tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1233396951550205702024-03-05T06:52:57.762-08:00The Urban UpstaterThe trials and tribulations of an upstate girl living in Manhattan. Without a Wegmans.Urban Upstaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16108557451658028003noreply@blogger.comBlogger75125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-123339695155020570.post-17346501778633932152014-02-18T16:30:00.000-08:002014-02-19T08:55:22.041-08:00leaving the wicked stage: the grieving process<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhInoTJq2QLe1P2tpFmk5N2tlVO2Fq8c2PgLZoFmpeai3O-vpq8Txrmy-wVnGv7OXogVOnXWOSd3n5FJ4Ah5SgGyavw5wFf4qrvy6Dk1PG9a_DD5muumtMPyMr4TJQuOVAQfpwaMsKxlkwy/s1600/leaving+the+wicked+stage.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhInoTJq2QLe1P2tpFmk5N2tlVO2Fq8c2PgLZoFmpeai3O-vpq8Txrmy-wVnGv7OXogVOnXWOSd3n5FJ4Ah5SgGyavw5wFf4qrvy6Dk1PG9a_DD5muumtMPyMr4TJQuOVAQfpwaMsKxlkwy/s1600/leaving+the+wicked+stage.png" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial;"><b>Life upon the wicked stage ain't ever what a girl supposes.</b></span><br />
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It's more.</div>
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The casts, the curtain calls, the exquisitely tailored costumes built just for you--everything about singing and dancing for a living has surpassed my expectations. And the applause ain't bad either.</div>
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Until.</div>
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One day your alarm wakes you up at 5:30 am. You glance over at your backpack that you, a 30-something adult, have packed with tap shoes, character shoes, ballet flats, dance clothes, hot rollers, hairspray, Russian Red MAC lipstick, non-dancing heels, a wrinkle-free audition dress, and a three-ring binder of sheet music. You peek out the window and see the snow starting to stick. You know that to secure an audition appointment, you'll have to arrive at the audition by 6:30 am, but you may not be let into the building until 8.</div>
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Once inside the building, you'll have to sit on the floor (if you're lucky) in a room packed with hundreds of women with similarly bulging backpacks, all fighting to use three electrical outlets and talking in overly bright voices about nothing. If you're unlucky, you may find yourself standing up, shoulder-to-shoulder, in a hallway with a frazzled building manager charging you with the impossible task of not being a fire hazard. </div>
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It's now 5:40 am. Is it worth going to all that trouble to compete with two hundred girls for two spots in a show that will give you five weeks of work at $600 per week? </div>
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I used to think it <i>was </i>worth the trouble. Though I would complain about auditions, I would enjoy the challenge and the excitement and the camaraderie of my true friends, girls that I went to happy hour with after auditions, and my "audition friends," girls whose names and resumes I knew but that I didn't see outside the audition holding room.</div>
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Auditioning is exhausting--but what's my other option? Working nine-to-five at a job where no one applauds for you? Where's the fun in that? </div>
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I know I need to move on. But it's not easy.</div>
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Someone recently described leaving the theater life as a grieving process. And thinking about shelving that part of my life really does feel like a loss. Living your dream is intoxicating. It's hard to walk away, to move on. But more often than not, I find myself wanting to put down that backpack.</div>
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I keep hoping that the thrills of the "real world," like getting a weekly paycheck and going to one place everyday instead of running to five auditions in eight hours, will outweigh the addictive high of booking a job. And slowly, I'm beginning to appreciate the little things--like walking out the door with nothing but a small purse. (My non-sagging shoulders love it, too.) </div>
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Can stability really ever win over excitement? It's hard to say. Will I ever really leave theater behind? That's hard to say, too.</div>
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But I do know this: the thought of leaving my tap shoes, character shoes, ballet flats, dance clothes, hot rollers, hairspray, Russian Red MAC lipstick, non-dancing heels, wrinkle-free audition dress, and three-ring binder of sheet music is getting more appealing by the day.<br />
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For now, I'm still watching the snow fall and considering my options.</div>
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Urban Upstaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16108557451658028003noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-123339695155020570.post-16501629829833443602013-04-13T17:46:00.001-07:002013-04-13T17:46:41.624-07:00Sausage Making (And Other Italian Things To Do On A Saturday Afternoon) <br />
Upon returning to my grandparents' house after my cousin's bridal shower a few weeks ago, I discovered that my grandfather was not in his armchair watching the Yankees or <i>People's Court</i> as I expected. Instead, he was in the second kitchen making sausage from scratch.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Note my mix of fascination and fear.</i></td></tr>
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There are a couple of things I should probably explain about that statement.<br />
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<i>Second Kitchen</i>: All Italians have a second kitchen. It's a given. Just like quick tempers, last names with more vowels than necessary, a penchant for talking with our hands, and Catholicism. This literally means that there is an entire spare kitchen in the basement--kind of like the main kitchen's understudy--usually filled with appliances collected after various relatives' kitchen remodeling. Why do Italians have a second kitchen? I'm not totally positive, but here are my best guesses.<br />
1. Italians take a great deal of pride in their homes, and a second kitchen ensures that the main kitchen will always look spotless in case neighbors stop by.<br />
2. Marinara and olive oil are essential ingredients in the Italian diet. Both are extremely messy and splattery and stain-y during the cooking process.<br />
3. Four burners are simply not enough. If Italians have four guests, they must make enough food for at least 25 starving men. Minimum.<br />
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<i>Making Sausage From Scratch:</i> I don't eat sausage, so I'm probably the worst person to describe this process, but here goes. To make sausage, you need pork butts from Canada. Why pork butts? I don't know. What's wrong with American pork butts? I don't know. What I do know is that you bring your butt or butts to the second kitchen and chop away, removing the fat. Mix in various spices, and then put the mixture into the grinder, which clamps onto the 1970s kitchen table that is a preparation surface only. No chairs surround it. After attaching a length of empty intestines to the grinder's spigot, turn the handle, mincing the meat and forcing it into the intestine. Eat immediately or freeze. But if you still want to eat sausage after reading this description, I'm impressed.<br />
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So of course when I saw the ridiculousness/wonderfulness/irony of this moment, I had to capture it. Enjoy!<br />
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<br />Urban Upstaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16108557451658028003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-123339695155020570.post-32098877930018305832013-04-04T11:37:00.000-07:002013-04-04T11:37:16.650-07:00Game of Thrones: The Exhibition...and Me!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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THANK YOU, <a href="http://www.twcnyc.com/" target="_blank">TIME WARNER</a>!!!!<br />
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I never would have thought those words would come out of my mouth. More often, Time Warner is referenced with phrases like, "highway robbery," "terrible service," "my DVR hates me," and/or, "if only we could get FIOS."<br />
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But yesterday, Time Warner came through in a major way. I heard horror stories about waiting seven hours in line to enter the free <a href="http://www.hbo.com/game-of-thrones/about/article/exhibition.html" target="_blank">Game of Thrones exhibit</a>, and I saw this amusing but terrifying video on the subject.<br />
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I wasn't expecting much when I strolled by the scene of the chaos ten minutes before the doors opened yesterday. As instructed, I brought my current Time Warner bill, and happily sidestepped the regular line in favor of the much shorter customer line. After my bill was validated and checked against my ID, the lovely people wranglers signed me up for a reserved visit for two at 6pm.<br />
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When I returned, the line had snaked its way down that looooong Fifth Avenue block and turned the corner at 6th Avenue. Feeling sort of guilty, I breezed past all the hopefuls, checked in with a people wrangler, and entered the Seven Kingdoms!<br />
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I'll let the photos below speak for themselves, but basically, the space was set up with museum-style tableaux of character groupings with costumes and props from the show, as well as bite-sized overviews of each family's turbulent history. Visitors could also play a very brief game of archery in the Battle of Blackwater Bay, and...drumroll, please!...get their pictures taken on the Iron Throne itself! I can't say it would have been worth hours of waiting, but sliding in on the Time Warner fast track was more than worthwhile!<br />
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Exterior calm</div>
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Interior chaos</div>
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Rob Stark's map</div>
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Info and family history</div>
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Ned's head</div>
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Jon Snow and the Wildlings</div>
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Some visitors felt the need to come in costume. Like the lady who is trying to get out of my shot. She was wearing sandals. In 35-degree weather. That's dedication.</div>
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Iron Throne photo shoot!</div>
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And I'll leave you with this uplifting saying by Arya....</div>
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<br />Urban Upstaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16108557451658028003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-123339695155020570.post-54229424276880329092013-03-05T16:50:00.000-08:002013-11-12T07:04:45.655-08:00How to Throw a Real Housewives Bridal Shower<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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-</style><span style="font-family: Arial;">As we all know,<a href="http://theurbanupstater.blogspot.com/2013/02/in-defense-of-reality-tv.html" target="_blank"> I love reality TV.</a> Conveniently, my sister does, too. (Sorry to throw you under the
bus, sis! Or the <a href="http://www.vulture.com/2012/08/real-housewives-of-new-jersey-recap-season-4-episode-15.html" target="_blank">Gorga motor home</a>.) So I thought that centering the bridal shower thrown by her bridesmaids—as
opposed to the bridal shower thrown by her aunts—on <a href="http://www.bravotv.com/" target="_blank">Bravo</a>’s Real Housewives series would put an
entertaining and unique spin on the event. </span>
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<u><span style="font-family: Arial;">Invitations</span></u></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I really wanted to establish
the theme from the get-go, and luckily, I have a dear friend who just happens
to be a genius designer. You can check her out at </span><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-field-code: " HYPERLINK \0022http\:\/\/www\.zazzle\.com\/TheNoteBox\0022 \\t \0022_blank\0022 ";"><span class="MsoHyperlink">www.Zazzle.com/TheNoteBox</span></span>!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Do
you spy <a href="http://opiciwines.com/ramona/" target="_blank">Ramona Singer’s Pinot Grigio</a>?</span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Since I had already asked my friend to alter the Real Housewives of
Orange County logo to become “The Real Housewife of Ontario County,” I used the same design to create envelope seals through <a href="http://www.vistaprint.com/" target="_blank">Vistaprint</a> with awesome discounts
from <a href="http://www.retailmenot.com/view/vistaprint.com" target="_blank">RetailMeNot</a>. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDmLCmDOMPMEW6Ae5G3jSH9mfzYUqZmHl19o-ak01TnWpEM7RdcmrhDBW-FpKVkQX_CmQ3pka5GEp26t7MdgwvrbOFbr2946CCL-NrrmyrEWHXulDYRqRm8-b_k1WlD_lIvgY8bj9TEGcR/s1600/sc0097bb49.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDmLCmDOMPMEW6Ae5G3jSH9mfzYUqZmHl19o-ak01TnWpEM7RdcmrhDBW-FpKVkQX_CmQ3pka5GEp26t7MdgwvrbOFbr2946CCL-NrrmyrEWHXulDYRqRm8-b_k1WlD_lIvgY8bj9TEGcR/s400/sc0097bb49.jpg" width="242" /></a></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Setting</span></u></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We
chose the second floor of an adorable ice cream parlor that overlooks the lake for a homey and contemporary feel. For subtle Housewives décor, my computer savvy cousin created some
one-of-a-kind tabletop images of my sister’s face in Real Housewives scenes using the <a href="http://www.faceinhole.com/" target="_blank">FaceInHole</a> website. Luckily, my sister had a plethora of expressive <a href="http://www.facebook.com/" target="_blank">Facebook</a> pictures to choose from. Here she is as <a href="http://www.teresagiudice.com/" target="_blank">Teresa</a> right before her infamous table flip:</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj08-zQTasoVBuO13SbmZRfQyfg4w8QuT89OK3rRobofoYzX85NllfdI4uKrkBkj__frAHy58dhZsitmWTLrVdnvXqyL7upvrVHkIEauHcESazEwr76AvxoSYIqwfKWH3kQReu5AZH1bifV/s1600/232323232%257Ffp73468%253Enu%253D3248%253E2%253C3%253E982%253EWSNRCG%253D3579-8475-329nu0mrj.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj08-zQTasoVBuO13SbmZRfQyfg4w8QuT89OK3rRobofoYzX85NllfdI4uKrkBkj__frAHy58dhZsitmWTLrVdnvXqyL7upvrVHkIEauHcESazEwr76AvxoSYIqwfKWH3kQReu5AZH1bifV/s400/232323232%257Ffp73468%253Enu%253D3248%253E2%253C3%253E982%253EWSNRCG%253D3579-8475-329nu0mrj.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Music</span></u></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Of
course, no Housewives themed party would be complete without some hot
Housewives singles! I found and downloaded the following: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Revelation”
by Gretchen (OC) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“On
Display” by Melissa (NJ)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I’m
Real” by Simon (NY)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Close
to You” by Danielle (NJ)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Can’t
Control” by Jo (OC)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Tardy
for the Party” by Kim (ATL)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Money
Can’t Buy You Class” and “Chic C’est la Vie” by Countess Luann (NY). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
quietly had this playlist on a loop in the background, so that only the most dedicated
Housewives fans noticed—and loved!—it. </span></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Snacks</span></u></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The
managers of the ice cream parlor were phenomenal. They let us bring in our own
snacks and drinks as long as we purchased our entrees from them. Where did we
get ideas for snacks? <a href="http://www.bethenny.com/" target="_blank">Bethenny Frankel’s website</a>!!! Unfortunately, the website
seems to have become less easily searchable, but I can vouch for her <a href="http://www.health.com/health/article/0,,20410555,00.html" target="_blank">sangria</a> and <a href="http://recipes.sparkpeople.com/recipe-detail.asp?recipe=1056644" target="_blank">Mock-A-Mole</a> (guacamole)!</span></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Dessert</span></u></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Since
I had just taken a <a href="http://theurbanupstater.blogspot.com/2010/09/let-them-eat-decorated-cake.html" target="_blank">Wilton cake decorating class</a> at <a href="http://www.michaels.com/" target="_blank">Michael’s</a> (which I highly
recommend), I made cupcakes. Again, thanks to my cousin’s techno-handiwork, we put
together these Housewives cupcake picks. The <a href="https://twitter.com/TheFauxMilaniaG" target="_blank">Milania</a> cupcakes are my favorite.
Sweet and sour at the same time.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2b9tfbOaanZJXwEckDGzSCCLirIuQ6QEAVxqjfq-d3XR79ZPqmyhAgARMM3YUb6wNWF4imiEBsrKZ4Obruubj-iJAf-rmh3b8ADebs8227f9WSRnV5DVuXSZXjHWIDiSjhe8yB0dCBzUK/s1600/232323232%257Ffp73442%253Enu%253D3248%253E2%253C3%253E982%253EWSNRCG%253D3579-84762329nu0mrj.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2b9tfbOaanZJXwEckDGzSCCLirIuQ6QEAVxqjfq-d3XR79ZPqmyhAgARMM3YUb6wNWF4imiEBsrKZ4Obruubj-iJAf-rmh3b8ADebs8227f9WSRnV5DVuXSZXjHWIDiSjhe8yB0dCBzUK/s400/232323232%257Ffp73442%253Enu%253D3248%253E2%253C3%253E982%253EWSNRCG%253D3579-84762329nu0mrj.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Games</span></u></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">You can't throw a shower without some sort of game, right? I wanted to
make it accessible to those who didn’t watch the show <i>and</i> exciting for those
who did, so we developed a series of multiple choice questions about the series
and handed each guest a question to ask my sister, thus putting <i>her</i> in the hot seat instead of them.
