Category Archives: Life

What I Did, and What I Didn’t Do Yet.

What I Did:
1. Go to four out of the five NYC boroughs.
2. Go to the ballet.
3. Take several cooking classes.
– One in putting together beautiful salads, to celebrate the summertime opening of an enormous new Whole Foods
– One in Food Photography with Food Blog Award nominee with Matt Armendariz
– One with blogger and cookbook author Shauna James Ahern and her husband, The Chef, in gluten-free cooking.
4. Go to a show at The Knitting Factory
5. Saw Tiki Barber playing in a park in midtown with his sons and his wife
6. Lived with the same roommates in the same apartment and loved working for the same company for an entire New York City year. Unheard of.
7. Went to musuems (International Center for Photography, MOMA, The Brooklyn Museum and the Museum of Natural History. Oh, and the Lower East Side Museum, for just a few minutes with Neil.)
8. Went to lots of farmer’s markets and cool places like the new Urban Rustic.
9. Have tons (let’s see, nine or 10) friends come visit me here, and who let me drag them all over creation to see my new home.
10. Learned the art of reading on the train.
11. Went to a house party in the Bronx.
12. Went to a Yankees game (By the way, the Red Sox won 11-4, b*tches! We all know how THAT season worked out. GO SOX!)
13. Met a few “top bloggers.” (I don’t kiss and tell. They know who they are, and they are all “top” in my book.)
14. Went to Peter Luger‘s.
15. Helped run a conference to help men, um, pick up women. Yes, seriously. Oh, Neil’s new book(s) comes out today, I think. It’s an awesome set.
16. Met a few top MySpace executives. (Josh, give me a call.)
17. Saw Margaret Cho naked! (In her “Sensuous Woman” show at The Zipper Factory.)

What I Didn’t Do (Yet. Or Maybe Ever.)
1. Go to Staten Island. This is only important because I’m Italian, and they gots Eye-talians there.
2. Go to art house cinema. This is only worth noting because I want to and because I live within walking distance of BAM. I need to go. Immediately.
3. Go to the Statue of Liberty (though Bunny and I did go look at it from Manhattan while she was in town)
4. Go to a concert of an artist I’ve always wanted to see
5. Meet Ruth Reichl, Jay-Z or Lil’ Kim
6. Move to Manhattan to be closer to my office, or get my own place in Bklyn
7. Go to enough museums (there’s still The Met, the Whitney and The Museum of Sex).
8. Join the Park Slope food coop. :-( This is something I want to do, but just can’t justify due to the distance and time commitment.
9. Take a dance class.
10. Write more.
11. Go to some famous New York places, like Biggie’s apartment, “233rd and White Plains” or Queensbridge.
12. Joined the New York City Public Library (my only resolution for 2008).
13. Go to Coney Island
14. Go visit the Latino food vendors (famous for their food’s authenticity) at the Brooklyn ballparks.
15 . . . I give up. I did more of what I wanted to do, and less of what I didn’t want to do. That was the point of moving to New York City. The “things I want to do” list will always be full, even as I cross off dozens of items on a weekly basis.

Goals For 2008
– Join the NYC Public Library (see above).
– Launch that damn food blog I’ve been “researching” for a year now. I’m not leaving this city until I get all those ideas out on the World Wide Web.
– Leave work at a reasonable hour or move closer to my office, so I can have more of a life.
– Love more. And be loved more (if and when possible).
– Seek out new authors, musicians and visual artists and start to explore theater.
– Buy some new furniture and invest more in my home, regardless of whether or not the street address itself is permanent. I am worth the investment and the feeling of security that stability brings.

And, while I’m here, I have to say congratulations to Nina and Donny on the new life they’re creating. Can’t wait to see you this weekend, Neens!

I Feel Weird, Knowing You’re Reading Me

This is bits and pieces written over the course of about a week.
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(Thoughts) Something that made me sad today: A man was walking ahead of me on Madison Avenue as I was on my way back to my office. I saw him saying “Excuse me. Excuse me,” to a lady in front of him. She had earmuffs on. Whether or not she heard him or not, I don’t know. He shook his head and she kept walking.

I couldn’t help but make eye contact with him when I passed. He said, “Excuse me,” so I paused. It was a busy street, I wasn’t worried about myself. He said, “Are you from New York? I’m from Yonkers – I’ve been in the city since last night and I’ve been walking a very long time. All I’ve been asking people, what I want to ask you is, I’m very hungry. Can you help me get something to eat?” Continue reading

A Handmade Life

A 2007 entry in my journal

A 2007 entry in my journal

I wrote the below in my journal (see image above) a couple of months after I moved to New York.

