I remember an episode of "Sex & The City" when Carrie, still coming to terms with the painful end of two significant relationships and adjusting to the single life, realises that New York is in fact her true love ... the main character in her life and the infatuation that will never fade.
This has never felt more true to me than now as I must admit that my love for gorgeous, fast-paced, complicated New York has been inextricably linked to my irrational infatuation for an equally gorgeous, fast-paced, complicated New Yorker and I have struggled to separate the two in my mind until fairly recently.
But another perfect New York weekend further helped me to come to the same revelation as Carrie.
My friend Mario was in New York for business a few weeks back and stayed with me. Late on Saturday morning, we walked to the Natural History Museum to have brunch at Ocean Grill, one of my favourite neighbourhood spots, where we sat at my usual corner banquette in the bar area (which I prefer to the main restaurant) and had deliciously lemony lobster eggs Benedict and bottomless coffee while catching up on the latest events in our lives.
We hopped on the subway to the Lower East Side as Mario works in fashion and I wanted to show him all the small vintage boutiques scattered in the area. In between shops, we stopped at Economy Candy on Rivington to pick up retro, wacky sweets and then leisurely strolled through Chinatown and its weird & wonderful food items (dried oysters anyone?), weaved through the fake goods of Canal Street and cut through Little Italy before arriving in Soho. After a quick pit stop at Lure for a blueberry gin (for me) and a passion fruit caipirinha (for him), we felt saintly for getting one of our five portions of fruits & vegetables in a single cocktail and proceeded to Williamsburg in Brooklyn, where Erickson (Mario's old flatmate, who also works in fashion) had invited us for a cocktail party at his apartment.
We met Larry for dinner at Sea first, a Thai restaurant with an impressive interior - huge industrial space with candle lit indoor pool, imposing sculpture of Buddha and swing bubble chairs scattered around. By the time we left, it was packed and the atmosphere was more that of a club than a restaurant, with booming music and crowds waiting to get in. Erickson's apartment was an amazing split-level affair which makes you realise how much more you get for your money in Brooklyn. The view from his terrace was of the glittering Manhattan skyline and we made full use of his telescope to get close up views of the Empire State and the Chrystler buildings ... and to catch glimpses of his unsuspecting neighbours of course!
We ended the night at a club called Sugarland and much fun was had between chatting to a guy dressed as an angel and cutting impressive shapes to Madonna's "Vogue" - she would have been proud of us.
On Sunday, we met Erickson for brunch at the Pink Pony, an eclectically decorated bistro on the Lower East Side. A delicious Nova Scotia salmon omelette and a "why not" glass of Champagne later, we walked all the way to the West Village and the Meat Packing district for more shopping. We stopped at Patricia Field's* store on Bowery and marveled at all the crazy 80s clothes and accessories. As Mario was trying on a pair of tight gold shiny trousers (which he subsequently bought), Erickson pointed to Patricia herself, chain-smoking in the tiny salon at the back of the boutique, while having her bright red hair crimped.
It was one of these perfect days when the sun is shining brightly yet the air is cool and crisp. The kind of day when New York seems to deliberately stage itself to its best ... The city seemed about to burst with energy and happiness, every green patches of grass full of people enjoying the weather. New Yorkers were singing to themselves in the streets without any trace of self-consciousness. 80s style kids sported boom boxes and brightly coloured fluorescent trainers with matching caps. The street performers and market stall holders were back, marking the beginning of the more clement season. The prospect of the hot summer days seemed so close and a sense of hope and longing filled the air.
Men will come and go ... but the cities, the sights, the sounds, the experiences and the friendships they bring with them will stay forever.
* For the straight male readers: Patricia Field is the stylist for "Sex & The City".
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Sweet Escape
Monday 17th March
1.03pm - My friend Marie tells me on gmail chat that she is thinking about going away somewhere hot for the long weekend.
1.07pm - I tell her that I am also desperate for a break in the sun.
1.09pm - Marie exclaims "let's go together!"
2.08pm - We agree to meet in Los Angeles.
Friday 21st March
9.30am - I board my Virgin America flight to LA, in a state of excitement that leaves me almost breathless.
Last minute decisions are the best ones by far.