Here are some of the questions we used:</span></div>
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<i><span style="background: white; color: #353535; font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">What
did Teresa famously call Danielle while screaming at her?</span></i><br />
<i><span style="background: white; color: #353535; font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Hooker<br />
Prostitution whore<br />
Stripper </span></i></div>
<i>
</i><br />
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<i>
</i><br />
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<i><span style="background: white; color: #353535; font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Which
housewife has Slade NOT dated?</span></i></div>
<i><span style="background: white; color: #353535; font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Gretchen<br />
Vickie<br />
Jo<br />
Lauri </span></i><br />
<i>
</i><br />
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<i>
</i><br />
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<i><span style="background: white; color: #353535; font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">What
did Bethenny name her daughter?</span></i></div>
<i><span style="background: white; color: #353535; font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Beatrice<br />
Bethenny<br />
Bryn </span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">If
she got a certain number of questions correct, she would win the grand prize—an
autographed bottle of Ramona Pinot Grigio! How did I come across the autograph,
you wonder? Well, I just happen to have an amazing friend who got it for me at
an official signing in NYC!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinCwiHi0_v00gGh-yH-dfAjSMygrvnYAFYLrRSn9VRP38PcC1TuQVwwMZ_vzR-EIVoPBNhlZPMBE1ieX_FwOwpgBRnZNVqkYGTsNuoWZFJ_3ypZ2eTbjPeOgapS7gcbVGD4HlXN4_y2VQQ/s1600/210199_812321309445_2409479_40541912_3382572_o.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinCwiHi0_v00gGh-yH-dfAjSMygrvnYAFYLrRSn9VRP38PcC1TuQVwwMZ_vzR-EIVoPBNhlZPMBE1ieX_FwOwpgBRnZNVqkYGTsNuoWZFJ_3ypZ2eTbjPeOgapS7gcbVGD4HlXN4_y2VQQ/s320/210199_812321309445_2409479_40541912_3382572_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-pynOL4XU4g9M7882nZESBLrYQWfFRyHVn9Fb9ligV8LKN0w_KZKae7eJMokEVKWJUf7Yxwxbh54yuY3f2l8G1ohEx1jcw3JBOPkTe2bQeea584iIGrPfhMpM-gfBeaxWKVlcQ2dCpDL4/s1600/232323232%257Ffp73459%253Enu%253D3248%253E2%253C3%253E982%253EWSNRCG%253D3579-78497329nu0mrj.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-pynOL4XU4g9M7882nZESBLrYQWfFRyHVn9Fb9ligV8LKN0w_KZKae7eJMokEVKWJUf7Yxwxbh54yuY3f2l8G1ohEx1jcw3JBOPkTe2bQeea584iIGrPfhMpM-gfBeaxWKVlcQ2dCpDL4/s320/232323232%257Ffp73459%253Enu%253D3248%253E2%253C3%253E982%253EWSNRCG%253D3579-78497329nu0mrj.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We
also played a more traditional shower game with questions about my sister’s life—a stylized version of True or False—and the game winner received a bottle
of <a href="http://www.skinnygirlcocktails.com/" target="_blank">Skinnygirl Margarita</a>.</span></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Gifts</span></u></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">For one of my gifts, I couldn’t resist doing a
play on the Bravo logo! I found the logo on Bravo’s website, altered the
lettering from "BRAVO" to my sister's future last name, reversed the image in Photoshop, printed it out on <a href="http://www.staples.com/Avery-Inkjet-Fabric-Transfer-Paper/product_SS1058870" target="_blank">T-shirt transfer paper</a> from <a href="http://www.staples.com/" target="_blank">Staples</a>, and ironed it on to a cute sweatshirt that I
picked up at <a href="http://target.com/" target="_blank">Target</a>. That way, she had something to wear while getting her hair and makeup done on her wedding day. It came out great! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">(It's actually easier than I just made it sound. I promise.)</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj34G_OPgvT4fcXOSfctRFGS-fAbhTBsd1MoE_z6bNunrBMDP6UTIiaexaXTP3mJjsLBdvv_PtOMEq661na1ITQnV3fdLSjn82AP-jfQGOW0UIGchzR4FVIo43FZHxEWuuJ8Tlmv0wLGw5z/s1600/Bravo-tv-logo.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj34G_OPgvT4fcXOSfctRFGS-fAbhTBsd1MoE_z6bNunrBMDP6UTIiaexaXTP3mJjsLBdvv_PtOMEq661na1ITQnV3fdLSjn82AP-jfQGOW0UIGchzR4FVIo43FZHxEWuuJ8Tlmv0wLGw5z/s1600/Bravo-tv-logo.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlxg8RNmfTLpikn41WZ79y5W5OjhYOCnRns8aiZoD7xfolAy152hApttCrD44Ug6jJkYMelkqgC8LsWbk_mcFqJK-CusxAgZM5zK_5Fc1VuEViXfRnCnzM1f68ifCWoDAOcR2PS3MVbCMv/s1600/alexjanelle0015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlxg8RNmfTLpikn41WZ79y5W5OjhYOCnRns8aiZoD7xfolAy152hApttCrD44Ug6jJkYMelkqgC8LsWbk_mcFqJK-CusxAgZM5zK_5Fc1VuEViXfRnCnzM1f68ifCWoDAOcR2PS3MVbCMv/s320/alexjanelle0015.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Some
other guests really got into the Housewives spirit, giving my sister themed
baskets, like this Italian/cooking/Teresa Guidice basket that included her
cookbook.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh3_hwipc3CaDPlriC31QxCfh3Y9CNMI2iDxCyn5njexHWUDskgj0BWCIdvxTzP_5Wu0k0Gt3IBntvWQpxQwahHYq-ARdfO3DjZ2crBO_yEV6vraZuwgLhS6kMPQUlE4v2HXhhksMyIjm8/s1600/232323232%257Ffp73463%253Enu%253D3248%253E2%253C3%253E982%253EWSNRCG%253D3579-84739329nu0mrj.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh3_hwipc3CaDPlriC31QxCfh3Y9CNMI2iDxCyn5njexHWUDskgj0BWCIdvxTzP_5Wu0k0Gt3IBntvWQpxQwahHYq-ARdfO3DjZ2crBO_yEV6vraZuwgLhS6kMPQUlE4v2HXhhksMyIjm8/s320/232323232%257Ffp73463%253Enu%253D3248%253E2%253C3%253E982%253EWSNRCG%253D3579-84739329nu0mrj.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><u>Budget</u> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">If you've ever thrown any kind of party, you know that every little thing tends to add up to more than you probably want to spend. And although the Housewives have money to burn, I certainly do not. The bridesmaids and I were definitely working within a strict budget, and I learned that if you're willing to put in some time and imagination, you can create a shower that is affordable, personal, and unique! </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieZ-8PCdf0WvG7W6KsvNFDVi6_DE-2YHALI8TpytW2a5vEh0soWdkr73i6ulVvjeisw_Q4NB3yvcoly3PL6uRUgvALFUPrCnQr0kyu3wyCsJuoeWQR1VybRtEYhbVB64CAJRuWkjc7uWQJ/s1600/232323232%7Ffp73432%3Enu=3248%3E2%3C3%3E982%3EWSNRCG=3579-84749329nu0mrj.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieZ-8PCdf0WvG7W6KsvNFDVi6_DE-2YHALI8TpytW2a5vEh0soWdkr73i6ulVvjeisw_Q4NB3yvcoly3PL6uRUgvALFUPrCnQr0kyu3wyCsJuoeWQR1VybRtEYhbVB64CAJRuWkjc7uWQJ/s400/232323232%7Ffp73432%3Enu=3248%3E2%3C3%3E982%3EWSNRCG=3579-84749329nu0mrj.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">P.S. Hire me, Andy Cohen! ;)</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI5YkYHlg9RyHmRH5eE1YiaKo1a0hc6JO3nPakxewXZHVLko_dIvLA2lA3jHaoIZr7H-DdB_iXRc5T3JMpNrRYop60FkmLxW8-bMOOpWoMImiqnVnrUeE9CCad7EMSpc6HK9S9iahj45af/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI5YkYHlg9RyHmRH5eE1YiaKo1a0hc6JO3nPakxewXZHVLko_dIvLA2lA3jHaoIZr7H-DdB_iXRc5T3JMpNrRYop60FkmLxW8-bMOOpWoMImiqnVnrUeE9CCad7EMSpc6HK9S9iahj45af/s320/photo+3.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Urban Upstaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16108557451658028003noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-123339695155020570.post-69181271842432330482013-02-26T04:44:00.001-08:002013-11-13T10:12:39.601-08:00In Defense of Reality TV<style>
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</style> <br />
It's a hard knock life for reality TV. People looo-ooo-ooove to
trash talk this allegedly trashy brand of TV, and they love to trash talk the
people who watch it.
<br />
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<br /></div>
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But I’m here to admit to the world that I LOVE REALITY TV
AND I DON’T CARE WHO KNOWS IT.</div>
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<br /></div>
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In some ways, I feel as though I should be in hiding. Or in a
support group. Reality TV does seem like the ditzy cheerleader of daily
programming, and it’s as addictive as Doritos. But to counter those who oppose
my one true love, I would like to submit this highly technical and fact-based
statement:</div>
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<br /></div>
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REALITY TV IS AWESOME!!!!!</div>
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<br /></div>
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And here are the reasons why…</div>
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<br /></div>
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1. It teaches you stuff.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I never
knew what <a href="http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/live-feed/top-chef-seattle-recap-geoduck-390939" target="_blank">geoduck</a> was before <a href="http://www.bravotv.com/top-chef" target="_blank"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Top Chef</i></a>,
did you?</div>
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<br /></div>
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2. Life is unscripted.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Scripted TV
shows imitate natural dialogue and speech patterns—so why not skip the
middleman and listen to the real thing? Sure, there’s some prompting from
producers in reality TV, but there is also a surplus of spontaneity. TLC
producers can encourage <a href="http://tlc.howstuffworks.com/tv/here-comes-honey-boo-boo" target="_blank">Honey Boo Boo</a> to say, “You’d betta redneckognize!” but
they could never have predicted the endearing moment in which she accidentally sneezed
two snot rockets out of her nose, covered her face with her hands, and sat
there in silence for a full 70 seconds, unsure what to do next. Oh Honey Boo
Boo, you made me love you.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/9i8hGuq7ko4?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
3. It opens your world.
<br />
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I knew that
there were women in the world who were connected to the mob, but I could never
have imagined what they did while their husbands were “away” until I saw <a href="http://www.vh1.com/shows/mob_wives/season_1/series.jhtml" target="_blank"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mob Wives</i></a>. I know there are people who drink too much and spray tan and hook up with
juicehead guidos, but I could never have envisioned it until I saw <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://www.mtv.com/shows/jersey_shore/season_6/series.jhtml" target="_blank">Jersey Shore</a>. </i>I know there are people who sell antique pistols that have been family heirlooms since the American Revolution to finance their gambling habits, but I didn’t realize how sad and desperate they actually are until I saw <a href="http://gspawn.com/" target="_blank"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pawn Stars</i></a>. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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4. It helps you live vicariously through others.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I will
never live in a villa on the South of France, but when I watch <a href="http://www.hgtv.com/house-hunters-international/show/index.html" target="_blank"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">House Hunters International</i></a>, I can feel
the sun on my face as I enjoy wine and cheese on the veranda with an ex-pat
family of four who wanted a change of lifestyle so they moved to France, where the wife teaches yoga nearby, the husband works remotely in the home office that was one of their must-haves, and their two adorable little girls go to French school and learn to say cute things like,<span style="font-family: inherit;"> "Mam<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;">á</span></span></span><style><!--
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</style><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;">á</span></span></span>!"
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<br /></div>
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5. It provides (often negative) examples of conflict
resolution.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Thanks to <a href="http://www.bravotv.com/the-real-housewives-of-beverly-hills" target="_blank"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills</i></a>, I
now know that as tempting as it may be, you should neither tell people to STFU nor
send a cease and desist letter. Friends don't sue friends. (Except when they do.)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/xbKsuvK6-iM?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<br /></div>
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6. It gives you tons of supplemental reading material.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I don’t
love watching <a href="http://abc.go.com/shows/the-bachelor" target="_blank"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Bachelor</i></a>. (Sorry,
<a href="http://popwatch.ew.com/author/ewchrisharrison/" target="_blank">Chris Harrison</a>!) But I do love reading show recaps on <a href="http://www.vulture.com/tv/the-bachelor/" target="_blank">Vulture</a> and <a href="http://tvrecaps.ew.com/recap/the-bachelor-season-17-episode-2/" target="_blank">EW</a> and discussing them with my friends. If you
haven’t read them (and you should), they are lengthy, informative, and pithy
weekly show descriptions so detailed that they often require rereading to pick
up on all the hilarious allusions and inside jokes. In short, they are written
as if your super smart gay BFF is commenting on the show as you’re watching
together.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://tvrecaps.ew.com/recap/the-bachelor-season-17-premiere/" target="_blank">Por ejemplo:</a></div>
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<i>“<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And
a big welcome back to you, Sean Lowe! You're looking as buff and rosy-hued as
ever. I suppose a few months relaxing at home in Dallas—or, even better, in
your niece's giant pink princess playhouse emporium—would soothe anyone's
broken heart. (And of course, never underestimate the healing power of <a href="http://www.people.com/people/article/0,,20639494,00.html" target="_blank"><span style="mso-field-code: " HYPERLINK \0022http\:\/\/www\.people\.com\/people\/article\/0\,\,20639494\,00\.html\0022 \\t \0022_blank\0022 ";"><span class="MsoHyperlink">schadenfreude</span></span></a>.) Though Sean's pecs, lats,
delts, and biceps have clearly lost the will to cover themselves after getting
dumped by Emily, the newly-minted Bachelor refuses to let this slow down his
pre-‘journey’ training regimen. ‘I know it's going to be physically exhausting,’
says Shirted Confessional Sean, while Sweaty Shirtless Sean towels off after a
set of bicep curls. </span></i><i><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">'I might go through that same heartache that I experienced with Emily.'”</span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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7. Schadenfreude</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Sometimes
it really does feel good to laugh at someone else’s misfortune. When The
Situation headbutts a wall while drunk on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://www.mtv.com/shows/jersey_shore/season_6/series.jhtml" target="_blank">Jersey Shore</a></i>, or Tierra cries her black mascara into a KISS-like frenzy on on <a href="http://abc.go.com/shows/the-bachelor" target="_blank"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Bachelor</i></a>, or Kourtney or
Khloe or Kim start a <a href="http://www.sears.com/searsstyle-kardashiankollection/dapc" target="_blank">kollection of klothing at Kmart</a> (a store they would’ve
previously never set an orange toe in) on <a href="http://www.eonline.com/shows/kardashians" target="_blank"><i>Keeping Up with the Kardashians</i></a>, it takes you out of your own world. It
makes you forget that you’re collecting unemployment even though you have a
master’s degree.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipdcHUPBMm2FaToXZtI7dKoRce_n0UKXeEMRGRC1yRC-9le4Gi4hW-nljOE-LwK0MT8eGPG9kjTHAmEdrTgtcr0Jt-SQW4cLvz3oAxCCYY-63Ri1Q5KoRokaWsS4BkVehC6qNYwcEzk6dI/s1600/Tierra2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipdcHUPBMm2FaToXZtI7dKoRce_n0UKXeEMRGRC1yRC-9le4Gi4hW-nljOE-LwK0MT8eGPG9kjTHAmEdrTgtcr0Jt-SQW4cLvz3oAxCCYY-63Ri1Q5KoRokaWsS4BkVehC6qNYwcEzk6dI/s320/Tierra2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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8. You can learn new skills.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As a result
of watching <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/sweet-genius/index.html" target="_blank">Sweet Genius</a>, <a href="http://www.hgtv.com/income-property/show/index.html" target="_blank">Income Property</a>,
<a href="http://www.aetv.com/hoarders" target="_blank">Hoarders</a></i>, and <a href="http://abc.go.com/shows/shark-tank" target="_blank"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Shark Tank</i></a>, I
am now a chef, an interior designer/handyman, a professional organizer, and an
entrepreneur. Just try me.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
9. It reassures you that you can handle life’s difficulties.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Regardless
of circumstances, many reality shows have feel-good endings that demonstrate a
dynamic change in the central character…or they show us how dumb you look when
you make the same boneheaded mistakes over and over again. If, like Deena from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://www.mtv.com/shows/jersey_shore/season_6/series.jhtml" target="_blank">Jersey Shore</a></i>, you have a few too many
cocktails and get thrown in the drunk tank, your parents will come to your
rescue; although they may yell at you, they will always love you. Just look at the lesson she learned, "I was just trying to dance on the street. Clearly you can't do that,
and I actually got in trouble for not using sidewalks. ... That was my
charge. So now I know: Don't dance in the street." Happy <a href="http://www.mtv.com/news/articles/1695826/jersey-shore-deena-arrest.jhtml" target="_blank">Meatball Day</a>, Deena!</div>
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<br /></div>
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10. It instills a can-do attitude. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>You’re obviously more intelligent
than anyone on these programs, so reality TV makes you feel that if those morons can
star in their own shows and become rich and famous, so can you. It’s the
American way. So relax, drink it in, and thank your lucky DVRs that you live in a country where anyone--and I mean <i>anyone</i>--can become a star.</span><br />
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
Urban Upstaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16108557451658028003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-123339695155020570.post-41928112907806312502012-11-23T14:14:00.001-08:002012-11-23T18:15:28.249-08:00A Day in the Life of a Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade PerformerAs many of you probably already know, I belong to an '80s dance company that performed in the <a href="http://www.macys.com/parade" target="_blank">Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade</a> yesterday. How did this happen? Well, the group--the <a href="http://www.spanglesdancecompany.com/" target="_blank">Spangles Dance Company</a>--made a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pn2LG26RsHg" target="_blank">Christmas video</a> last year that we posted on <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Spangles-Dance-Company/305842132780728?ref=ts&fref=ts" target="_blank">Facebook</a>. That video was seen by a friend of a friend of our director, and that friend of a friend just happens to be a Macy's executive! Long story short, the Spangles were asked to perform a 90-second routine in the parade.<br />
