 

I'd find myself playing if I was on hold with Amazon, or Apple, or anyone else.

Or bored.

Or had a few minutes before a scheduled call.

Or had time before I was leaving to be somewhere.

Or for no reason at all.

I wasted a lot of time on this mindless site.

Today I go to play on my new computer. I download Java. And, it doesn't work.  Then I get a message.




At first I think, there must be a way around this. I'm sure I can figure it out.  But then I reconsider. Ya know, it's probably time to give it up. 

I un-bookmark the site and feel liberated. 

Then I email Robin to see if she wants to see a Rolling Stones Exhibit next week. I have a lot more time now.


Wednesday, February 1, 2017

a letter to my apple heroes

Dear Rob L (at Apple Care) and David K (one of the managers at the Apple Store on Madison),

You have no idea how happy you've made me. 

I mean really, I was miserable for so long. Strange how getting rid of a bad computer can feel so good.

I work in retail. The other day a young woman comes in and buys a gown she adores. She is so appreciative of my help — makes me feel as if I  personally designed and stitched the dress.

That's sort of how I feel today. You both made a situation I was dreading not so bad at all.

First, the transfer of all my data was so much easier than I thought it would be. Even this morning, when I plugged into my old laser printer, the drives I needed were already there. And though my nine-year old Canon all-in-one is no longer compatible, its newer, wireless version (Canon Pixma GM7720) is only $80.

Rob, you acted as if I were your only client. Your patience and knowledge are commendable. You made transferring iTunes and photos pretty painless. . And when something took a while to download, and you said, "What if I call you back in twenty minutes?" and then did, in exactly twenty minutes — well, that is pretty amazing too.

Then came the actual return.

I lug my much-hated iMac back to the Apple Store.  I see you, David, as soon as I walk in. You greet me with a smile, and remember our conversation from early November. You then credit me in full for my iMac. It is impossible for you to have done anything more or anything better. When I think of the hundreds of hours wasted with that unhelpful Britani Woods in Tim Cook's office I shudder. You are the one who should be sitting next to the CEO, as you represent what Apple stands for.

Rob and David, you both have erased my year-long bad feelings about Apple, and I am back in love.

It's amazing how much a bad computer can disrupt a life. Finally, I can relax. (At least regarding my tech life).

Thank you both so much.