a big and happy birthday

Valerie turns 60 today and we all celebrate at Park Avenue Spring (the restaurant changes names with the seasons).  Two years ago we were here for Abbey’s 60^th birthday, but the restaurant was Winter than.  I’ve never been here for Spring.

I decide I need (probably not the right word) something new and fresh to wear.  Maybe a new pair of pants?  Or a sexy silky peasant blouse?  I get as far as walking to the bus stop, before realizing my idea is a bad one.  I don’t need any new clothes.  I return home. 

I contemplate getting my hair blown out for the occasion, but cave and do it myself.  I don’t have the patience or talent to do it nearly as well as the professionals, but it is passable.

I skipped last week’s manicure so I am definitely ready for one.  I like my nails short and decide on a bright pink, a first for me. 

I wear nice black pants, a long white never-worn silk blouse, and leopard shoes.  I look like I always look.  I leave my camera at home, as I don’t want to my sister telling me that this is not the kind of restaurant where you take pictures.  I notice too that my roots are starting to show.  I hope no one else notices.

I take one last look in the mirror before I leave.  I decide my nails are too pink and my hair, which may have been passable this morning, now looks frizzy and unkempt.  But it is certainly too late to do anything about that.  Or my too-bright nails.

This is a fashionable crowd and I typically feel not quite fashionable enough.  But that’s just my insecurity among this beautiful, well-coiffed, exquisitely dressed family group.

Everything about the restaurant is different from my last visit.  The canopy outside.  The inside décor.  The menu.  Only the address and the excellent service is the same.  I have eaten at many fine restaurants over the years, but tonight’s meal has to be one of the best I’ve ever had.  The presentations are magazine-worthy.  And the quality and offerings are amazing.  I wish I had a better culinary vocabulary to describe the excellence of the meal.

I start with a yellowfin tuna.  It arrives as one long piece of rolled tuna, enclosing chopped avocado.  I have never eaten anything like it.  It is spectacular.  We get all six sides on the menu, with the most notable being the fries, the mini potato latkes, and the crispy artichokes with malt vinegar aioli.  For a main course I get Thai roasted lobster with coconut and long beans.  Amazing.  The desserts are pieces of art.  We get several for the table and finish them all. 

Valerie loves my gift, with scarves being the apparent gift of the night.  Valerie's kids also give her an Hermes scarf, and Jill’s family gives her a Louis Vuitton scarf.  She is genuinely appreciative of everything.

The bill comes with a little note.  Abbey’s mother, who is still in Florida, has sent a card that includes her gift of this dinner.

And then, to my surprise, someone says we should take a group picture.  Now I’m sorry I hadn’t brought my camera.  But in a pinch, an iPhone will have to do, even if our pupil-less eyes would make us perfect extras for the next Twilight movie.

coupons, groupons, and more

I have never been a coupon clipper.  All my life I have ignored my mother’s prodding, “Get the Sunday papers.  They are filled with coupons.”  I couldn’t be bothered clipping, organizing, remembering.  All that to get 20¢ off a bar of soap hardly seemed worth the effort. 

But then came the internet and all kinds of great deals started exploding all around me.  Living Social.  Amazon Local.  Bloomspot.  Groupon.  Everyday I am bombarded with amazing deals worth gazillion dollars in savings.  I just open my emails and boom!  In my face!  Temptation a click away.

And, to make it even more tempting, the coupons are local and can be loaded onto my phone.  I don’t have to print them out, find a place to put them, remember where I put them, and then carry them with me when I finally want to use them.  As long as I have my phone with me (and who doesn’t have their phone with them?), I’m fine. 

So everyday, I find myself with much to contemplate.

    Do I really want to eat at that restaurant?  The pictures in the coupons make everyone’s food look 5-star worthy, but I am careful to only choose restaurants I know.  Last week, for example, I buy a $69 dinner for two at Ethos, the great Greek restaurant my friends took me to for my birthday.  This includes an appetizer, main course (of which lamb chops are included), and dessert.  I will take Alexander there this summer.  He will love their french fries.

    Should I take a chance having my hair cut  at a place in the funky East Village for $39?  The salon did get good reviews on YELP and it would be a $40 savings over what I pay at my salon.  But what if I hate the cut?   I’m still thinking about it.  

    And what about 3 massages for $99 at a spa near my apartment?  That sounded good when I purchased it last November, but now I have only a month to get three massages.  Why didn’t I plan better?

    I am excited to get my 70-minute $39 Korean body scrub in Tribeca that I purchased last month.  Corinne raved about it, promising me I'd be amazed at how much dirt we all have on our bodies until it is literally scrubbed off.

    $20 for $10 worth of food at Sables came up again today.  I don’t hesitate to buy it.  I shop at Sable’s regularly and Alexander loves their lobster salad.  Limit is one per person.  I wonder if I send the link to Alexander if he can manage the time to buy one also? 

    I buy a $14 coupon for 5 small frozen yogurts with toppings at Pinkberry in January, but have yet to purchase one,  Every time I am in the mood for frozen yogurt I find myself at the 16 Handles next door.  I wonder if this purchase was a mistake.

    Oh, then there’s the $30 eye exam and $250 to spend on prescription glasses at Cohen’s Fashion Optical that is currently tempting me. I do need an updated eye exam, as well as a second pair of reading glasses, as mine are lopsided and unfixable.  Maybe I’ll buy it.  I’m not sure.