<br />
We had about four rehearsals to learn and perfect our routine, and then we had a 25-minute camera blocking rehearsal on Tuesday night at 10:55pm on location in front of <a href="http://www.macys.com/" target="_blank">Macy's</a>. Well, we were <i>supposed</i> to have a 25-minute camera blocking rehearsal. We got all dolled up and waited for our turn after the Broadway musicals (<i><a href="http://www.bringitonmusical.com/" target="_blank">Bring It On</a>, <a href="http://www.anniethemusical.com/" target="_blank">Annie</a></i>, and <a href="http://niceworkonbroadway.com/" target="_blank"><i>Nice Work If You Can Get It</i></a>) rehearsed, but somewhere along the line, the schedule got thrown off, and since the NYPD had a strict 11:30pm deadline for the street to open back up to traffic, we had zero minutes in the actual space and zero assistance with blocking. Luckily, we're used to being thrown out of places by the NYPD (Grand Central Station and the Post Office are just two examples), so we made the best of it and tried to figure out our spacing on the sidewalk. On the bright side, we did get to wait in a small holding room with a man that is no stranger to parades--<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0091042/" target="_blank">Ferris Bueller</a> himself!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9J12VwoXqWPNPZL91BAGqKRZV1Cs8k7g34rhhXB8gDmzbiMBNMt6k_YaoU8bQhdwhBYUqZpd5Vfs0aWLodRecq1VsJHORiDNljMGzsQed-nXNZcIpPYFdb82I38jDbM2IFsOjPJnx47ZO/s1600/302759_502161636482109_870541284_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9J12VwoXqWPNPZL91BAGqKRZV1Cs8k7g34rhhXB8gDmzbiMBNMt6k_YaoU8bQhdwhBYUqZpd5Vfs0aWLodRecq1VsJHORiDNljMGzsQed-nXNZcIpPYFdb82I38jDbM2IFsOjPJnx47ZO/s320/302759_502161636482109_870541284_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
But let's get to the good stuff. Here's what happened on Thanksgiving Day:<br />
<br />
4:20am Wake up call!<br />
<br />
4:50am Got in a cab and headed to the <a href="http://hiltongardeninn3.hilton.com/en/index.html" target="_blank">Hilton Garden Inn</a> on 35th Street. Our fearless leaders, Deb and Ted Spangles booked a conference room so we could create our signature <a href="http://www.maccosmetics.com/" target="_blank">MAC</a> look (#sponsorusplease) and our giant 80s hair. <br />
<br />
5:00am Arrived at the hotel. There were already spectators claiming front row spots behind the parade barricades.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEichnKKeuWlS6uq-7TX6SKOsOVjgKEuy1Il7Z_4vQV7kWoqljckboeP_uvpOBKu0W1KbhejggbI1Qvza9Aekft3tiHSqvqT8itSuTQPytqRi_tbPSiFBSnI6pW3ZdDZWnvn1Qh70MCZ6RHm/s1600/28024_502161619815444_1970379635_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEichnKKeuWlS6uq-7TX6SKOsOVjgKEuy1Il7Z_4vQV7kWoqljckboeP_uvpOBKu0W1KbhejggbI1Qvza9Aekft3tiHSqvqT8itSuTQPytqRi_tbPSiFBSnI6pW3ZdDZWnvn1Qh70MCZ6RHm/s320/28024_502161619815444_1970379635_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
6:00am Since the conference room didn't have mirrors, we went to the nearby hotel gym to primp. There were two Asian ladies on the treadmills. I'm sure they were thrilled to see us there. I mean, I always want to inhale hairspray when I work out. I had actually started getting my hair in the groove by putting in sponge curlers the night before at 5pm. I tried to remember the way my hairdresser set my hair when I got a spiral perm and use the curlers in that same pattern. I was delighted to see that when teased, my sponge curls turned into a giant frizzy hair halo. Truly thrilling. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA7ETROgpArC35bHQLprarjraORnLtsJAuYmAofQT4J0Nlk_GxSwLsOAB5BjlKkUJqYmzhckdKfXaineDoqHIbcG_C6_N0-bzJJ7cHK0UHp8G0e0p83vMO7tfCtJL4OlfaFMHfYYarXdmh/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA7ETROgpArC35bHQLprarjraORnLtsJAuYmAofQT4J0Nlk_GxSwLsOAB5BjlKkUJqYmzhckdKfXaineDoqHIbcG_C6_N0-bzJJ7cHK0UHp8G0e0p83vMO7tfCtJL4OlfaFMHfYYarXdmh/s320/photo+1.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
6:20am We put on our bedazzled outfits. Sure that it would be freezing outside, I put on as many layers as possible. So when all was said and done, I was wearing: one pair of dance tights, one pair of shiny dance tights, knee socks, legwarmers, dance trunks, two tank tops, t-shirt, hoodie, and fingerless gloves.<br />
<br />
6:45am We left the hotel and hopped into two vans that took us to 81st and Columbus, where we were supposed to meet our Macy's handler (meaning the woman who was supposed to shepherd us from place to place), but she was having subway trouble, so we all filed into a nearby <a href="http://www.starbucks.com/" target="_blank">Starbucks</a> to wait for her. We took pictures to pass the time.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhulps5u2Go7qhkBNd7lOtEo9Zs_MRVth3DNBGiBOpsbemjOKc3qYNNUSDz8Mcoqn4YIdyrdT4QYmHbXFQgr6Mnx7BGrIXlAPXy-V9AW6hEAN0L5J1eN9_-AobMleMFUb276pSQNnrIkq6Q/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhulps5u2Go7qhkBNd7lOtEo9Zs_MRVth3DNBGiBOpsbemjOKc3qYNNUSDz8Mcoqn4YIdyrdT4QYmHbXFQgr6Mnx7BGrIXlAPXy-V9AW6hEAN0L5J1eN9_-AobMleMFUb276pSQNnrIkq6Q/s320/photo+2.JPG" width="180" /></a></div>
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<br />
7:30am The very understanding Starbucks people allowed us to wait inside, not eating or drinking, just taking up room and probably frightening customers away. Thank you, Starbucks! Hilary was still lost in subway-land, so we decided to head to our waiting point, which was the <a href="http://www.amnh.org/" target="_blank">Museum of Natural History</a>. We filled past giant balloons and shivering marching bands as we walked inside to use the museum bathrooms. (I hear that the marching bands have to meet in <a href="http://www.centralparknyc.org/" target="_blank">Central Park</a> and use port-o-potties. Poor things.) The bathroom line was loooooooong since we were waiting near a 200-girl dance group. I thought I would be cold, but they were wearing unitards that exposed their backs and their ankles. Poor, poor things.<br />
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8:15am Hilary finally appeared! We primped and practiced and added more and more layers of hairspray to our hair, nervously waiting for the parade to begin. And freezing. We all had hand warmers, so our hands were warm, but that was about all that was warm. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFyQFYFU0Ufu8Jt4dmIXW0N0ot4lOE3kuajNBwunKdjcCTrn2utTmEfRZviGi4PX60_X-OIfaWuElwoyMvGJzxoob0glgay-Y3qgT3mCL7ZFScM3SQnkRbxoiyrBNiCI5wv3taYGs2ruBT/s1600/479773_502161633148776_527944389_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFyQFYFU0Ufu8Jt4dmIXW0N0ot4lOE3kuajNBwunKdjcCTrn2utTmEfRZviGi4PX60_X-OIfaWuElwoyMvGJzxoob0glgay-Y3qgT3mCL7ZFScM3SQnkRbxoiyrBNiCI5wv3taYGs2ruBT/s320/479773_502161633148776_527944389_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The ladies along with Deb and Ted</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
9:00am The parade began. We could hear random busts of cheering, but it was hard to tell what was happening.<br />
<br />
9:15am A gentleman led us to the barricade so we could easily feed into the parade when our turn came. From there, we saw a number of floats: a fun looking group (<a href="http://www.latenightwithjimmyfallon.com/about/the-roots/" target="_blank">Jimmy Fallon and the Roots</a>), a tired old man (<a href="http://www.don-mclean.com/" target="_blank">Don McLean)</a>, a bunch of teenyboppers who were making kissy faces to anyone and everyone (<a href="http://www.thewantedmusic.com/" target="_blank">The Wanted</a>), and a fella wearing the tightest red pants I've ever seen (<a href="http://www.fameisdead.com/pictureshow/" target="_blank">Neon Trees</a>).<br />
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9:45am Finally. FINALLY, THEY LED US INTO THE PARADE!!! Eek! We were all completely freaking out, of course. An announcer of some sort said something to the effect of, "And now, hailing from Queens, is a high-energy dance company that pays tribute to the 80s. Spangles Dance Company, join the parade!" And we were off. We started off down the street, alternately waving, walking, and dancing to songs ("<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eH3giaIzONA" target="_blank">I Wanna Dance With Somebody</a>," "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qYkbTyHXwbs" target="_blank">Jesse's Girl</a>," and "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PIb6AZdTr-A" target="_blank">Girls Just Wanna Have Fun</a>") that were played through a giant Macy's star speaker that was being driven down the street in front of us. And also in front of us were two strangers dressed as majorettes who were carrying a very official banner with our name on it!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOOc6cqkC46Qu4Bi9-4OZbvFWKsiArWgLXl_6cmFWOpuA0fP47KAdi7uJyPIE9tMTT5Nxg8yCWAzLv1Mi6OxrZWYtdrau4xVsVmWgz4YtXa0kzeZhk5dNWXUjht1TrIYB1zDF_LVuevWT-/s1600/306759_502161709815435_418823040_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOOc6cqkC46Qu4Bi9-4OZbvFWKsiArWgLXl_6cmFWOpuA0fP47KAdi7uJyPIE9tMTT5Nxg8yCWAzLv1Mi6OxrZWYtdrau4xVsVmWgz4YtXa0kzeZhk5dNWXUjht1TrIYB1zDF_LVuevWT-/s320/306759_502161709815435_418823040_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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10:00am We reached 64th Street and I had suddenly gone from freezing to sweating. I absolutely couldn't believe it! I had tried so hard to prepare for the cold that I couldn't believe I was warm. Hilary, our handler, suddenly became our holder of hand warmers as we each got too hot to keep them in our gloves. In addition to the people lining the streets and packed onto bleachers, there were thousands of people looking down from above--in windows, on balconies, on rooftops, and more.<br />
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10:15am We reached Columbus Circle. Making that turn from Central Park West to 59th Street was the most exciting part of the parade route for me. I'm not sure why. Maybe because it's so picturesque and open. We also got warmer and collectively chose to unzip our hoodies.<br />
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10:30am We made another turn and danced down Sixth Avenue. The sheer volume of people lining the streets was completely overwhelming. They were giving so much energy to us that we really wanted to give a lot of energy back to them, especially since they had been waiting for hours. As a result, we were really starting to drag. We had been awake and anxious for six hours, and we had been walking/waving/dancing for 2 miles. And we still had our televised routine to perform. We all consciously tried to conserve our energy and cool down.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh31nkmb6wa8m4wTfEJZPke7tqD8RfKaNIruOmywKMwiwROI58RXyKW4NdsJfbh4R2rCpbEL_uf__pIJAaux9Q2mPURPf3V6hZPjFb6JIM2vqMLBRVB8ieBiDTfUsdpUa1alwRgUbzd6QXk/s1600/224104_502161656482107_1305069928_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh31nkmb6wa8m4wTfEJZPke7tqD8RfKaNIruOmywKMwiwROI58RXyKW4NdsJfbh4R2rCpbEL_uf__pIJAaux9Q2mPURPf3V6hZPjFb6JIM2vqMLBRVB8ieBiDTfUsdpUa1alwRgUbzd6QXk/s320/224104_502161656482107_1305069928_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXm6jtOmiLOgmiWzZLAuyVCVSEETmVFVcdcldK372yA0UrxsOfis4qgvyOPLxfsGYxk7ZhrX_vjltr6NJktyBf7PifDSh1n6shbLZ9J2cRcsfArc6NYhdfguHqAaJehljUzwMXa62e06zW/s1600/546887_10151150705131344_2092757521_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXm6jtOmiLOgmiWzZLAuyVCVSEETmVFVcdcldK372yA0UrxsOfis4qgvyOPLxfsGYxk7ZhrX_vjltr6NJktyBf7PifDSh1n6shbLZ9J2cRcsfArc6NYhdfguHqAaJehljUzwMXa62e06zW/s320/546887_10151150705131344_2092757521_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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10:45am We reached 37th Street, where we were instructed to stop dancing and just prepare for our performance. We were obviously freaking out. And reviewing our steps. And adding more hairspray. And reassuring each other that we all looked great for our close-ups. <br />
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10:55-ish am We were finally on the Macy's star. The camera people directed us to take our places on stage during a commercial break. We had no idea how long it would be, so we anxiously held our first position while waiting for the music to start. It took so long to begin that my right foot began to cramp.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8hUoDXIK-IH94EUPqP6BLehBdhRcOJ2lOtnrTGdZ55UbJp7m1oggGwaP_0Dpjba6w1hBczgxgrqTiciD5zQspi3p5P_FoVWwNLSgw7GhHDsnrY7W1UOd2numahrSjdzkn6wdJWHHwNsj9/s1600/534487_502161716482101_2020975575_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8hUoDXIK-IH94EUPqP6BLehBdhRcOJ2lOtnrTGdZ55UbJp7m1oggGwaP_0Dpjba6w1hBczgxgrqTiciD5zQspi3p5P_FoVWwNLSgw7GhHDsnrY7W1UOd2numahrSjdzkn6wdJWHHwNsj9/s320/534487_502161716482101_2020975575_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Holding during the commercial</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But it finally started. Even though the steps were a blur, I remember being really conscious of trying to enjoy everything as it happened. And since it was a random, one-of-a-kind, surreal experience, enjoying it was easier to do than I expected. The music came on, as I expected, but what I didn't expect was hearing the voices of <a href="http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/3079110/ns/today/t/matt-lauer/" target="_blank">Matt Lauer</a> and <a href="http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/21578585/ns/today/t/savannah-guthrie/#.UK_x64WyxhE" target="_blank">Savannah Guthrie</a> narrating our dance as we were doing it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX1tO7Qj-m4EKFA7lHr1HWAAnAz3WZtEpA68F_zWG7oT8ih_4-mq7JjNXhFFYe3uMzQMvZnUdO7GjiDQ6C_wNq5_mKe38TNqwgQsasir_xN44bxvweoa1_eWX5MEzzrdzU5HAhNYXgJfNO/s1600/534563_10100834130876988_709383754_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX1tO7Qj-m4EKFA7lHr1HWAAnAz3WZtEpA68F_zWG7oT8ih_4-mq7JjNXhFFYe3uMzQMvZnUdO7GjiDQ6C_wNq5_mKe38TNqwgQsasir_xN44bxvweoa1_eWX5MEzzrdzU5HAhNYXgJfNO/s320/534563_10100834130876988_709383754_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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10:57am And just as quickly as it started, our moment in the sun was over. We finished our 90-second routine and continued marching and waving down 34th Street--all the way to the giant 8th Avenue Post Office, where we took our official group photo. On the way, we passed the Hammerstein Ballroom, where we successfully auditioned for <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uzdt-92xNYM" target="_blank"><i>America's Got Talent</i></a>. And we had already been kicked off the Post Office steps while filming "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZsC_G1wVGns" target="_blank">Get Outta My Dreams and Into My Car</a>" so it seemed like life had come full circle for the Spangles Dance Company.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB8kiKxsJzfq04CNYMPGyvu_6Rna6jjizoSlvsRpanuhhjzEmdiFw_ozWWgqBKCjF8hNu2w3z2L7WggSXc1FO0m6Ud-kViDzDRKWvrQDXvB57X_pPI-Z9gzfzQRnACX8YodP6jcpLNtz1L/s1600/423080_502161753148764_1752632395_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB8kiKxsJzfq04CNYMPGyvu_6Rna6jjizoSlvsRpanuhhjzEmdiFw_ozWWgqBKCjF8hNu2w3z2L7WggSXc1FO0m6Ud-kViDzDRKWvrQDXvB57X_pPI-Z9gzfzQRnACX8YodP6jcpLNtz1L/s320/423080_502161753148764_1752632395_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Here's the unofficial picture</i></td></tr>
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What's next for us? I'm not sure. We got a bunch of entertaining tweets, hundreds of people "liked" our Facebook page, several girls asked for audition info, and one person even wants us to perform at her Christmas party. I'm not sure where we'll be, but I can't wait to body roll into our future! Urban Upstaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16108557451658028003noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-123339695155020570.post-87396228133998781042012-11-17T10:55:00.002-08:002012-11-17T10:55:33.555-08:00Radio City: SwingvilleI totally did it to myself. I angered the swing gods.<br />
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At least, that's what we say here in the <a href="http://www.radiocity.com/" target="_blank">Radio City</a> dressing room when you do one or more of the following before a performance in the <a href="http://www.radiocitychristmas.com/" target="_blank">Radio City Christmas Spectacular</a>:<br />
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* stay out late<br />
* forget to buy eyelash glue<br />
* skip the red lipstick<br />
* had one too many the night before <br />
* don't shower<br />
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I stayed out late last night. I undoubtedly angered the swing gods. <br />
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As many of you know, I am a swing in the show, which means that I am an understudy for three of the singers. Normally, I get to the theater between 8:30am and 9:30am, leisurely pour myself a cup of coffee with half a packet of Swiss Miss with marshmallows (we call this a ghetto mocha), put on a little makeup, and check my email. That way, I would look as if I could go onstage at any time, just in case someone falls down the stairs or something. (But since that only happened once in my four years, I mostly expect to do this as an unnecessary precaution.) Well, today my lovely morning routine was rudely interrupted when Mrs. Claus called out sick! PANIC ENSUED.<br />
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With just 30 minutes, I had to put on heavy stage makeup, put my hot rollers to work, find my costumes, go over all my lines and spacing, and step out on stage. The latter was especially terrifying because swings don't have an opportunity to rehearse on stage at all, let alone with unfamiliar costumes and microphones. And since Mrs. C. was the sickie, I would also be singing a solo while wearing a ginormous dress with hoopskirts and climbing up and down the Christmas train.<br />
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As you can image, I was more than a little nervous.<br />
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Luckily, that early morning hour infused everything with a dream-like quality. It barely registered that I was standing on stage in front of 6,000 people and singing something I've never sung in public before. And somehow, I was still relaxed enough to enjoy it. I looked around at all my friends on stage and had a grand old time. It was a Christmas miracle!<br />
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And I'm so, so glad that first unplanned performance is over!<br />
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<br />Urban Upstaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16108557451658028003noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-123339695155020570.post-74235410194712176852012-11-12T10:08:00.001-08:002012-11-12T19:46:17.229-08:00Radio City: Animal OrientationAs you may or may not know, the camels are the real stars of the Radio City Christmas Spectacular. I'm talking real live camels, people! They travel to Bethlehem in the Nativity scene at the conclusion of the show.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiozyzH7j_tszaSkiYq2PMUsL_YAFPg0JUg7XLb4wqbNl88WbJUL9er-kIrm8h7lxKOSu3TyuzfZtmhcPM8tKiVJDvj6KjMsQaQBtwL8LrK0LQ3DT1BTsR1Th490v4lHZ3zmZ-lcAHz5y51/s1600/IMG_0889.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiozyzH7j_tszaSkiYq2PMUsL_YAFPg0JUg7XLb4wqbNl88WbJUL9er-kIrm8h7lxKOSu3TyuzfZtmhcPM8tKiVJDvj6KjMsQaQBtwL8LrK0LQ3DT1BTsR1Th490v4lHZ3zmZ-lcAHz5y51/s320/IMG_0889.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Don't ask why I'm making that face.</i></td></tr>
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The camels are not alone, however. The show also stars sheep and a donkey.<br />
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Since these animals are not exactly house pets, their handlers introduce them to the cast at Animal Orientation. Here are the things I have learned at Animal Orientation:<br />