I had booked us a suite at the Roosevelt Hotel on Hollywood Boulevard, in what seemed to be a fairly central area of LA, which is a difficult thing to work out not only as the city is so spread out that there is no centre as such, but also because I had no time to actually research hotels.
It was everything we could have wanted. Historically, it was were the first Academy Awards were hosted in 1929 and where Marilyn Monroe, Cary Grant and Montgomery Cliff permanently resided. More recently, it is where many episodes of "Entourage" have been filmed and where Lindsay Lohan partied one last time before collapsing and going into rehab.
The pool (complete with David Hockney underwater mural) is where we spent most of our time, only interrupting our sunbathing with a dip in the water or a sip of a champagne cocktail. It's a beautiful space, framed in contrasting primary colours - clear blue sky, dark wood furniture, bright white soft furnishings, vivid green leaves of the palm trees. The Roosevelt is clearly a hot spot for the movie industry judging by the number of people reading scripts by the pool, Vin Diesel drinking at the bar and the 3 writers we saw huddled together, typing furiously on their respective Macbooks.
But mostly, being at the pool was like walking into an Abercrombie & Fitch catalogue. The "square foot to hot men" ratio (a valid scientific measurement) was simply staggering. The women were beautiful too of course, although they all featured fake breasts, carefully styled blonde hair and size zero bottoms.
Yet, despite the "scene", the atmosphere was incredibly laid back and there was a lack of pretence that surprised me. I fully expected to want a liposuction and breast augmentation procedure while I was there, but I never really felt uncomfortable. Perhaps because there were plenty of normal looking people too but also because I felt so removed from it - it was like being in a zoo, catching glimpses of these incredible creatures flexing their impressive muscles while hiding behind the security fence of my dark sunglasses.
On Saturday night, the hotel secured us a table at Ketchup (which I have since learned is the new hip restaurant in town) and we enjoyed a delicious meal, served by an even more delicious waiter. Marie & I were both tired and decided to head back to the hotel pool bar for one last drink. Anyone who knows us both will guess the rest ... A group of very friendly people started talking to us and we ended up having a wild night of partying with them, first at The Standard, then at their poolside cabana, until the early hours of the morning.
On Sunday, after soothing our hangover with a solid room service breakfast and a couple of Mimosas, we were picked up by a chauffeur who took us on a tour of the area in a big Lincoln town-car with tinted windows.
We headed to Griffith Park for a great view of the Hollywood sign and gigantic LA. As we were taking in the sprawling panorama at the observatory, a Mexican guy approached us and gesticulated at his camera. We thought he wanted us to take a picture of him & his friends but instead he wanted to have his picture taken with us! Stunned, we silently complied but barely managed to hold our hysterical laughter & tears before they walked away.
We then drove to Santa Monica where our driver left us to stroll along the crowded promenade of Venice Beach, which was bursting with colourful things and characters: tarot readers, middle-aged oiled up perma-tanned body builders, Johnny Rotten from the Sex Pistols (yes, really), an actual freak show, beggars, hippies, paintings of vaginas ... We felt overwhelmed after an hour or so and headed back to the safety of our car. After a detour in Beverly Hills and Rodeo Drive, we arrived back at the Roosevelt and collapsed in exhaustion.
On Monday we had planned to have lunch at the Ivy but couldn't physically peel ourselves away from the pool and sipped more champagne until it was time for us to head for the airport, slightly tipsy but deliriously happy.
The highlight of our trip however came upon our return. As I landed back in New York from the red-eye flight at 7am, I noticed an email from my sister. Unbeknown to us, a paparazzi had taken a shot of JC Chasez (from N'Sync) and Chase Crawford (from the series "Gossip Girls") at the Roosevelt pool and Marie & I were in the foreground! My sister had randomly stumbled upon the picture while browsing a gossip website!
I can't think of a better, more fitting way, to end a trip to Los Angeles.
1.03pm - My friend Marie tells me on gmail chat that she is thinking about going away somewhere hot for the long weekend.
1.07pm - I tell her that I am also desperate for a break in the sun.
1.09pm - Marie exclaims "let's go together!"
2.08pm - We agree to meet in Los Angeles.
Friday 21st March
9.30am - I board my Virgin America flight to LA, in a state of excitement that leaves me almost breathless.