Last week I get an email about Bloomingdales Friends and Family, 20% off most things for the next five days.  And today’s email tells me it's Spa Week in New York.  Huge savings at major spas.  What’s a girl to do?

Unsubscribe, I suppose.  But what would be the fun of that?

a busy wednesday

A good friend of mine hates theater.  Recently her husband surprised her and took her to a big Broadway musical.  I get an email at 7:52 pm;  the play hasn’t even started. The subject line is this:  why I hate theater.  She then writes only this:

1. Seats are brutally uncomfortable.
2. Many seats have obstructed views. No seats in movie theaters have obstructed views.
3. Intermission. Just plow through for cripe's sake.
4. Over-the-top acting HA! HA! HA!
5. The food   No popcorn.

A few minutes later she texts me with another reason.  She is seated near a couple of annoying young women, giggling as they share something hilarious on their phones.  Theater to her, like Alexander, is a form of punishment.  And that’s true even when she ends up liking the play, as she did that night.

I do understand, sort of.  I love theater, but there are deterrents.  My friend doesn’t even mention price.  Broadway tickets for non-musicals now top $120.  But when everything comes together — excellent acting, a strong story, great staging, and a comfortable theater — it’s my favorite form of entertainment.

Today I see Orphans, a play with Alec Baldwin, Ben Foster, and someone else.  The someone else (Tom Sturridge) steals the show.  It’s an exhilarating two hours.

Meredith and I meet later for dinner at a restaurant neither of us has been to, Pascalou.  It’s a tiny but popular French restaurant on upper Madison, and it’s excellent.  I get the prix fixe for $28, including crab dumplings in a peanut sauce, duck breast with a hoisin glaze, and a chocolate mouse cake.

Meredith and I don’t often eat out together, as both of us are not working.  But tonight we do, to belatedly celebrate our March birthdays.  We both leave wanting do this more often.

area codes, zip codes, and other important things

I am watching the Today Show — a segment about area codes.  Vonage may be able to assign the 212 area code to people living anywhere in the country.  The segment goes on to talk about the status of certain area codes (212 among them).  They even show a Seinfeld clip from 15 years ago where Elaine is assigned a 646 area code and is mortified.  A year later, The New York Times writes of this episode,

That Elaine was fictional, but there were plenty of real Manhattanites mortified at the prospect of living without the venerable 212 area code.

I am just starting to recover from losing my 10021 status-zip code almost eight years ago, and now this.  Horrors!

On July 1, 2007, The US Postal Service subdivides 10021 into two additional zip codes and I (along with Mayor Bloomberg) get stuck with 10075.  At the time, the NY Times says this:

“I think ZIP codes matter a great deal, at least as much as area codes, and possibly much more,” journalist Michael Gross said.

They’re especially important, he said, to those New Yorkers who now have to adjust to their changed circumstances. “Their ‘deuxième’ ZIP code will be shoved in their face every day when they look at their mail,” Mr. Gross said, spelling out the French word for second-place.

Still, with the coveted 212 area code (or 917 for cellphones) harder to come by, what’s left to hold on to?

Yes, it is a sad day for New Yorkers.  But this is what really irks me.

On the Today Show segment, I hear an NBC entertainment correspondent say something like, “Even the coveted MANHADDEN area code of 212…” 

Manhadden?  Ew….I really hate that.    And she’s a broadcaster, one who should know how to pronounce the name of the borough about which she is speaking.

I send an email to NBC.

This morning, on the segment regarding 212 area codes and Vonage, Nina Terrero pronounced my beloved borough as MANHADDAN. I hate when people pronounce the T with a D.  And especially on a segment that talks about how protective us New Yorkers are of our 212 area code.  Please tell Ms. Terrero that it's a T not a D in Manhattan.

Wow.  Did I really write to NBC about this?  I must find more to do with my time.  Although now I'm starting to worry about my 917 cell phone area code.  Gosh, I hope that is still safe.

here's what it takes...

In February I get a call and say, yes, I’m interested.

I get an email a week or so later and go online to fill out forms.  Lots and lots of detailed forms.  These take a few hours to complete.  I’m asked for three references.

My three references are called and are questioned about me, my experience, my skills, and my character.

I get a call telling me to come downtown to fill out more forms and get photographed and fingerprinted.  This takes another four hours.

This week my three references get a form they must complete about me.  This form asks if the information I previously provided (name, employment record, etc.) is in fact accurate.

My neighbor (someone I rarely speak to) calls me.  She wants to know what the official form she received from the government about me is all about.  Seems they want to verify that I live where I say I live.  Unbelievable.

Today, I take the wrong subway, switch to the right subway, and then get off at the wrong stop.  This takes over an hour.  I get to the right place, wait ten minutes, and then, with four others, raise my right hand and, “ swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic..."  Gee, I hope this doesn't mean I could end up in North Korea.

So I do all this, not to become a federal judge.  Not to be installed into the military.  Not to become a US Citizen.  Not to become a member of the FBI.  Not to serve on a jury.  No.  All this to become a $16.90/hour part-time-temporary- field representative for the US Census Bureau.

There must be a better way.  I only wish I could find it.