* Sheep behave like dogs.<br />
* Donkeys like to eat French toast.<br />
* Camels' hips are way up on their backs, so they can kick you if you're standing anywhere in a six-foot radius.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The camels take a daily constitutional around the block.</i></td></tr>
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Some very lucky (or unlucky, depending how you look at it) dancers play shepherds and get to stand with a sheep in Bethlehem, which earns them Animal Pay in their weekly paycheck. This is a real thing. Simply for standing there with leash in hand, they get extra dough. So in addition to learning animal facts and cautionary tales at Animal Orientation, they also get up close and personal with their sheep.<br />
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Even though we rehearse for at least four weeks, the animals only arrive the day of our final dress rehearsal. Why? They're pros. Ted the Camel has been doing the show for years. And loves it. I swear he even smiles and poses for pictures. He and the other two camels live in a little room (aptly named "The Camel Room") on the right side of the stage. The sheep and donkey live in a pen one level down from the stage; they ride the elevator up to the stage, hit their marks on stage during the show, and ride the elevator back downstairs. Seeing six sheep in an elevator is definitely a treat.<br />
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This year, Animal Orientation was set for Thursday at 2pm, but the camel truck broke down on the Thruway. So it was rescheduled for 10pm that night.<br />
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In case you're wondering, all of the above is completely true. I swear. Don't believe me? Take a gander at this little video I made in 2007.<br />
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<br />Urban Upstaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16108557451658028003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-123339695155020570.post-36924419974865247862012-11-06T15:21:00.000-08:002012-11-06T15:21:01.889-08:00Voting Makes Me (Red, White, and mostly) BlueVoting used to be fun. Or at least my memory of it was.<br />
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I would go into the giant seafoam green voting booth with Mom or Dad, they'd draw the privacy curtain, and they'd let me press buttons on the marvelous machine that would help choose the next president. A hush fell over that small space as the heavy curtain material quieted the hubbub of the waiting room, and the only noise was the satisfying click of the buttons as my little fingers pressed them. And best of all was the giant metal lever that I got to pull to reset the machine to keep my parents' votes a secret from everyone else.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimhHqHnb055WRmhDN6dVif4vHWzF1tuo7GsDevrp4EZYci5wcSPDCH0K-1IsbfkrFmijvAcGWIvKg6nPz7k8dBetFPmK_NEds1nDdOvYqIg40LPrcymLeSCSpaIUDfVdp68JGweRCVQRea/s1600/voting_booth-723571.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimhHqHnb055WRmhDN6dVif4vHWzF1tuo7GsDevrp4EZYci5wcSPDCH0K-1IsbfkrFmijvAcGWIvKg6nPz7k8dBetFPmK_NEds1nDdOvYqIg40LPrcymLeSCSpaIUDfVdp68JGweRCVQRea/s320/voting_booth-723571.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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I can't say that I quite expected that same magical experience when I voted today, but I did expect maybe ten percent of that magic.<br />
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I didn't even get one percent.<br />
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Since I had rehearsals starting at 9am, I was at my polling location by 6:30am. Of the two initial greeters, one was helping someone else, and the other did NOT look like she wanted to help me. She gave me the bored-slash-annoyed stare of a teenager who is on the last ten minutes of her shift at <a href="http://www.blockbuster.com/" target="_blank">Blockbuster</a> and desperately wants to shut down the joint and hop in the car with her new boyfriend who just got his night license. Um, didn't you <i>volunteer</i> to be here, lady? And it's only 6:30am. If you hate life now, you're gonna hate it a lot more by 9.<br />
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Of course, she couldn't find my address listed in her book and suggested I was at the wrong location. Luckily, I brought my postcard that said I was most certainly in the right place. She begrudgingly shepherded me to one of three district lines.<br />
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Based on her reaction, I had zero confidence I was in the right line, so I grew antsy when the volunteer running this new line seemed slooooooooowwwwwww. There were only four people ahead of me, but it must have taken over ten minutes for her to process them. When I got to the front of the line, I could see why.<br />
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Her fingernails.<br />
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They were a good two to three inches long--so long they started curving downward in that creepy way that you just know can't be sanitary. They were freshly painted. Lime green on the right, purple on the left. Oh yeah, and she was a lefty. It's not that I think left-handed people are slow, but she seemed to be moving in that way that lefties do when someone makes them use a pair of righty scissors in school. On second thought, her only instruments were paper and pen, which are equal opportunity items, so I'm back to blaming the nails for the holdup.<br />
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She handed me my giant paper ballot in a manilla folder, which I took to the "voting booths," which were more like small podiums with an empty diorama on top. Almost like a much cheaper version of the Jeopardy set. The dividers were cardboard, and I'll be shocked if they're sturdy enough to make it to the end of the day. And anyone could easily look over and see the items I bubbled in on my <a href="http://www.scantron.com/" target="_blank">Scantron</a> form. It felt way more like taking a test than voting for our nation's president. Where was the curtain? Where was the satisfying clicking noise? Where was the glamour, the romance??? Where????<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQV7K5s7g1wyqPuVeQ7nN-6BRHNNmsid0bZOSUJ6WxiYX-uDfdqFuV79616DuhTPAnnNiSPw_XtSxDhjGT2Gdoz44OrLFgDyQIS4rk5oiNhiJq1l_33uImeTfjSr7LQbJVq8U0vhoX26fl/s1600/Voting-booths-300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQV7K5s7g1wyqPuVeQ7nN-6BRHNNmsid0bZOSUJ6WxiYX-uDfdqFuV79616DuhTPAnnNiSPw_XtSxDhjGT2Gdoz44OrLFgDyQIS4rk5oiNhiJq1l_33uImeTfjSr7LQbJVq8U0vhoX26fl/s1600/Voting-booths-300.jpg" /></a></div>
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I next had to walk to some video game-looking machine and feed my "ballot" into it, sort of the way you feed paper into a<a href="http://www.xerox.com/" target="_blank"> Xerox</a> machine. (There were no signs telling me to do this, mind you. I could easily have left my ballot there and walked away.) I got a happy little flag on the screen with a "Thank You for Voting!" message, which was the only bright spot of the entire event.<br />
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And to top off my misery, THERE WERE NO STICKERS!!!!!<br />
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I mean, come on, people. I got a sticker in 2008. Where's the 2012 version? This <i>is</i> America. And as Americans, we deserve rewards for absolutely everything we do. I mean, credit card companies reward us for spending money, for crying out loud! I need my voting reward! STAT.<br />
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I didn't get it, sadly. And as I stumbled out into the cold air, I sighed for myself and for America, knowing that it will be another four years before my faith in our voting system can be restored.<br />
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So in 2016, BRING BACK THE STICKERS!!!!!!!!!!!!<br />
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***<br />
Now, for a little more of the romance, check out my images of <a href="http://www.rockefellercenter.com/events/2012/10/30/democracy-plaza/" target="_blank">Democracy Plaza</a> at Rockefeller Center!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnVJ3hRGriLZdmQhVU08R9YfD0IyMNlxFrsmMoZAseFBYGHD7GE9wbKXIOfb8xcsv6-_IRDlyGb4xy-8nfJeebVCcoXfb6nYx8p5FH_a4yIpM444WUHvpoetilwZAhbhEMTDo_K8cEiseG/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnVJ3hRGriLZdmQhVU08R9YfD0IyMNlxFrsmMoZAseFBYGHD7GE9wbKXIOfb8xcsv6-_IRDlyGb4xy-8nfJeebVCcoXfb6nYx8p5FH_a4yIpM444WUHvpoetilwZAhbhEMTDo_K8cEiseG/s320/photo+1.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This map magically appeared on the ice overnight! They'll color in states tonight...</i></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFyGmvJn53GTf8qn48MR9MpaExsmZZcp1OvCZJQBCKSZczs4yzo6nR-wnzRRMTnlHI26gLApe3UpPq4V8m_Y7haqsMq1XdA26p_pXseNXM9C3aU74BeluF9I5Vd6fdAElXBkh7UcjpmoYa/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFyGmvJn53GTf8qn48MR9MpaExsmZZcp1OvCZJQBCKSZczs4yzo6nR-wnzRRMTnlHI26gLApe3UpPq4V8m_Y7haqsMq1XdA26p_pXseNXM9C3aU74BeluF9I5Vd6fdAElXBkh7UcjpmoYa/s320/photo+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Front view. Check out all the cameras.</i></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2TEeMZ7MDyLFQzyYX7WIqY8x-ByKwN68NPwQvkbhFr8trhKDc2GIkynYVRBpTEwOt5MRe26WXTKVzSzdWezzZUPQL3iC4jxs81-CTPKXJHf4ULUBw7VT1qLxVMTP61ruf-FuJXxFcz0cz/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2TEeMZ7MDyLFQzyYX7WIqY8x-ByKwN68NPwQvkbhFr8trhKDc2GIkynYVRBpTEwOt5MRe26WXTKVzSzdWezzZUPQL3iC4jxs81-CTPKXJHf4ULUBw7VT1qLxVMTP61ruf-FuJXxFcz0cz/s320/photo+3.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>News anchors report from inside these multicolored treehouse-looking things.</i></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVpMgn7RXQQgF7FfRqVAcp8HSIVyBikHQ0jaCckAfI9SeoNMHUgPJQbNrrCHQXGuDYLi6e5PERRPzy3zR-QWIYsgWN96b-zABLBD3yImHZeFhUqoEgQFVPgULT06xd1RqkiN5LvtoUHFTz/s1600/photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVpMgn7RXQQgF7FfRqVAcp8HSIVyBikHQ0jaCckAfI9SeoNMHUgPJQbNrrCHQXGuDYLi6e5PERRPzy3zR-QWIYsgWN96b-zABLBD3yImHZeFhUqoEgQFVPgULT06xd1RqkiN5LvtoUHFTz/s320/photo+4.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Here's all the equipment the networks try to camouflage. Unfortunately, it makes everything more difficult to see if you're actually there in person.</i></td></tr>
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<br />Urban Upstaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16108557451658028003noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-123339695155020570.post-62358527504896809802012-11-04T08:24:00.000-08:002012-11-04T08:25:15.308-08:00God Bless(ed) the Marathon Runners!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsX4oXjsbygHDVn67CCJziFxQfKEuzQjsgams9kXFNGoPQ0YsVNDk1hlXbLq1cvrcagGed3if1xKz3XVVO1PXEYBiJ74oGtiGZjGnrhR8CAMRuIMTAe-XityEqyx4TK64WodC8T9wYZJsf/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsX4oXjsbygHDVn67CCJziFxQfKEuzQjsgams9kXFNGoPQ0YsVNDk1hlXbLq1cvrcagGed3if1xKz3XVVO1PXEYBiJ74oGtiGZjGnrhR8CAMRuIMTAe-XityEqyx4TK64WodC8T9wYZJsf/s400/photo.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This angle is a tad deceptive, but there were hundreds of people on the altar!</i></td></tr>
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Bless me, Father, for I have shin splints.<br />
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Okay, okay, I didn't think that one up. I borrowed it from <a href="http://articles.nydailynews.com/2011-11-06/news/30365022_1_nyc-marathon-shin-splints-priest-plans" target="_blank">an article</a> that discusses <a href="http://www.saintpatrickscathedral.org/" target="_blank">St. Patrick's Cathedral</a>'s pre-Marathon Mass. I had a<a href="http://radiocitychristmas.com/" target="_blank"> Radio City</a> wig fitting at 5 o'clock, I decided to head over to the 5:30 Mass at St. Pat's afterward.<br />
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As it turns out, I arrived at the Mass that had been designated for the <a href="http://www.ingnycmarathon.org/" target="_blank">NYC Marathon</a> runners. Even though the Marathon was canceled, the priest decided to say a blessing all the same.<br />
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I'm sure that by now you've heard all the <a href="http://newyork.cbslocal.com/2012/11/02/bloomberg-defends-decision-to-hold-nyc-marathon-as-debate-rages-on/" target="_blank">controversy</a> about the Marathon. Should we have the Marathon to celebrate New York City's resilient spirit? Or should we cancel it to reserve resources for those still suffering from the impact of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hurricane_Sandy" target="_blank">Hurricane Sandy</a>? I must say that I was on the fence about this one. There really wasn't a good solution any way you sliced it. If I were in Staten Island without power for the sixth day, I would be FURIOUS that there was an extra generator sitting in <a href="http://www.nydailynews.com/sports/more-sports/nyc-marathon-canceled-thousands-runners-gather-run-route-article-1.1196422" target="_blank">Central Park</a> as a backup for the media tent. But if I were from Kenya and had been saving money and training my whole life to run this year, I would be absolutely crushed.<br />
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So when more than two hundred runners made their way to the altar for the blessing, I lost it. I completely teared up. It just seemed so sad and beautiful and heartbreaking and lovely all at once. The priest said something to the effect that though the runners would not be in the official race, God would be with them as they ran through their daily lives. I'm so glad I was there to be a part of it.<br />
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Of course, I spoiled the whole thing by evaluating the "runners" on the altar. Some brought their families up there, which was fine. But I couldn't help but wonder...were there any fakers up there? Any people who just wanted to see the view from the best seat in the house? And of course there were those who delayed the conclusion of the service because they couldn't stop taking pictures up there. I was only sitting ten rows back, so I could basically hear what they were saying: "Okay, take a picture of me with the priest. Okay, now I'll take one of you with the priest. Now me again. Not too close, I look terrible in this light! Okay, now one of all of us." And on, and on.<br />
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Luckily, the closing hymn brought it all back home.<br />
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<i>O, God, our Help in ages past,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Our Hope for years to come,</i></div>
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<i>Our Shelter from the stormy blast,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>And our eternal home.</i></div>
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Urban Upstaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16108557451658028003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-123339695155020570.post-32921524953289781492012-11-01T19:13:00.004-07:002012-11-02T07:03:38.126-07:00Hurricane Sandy Hits Hoboken: Floods, Fire Alarms, and Freak-Outs<i>(If you like pictures better than words, scroll down!) </i><br />
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Well, readers, the tribe has spoken: I would certainly be the first person voted off of <i><a href="http://www.cbs.com/shows/survivor/" target="_blank">Survivor</a></i>.<br />
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<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hurricane_Sandy" target="_blank">Hurricane Sandy</a> has taught me many things, but the most glaring is the fact that I am absolutely terrible in crisis situations. I either make bad decisions or hem and haw until the bad decision is the only option left, and either way, I whine until the whole ordeal is over. This is not something I'm proud of. I like to think of myself as a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PnEZrV_WT44" target="_blank">Scarlett O'Hara racing against Sherman's fire</a>--lying, cheating, stealing, or killing to get to safety at Tara, but I am much more a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vIvuqYXfHeM" target="_blank">Melanie</a>, lying in the back of the wagon, unconscious and moaning while being rescued by a stronger, more decisive person.<br />
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Before I confuse you too much, let's back up to the beginning. I have a charming (meaning: old), comfortable (meaning: small) apartment in midtown Manhattan. Like many New Yorkers, I assumed talk of this <a href="http://theurbanupstater.blogspot.com/2011/08/5-hurricane.html" target="_blank">hurricane was wildly inflated</a>. We're New York City! Hurricanes can't touch us! They wouldn't dare! So I went about my business, turning a blind eye to every single meteorologist in town. <br />
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But when the tunnels and bridges and<a href="http://www.mtainfo.com/" target="_blank"> subways</a> started closing, my blind eye suddenly saw the light. I grabbed brownies, stromboli, and an umbrella and raced for the nearest cab to <a href="http://www.hobokennj.org/" target="_blank">Hoboken</a>. You see, after surviving <a href="http://theurbanupstater.blogspot.com/2011/09/910912-913-914.html" target="_blank">9/11</a> and two blackouts in the city, I simply did NOT want to be trapped in Manhattan a fourth time. It always makes me remember this submarine movie I once saw (it apparently made such an impression, I can't even remember its name) about a vessel that had begun to flood. The captain had to make the tough decision to close off a section of the sub even though one of his men was trapped on the other side of the door, causing him to suffer a slow, painful death. Being in Manhattan during an emergency makes me feel like that poor schmuck who was in the wrong part of the sub at the wrong time.<br />
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So I went to stay with friends in Hoboken. I was still so sure that the storm would only end up as a blip on the radar that I didn't even bring a change of clothes. Or even a coat. Sure, Hoboken was in a low-lying area, but any flood or power outage would be over in 12 to 24 hours, right? Plus, if it ever got really bad, I wouldn't be on an island. I could easily drive--err...be driven--to safety.<br />
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All day Monday, I was poised for the predicted downpour and the downed power. I kept my phone plugged into the computer, which was plugged into the wall so I would be at full charge if the power went out. I wrote funny <a href="http://www.facebook.com/" target="_blank">Facebook</a> posts to friends, I cooked extra food in case restaurants wouldn't be able to deliver, and I watched the news, which claimed Sandy would hit town by 6pm.<br />
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Six o'clock came and went with nothing more than a mediocre mist. I smiled, knowing I was right all along, and starting planning my return to the city.<br />
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Until...<br />