Last minute decisions are the best ones by far.
I had booked us a suite at the Roosevelt Hotel on Hollywood Boulevard, in what seemed to be a fairly central area of LA, which is a difficult thing to work out not only as the city is so spread out that there is no centre as such, but also because I had no time to actually research hotels.
It was everything we could have wanted. Historically, it was were the first Academy Awards were hosted in 1929 and where Marilyn Monroe, Cary Grant and Montgomery Cliff permanently resided. More recently, it is where many episodes of "Entourage" have been filmed and where Lindsay Lohan partied one last time before collapsing and going into rehab.
The pool (complete with David Hockney underwater mural) is where we spent most of our time, only interrupting our sunbathing with a dip in the water or a sip of a champagne cocktail. It's a beautiful space, framed in contrasting primary colours - clear blue sky, dark wood furniture, bright white soft furnishings, vivid green leaves of the palm trees. The Roosevelt is clearly a hot spot for the movie industry judging by the number of people reading scripts by the pool, Vin Diesel drinking at the bar and the 3 writers we saw huddled together, typing furiously on their respective Macbooks.
But mostly, being at the pool was like walking into an Abercrombie & Fitch catalogue. The "square foot to hot men" ratio (a valid scientific measurement) was simply staggering. The women were beautiful too of course, although they all featured fake breasts, carefully styled blonde hair and size zero bottoms.
Yet, despite the "scene", the atmosphere was incredibly laid back and there was a lack of pretence that surprised me. I fully expected to want a liposuction and breast augmentation procedure while I was there, but I never really felt uncomfortable. Perhaps because there were plenty of normal looking people too but also because I felt so removed from it - it was like being in a zoo, catching glimpses of these incredible creatures flexing their impressive muscles while hiding behind the security fence of my dark sunglasses.
On Saturday night, the hotel secured us a table at Ketchup (which I have since learned is the new hip restaurant in town) and we enjoyed a delicious meal, served by an even more delicious waiter. Marie & I were both tired and decided to head back to the hotel pool bar for one last drink. Anyone who knows us both will guess the rest ... A group of very friendly people started talking to us and we ended up having a wild night of partying with them, first at The Standard, then at their poolside cabana, until the early hours of the morning.
On Sunday, after soothing our hangover with a solid room service breakfast and a couple of Mimosas, we were picked up by a chauffeur who took us on a tour of the area in a big Lincoln town-car with tinted windows.
We headed to Griffith Park for a great view of the Hollywood sign and gigantic LA. As we were taking in the sprawling panorama at the observatory, a Mexican guy approached us and gesticulated at his camera. We thought he wanted us to take a picture of him & his friends but instead he wanted to have his picture taken with us! Stunned, we silently complied but barely managed to hold our hysterical laughter & tears before they walked away.
We then drove to Santa Monica where our driver left us to stroll along the crowded promenade of Venice Beach, which was bursting with colourful things and characters: tarot readers, middle-aged oiled up perma-tanned body builders, Johnny Rotten from the Sex Pistols (yes, really), an actual freak show, beggars, hippies, paintings of vaginas ... We felt overwhelmed after an hour or so and headed back to the safety of our car. After a detour in Beverly Hills and Rodeo Drive, we arrived back at the Roosevelt and collapsed in exhaustion.
On Monday we had planned to have lunch at the Ivy but couldn't physically peel ourselves away from the pool and sipped more champagne until it was time for us to head for the airport, slightly tipsy but deliriously happy.
The highlight of our trip however came upon our return. As I landed back in New York from the red-eye flight at 7am, I noticed an email from my sister. Unbeknown to us, a paparazzi had taken a shot of JC Chasez (from N'Sync) and Chase Crawford (from the series "Gossip Girls") at the Roosevelt pool and Marie & I were in the foreground! My sister had randomly stumbled upon the picture while browsing a gossip website!
I can't think of a better, more fitting way, to end a trip to Los Angeles.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Priceless
Warning - this story is borrowed from my lovely friend Esther.
In boutique handbag shop in the World Financial Centre:
Sales girl: "I make some of these bags myself you know".
Esther: "Oh, they're great, I really like them".
Sales girl: "I love your accent, where are you from?"
Esther: "Australia, I live in Sydney".