“handmade life” implies something individualized, not mass-produced or machine-animated for the general population. “handmade” implies something genuine and stitched together with care. Choosing harmonious elements and weaving them together slowly, sometimes pricking your/my forefinger and letting the blood color a small corner of the finished product. Continue reading

At Least That’s What I Like to Tell Myself

9/12/2007
On the rooftop
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All I remember is the sentence ended, “at least that’s what I like to tell myself.” Something about not being sad because we’ll be older and wiser and more prepared than we would have been had we found our other halves sooner.

But still the message from one of those others, an other who might have been, confirms those thoughts. I’m not the only one who thinks it.
Continue reading

The Beginning of Food (Jan. 4, 2007)

I have a folder on my desktop called “MySpace Blogs to Finish.” I have a few food blogs I’d like to get done over the weekend, and was looking in the folder tonight to see what I had already started. I found this. I don’t know why it was in there . . . even though this is more storyboarding than story, it looks like it’s pretty finished to me.

The Beginning of Food
Written Jan. 4, 2007

It’s 3 a.m. on the third-to-last day of the third week I’ve lived here in New York. I have $30. Literally $30 in my bank account. And I’m still not living by the Rule of Thirds. I’ve always wondered about those people that say (years later, and from the comfort of a multimillion dollar mansion) “Yeah, back in the beginning I moved to [L.A., NYC, London, Belize] with nothing but a suitcase and $10.” I tried to move here with as few belongings as I could. Really, I did. But my fucking kitchen was coming with me, even though I had to leave the rest of the apartment and everything else I knew behind.

That’s when it came into focus – how much I want to do this food writing thing. I was hit with the force of it when I cleared out mentally, just a couple days before I packed up my bags and left. With the stress of my former job behind me, and having secured an apartment and a moving truck, all I had left to consider was what I really wanted to do with my life. Writing’s a no-brainer. I write like some people smoke or do drugs: it’s messy and wears me out, but it’s an addiction. It’s gotta be done or I don’t feel good. But what did I really, really, really want to write about? Sex? Well, I love sex. I just can’t write about it – about the specifics of who it’s with or why I’m doing it with him or her. Those things are just for me, and I’d hate for my Grampa or kids to come across that stuff someday. I write about my family a lot. And that’s all well and good. But I already know that story. I lived it. I want new stories. New words give my addiction legs to walk on. I fall down without the story.

So, what, then? Love? No – love is wrapped up in sex and family – the best parts of which I keep to myself instead of spilling on the page. The next closest thing to my heart is what I realized and felt as I was packing up the egg poacher that I only used once to make my ex-fiance Eggs Benedict. I bought the pan because it was his favorite breakfast. More important than a ring from Tiffany’s, it was an emotional commitment to wake with him each sunny weekend and cook for him with his wants and needs in mind. That all went away, but the pan was still in my hands. I’m thinking of putting it on Craigslist. I hate to have detricious of negative relationships lying around. But I like Eggs Benedict.

And that stupid turkey roaster. I bought it because it was going to be the first time I made a turkey (again, for the ex) and he had asked me to get the biggest turkey I could find. I was going all-out, and needed a proper turkey roaster with a rack. He never showed up for that huge Thanksgiving dinner because we broke up. I cooked the turkey anyway. And roasted root vegetables. And mashed potatoes made of clouds from heaven. And a pumpkin caramel cheesecake. But that 21-lb. turkey! It was delicious.

And here I am. It’s now 3:30 a.m. and I still have no more than $30 in my account and I’m wondering, just a little bit, if a few years from now . . . I’ll be sitting with a devilish, sexy young reporter for the food section of Slate.com, answering questions about how my food blog project took off from this little unknown site to this huge, interactive, joyous thing. She and I will be sitting in my outlandishly kitted-out kitchen, with the Viking-Wolf stove, Sub Zero fridges, movable islands and tons of open cabinetry. I can see it. I’ll make her lunch, we’ll have cocktails, the kids will come home from school and then my wildly amazing husband will join us right before I excuse myself from the interview because it’s dinnertime, and dinnertime is an event at my house, don’t you know? And she’ll be a little crestfallen, because lunch was so good and she’d die to see what’s for dinner. I tell her to check out the next book I’m working on. The story of meals cooked for people I love – those are surely the greatest stories of my life.