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I noticed a stream of water running down the street, which seemed odd considering the light rainfall. When I looked again ten minutes later, the street was covered. In another ten minutes, the sidewalk was submerged by at least a foot of water. And it was still coming fast! The <a href="http://www.hudsonriver.org/" target="_blank">Hudson River</a> seemed to be making a visit to Hoboken. Panic officially set in. Panic with a capital P and that rhymes with T and that stands for TROUBLE.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSOvJCPZwpgBQJh3xhVr4xBray2ppBsipJM3ILrA4GW8pr56SoNOpcmWixgVRioR8qEVS7XjuVlKDbFj4fQd0jOL6isCnlPpVeeG_ztB8fVEHJfFST0NFT6WujIZy98uti2LT5wkYsEXwr/s1600/photo+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSOvJCPZwpgBQJh3xhVr4xBray2ppBsipJM3ILrA4GW8pr56SoNOpcmWixgVRioR8qEVS7XjuVlKDbFj4fQd0jOL6isCnlPpVeeG_ztB8fVEHJfFST0NFT6WujIZy98uti2LT5wkYsEXwr/s320/photo+1.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The beginning of it all...</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Oh, we surely got trouble right here in (Hudson) River City. In fact, we got several feet of trouble in the form of sewage/rainwater that was surrounding the building. I kept staring at it as if it would stop or disappear. But it didn't. Then, the fire alarm went off followed by this prerecorded message: "THERE IS A FIRE ON YOUR FLOOR. PLEASE EXIT THE BUILDING IMMEDIATELY." Ummmm, exit the building to where exactly, Mr. Disembodied Voice? Into the Hudson? I don't think so. Panicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanic.<br />
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Apparently, there was no fire on my floor or anywhere else in the building. The alarm was tripped when water poured into the basement of the building.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq3qBo0dxBpXH042tsFgLF_96gEczyB8lC05zapRdDr01I-hZ282UAb_XqONBaz7DfD2OY2in5AkCQlSVYnulGJybRQXBR_8gQIbRhY2L0yCft8Hj6qpjFXB4WuI345LmxD4ENFkYkvL9q/s1600/photo+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq3qBo0dxBpXH042tsFgLF_96gEczyB8lC05zapRdDr01I-hZ282UAb_XqONBaz7DfD2OY2in5AkCQlSVYnulGJybRQXBR_8gQIbRhY2L0yCft8Hj6qpjFXB4WuI345LmxD4ENFkYkvL9q/s320/photo+3.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Basement stairs</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDvmKUFcjWc4qKe5vTKfqSkjFMEujZCiD3X_U_Lnl7pu4AL6DtbABKePs53I-6kKu3l9t-WfgWdKmc73WRF60kMeFmdQWS9oOApvZ5PjYw5Ii9h5PKH3AW-q756IQYNxi6OPtmv6VnoQ08/s1600/photo+8.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDvmKUFcjWc4qKe5vTKfqSkjFMEujZCiD3X_U_Lnl7pu4AL6DtbABKePs53I-6kKu3l9t-WfgWdKmc73WRF60kMeFmdQWS9oOApvZ5PjYw5Ii9h5PKH3AW-q756IQYNxi6OPtmv6VnoQ08/s320/photo+8.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
And if that wasn't enough, a transformer just outside the window started smoking. Unfortunately, there was still power at that point, which allowed me to watch this horrifying video of a transformer exploding in Manhattan just moments before.<br />
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Blessedly, I somehow fell asleep that night and woke up to a building that didn't have power, but did have new waterfront views.<br />
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That day, people sort of stumbled around, taking pictures of the disaster in disbelief. I honestly can't tell you a single thing I did that morning other than stare at the water, talk to other building residents, and hang out in the lobby, which was powered by a generator (thank goodness!) that provided an excellent opportunity to recharge phones and laptops (#firstworldproblems.com). Neighbors offered power strips for everyone to use. One motherly neighbor even set up a waffle and coffee station. Another glass-half-full neighbor found that his alcohol cabinet was also half full and had a barbeque/frat party in the interior courtyard. This is not to say that everything was a jolly holiday. It was actually more like one of those all-inclusives you get a web deal for in Cancun where the water gives you the runs, someone steals your passport, and you get upcharged for everything. So you booze it up and befriend other guests to avoid allowing the trip to become a total bust. <br />
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I discovered that I could still use the gas stovetop, and made several meals by the light of a candle and an unexpectedly useful light-up <a href="http://www.brookstone.com/" target="_blank">Brookstone</a> shaving mirror. In fact, I seemed to be obsessed with food and the preparation of it because it was the one productive thing I could do. Well, that and watch the fire hydrant outside, which was my gauge of how fast the water was receding. Monday night, it was totally covered. By Tuesday morning, the cap was visible. By nightfall, the arms were visible. As you can imagine, this was an extremely productive and time consuming job.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiFb3xaYnu-GYeyfC_9czPfoPoMUuYzKw_aAvvHBYIZJILR20t8bajqm2h4NKYIcG1f5tlYgxBg8CsKXZZhfWhhhsdHL1oLkzq7ELuklQI2KS8yPerT13_KVOW1_RPDo2s3aTk0xnIGrh4/s1600/photo+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiFb3xaYnu-GYeyfC_9czPfoPoMUuYzKw_aAvvHBYIZJILR20t8bajqm2h4NKYIcG1f5tlYgxBg8CsKXZZhfWhhhsdHL1oLkzq7ELuklQI2KS8yPerT13_KVOW1_RPDo2s3aTk0xnIGrh4/s320/photo+2.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Can you spot the hydrant?</i></td></tr>
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What were the unproductive things I did, you wonder?<br />
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Worry and whine. Whine and worry. And I didn't even have wine to go with my whine. Wine actually would have decreased my whine. But there was no more wine. Just whine.<br />
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When I woke up on Wednesday, the first thing I saw was the almost-bottom of the fire hydrant! The second thing I saw was a woman in a kayak rowing around the building to shout information up to residents who were starved for news of the outside world. I was so fascinated by the kayak that I missed the information. Anyway, it turned out that the mayor and National Guard were in the lobby to tell residents that help was on the way! The National Guard would return at two o'clock to transport people to City Hall. I wasn't exactly sure what I would do at City Hall, but it sounded better than hanging out for another day with no electricity and a dwindling food supply.<br />
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In fact, things were definitely looking up in general on Wednesday. A number of people decided they couldn't take being trapped anymore, so they put garbage bags over their shoes and pants, secured the bags with duct tape, and waded through the water to...I'm not sure where, but I hope it was to safely. Some nutjobs skipped any protective measures and left in flip flops and shorts. Just like <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=neO5fnwQjqg" target="_blank">Andy Dufresne</a> in <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0111161/" target="_blank"><i>The Shawshank Redemption</i></a>, they crawled to freedom through a river of foulness I can't even imagine. I sincerely hope they burned any clothes that touched the sewage and took scalding hot showers afterward.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Shorts. I mean, seriously gross, buddy.</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Watch this couple on the video clip below!</i></td></tr>
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Some people drove out of the parking garage through water that practically covered their wheels. This seemed like a fantastic idea...until one red sedan's wheels locked and sent it floating away.<br />
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So the options were: sit in the apartment twiddling my thumbs and and hoping the water goes down enough to drive away; or hop on board with the National Guard, walk 14 blocks, and pray the line for the ferry to Manhattan isn't eight hours long. The first convoy was filled almost instantly, so that wasn't an option. We had just about decided to wait it out when TWO convoys appeared. It was a sign. Actually, it was more of a coincidence, but still. In retrospect, it was a sign.<br />
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We were helped aboard the truck and the hurricane suddenly changed from being a drag to a delight! I was positively giddy with the thrill of it all. Little ol' me was being rescued by the National Guard! I am a refugee! A friend texted me about a possible escape plan, and I replied, "Ummm...I'll get back to you. I'm sort of being rescued by the National Guard at the moment." The whole thing was sort of preposterous in the best possible way. The headline for the operation could have been "YOUNG PROFESSIONALS SEMI-DRAMATICALLY RESCUED FROM A LUXURY HIGHRISE." A <a href="http://abcnews.go.com/wn" target="_blank">World News Tonight with Diane Sawyer</a> crew captured the whole thing, and if you have a lot of time on your hands and look very closely, you can see my black <a href="http://www.northface.com/" target="_blank">North Face</a> backpack being put on the truck. You can't see me because I'm woefully short.<br />
<a href="http://abcnews.go.com/WNT/video/stranded-nj-residents-seek-safety-17612700?tab=9482930&section=1206853&playlist=17613273" target="_blank">http://abcnews.go.com/WNT/<wbr></wbr>video/stranded-nj-residents-<wbr></wbr>seek-safety-17612700?tab=<wbr></wbr>9482930&section=1206853&<wbr></wbr>playlist=17613273</a><br />
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After an oddly long ride through gallons of dirty water during which we were trailed by a <a href="http://cnn.com/" target="_blank">CNN</a> truck, we arrived at City Hall.<br />
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When I started the mile walk to the <a href="http://www.njwaterway.com/" target="_blank">ferry,</a> I wasn't sure what I would find there. Along the way, Washington Street was bone dry, and some businesses were open and operating without power. The shelter was packed, and there were several homes that happened to have power who graciously used extension cords and power strips outside to help charge phones. The atmosphere was communal even though the situation was dire. You could almost forget about the hurricane until you saw something like this mangled boat dock.<br />
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Amazingly, the ferry line was practically non-existent, and other than waiting for a teenager to make change for tickets by hand, there wasn't a single hitch taking the ferry to 39th Street in Manhattan. There was an angry mob waiting in Manhattan to take the boat across the river to Jersey, though.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>NY on the left, NJ on the right</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Almost home!!!</i></td></tr>
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After that three-hour journey, I can't tell you how excited I was to get back to my own apartment that had (ironically) never lost power. I cheered out loud as I flipped each light switch--because the lights actually turned on! I took a long (hot!) shower, turned on the (working!) television, and got out some (properly-refrigerated!) brie to celebrate my return home.<br />
<br />
I know that not everyone was as lucky as I have been. Thousands of people are still suffering from horrifying circumstances, so I don't mean to make light of the situation in any way. I am eternally grateful to the <a href="http://www.nationalguard.com/" target="_blank">National Guard</a>, all the building workers who battled the waters (and the residents' frustrations) for days while sleeping on air mattresses instead of in their own homes, and volunteers who assisted others in every way possible. You are the Scarletts who helped this poor little Melanie make it back to Tara. And if ever circumstances are reversed, I will happily cover up the murder of a pillaging Yankee on your behalf.<br />
<br />Urban Upstaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16108557451658028003noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-123339695155020570.post-36171836215287587292012-10-29T09:36:00.001-07:002012-10-29T09:36:43.372-07:00The Daily Messenger is FAMOUS!!!I'm interrupting coverage of <a href="http://www.nhc.noaa.gov/refresh/graphics_at3+shtml/211343.shtml?5-daynl" target="_blank">Hurricane Sandy</a> and coverage of <a href="http://www.radiocitychristmas.com/" target="_blank">Radio City</a> rehearsals (which, in an unprecedented move, were cancelled due to Hurricane Sandy) to announce that <a href="http://www.mpnnow.com/" target="_blank"><i>The Daily Messenger</i> </a>from <a href="http://www.canandaiguachamber.com/" target="_blank">Canandaigua</a>, New York is famous!<br />
<br />
I get the <a href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/" target="_blank">Merriam-Webster</a> Word of the Day emailed to me. It always includes a definition, examples, and fun facts. I was THRILLED to see that The Messenger was quoted today! Way to go, Richard Hermann!<br />
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October 28 </div>
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<span style="font: normal 24px Georgia,Times New Roman,Times,serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">ad hominem</span><a href="http://www.drhinternet.net/mw/link.php?M=1825413&N=5982&L=7933" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"><img align="bottom" alt="Audio Pronunciation" border="0" height="19" src="http://www.drhinternet.net/images/wodhtml2010/wod2010_audio_pron_blue_01.gif" style="border: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" width="29" /></a><span style="color: #7e7e7e; font: italic 12px Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">\ad-HAH-muh-nem\</span></div>
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<i>adjective</i></div>
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appealing to feelings or prejudices rather than intellect<br /> </div>
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marked by or being an attack on an opponent's character rather than by an answer to the contentions made</div>
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The governor's only response to the criticism of his new policy was to launch an <i>ad hominem</i> attack against those doing the criticizing.</div>
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"This democratization of the online media comment world results in both a lot of angry, nasty and downright insulting <i>ad hominem</i> attacks, followed quickly by <i>ad hominem</i>
attacks by email commentators on each other that make for salty and
entertaining, if not particularly edifying, reading." — From an
editorial by Richard Hermann in the <i>Daily Messenger </i>(Canandaigua, New York), August 30, 2012</div>
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"Ad hominem" literally means "to the person" in New Latin (Latin as
first used in post-medieval texts). In centuries past, this adjective
usually modified "argument." An "argument ad hominem" (or "argumentum ad
hominem," to use the full New Latin phrase) was a valid method of
persuasion by which a person took advantage of his or her opponent's
interests or feelings in a debate, instead of just sticking to general
principles. The newer sense of "ad hominem," which suggests an attack on
an opponent's character instead of his or her argument, appeared only
in the last century, but it is the sense more often heard today. The
word still refers to putting personal issues above other matters, but
perhaps because of its old association with "argument," "ad hominem" has
become, in effect, "against the person."</div>
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Urban Upstaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16108557451658028003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-123339695155020570.post-70240414742262073342012-10-26T17:11:00.000-07:002012-10-26T17:11:35.433-07:00"I can't. I'm in tech."<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghGvER1S92HwmhP8cXm9jkYXxjtKj9ldTWnxp0Nsd0pjPgTLOJpSA2TVbin9qmw3r0Eu63ZxlQcZQwJ44G-v4Wl1TuO52b9EgE6NIqyDyUrMoGWyE4OeiCpkb27uQ20570RNMaWVE-z6wO/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghGvER1S92HwmhP8cXm9jkYXxjtKj9ldTWnxp0Nsd0pjPgTLOJpSA2TVbin9qmw3r0Eu63ZxlQcZQwJ44G-v4Wl1TuO52b9EgE6NIqyDyUrMoGWyE4OeiCpkb27uQ20570RNMaWVE-z6wO/s320/photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Ahhh, the joys of tech.<br />
<br />
Never heard of it, you say? Then you must not have watched the so-bad-it's-good episode of <a href="http://www.nbc.com/smash/" target="_blank"><i>Smash</i></a> in which Karen told her live-in boyfriend that she couldn't decide if she wanted to get married because <a href="http://www.vulture.com/2012/05/smash-recap-tech-season-1-episode-13.html" target="_blank">she's in tech</a>. <br />
<br />
Once an entire show has been taught and practiced in dance studios, the director and choreographer work with stage managers, designers, and other members of the crew to put the show on stage with lights, microphones, props, scenery, and more. This is a slooooooow process with a lot of stopping and starting. It often means very long hours and very little sleep.<br />
<br />
We all moved into the <a href="http://www.radiocitychristmas.com/85rox.html" target="_blank">Radio City</a> theater yesterday. Because it's such a huge space (6,000 seats!), we are assigned different quadrants to lounge in--Rockettes are mid-house left, singers are lower house left, and dancers are upper house right. And lounge we do. When not working or watching others work, we chat, snack, play on our <a href="http://www.apple.com/iphone/" target="_blank">iPhones</a>, and even write blogs. :)<br />
<br />
Where were we before this, you may wonder? Well, the Radio City stage is used for a ton of concerts (the <a href="http://www.jonasbrothers.com/" target="_blank">JoBros</a> sold the joint out two weeks ago), so it's off-limits for us during the early part of rehearsal. Because there are only two rehearsal studios in the building, neither of which is nearly as big as the actual stage, we rehearse in a <a href="http://www.stpaultheapostle.org/" target="_blank">church basement</a> on Ninth Avenue. Seriously. It's a giant basement that is big enough to be divided into two stage-sized spaces, 4 common rooms, a lunch room, a music room, a physical therapy room, and several offices. There are <a href="http://www.sprungfloors.com/" target="_blank">sprung dance floors,</a> soundproofing equipment, mirrors, and more. The amount of work that goes into transforming the basement for just a month of rehearsals is insane.<br />
<br />
We started at the top of the show yesterday (Spoiler alert--it's a 3-D
movie staring Santa Claus!), and after working 1pm-10pm yesterday and today, we are only at the fifth number in the show. Sometimes, I kind of hate tech. It's just so slow and boring. But there's something different about teching at Radio City. The house is just so huge and grand. It feels like a privilege to be here when it's virtually empty. It makes me feel like Annie when Daddy Warbucks takes her to the movies. I mean, how many other people get to do this?<br />
<br />
Please remind me of this feeling in a few days. I'll probably have forgotten it by then.<br />
<br />
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<br />Urban Upstaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16108557451658028003noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-123339695155020570.post-53958828074428285822012-10-16T05:48:00.001-07:002012-10-16T05:48:25.373-07:00Project Radio CityWell, folks, it's almost that time again: time to sing carols, trim the tree, and <a href="http://theurbanupstater.blogspot.com/2010/11/new-york-at-christmas-guide-to-sidewalk.html" target="_blank">elbow your way past tourists</a> in <a href="http://www.rockefellercenter.com/" target="_blank">Rockefeller Center</a>.<br />
<br />
I was absolutely thrilled to began rehearsals for my fifth year in the <a href="http://www.radiocitychristmas.com/" target="_blank">Radio City Christmas Spectacular™</a><style>
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last week. But I was over the moon when I walked by the costume shop and saw this stunning design created by <a href="http://www.mylifetime.com/shows/project-runway" target="_blank">Project Runway</a>'s <a href="http://www.mylifetime.com/shows/shows/project-runway/season-10/photos/christopher-palu-episode-1-pictures#id=1" target="_blank">Christopher Palu</a>:<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif_kiifx-i5bp3f0vqgUsfNaQ5lmJ-WpqI2qJG7f11FzOX8vSdPS3OfqcqiVPuA_Kgt5Ck5xfF4MLL40H3XCRDfA86eMf55TaM67-9mfdFjn4peWgWBEW0sOlebtHL_ibVH72bp9eFVURQ/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif_kiifx-i5bp3f0vqgUsfNaQ5lmJ-WpqI2qJG7f11FzOX8vSdPS3OfqcqiVPuA_Kgt5Ck5xfF4MLL40H3XCRDfA86eMf55TaM67-9mfdFjn4peWgWBEW0sOlebtHL_ibVH72bp9eFVURQ/s320/photo.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