Sales girl: "Wow, your English is amazing!"
Esther (puzzled but not wanting to embarrass the girl): "Thank you ..."
Sales girl: "So what language do you speak in Australia?"
Esther (as the next customer in line giggles): "Err ... English ..."
I better go and submit this on http://www.overheardinnework.com now!
In boutique handbag shop in the World Financial Centre:
Sales girl: "I make some of these bags myself you know".
Esther: "Oh, they're great, I really like them".
Sales girl: "I love your accent, where are you from?"
Esther: "Australia, I live in Sydney".
Sales girl: "Wow, your English is amazing!"
Esther (puzzled but not wanting to embarrass the girl): "Thank you ..."
Sales girl: "So what language do you speak in Australia?"
Esther (as the next customer in line giggles): "Err ... English ..."
I better go and submit this on http://www.overheardinnework.com now!
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Learning
I decided that 2008 would be my year of "learning" - of taking courses in subjects that I have always had a keen interest in. After breaking all of my other New Year resolutions on the very night of New Year's Eve (a record, even for me), this seemed the easiest resolution to actually keep.
My life is so full of extremes at times that I felt I needed to balance it with an intellectual challenge of a different kind, one that would appeal to my academic nature while broadening my horizons. I am also concerned that I have developed an attention deficit disorder, a need to be constantly challenged that maybe this could help appease.
So I enrolled in an Art History course at New York University in February. NYU always held a mystical appeal to me. The University buildings, scattered around Washington Square in Soho, look modern and vibrant, crowds of "too cool for school" kids hanging outside.
The reality is that I am stuck for 2 hours every Monday evening in a windowless room along with 20 other students, crammed in a small and over-heated space, sitting on the same uncomfortable chair/table combination that you can spot in every American teen movies.
Our teacher is a lovely but slightly absent-minded old lady, always dressed in head to toe black. Her soft voice is almost drowned by the loud noise emanating from the projector she uses to show us works of art - sculptures, buildings, paintings, ceramics. She is completely useless with even this basic form of technology and every week something goes terribly wrong with the projector, sending her in a state of mild panic and us in a state of amusement.
The course is a little basic for my liking. Probably due to the fact that we are covering everything from Cave art to Modern art in just 10 weeks. But also because I realised that our European education puts a great emphasis on learning about history and art, which may not really be the case for Americans.
But I really enjoy it nonetheless. I haven't studied in such a long time that I forgot to take a notepad and pen to the first lesson, awkwardly realising that my blackberry (the centre of my daily life) was not going to cut it as a device to take proper notes on.
I am already planning my next course which I have decided will be Global Politics. If anything, it will be fascinating to hear it from an American point of view, which I'm sure will have me cringe in my seat more than once.
My life is so full of extremes at times that I felt I needed to balance it with an intellectual challenge of a different kind, one that would appeal to my academic nature while broadening my horizons. I am also concerned that I have developed an attention deficit disorder, a need to be constantly challenged that maybe this could help appease.
So I enrolled in an Art History course at New York University in February. NYU always held a mystical appeal to me. The University buildings, scattered around Washington Square in Soho, look modern and vibrant, crowds of "too cool for school" kids hanging outside.
The reality is that I am stuck for 2 hours every Monday evening in a windowless room along with 20 other students, crammed in a small and over-heated space, sitting on the same uncomfortable chair/table combination that you can spot in every American teen movies.
Our teacher is a lovely but slightly absent-minded old lady, always dressed in head to toe black. Her soft voice is almost drowned by the loud noise emanating from the projector she uses to show us works of art - sculptures, buildings, paintings, ceramics. She is completely useless with even this basic form of technology and every week something goes terribly wrong with the projector, sending her in a state of mild panic and us in a state of amusement.
The course is a little basic for my liking. Probably due to the fact that we are covering everything from Cave art to Modern art in just 10 weeks. But also because I realised that our European education puts a great emphasis on learning about history and art, which may not really be the case for Americans.
But I really enjoy it nonetheless. I haven't studied in such a long time that I forgot to take a notepad and pen to the first lesson, awkwardly realising that my blackberry (the centre of my daily life) was not going to cut it as a device to take proper notes on.
I am already planning my next course which I have decided will be Global Politics. If anything, it will be fascinating to hear it from an American point of view, which I'm sure will have me cringe in my seat more than once.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Milestone
I landed in New York, on a dark and cold night, exactly a year ago this week.
I remember sitting on my bed, the only piece of furniture in my otherwise empty flat, wondering whether I was brave (as all my friends insisted I was) or completely insane ... while personally leaning towards the latter.
I felt that I was not only leaving 12 years of my life in London behind but also jumping feet first into the most challenging situation I have ever encountered - on my own, far away from my family and from friends who mean the world to me. But I was also excited to be achieving my dream of living in this amazing city and doing the job I have always loved doing, and will never tire of, but on a much larger scale.
It therefore seems an appropriate time for me to reflect on whether living in New York has changed me in anyway. Have I picked up new habits? Am I a different person to the one who left London 12 months ago? If anything, it's a good excuse for yet another random list ...
* I no longer get lost on the subway. Probably because I have officially given up on public transport anytime past 7pm during the week and at all times during the weekend. I'm afraid my brain is now wired to automatically choose the more expensive but much easier option of jumping into a cab. I used to be amused when taxi drivers asked me how I wanted to get to my destination ... until a few weeks ago, when I surprised myself by instructing the driver to take the West Side Highway to get me downtown. I now shamelessly debate the best routes to take with taxi drivers on a regular basis, as a true New Yorker would.
* I have started to say "how you doing?" instead of "how are you?" and also noticed I have the tendency to add "right?" in a higher pitch at the end of sentences - sometimes with a southern drawl if I have been spending too much time around Larry. A few American words have also weaved themselves into my vocabulary. My diary is now my calendar. I take the elevators. I live in an appartment, not a flat, and I don't call the subway the tube anymore ... While these adjustements were essential to make myself understood, I still stubbornly refuse to spell words the American way!
* I have developed an even keener interest in politics, no doubt fueled by being in the midst of one of the most important Presidential campaigns of recent times. I have watched the debates, torn between Obama and Clinton and admiring their witty repartie. Until I took a quizz on http://www.electoralcompass.com, which concluded that I was more closely aligned to Barack Obama's views. I haven't studied politics since my Masters but I will be joining a class on Global Politics at NYU in May to brush up my knowledge.
* I have picked up an expensive cocktail habit - my favourites being Hemingways at Bookmarks, Mojitos at Cafecito, Apple Martinis at the Merc Bar, Bloody Marys at Jane and Expresso Martinis at Garage. A "large glass of white wine" is still my favourite however. Some things never change.
* I have completely changed my mind about rain boots - from thinking that they were a dubious fashion statement to realising that they are an indispensible (and very practical) accessory. The same goes for hats and padded North Face coats.
* I have come to see the Caribbean as a weekend destination - in less than 3 hours, I can be on a white sand beach with a cocktail in my hand and I am planning to escape to St Martin for a long weekend very soon.
* I seem to have aged since I got here. I used to be asked for ID whenever I went out in my first 6 months here but it hasn't happened at all since then. The city has clearly taken its toll on me and I sadly don't look under 21 anymore.
* Most people I meet, and even people who have talked to me occasionally at work, think I'm British. Of course, I feel flattered by that. But I have heard myself on video and was shocked at how French I sound so I find it funny to have to explain to people who I have casually talked to for the last few months that no, my parents don't live in London, and yes, I really am French ...
* My obsession with sushi has only intensified and eel maki is a new and surprising addition to my repertoire of favourites.
* While on my ritual shopping expeditions in Soho at the weekends, I am physically unable to walk down the streets without clutching a tall Starbucks coffee, while still complaining that I cannot find decent coffee on this island.
* If someone had told me, 12 months ago, that I would be helping an 11 year old girl with her homework, I would have laughed in disbelief. But it seems that the level of nurturing I thought I could only feel for my family, my close friends and animals, can also be transposed to children!
* I have fully mastered the complicated art of swiping a metro card through the turnstiles in the subway. It's all about slow walking combined with a smooth wrist action - confidence is key! You just cannot show fear.
* Despite a few enjoying trips "up north" (including a great night in a Jazz club on 105th and a memorable brunch on 103rd), I still believe that Manhattan starts at the World Financial Centre and ends at 86th Street where I live.