<br />
Now, in case you missed it, Heidi and Tim challenged the designers to create a dress for the Rockettes to wear at a future performance. While watching the episode, I thought that Christopher's idea and design were absolutely brilliant and well-executed--and utterly New York. I knew he would win the second I saw it. <br />
<br />
But upon seeing the dress in real life, I must say that there are some flaws:<br />
*The skirt has no movement, no give. So it won't be flattering when the girls kick. <br />
*The trim outlining the buildings is hot glued on and is already crumbling.<br />
*The design of the dress doesn't really allow for undergarments to be concealed. <br />
*The flesh-colored material isn't supportive, which means the garment will begin to lose its shape the second the wearer puts it on.<br />
*There isn't enough color contrast between the buildings and the fleshy material, making the buildings harder to distinguish.<br />
*Even if there was more color contrast, the buildings wouldn't be visible to anyone past the tenth row. And Radio City is a 6,000-seat house.<br />
<br />
My Nina-like critique is not to say that any of these flaws are Christopher's fault. I'm sure there are many, many challenges dance designers face when creating new costumes, and the Rockettes are an iconic brand performing in an incredibly unique space. There are few that would have succeeded in this challenge, given the time, resources, and requirements. Interestingly, after seeing the dress firsthand, I can't help but wonder if <a href="http://www.mylifetime.com/shows/project-runway/season-10/designers/dmitry-sholokhov" target="_blank">Dmitry</a>'s dress should have won.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1xafW4ci7LEcv1Oe1zMjiTMJ1Yf6itPHWfj-HMeRD3erPe-WgkWBQ7mC2K1zHfx7oJCfxqs1laIHj6fpp8TtU3pEVk1Q7qxvP8t4mnvF6Yuh-KWQPT4YcgO9i4rFfTo1UISOSUE6SJkcV/s1600/dmitry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1xafW4ci7LEcv1Oe1zMjiTMJ1Yf6itPHWfj-HMeRD3erPe-WgkWBQ7mC2K1zHfx7oJCfxqs1laIHj6fpp8TtU3pEVk1Q7qxvP8t4mnvF6Yuh-KWQPT4YcgO9i4rFfTo1UISOSUE6SJkcV/s320/dmitry.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Here's the big question: WHY WEREN'T THE ROCKETTES IN THE WORKROOM? They would have easily been able to communicate their needs to the designers, who would, in turn, have more information with which to create usable costumes. They also would have looked stunning on the runway. Perhaps the producers thought that might be setting the designers up to fail? Though they did give the designers a little <a href="http://www.broadway.com/buzz/164179/watch-heidi-klum-and-the-rockettes-kick-their-way-to-project-runway/" target="_blank">lesson in dance</a>.<br />
<br />
I suspect that Christopher may not be able to claim his prize. Costume costs range from hundreds of dollars to thousands of dollars. Each. And there are 36 girls to costume. I'm not sure anyone would invest that much in a dress that will only be worn once to an unidentified event. So, I'm sorry, Christopher. I don't want you or your adorable Long Island family to be disappointed. But don't worry--I'm sure you have a well-dressed future ahead of you on the runway.<br />
<br />
(Curious about how the other contestants fared? Check out <a href="http://tvrecaps.ew.com/recap/project-runway-season-10-episode-10/" target="_blank">this recap</a> on EW.com.)Urban Upstaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16108557451658028003noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-123339695155020570.post-37288604038994496852012-10-08T19:03:00.003-07:002012-10-08T19:03:48.528-07:00Movin’ on Up: The Quest for the Perfect NYC Apartment (Part 5)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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See that?<br />
<br />
That's what my room looked like when I moved out. I had to shove all of my stuff in the closet and center of the room. Why, you ask? Because I had to move out of my room on September 1st, but I couldn't move into the new apartment until September 4th. Long story.<br />
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Anyway, I was homeless for three days, during which I vacationed on the <a href="http://www.nj.com/shore/" target="_blank">Jersey Shore</a> (I know, rough life, right?), and I returned on September 4th to meet the movers.<br />
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Now, this was my first experience hiring a <a href="http://www.movingyourway.com/" target="_blank">moving company</a>, which intimidated me. Even though I got a recommendation from a friend for a group of hardworking Russians at a decent price (and they were also positively reviewed in <a href="http://nymag.com/bestofny/services/2008/cheapmovers/" target="_blank"><i>New York Magazine</i></a>), it freaked me out that they only took my name and phone number and told me they'd be there "sometime around 8/9 o'clock." Because they didn't require a deposit (which, in hindsight, was extremely nice), I convinced myself that they wouldn't show. So, being the worrywart I am, I invented about three different reasons to call between the time I first spoke to them and moving day, just to reassure myself they'd show up.<br />
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And show up, they did. Even though they had the wrong address and it took them three calls to find the apartment. (Apparently "nine" and "five" sound similar to Russians who speak English as a second language.) They were incredibly fast, polite, and thorough, which I really appreciated. They didn't break anything, they carried everything down 97 steps, and they gave me the job of sitting in the truck to make sure it didn't get ticketed. I felt incredibly awkward "supervising" as the "client," since I am completely able-bodied. But I guess that's what you do when you hire movers. You watch them move.<br />
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With only about 17 mentions of our new apartment being small, they efficiently brought everything up the elevator to our new digs, only went 30 minutes over the estimated time, and presented us with the bill.<br />
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I knew this moment would be awkward, so to make it as painless as possible, I asked the moving company fellow at the other end of my four phone calls about the tip amount. He told me to give 20% of the total in cash. Which is exactly what I did.<br />
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The moving company money counter counted the money. And paused.<br />
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And counted it again. And paused.<br />
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Finally, he said, "We do good job. Fast work. More money for each man?"<br />
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Even though I wanted to roll my eyes--actually, I probably did roll my eyes--I handed over more cash.<br />
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He went through his count-pause-count-pause routine a couple more times and said, "We work hard. I no charge you for full last hour. Forty dollar each man?"<br />
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"Forty dollars each? I called and was told to give you <a href="http://www.itipping.com/tip-moving-company.htm" target="_blank">20%</a> from your supervisor. I've given you WAY more than that. I don't understand what this is all about." I was red-faced and angry at that point but was trying to rein it in since my roommates' parents were watching.<br />
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"Just give it to him," they said. "Here it is--give him this." And with that, they handed me the ridiculously inflated tip money, which was indescribably lovely of them.<br />
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But I was still mad at the movers. How dare they soak us for cash when I took all of the appropriate steps to treat them more than fairly??? I've been a waitress at <a href="http://applebees.com/" target="_blank">Crapplebee's</a>, and many of my friends work in the restaurant industry, so I pride myself on my 20%+ tips. Even if something goes terribly wrong with my meal, I never leave less than 15%. Ever. Ooooo, those movers really made me angry. Actually, even typing the story now makes me furious. They can expect a mixed-to-negative Yelp review from me. And a strongly worded letter.<br />
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P.S. I just did a little tip research that I wish I had done earlier. The Yelp consensus is that $15-$25 per man is the usual. Not $40. I'm fuming again. Though I suppose it's all water under the bridge. I would have to think really hard to tell you how much I spent total, so it didn't exactly break the bank. Live and learn. The more you know. Etc, etc, etc.Urban Upstaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16108557451658028003noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-123339695155020570.post-69832482021465288992012-10-05T13:58:00.000-07:002012-10-05T13:58:17.115-07:00Movin’ on Up: The Quest for the Perfect NYC Apartment (Part 4)Moving is hard. Like, really hard. So hard that I almost don't want to blog about it and relive the madness.<br />
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I had never really done a big move before. I moved to college, but that was only 50 minutes from home and I had my family's help. And their minivan. I moved to Boston for grad school. That was a bit more dramatic. My mother drove me out there and proceeded to scrub the blinds and the refrigerator and unpack all of my things and basically be Cinderella while I collapsed across the bed and sobbed, woe-is-me/Ugly Stepsister style. And then she had the gall to leave me there in a comfortable apartment (mostly furnished by my two roommates), which is exactly what I asked her to do except that when the time came, I didn't want her to leave. That was in the pre-cell phone era, so I felt way too far away. (Thanks, Mom! You're the best!)<br />
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Moving home from Boston was fun because I discovered that when the rich seniors left <a href="http://www.bc.edu/" target="_blank">Boston College</a> (I was a campus RA at the time), they also left month-old grills and patio furniture behind. They did this in the same way that they left their old beer cans scattered across their tiny lawns for enterprising Asian ladies to collect and return to the store. I could not believe that so many wonderful things were left for the taking! So I took a few. Furniture items, that is. Not beer cans. Again, my family was there with the minivan and we had a stuffed-to-the-gills drive home.<br />
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Next, I moved to New York City with exactly two suitcases. I ended up collecting more things while here, all of which my parents had to haul home when I left to go on tour with <i>Fosse</i>. When I moved back to the city after tour ended, I again had two suitcases and a new travel philosophy that I planned to implement in my non-tour life: "If it doesn't fit in my two suitcases, I don't want it."<br />
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That philosophy ended up buried in my closet, along with my mountain of sale rack clothes and living supplies that I hoard like a suburbanite even though I really have no room for them.<br />
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So this was my first move with a fully-stocked bedroom, my roommate's fully stocked bedroom, multiple pieces of furniture, and no minivan. <br />
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How did it all go? Stay tuned...Urban Upstaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16108557451658028003noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-123339695155020570.post-30692091151641239082012-10-04T12:58:00.001-07:002012-10-04T13:26:10.824-07:00HGTV, Pinterest, & MeI watch <a href="http://www.hgtv.com/" target="_blank">HGTV</a>. A lot. It's the perfect channel to have on in the background while I do my freelance writing. It adds the ideal amount of noise without drawing my full attention away from my work.<br />
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<a href="http://www.pinterest.com/" target="_blank">Pinterest</a> is new for me. I can't say that I totally understand it, but when I have searched, I have found excellent recipes and decorating tips.<br />
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So when I found myself moving into a new place with some old furniture of my roommate, I decided the time was right to test out my HGTV skillz. Well, I guess it's just my HTV skillz since I don't have a G.<br />
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Anyway, blending a few techniques from Pinterest (and utilizing my "craft room," which was really Hugo's room when he conveniently spent two weeks in Europe), I created the masterpieces below for less than $50 total--and I still have a lot of paint leftover for future projects!<br />
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This was my first project. I found this nightstand on the street: <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-uAg0R5kNNC4a_rpQ3cHGVRdIdFRk4OxZxa7oHhEFoRb7xTGuM2fqjNILndJHy57InGwTEMZaEjjW8rDjje6kvDOCsW2TWgWoZ4XWP7-Em3TqMg22L06T-aoL-vllAyCutjd8Z81FsRoG/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-uAg0R5kNNC4a_rpQ3cHGVRdIdFRk4OxZxa7oHhEFoRb7xTGuM2fqjNILndJHy57InGwTEMZaEjjW8rDjje6kvDOCsW2TWgWoZ4XWP7-Em3TqMg22L06T-aoL-vllAyCutjd8Z81FsRoG/s200/photo+2.JPG" width="149" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiopJM7vheAkYal3owcnFqUREg_on5dp_mQgLTTd0fxQUhsMY_hx-h9w1xn3pFSZH-fmc2E_1KVvALgQvCjIsyvpTjfRTmZPPRSDbyetUZijoCwZsgeNE57noa_TX28xZ05tUOApF1KyovW/s1600/photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiopJM7vheAkYal3owcnFqUREg_on5dp_mQgLTTd0fxQUhsMY_hx-h9w1xn3pFSZH-fmc2E_1KVvALgQvCjIsyvpTjfRTmZPPRSDbyetUZijoCwZsgeNE57noa_TX28xZ05tUOApF1KyovW/s200/photo+4.JPG" width="149" /></a> With primer, paint, sandpaper, and super fancy knobs from Anthropologie, I turned it into this:<br />
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Next, I took a splintered table:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYvS2oViJwhpnmedyOSwGemNr0JoXvhMOa9tM3oG4Yh72wTKnH-BI_SvpqCWPDQYeaq3Hk3bbdeE_hyRH9-1H8oBt-Je2504LLAD3pyUtT-CpKKUYg08_k9M8EGkn4lWFlVocbTOHtZ86U/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYvS2oViJwhpnmedyOSwGemNr0JoXvhMOa9tM3oG4Yh72wTKnH-BI_SvpqCWPDQYeaq3Hk3bbdeE_hyRH9-1H8oBt-Je2504LLAD3pyUtT-CpKKUYg08_k9M8EGkn4lWFlVocbTOHtZ86U/s200/photo+3.JPG" width="149" /></a></div>
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And used spray paint to turn it into this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqZOPjVwkaHKwqmrv1uNQBoitHDB7XIrWjh9PyiXs1CtqNdfffR9oSLNOM9VI39vZEo7-Kiqu2Zx3qcvvdCOdX59p7I6-yixRcdtZPbVhYlij-gv0U2ZdWgSPxmLggTM6FLjpmLZ6sJHJK/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqZOPjVwkaHKwqmrv1uNQBoitHDB7XIrWjh9PyiXs1CtqNdfffR9oSLNOM9VI39vZEo7-Kiqu2Zx3qcvvdCOdX59p7I6-yixRcdtZPbVhYlij-gv0U2ZdWgSPxmLggTM6FLjpmLZ6sJHJK/s200/photo+3.JPG" width="149" /></a></div>
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As fate would have it, I stumbled upon a super emptying a fancy upper west side apartment and scored these endtables that didn't even need any work:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk8RpRKBV06W-40bUaUW0hgnphECQKiy53KRzvVrJsQ9Aa-5EYOnwXys9-v6ku7eGjG-WFAgf279mqzRbvfFAuTgC5kGwgC_35Md8ks31StwUtbf8Ap-Yo1mbEXm-7h3y_lnZkkVmy-UiD/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk8RpRKBV06W-40bUaUW0hgnphECQKiy53KRzvVrJsQ9Aa-5EYOnwXys9-v6ku7eGjG-WFAgf279mqzRbvfFAuTgC5kGwgC_35Md8ks31StwUtbf8Ap-Yo1mbEXm-7h3y_lnZkkVmy-UiD/s200/photo+2.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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I wanted to add a headboard to my bed, and again, I didn't feel like spending $300 on it. So I attached my parents' old kitchen shutters to the wall. I thought I was going to have to paint them, but they were in such good condition that I used them as is!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYbvh0fYI7T7WY6A6ycRUhfMZB-tUuJIhNswNqQElIri8OIwr06sba3uwMK9igrDwSoQfyRbNgsusGxr3xmJdC05GW5y7zQgbHtgLbMTxakPUqz61KH4KGH0Iy6SY35PGCZLK3CMT9ijjf/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYbvh0fYI7T7WY6A6ycRUhfMZB-tUuJIhNswNqQElIri8OIwr06sba3uwMK9igrDwSoQfyRbNgsusGxr3xmJdC05GW5y7zQgbHtgLbMTxakPUqz61KH4KGH0Iy6SY35PGCZLK3CMT9ijjf/s320/photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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My biggest project was born out of necessity. We were moving into an apartment with a small kitchen, so we desperately needed storage, and I desperately didn't want to pay for it. So I took my roommate's old dresser:<br />
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And I painted the bottom several shades of white and green to give it an aged look. I kept the top brown to give the appearance of pseudo-butcher block. Finally, I used hardware from my grandparents' bedroom set from the 70s. I'm kind of in love with it.<br />
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With my grandparents' drawer knobs, my parents' shutters, and my other grandparents' lamp, I absolutely love having things in my room that were used and loved by the people I absolutely love. The moral of this story for me is that you can always make something out of things you already have--and a little elbow grease goes a loooong way. <br />
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<br />Urban Upstaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16108557451658028003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-123339695155020570.post-31723124472221334672012-10-03T14:47:00.000-07:002012-10-03T14:47:07.904-07:00Movin’ on Up: The Quest for the Perfect NYC Apartment (Part 3)<style>
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Here’s another little gem from my Apartment.doc file:</div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">8/8/07<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I've had quite the
interesting day. I woke up to Courtney knocking on my door at 5:30 am (I had
just gone to bed at 2) because water was literally pouring in from our hall
ceiling. I looked down, and it had traveled into my room, soaking my duvet,
which I had thrown on the floor because it was too hot to sleep with. I can't
even describe what a mess it was. Water was pouring in from the light fixture,
in huge cracks, in a line down the length of the exposed brink wall, and somehow
even from random doorways. I can't really explain that one. We had about seven bins
out to catch the water, and that wasn't nearly enough. We tried to mop, but
there was just too much water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally,
I started using the mop to throw the water into the communal hallway. There was
a door stopper that was high enough to prevent it from coming back into the
apartment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We started hearing voices all
over the building, and as it turns out, the water was dripping into apartments
all the way to the second floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the
upside, we met several different neighbors.</i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">So today the Rastafarian roofers are scraping up all the paint bubbles
in preparation for fixing everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of
course, today is the day we have prospective roommates coming to see the
place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess if they want to take it
after seeing it in this condition, they REALLY want the place!</i></div>
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Confused? I’ll start from the beginning. </div>
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My apartment was on the top floor of the building. The roof
was old and patched to begin with, and tenants using the roof
for parties did not help, so it began leaking with more and more frequency.