While these are relatively trivial changes, this city has changed me in more radical ways too. The year I have spent here has been an incredible emotional roller coaster and I gained a few more hard-earned battle scars. But I'm staying on for the ride, which I am sure will continue to be both exhilarating and terrifying.
I remember sitting on my bed, the only piece of furniture in my otherwise empty flat, wondering whether I was brave (as all my friends insisted I was) or completely insane ... while personally leaning towards the latter.
I felt that I was not only leaving 12 years of my life in London behind but also jumping feet first into the most challenging situation I have ever encountered - on my own, far away from my family and from friends who mean the world to me. But I was also excited to be achieving my dream of living in this amazing city and doing the job I have always loved doing, and will never tire of, but on a much larger scale.
It therefore seems an appropriate time for me to reflect on whether living in New York has changed me in anyway. Have I picked up new habits? Am I a different person to the one who left London 12 months ago? If anything, it's a good excuse for yet another random list ...
* I no longer get lost on the subway. Probably because I have officially given up on public transport anytime past 7pm during the week and at all times during the weekend. I'm afraid my brain is now wired to automatically choose the more expensive but much easier option of jumping into a cab. I used to be amused when taxi drivers asked me how I wanted to get to my destination ... until a few weeks ago, when I surprised myself by instructing the driver to take the West Side Highway to get me downtown. I now shamelessly debate the best routes to take with taxi drivers on a regular basis, as a true New Yorker would.
* I have started to say "how you doing?" instead of "how are you?" and also noticed I have the tendency to add "right?" in a higher pitch at the end of sentences - sometimes with a southern drawl if I have been spending too much time around Larry. A few American words have also weaved themselves into my vocabulary. My diary is now my calendar. I take the elevators. I live in an appartment, not a flat, and I don't call the subway the tube anymore ... While these adjustements were essential to make myself understood, I still stubbornly refuse to spell words the American way!
* I have developed an even keener interest in politics, no doubt fueled by being in the midst of one of the most important Presidential campaigns of recent times. I have watched the debates, torn between Obama and Clinton and admiring their witty repartie. Until I took a quizz on http://www.electoralcompass.com, which concluded that I was more closely aligned to Barack Obama's views. I haven't studied politics since my Masters but I will be joining a class on Global Politics at NYU in May to brush up my knowledge.
* I have picked up an expensive cocktail habit - my favourites being Hemingways at Bookmarks, Mojitos at Cafecito, Apple Martinis at the Merc Bar, Bloody Marys at Jane and Expresso Martinis at Garage. A "large glass of white wine" is still my favourite however. Some things never change.
* I have completely changed my mind about rain boots - from thinking that they were a dubious fashion statement to realising that they are an indispensible (and very practical) accessory. The same goes for hats and padded North Face coats.
* I have come to see the Caribbean as a weekend destination - in less than 3 hours, I can be on a white sand beach with a cocktail in my hand and I am planning to escape to St Martin for a long weekend very soon.
* I seem to have aged since I got here. I used to be asked for ID whenever I went out in my first 6 months here but it hasn't happened at all since then. The city has clearly taken its toll on me and I sadly don't look under 21 anymore.
* Most people I meet, and even people who have talked to me occasionally at work, think I'm British. Of course, I feel flattered by that. But I have heard myself on video and was shocked at how French I sound so I find it funny to have to explain to people who I have casually talked to for the last few months that no, my parents don't live in London, and yes, I really am French ...
* My obsession with sushi has only intensified and eel maki is a new and surprising addition to my repertoire of favourites.
* While on my ritual shopping expeditions in Soho at the weekends, I am physically unable to walk down the streets without clutching a tall Starbucks coffee, while still complaining that I cannot find decent coffee on this island.
* If someone had told me, 12 months ago, that I would be helping an 11 year old girl with her homework, I would have laughed in disbelief. But it seems that the level of nurturing I thought I could only feel for my family, my close friends and animals, can also be transposed to children!
* I have fully mastered the complicated art of swiping a metro card through the turnstiles in the subway. It's all about slow walking combined with a smooth wrist action - confidence is key! You just cannot show fear.