Miraculously, our super cheap landlord (who had to sell a couple of his
buildings quickly to avoid jail time several years back) decided to put a new
roof on the joint. </div>
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Sadly, he decided to commence the project just before the
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2007_Brooklyn_tornadoes" target="_blank">strongest tornado to ever hit the city</a> touched down in <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=brooklyn+tornado+2007&hl=en&client=firefox-a&hs=WVs&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&prmd=imvns&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&sa=X&ei=Ca9sUL7JFOX50gGZyICICA&sqi=2&ved=0CCoQsAQ&biw=1052&bih=543" target="_blank">Brooklyn</a>. And sadder
still, the winds and the rain that accompanied the tornado swept through Hell’s
Kitchen on a night that the workers left our roof covered with nothing but a
tarp. A tarp! Don’t you think they would check the <a href="http://weather.com/">weather.com</a> before leaving a
naked building unattended?!?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizrAuGSg5cSED_HpskKTh6U9nRV5OYhmQ6s_4lpl2zRymWPx1u-LqNRTCU4x-H-IVO3yIonlmcjNZj1YJ6_Ec4f1M2S3KGIStGv_C65h01awnpv6P0sXuAkk-xl8shpra4jKkj4tUVWZYR/s1600/100_0994.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizrAuGSg5cSED_HpskKTh6U9nRV5OYhmQ6s_4lpl2zRymWPx1u-LqNRTCU4x-H-IVO3yIonlmcjNZj1YJ6_Ec4f1M2S3KGIStGv_C65h01awnpv6P0sXuAkk-xl8shpra4jKkj4tUVWZYR/s320/100_0994.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As you can imagine, the entire building was flooded with
black, disgusting water. We swept water out of the apartment and down the
stairs for what seemed like hours. Amazingly, none of our things were
destroyed, but our apartment was never the same.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5YLimzgF_xogM3vpYIug84aOXfecc9-5CTV0VmpFcz4iK3qp0cIpXVJF7pzDzUBbrgbtxlveLNqVAWRYbZnbnIbEyUddzqFjVDL4i9GhVaTn4BkBhYEaIWcnc-4wMr210USBinMRY8OEO/s1600/100_1405.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5YLimzgF_xogM3vpYIug84aOXfecc9-5CTV0VmpFcz4iK3qp0cIpXVJF7pzDzUBbrgbtxlveLNqVAWRYbZnbnIbEyUddzqFjVDL4i9GhVaTn4BkBhYEaIWcnc-4wMr210USBinMRY8OEO/s320/100_1405.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Urban Upstaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16108557451658028003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-123339695155020570.post-10383700883843627312012-10-02T14:36:00.003-07:002012-10-02T14:57:11.073-07:00Movin’ on Up: The Quest for the Perfect NYC Apartment (Part 2)<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">1/2/07<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>6 Men in black hoodies on the stairwell</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so begins a Word document I created—cleverly titled
Apartment.doc—to keep a record of any and all problems I encountered with the fifth
floor walkup apartment I lived in for seven years. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The cryptic note refers to the time I returned from a
Christmas visit upstate with two jumbo suitcases. As was my habit, I dragged
both suitcases into the foyer so I would have one door locked behind me. I left
one suitcase on the entry level and hauled the other suitcase up the 97 steps
to my apartment. Then, I would make a second trip with the other suitcase. This
time, I was greeted at the top of the stairs by six men in black hoodies, who
had seemingly entered through the unlocked roof door. They were just sitting
and waiting for something, and they made no move when I appeared with my
suitcase. Still delirious from the eight-hour train trip, I barely acknowledged
them. But when I locked my first suitcase inside the apartment and stepped out
into the hallway on the return trip for my second, I thought I should probably
say something.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Do you live in the building?” I foolishly asked six giant
men who obviously didn’t live in the building.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We live next door,” the spokesperson of the group said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh.” I paused. “Well, I really don’t think you should be
here if you don’t live here,” I said. (Who on earth did I think I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was</i>?)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We’re waiting for someone,” the spokeshoodie said. “We’ll
be leaving when he gets here.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh,” I cleverly said again. “Okay.” And with that, I headed
downstairs for my second suitcase.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By the time I got there, it finally sunk in that while these
men may have been on the up-and-up, they might also be there for some sort of
sinister purpose. And I knew without a doubt that I simply could not walk past
them one more time. It was way too terrifying.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There I was, in my building foyer, sitting on a suitcase
without a coat or a cell phone or a friend. So I did what any girl would do: I
went into the Thai restaurant downstairs and used their phone to call 911. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I sat on my suitcase to wait for an officer to stop by, but
instead of one officer, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">three</i> police
cars pulled up to the curb. I thought they couldn’t possibly be for me, but
they were. You’d think there must be someone getting robbed or maimed somewhere
else in the city, but I guess it was a slow crime day. They asked for brief
details and headed upstairs. I must say that it was kind of exciting to see six
officers run up the stairs on my behalf, but alas, they came up empty. The hoodies
hopped onto a neighboring roof and raced downstairs through a different
building.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And that, my friends, was the end of my adventure and the
start of my documentation about apartment issues. In the five years that I kept
that document, I had some pretty interesting entries. Here are a few completely
undoctored entries that you might enjoy:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">7/30/07 <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Asked Charles once again about the
rent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He called DeMilt who called and
screamed at me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Didn’t let me get a word
in edgewise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Said he sent the notice 6
times, and we chose to ignore it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
said: “Who do you think you are, some hotshot Philadelphia lawyer?”</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">7/31/07 <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Went to sign lease in scary basement
unlabeled office.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">8/18/07<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Got
an eviction notice postcard.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">11/13/07
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Absolutely NO water at all at
2am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Too tired to call 311.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Called in the morning, but they wouldn’t take
the complaint since the water was restored.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Called Frank, but he said that the plumber was fixing something and
forgot to put up signs since it was so late at night.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">3/2/08<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span></i>FREEZING WATER yet AGAIN.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also, two leaks in the apartment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One in Jackie’s closet, one in the hall
closet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both are pretty bad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Left messages for Ron and Charles by 8:30 am.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">4/4/08<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>Roof leaking yet again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Called Charles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He promised new roof would be put in next
week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seemed surprised that water was
still cold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Said that the boiler was “on
its way” even though Frank told me the boiler was sitting in the basement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Very confused.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-language: EN-US;">5/1/11<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>water is often lukewarm for the last
week. only had one hot shower.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">5/2/12<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>NO WATER AT ALL. hasn’t been heat
for days</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In summary…I’M SO GLAD I MOVED!!!!</div>
Urban Upstaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16108557451658028003noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-123339695155020570.post-38575972766294558962012-07-25T19:19:00.002-07:002012-07-26T04:53:02.745-07:00Movin’ on Up: The Quest for the Perfect NYC Apartment (Part 1)<style>
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It’s finally happening. I can hardly contain my excitement.
I WANT TO WRITE IN ALL CAPS.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’M MOVING TO AN ELEVATOR BUILDING!!!!!!!!!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
WITH LAUNDRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
AND A PART-TIME
DOORMAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This may mean nothing to the large portion of suburbanites
who read my blog, but let me tell you: This is BIG TIME. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How big is it? Well, to completely understand the monumental
nature of this occurrence, let’s take a stroll through my apartment history,
shall we?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u>Apartment 1</u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Location: Hell’s Kitchen</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Floor: 3</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Details: 2 br, 1 ba</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Length of Stay: 4 years</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roommate(s): An aspiring actress named Erica Kane (No, not
that <a href="http://susanlucci.com/">Erica Kane</a>, though she was once contacted to be in the audience of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Rosie_O%27Donnell_Show">The Rosie O’Donnell Show</a> </i>when Susan
Lucci was a guest.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Features: Slanted wood floors and a bathroom so small that you practically had to
sit sideways on the toilet.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Reason for Leaving: Went on tour with a Broadway show.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u>Apartment 2</u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Location: 3 blocks from Apartment 1</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Floor: 4</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Details: 2 br, 1 ba; railroad apartment (meaning I had to
walk through my roommate's bedroom to reach mine)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Length of Stay: 5 months</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roommate(s): A middle-aged former casting director/poet</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Features: A washer
and dryer! But the washer was kept in a closet and had to be rolled out and
attached to the kitchen sink and the dryer would only dry ten socks at a time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Reason for Leaving: She moved to the west coast and the landlord
refused to rent to an actress.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u>Apartment 3</u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Location: Across the street from Apartment 2</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Floor: 5</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Details: 4 br, 2 ba</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Length of Stay: 7 years </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roommate(s): Too many to count. Actually, I just counted.
14. Wait...16. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Features: Unofficial roof access (meaning we’re not legally
allowed to be up there and could possibly fall to our deaths), stunning exposed brick that crumbles because it's never been sealed properly,
and a landlord who never, ever responds to repair requests (see pic).</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUEswzMTDq-x0R-VCkXFyqu0_WyjCar6NoN7OvJG5vAQMv1YeG21xamgkf79I_lt6TbvdnyB3PlOgxtXrhQSjOVpblHsDlEKoB3hgMPbvd4q5OMNqv8hT3-sW4PDVQoiuiQFwuL_NRbMP/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUEswzMTDq-x0R-VCkXFyqu0_WyjCar6NoN7OvJG5vAQMv1YeG21xamgkf79I_lt6TbvdnyB3PlOgxtXrhQSjOVpblHsDlEKoB3hgMPbvd4q5OMNqv8hT3-sW4PDVQoiuiQFwuL_NRbMP/s320/photo.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Additional features include: Lack of hot water, 97 steps,
windows that never fully close and therefore let tons of dirt in, and street
noise so loud that people think I’m outside when I’m talking on the phone in my
bedroom.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Reason for Leaving: If you don’t know why I’m leaving,
reread Apartment 3.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u>Apartment 4</u> (THE NEW APARTMENT!!!)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Location: 2 blocks and 1.5 avenues from Apartment 1</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Floor: 6 (Get it? Get it? I’m literally <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L09qnRfZY-k">movin’ on up</a>!)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Details: 2 br, 1 ba</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Length of Stay: At least 1 year</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roommate(s): My BFF</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Features: Bright, sunny rooms, giant closets, a shockingly
clean basement laundry room, a tiny elevator that may or may not be reliable,
and a part-time doorman who may or may not be a hobo who happened to wander in
and park himself behind the lobby desk. (I have a lobby!)<span style="font-family: Wingdings;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Reason for Leaving: None, I hope!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Want to hear more about my adventures in NYC real estate?
Tune in next time to read about rent control, rooftop baby pools, naked
roommates, fifth floor floods, and street thugs in the stairway… </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>Urban Upstaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16108557451658028003noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-123339695155020570.post-41977403417663589942012-06-04T09:31:00.002-07:002012-06-04T09:31:14.369-07:00Hobo/Neighbor Relations <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m going to apologize to my mother straight off for using
the word “<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hobo">hobo</a>.” I feel as though it is probably offensive in some way, even
though synonyms like “bum,” “beggar,” and “tramp” seem even worse, while
“homeless person,” “vagabond,” and “panhandler” are just a mouthful. So even
though I know we’re all God’s creatures and there but for the grace of God go
I, I’m going to stick with “hobo.” Mostly because it makes me giggle.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There’s a fella—let’s call him Hobo Joe—who sits on my block
every day. He’s tall, not poorly dressed, not smelly, and not overly thin. He
is just like you and I in every way. Except that instead of going to work, he
seems content to sit on random stoops with a coffee cup of change in his hand.
I had always been curious about Hobo Joe, and then one day I saw a neighbor
chatting with him. So I decided to make him my not-too-close friend.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
From that day on, I started to say hello to Hobo Joe
whenever I passed. At first, he seemed wary of me, assuming I was one of the
many who were giving him a smile instead of change (which I was), but now he
nods and gives me a lovely grin (with all teeth intact) whenever I say hello on
my way back from morning yoga. I like to think of him as my urban doorman. In
my incredibly expensive-slash-annoyingly rundown walkup building, the only
thing standing between my apartment and the street is a broken lock, a second
semi-broken lock, and 97 steps. So I like to think that if there were any
problems, good ol’ Hobo Joe would be there to rescue me, much like you’d expect
your toy poodle to stop a burglar single-handedly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have all these fantasies that Hobo Joe isn’t actually a
hobo at all. Instead he’s one of those Long Island millionaires who brings home
thousands of dollars a day in his tattered coffee cup. And he may be just that.
But sadly, Hobo Joe let me down. One night, I saw him sitting on a random
stoop, as usual, and I stared at him, waiting to catch his eye. Then I realized
something was wrong. Joe seemed distracted. When he turned to face me, I
realized that he wasn’t looking <i>at</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> me,
but </span><i>through</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> me, with bloodshot
eyes. He was definitely on something. What, I don’t know, since the world of
drugs is as confusing to me as the world of politics. But something. From then
on, I realized that Morning Hobo Joe and I were friends, but Evening Hobo Joe
would never be my urban doorman. Or my not-too-close friend.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The realization is really deflating, sort of like when you
learn the real story behind the tooth fairy. You know the truth, but you’d
rather believe the fairy tale. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>Urban Upstaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16108557451658028003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-123339695155020570.post-43236891936556868812012-05-22T07:11:00.002-07:002012-05-22T07:15:29.765-07:00Hot DOG! Sahlen's Invades Manhattan<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5AV-U09AbSfdpMwMRlBxxkwpP9nO-DSEolh2CjYFQRQ4ozkssVx_8foPp-J2j-atP1TczxxUTb3y_9L-Ify-JbaBBPxthPi_HVbij78I4vU5ElQm6sGtLZJzVr0_oB-W2lyleyZLclVRl/s1600/886D41FF-6E87-4381-8F35-BE9EAB10D6ED.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5AV-U09AbSfdpMwMRlBxxkwpP9nO-DSEolh2CjYFQRQ4ozkssVx_8foPp-J2j-atP1TczxxUTb3y_9L-Ify-JbaBBPxthPi_HVbij78I4vU5ElQm6sGtLZJzVr0_oB-W2lyleyZLclVRl/s320/886D41FF-6E87-4381-8F35-BE9EAB10D6ED.jpeg" width="238" /></a></div>
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Imagine my surprise when my Niagara Falls-born cousin and I walked up to a seemingly random vendor at the <a href="http://ninthavenuefoodfestival.com/">Ninth Avenue Food Festival</a>...who was selling <a href="http://www.sahlen.com/">SAHLEN'S HOT DOGS</a>!!!!</div>
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Well, ladies and gentlemen, I was shocked, I tell you. SHOCKED.</div>
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In case you are unfamiliar, I should tell you that Sahlen's hot dogs are:</div>
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1. The most delicious hot dogs in the history of the universe (and this is coming from a true hot dog connoisseur).</div>
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2. The <a href="http://www.nonnamakerracing.com/index.cfm?template=news&news_id=2871">official hot dog</a> of the <a href="http://www.buffalobills.com/">Buffalo Bills</a>.</div>
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3. An upstate NY summer staple.</div>
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What makes Sahlen's hot dogs so delicious, you may ask? I'll tell you: they have a casing that tastes unbelievably spectacular when charred ever so gently on the grill.</div>
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And why did a random food stand sell them? The owner (let's call him "Red") lived in Buffalo! There he is at the grill in a sporty gingham shirt. Red said, "There's nothing like this around Manhattan, so I wanted to bring a little taste of Buffalo to town." Well, thank you for that, Red!</div>
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Here are some fascinating facts I learned from the Sahlen's website:</div>
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* The hot dogs are made from “Old Fashioned” smokehouse ham and turkey breast.</div>
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* They are available in 15 northeastern states.</div>
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* The company sponsors a professional race car team and a sports park that is home to the <a href="http://www.womensprosoccer.com/wny">Western NY Flash</a> women's soccer team. </div>
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* Sahlen’s has been producing premium quality meat products since
1869. (Apparently post-Civil War Americans liked to BBQ while rebuilding the country.)</div>
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* Every year, the
average American consumes 60 hot dogs! (Not sure I buy this one, Mr. Joseph Sahlen!)</div>
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Not only was my perfectly grilled Sahlen's hot dog itself a delight, but Red came up with all sorts of fascinating hot dog combos. Forget the mustard and ketchup--get a BLT dog or a Journey Dog (<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=atxUuldUcfI">any way you want it, that's the way you need it</a>). I ended up eating a Baked Potato Dog, which was a hot dog in a giant chewy bun (I choose to believe it was a <a href="http://www.wegmans.com/">Wegmans</a> bun) topped with sour cream, cheddar cheese, bacon, potato sticks, and chives. It was a masterpiece.</div>
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Sahlen's, and Red, I salute you both.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Georgia,Times;"><br /></span>Urban Upstaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16108557451658028003noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-123339695155020570.post-90979755674773390842012-05-17T14:15:00.000-07:002012-05-17T14:15:58.617-07:00She Works Hard for the MoneyIn honor of <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2012/05/18/arts/music/donna-summer-queen-of-disco-dies-at-63.html?_r=1">Donna Summer's passing</a>, I'd like to share the video I made with the <a href="http://spanglesdancecompany.com/">Spangles Dance Company</a> several years ago. Enjoy!<br />
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<span style="font-family: ArialMT; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /></span>Urban Upstaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16108557451658028003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-123339695155020570.post-64074423370513285862012-05-08T10:48:00.001-07:002012-05-08T10:49:22.193-07:00Living the Dream? Or Smash-ing It?<div class="MsoNormal">
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</style> <a href="http://www.nbc.com/smash/"><i>Smash</i></a>, that lovable/terrible/fascinating/aggravating show
has brought a touch of NYC theater to the small screen in small towns across
America. As a result, many people have asked me about the show’s content—What’s
true? Is it realistic? Is there a Terrible Ellis in every production? </div>
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For these burning questions, and many more, I suggest
checking <a href="http://tvrecaps.ew.com/recap/smash-season-1-episode-14/">EW.com</a>, <a href="http://www.vulture.com/tv/smash/">Vulture.com</a>, and <a href="http://www.sharonwheatley.com/2012/05/01/smash-fact-or-fiction-episode-13-tech/">Sharon Wheatley's SMASH Fact or Fiction?</a> on a regular basis. But for a day in
the auditioning life of a small town girl (like Karen) who has been in the biz
for a while (like Ivy) and who has made some questionable fashion choices (like
Julia), read on…</div>
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I hate to break it to you, but the chances of a complete
unknown getting an appointment to audition for the lead of the workshop of a new Broadway show are
slim to none, even if you’re stunningly gorgeous and your voice is second to
only grey-haired blues singer (and <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mujuz3FLFy8">Teen Angel</a>) <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gtO-DV_lozE">Taylor Hicks</a>. </div>
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Rather, you’d probably have a day like I just had: you do
your hair and makeup, you pick out an outfit, and you schlep a three-ring
binder full of songs you sing well and two pairs of dance shoes, and you
arrive at a chorus call, where you sit on the floor like a kindergartener in a
room full of 100-200 girls. When they call your name, you dutifully file into
the room with a group of 20-30 girls, learn a dance on the spot in 30 minutes
or less, and perform it in a smaller group of 3-5 while the casting director,
choreographer, director, and various assistants whisper about your height, your
hair color, your experience, your looks, your shoes…oh yeah, and your talent. </div>
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When everyone in the group of 20-30 has danced, the casting
director calls names of the women that the creative team would like to stay to
sing. Sometimes you can sense a pattern (all the girls are 5’ 6” and above),
and sometimes it can seem completely random. And on very bad days, someone who
looks exactly like you can get kept and you don’t. The girls who are asked to
sing have to stick around until all 200-300 girls have danced, and then they
file back into the dance room one by one and sing 16 bars (about 1-2 pages of
sheet music) of a song of their choosing. After that, they are dismissed in a,
“Don’t call us, we’ll call you,” sort of way. Meaning, the casting director might call you to
come back again to dance or sing or even to read a scene—but if you don’t get a
call, you don’t get a call. They don't call you to tell you the job went to someone else. You only know that you didn’t get a call when you
read someone’s Facebook status that says: “Soooooo excited to get my dream role in Show X at Theater Z!!!!” Then, you immediately text your
friends to meet you at the corner bar. </div>
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A singing chorus call works in much the same way—you gather in a room of 200-300 ladies, except this time, you’re sitting on
the floor in a party dress and heels. You line up in a group of 20, and you
file into the audition room one by one to sing 16 bars of your choosing. The
creative team (which is sometimes represented by a casting director’s
assistant’s intern and the theater producer’s coffee boy) writes cryptic notes
about you on your resume as you sing. Sometimes they’re on their phones. Or the
computer. Or eating lunch. Your job is to ignore all that and sing pretty. When
you’re done singing, you often just get a, “Thank you,” and you walk out of the
room. Sometimes they’ll ask you to sing a second song, sometimes they’ll call
you back to dance, and sometimes they won’t call you at all. I dragged my
sister to a singing chorus call when she came to visit, and her analysis is as
follows: “People wore unusual outfits and tons of bright lipstick. You had to
wait around forever and were only in there for two minutes. Some people seemed
genuinely excited, some pretended, and some were too old to be there.”</div>
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And this is what we go through on a daily basis. Sometimes
multiple times a day. To top it all off, booking a theater job isn’t like
booking a regular job—chances are that the job you did all the above work to
get will last for less than three months. Then you’re back to the drawing
board. </div>
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I seem to have painted a very bleak picture today (probably
because I have the post-audition blues, a very common side effect of this lifestyle),
but I must say that the upside of this business is huge. HUGE. You never know
when you may get a phone call that will change your life. For example, on my
very worst financial day ever (the one and only time I had to ask my parents to
help me pay my health insurance), I got a call that I had booked my very
biggest show ever—<a href="http://www.radiocitychristmas.com/newyork/index.html">The Radio City Christmas Spectacular</a>—a show that would solve
my financial problems for what turned into four years! And you’re always just one
audition away from that all-important phone call—just inches away from the
carrot dangling in front of you. You get addicted to the feeling of success being just around the corner. </div>
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But…</div>
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That darn carrot is tricky to grab. In a (very) recent fit
of exasperation, I asked a friend, “Why do we torture ourselves?!?!” She hit
the nail on the head, pure and simple: “For the clapping.”</div>
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Any questions about show business or <i>Smash</i><span style="font-style: normal;">? Ask away!</span></div>
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<br /></div>Urban Upstaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16108557451658028003noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-123339695155020570.post-66179528801720771542012-05-01T11:05:00.000-07:002012-05-01T13:22:39.492-07:00Blame It On the RainUgh. I get SO annoyed when it rains in Manhattan. It's just <a href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/miserable">miserable</a>. Miserable. MI. SER. A. BLE. So miserable, in fact, that I apparently feel the need to break down the word in syllables.<br />
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It's miserable anytime it rains anywhere in the world, but usually you just run from your house to your car and from your car to your office. Sure it's annoying to cart around an umbrella, but you're generally unscathed save for some splashes on the toes of your shoes and a little rain hair. In Manhattan, however, you are fully exposed to the elements for a much longer length of time. Chances are you'll have a ten-minute walk to the subway or a wait for the bus, and then you'll have to walk from your drop-off point, too. Unless you're <a href="http://www.tvfanatic.com/characters/blair-waldorf/">Blair Waldorf</a> and can hop in a private car 24/7 to visit your bf's hipster loft in Brooklyn. But I digress.<br />
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Here are just a few of the multitude of reasons NYC rain really dampens my spirits:<br />
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* Umbrellas. No one knows how to use them. If you think <a href="http://theurbanupstater.blogspot.com/2010/11/new-york-at-christmas-guide-to-sidewalk.html">Manhattan sidewalk etiquette</a> is bad, it gets ten times worse once pedestrians start wielding weapons in their untrained hands. Expect to have your eye poked out at least once a day.<br />
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* Umbrellas 2.0. You never have one when you need it. You may have bought eight different $5 umbrellas from the umbrella vendors who seem to pop out of the sewer grates every time it starts to sprinkle, and three of those umbrellas may have even survived their two-use average, but you will not have any of those umbrellas when it starts raining. Even if you brought an umbrella with you every single other day that week. You know the day God rested and you decided to rest your paranoia about being caught in the rain without an umbrella so you decided to leave your umbrella at home? It'll rain that day.<br />
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* Puddles. Lots of them. Big ones. HUGE. I'm not talking about your typical little puddles that make you look really cute as you daintily hop over them. I'm talking giant, deep, river-like puddles that extend ten feet on each side of the corner and five feet into the street--puddles that are too big for you to jump over even if you get a running start. It's almost as if plate tectonics caused a sinkhole to develop just to ruin your new <a href="http://www.elietahari.com/designer-shoes/womens-flats/shoes_shop_flats,default,sc.html">Tahari leather flats.</a> Who cares if you got them on sale at <a href="http://tjmaxx.com/">TJ Maxx</a> for $39.99? They're still awesome name-brand shoes that you were planning to keep for years since their style is so classic and timeless. You were not planning on having them (and your feet, for that matter) completely covered with water that may have collected from the rain or from run-off or from the backed-up sewer. This is why you can never buy nice things. Don't believe me? Check out <a href="http://www.dnainfo.com/new-york/20110701/midtown/smelly-puddle-stinking-up-west-33rd-street">this article</a> about a puddle on 33rd Street: "The oily green-tinged water stretches at least thirty feet long and is
several inches deep, overflowing onto the sidewalk where it mixes with
garbage and cigarette butts and accosts locals with its putrid smell."<br />
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* Rain boots. Rain boots seem like the obvious solution to the puddle problem, right? Wrong. It is extremely difficult to find a pair of rain boots that will not spring a leak within the first ten wearings. And even if your rain boots are not holey, you're still wearing rain boots. This means that each time you lift your foot, it weighs an extra two pounds. And you don't exactly look chic. You either have to carry a second pair of shoes to change into once you get to work or keep them on all day and look like a moron when the rain has cleared up and you're walking home from work in the bright sunshine still wearing your clunky rain boots. <br />
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* Cabs. Don't even try to hail one. They're all full. Save yourself some heartache and pretend that cabs are dead to you.<br />
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* Rain hair. It's bad. Really bad. Every rainy morning, like this morning, I curl or straighten or scrunch my hair, thinking, "Thank goodness I got that new hairspray that combats humidity." Or, "I'll just put some scrunch spray in my hair and let it dry naturally. It'll save me oodles of time and I'll end up looking like <a href="http://www.instyle.com/instyle/package/general/photos/0,,20051412_20297663_20657426,00.html">Kate Hudson</a>." Or, "Good thing I washed my hair yesterday. The oil buildup will combat flyaways." It doesn't work. None of it works. I hate to break it to you, but there is NO HOPE for your hair on rainy days. None. You end up looking like <a href="http://media.redding.com/media/img/photos/2011/03/17/RichardSimmons_t607.jpg">Richard Simmons</a> no matter how many ways you try to prevent it. The second you step outside--and I mean the very second--your hair is down for the count. Save yourself some time and effort. Throw your hair in a ponytail and use the 30 minutes you would have needed to fix your hair and use it to watch last night's episode of "<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/04/30/khloe-lamar-reportedly-ending-couple-pull-on-own-show_n_1464411.html">Khloe & Lamar</a>." It's a much better use of your time.<br />
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* Crowded buses. Since no one wants to walk, the normally manageable buses, which are usually inhabited by the old and infirm, are packed to the gills. This causes all of the windows to steam up, which, if you're standing (as you inevitably are) has the unfortunate side effect of blurring your field of vision and increasing the possibility that you'll miss your stop because you can't see it coming. Steamy buses also do nothing for your hair.<br />
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* <a href="http://www.mta.info/nyct/maps/submap.htm">Subway</a> entrances and exits. What would you do if you walked up a staircase and into a rainstorm? You'd want to open your umbrella as soon as possible, right? Well, so would I. And so would the twenty people around us. The problem is that not everyone can open their umbrellas the second they hit the open air. It's physics. Which I am extremely knowledgeable about. As hordes of people exit the subway staircase, all trying to open their umbrellas in sync (as if they were <a href="http://www.nsync.com/">*NSYNC</a> performing their awesome rendition of "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eo-KmOd3i7s">Bye Bye Bye</a>" from the groundbreaking album <a href="http://www.amazon.com/No-Strings-Attached-NSyNC/dp/B00004NRPZ"><i>No Strings Attached</i></a>), hordes of people are <i>entering</i> the subway staircase, none of whom want to put down their umbrellas a second before they have to. And when they close their umbrellas, you and the subway exiters often get splashed from the rain sitting on top of the umbrellas as they snap shut. It's a lose-lose. You get soaked both ways.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDPimT1lEsr6r_-frj9oCVu7CRLLsNl_ADWhmrniwoHGmOojyy7zX85BDG9DJDH1dQe5l3ESfQs2x4XXGvwv5O5qAl72wDTDWUnuPmptZI8BGbVwMh8vErVJb5tUo5R_iWlCejcXulvxDE/s1600/Rainy-NYC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDPimT1lEsr6r_-frj9oCVu7CRLLsNl_ADWhmrniwoHGmOojyy7zX85BDG9DJDH1dQe5l3ESfQs2x4XXGvwv5O5qAl72wDTDWUnuPmptZI8BGbVwMh8vErVJb5tUo5R_iWlCejcXulvxDE/s320/Rainy-NYC.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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* Wet seats. I know you probably want to get your wet umbrella as far away from you as possible when you finally sit down on the subway or bus. But guess what? When you put your wet umbrella on the seat, it leaves a nice little puddle of water behind, meaning that seat cannot be sat in for hours. Or at least until a Good Samaritan wipes it off. Or a Moron <strike>like me</strike> doesn't notice and sits down anyway, unknowingly sopping up the puddle with her pants. <br />
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* <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N090M8s9MYo&feature=related">Being splashed by speeding cars</a>. You know those scenes in the movies when the heroine is in a bad mood, or a good mood, or a super rush, and then a car zooms through a puddle, drenching her from head to toe? That happens in real life, too. According to my very scientific meteorological study, it happens in Manhattan 98% of the time. Usually when you're on your way to work or an audition. It never happens when you're bumming around in your old clothes and look like a mess anyway.<br />
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* Hidden buildings. It's really creepy to see fog or clouds obscuring the tops of buildings. I mean, I know they're still there. I'm not two. But seeing cut-off buildings makes me feel claustrophobic. Like the sky is falling Chicken Little-style and may eventually squash me. Here's a pic of the <a href="http://www.esbnyc.com/">Empire State Building</a> that I took this morning on Fifth Avenue. If I were a computer genius (or even as computer savvy as a seventh-grader), I would include an arrow to point to the spot in the middle of this image where the building should be. But since I'm only as computer savvy as a third-grader, you'll just have to do the legwork to figure it out.<br />
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* That lovely rain sound. Manhattan even robs us of the soothing sound of rain drumming on the roof, which is often the only perk of a rainy day. Even on the top floor of a building, you generally can't hear the rain. Unless you happen to hear it splashing on your air conditioner. Which just reminds me that I can't hear it pelting the roof. Which makes me sad.<br />
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Wow. I've been complaining about the rain for so long that the sun has come out again. But don't worry--it's supposed to rain again later this week.Urban Upstaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16108557451658028003noreply@blogger.com6Times Square, New York, NY, USA40.759011 -73.984472240.7469835 -74.0042132 40.7710385 -73.9647312