* Despite a few enjoying trips "up north" (including a great night in a Jazz club on 105th and a memorable brunch on 103rd), I still believe that Manhattan starts at the World Financial Centre and ends at 86th Street where I live.
While these are relatively trivial changes, this city has changed me in more radical ways too. The year I have spent here has been an incredible emotional roller coaster and I gained a few more hard-earned battle scars. But I'm staying on for the ride, which I am sure will continue to be both exhilarating and terrifying.
Monday, February 18, 2008
A Little Update
I seem to be finally getting through to Jenny, my Little, albeit with perhaps more intensity than I had anticipated.
Our contacts until a few weeks ago have been strictly face to face, within the structured group setting of the Big Brother Big Sister programme. Our meetings have been getting easier as she has started to open up a little more, even if it is mainly to share with me her hatred of school ... I guess some things are universal.
I found out a month or so ago that it is suggested that we call our Littles the day before our meetings but I shamefully admit that I never have. I am not really a phone person and the prospect of a conversation filled with long silences filled me with dread. I'm not proud of my cowardliness but I assumed she was fine with this too as talking is clearly not her strong point ...
But when I saw her after the Christmas break, she gave me her email address. "Great", I thought, "I can do emails, I'm good at that!". After all, this is how I have maintained significant friendships across the pond for almost a year now. She has since emailed me almost every single day and we have chatted online many, many times.
That would be OK ... but she makes me feel guilty and is clearly disappointed when I tell her that I'm not at home every night to talk to her online. I think she understands that I have a life of my own, but at the same time, she has no concept of it as she is only 11 years old. I really want to be there for her, but if this was a romantic relationship, she would be the co-dependent turning me into the commitment-phobe ...
I talked to Jessica, the social worker on the programme, about it and have since established some boundaries and limited online chatting to a couple of times a week. She told me how much Jenny's self-confidence has improved since the start of the programme (something I have noticed too) and told me it was due to the relationship we have established. I never really thought I would make an impact ... I am equally happy and astonished that I am, in some small way.
I am enjoying our unlikely friendship. Jenny is Chinese and her mum insisted on giving me money in a red envelope for Chinese New Year, as well as some sweets. I had to accept (despite the rules of the programme preventing us from usually accepting presents) as I was very touched that she & her family thought I was part enough of her life to share in their celebrations with me.
I am even happily getting back in touch with my long lost inner child, playing hide and seek in Disney's clubpenguin.com virtual world with Jenny ... And yes, I have checked with Jessica and this will not cause me to get arrested by the State of New York! I wouldn't really want to be writing my next post from prison ...
Our contacts until a few weeks ago have been strictly face to face, within the structured group setting of the Big Brother Big Sister programme. Our meetings have been getting easier as she has started to open up a little more, even if it is mainly to share with me her hatred of school ... I guess some things are universal.
I found out a month or so ago that it is suggested that we call our Littles the day before our meetings but I shamefully admit that I never have. I am not really a phone person and the prospect of a conversation filled with long silences filled me with dread. I'm not proud of my cowardliness but I assumed she was fine with this too as talking is clearly not her strong point ...
But when I saw her after the Christmas break, she gave me her email address. "Great", I thought, "I can do emails, I'm good at that!". After all, this is how I have maintained significant friendships across the pond for almost a year now. She has since emailed me almost every single day and we have chatted online many, many times.
That would be OK ... but she makes me feel guilty and is clearly disappointed when I tell her that I'm not at home every night to talk to her online. I think she understands that I have a life of my own, but at the same time, she has no concept of it as she is only 11 years old. I really want to be there for her, but if this was a romantic relationship, she would be the co-dependent turning me into the commitment-phobe ...
I talked to Jessica, the social worker on the programme, about it and have since established some boundaries and limited online chatting to a couple of times a week. She told me how much Jenny's self-confidence has improved since the start of the programme (something I have noticed too) and told me it was due to the relationship we have established. I never really thought I would make an impact ... I am equally happy and astonished that I am, in some small way.
I am enjoying our unlikely friendship. Jenny is Chinese and her mum insisted on giving me money in a red envelope for Chinese New Year, as well as some sweets. I had to accept (despite the rules of the programme preventing us from usually accepting presents) as I was very touched that she & her family thought I was part enough of her life to share in their celebrations with me.
I am even happily getting back in touch with my long lost inner child, playing hide and seek in Disney's clubpenguin.com virtual world with Jenny ... And yes, I have checked with Jessica and this will not cause me to get arrested by the State of New York! I wouldn't really want to be writing my next post from prison ...
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
I love New York
The butterflies started when the pilot announced that we were landing in 20 minutes. I pushed up the blind and craned my neck to catch a glimpse of the lights in the dark and cold night, already picturing the glittering skyline I would soon be admiring from the taxi taking me back into town. A warm wave of joy and excitement overtook me … I was back in New York!
While this blog is already a testament of my love for the city, I pondered the reasons for my schoolgirl infatuation. A copy of the latest "New York Magazine" was waiting for me in my mailbox when I arrived home, and the words "Reasons to love NY" boldly printed on the front cover prompted me to come up with my very own list … I do have a huge fondness for lists after all.
But this is when I experienced (amateur) writer's block for the first time. I have been trying to meticulously list out all the little things that make me love the city, not wanting to leave anything out, for weeks and frustratingly found myself unable to actually rationalise my infatuation fully.
Maybe it's because anyone who lives here for more than a few months can call themselves a New Yorker, because the city is so inclusive, so incredibly multi-cultural and so transient that anyone has a right to citizenship as soon as they feel settled.
Because you can have a conversation with your Korean dry cleaner, your Pakistani concierge, your Jamaican street stall owner, your Thai take out delivery man, your Russian taxi driver or even your WASP Harvard MBA graduate colleague and find a common ground with them that transcend ethnicity, gender, wealth, religion and political convictions : we all have a story, a reason why we moved here and we are all on a seemingly elusive quest for more, faster and harder - be it money, career, love, life experience. You can’t stand still here, in fact people admire you for keeping up with the frenetic pace.
Maybe it’s also because while I have been to over 100 restaurants in 9 months – much more than in my 10 years in London – I can still discover new culinary delights every time I go out. Only recently, a girlfriend of mine took me to "Lure", an underground restaurant on Prince and Mercer, which I have walked past many times with not as much as a second glance. But as I was sipping on a delicious Ginger Apple Martini and sampling incredibly fresh and beautifully spiced tuna and yellowtail sashimi sitting on high stools at the sushi bar, I thought that there was no other place in the world I would rather be right now and that I had found somewhere I would go back to over and over again.
Because I never tire of the eclectic and raw beauty of the city. I still get a sense of awe and excitement when I catch a glimpse of Times Square on my way somewhere. Or when I walk in Central Park in all its bleak and winter beauty, the trees bare and the rocks protruding oddly. When I pound the picturesque streets of the West Village, Soho or the Lower East Side to meet friends for brunch, dinner or drinks. When I witness a jaw dropping sunset, luminously pink over the Statue of Liberty, outside of the World Financial Center every day.
Because despite this being the home of over 8 million people, I can still walk around anywhere in the city and feel that it belongs to me … that somehow that beautiful fire escape, that aging tree, that ornate architectural detail on a building, that lovely deli or even that random mad person on the street were put there for my enjoyment alone.
Also because life here is a lesson in time management. All mundane tasks are outsourced - we don't have time to do our own laundry, to cook our own meals, to do our own nails, to drive our own cars, to find our own dates. Work is crammed in whenever we can - everyone, including me, feverishly typing on their blackberry on the subway. Yet we make time to go to that special Seurat exhibition at the MoMa, watch that obscure play at the Steinberg Center just off Broadway, hear Jimmy Scott sing at Columbus Circle or go to the newest restaurant that was rated highly by the Zagat guide or the NY Mag.
The truth is that I will never be able to come up with a comprehensive list. Love or infatuation wouldn’t be as magical or special if it could rationalised.
I expect the city will continue to provide me with an endless number of reasons to sustain my love affair with it … I just have to live with the fact that I frustratingly will never quite be able to express them.
While this blog is already a testament of my love for the city, I pondered the reasons for my schoolgirl infatuation. A copy of the latest "New York Magazine" was waiting for me in my mailbox when I arrived home, and the words "Reasons to love NY" boldly printed on the front cover prompted me to come up with my very own list … I do have a huge fondness for lists after all.
But this is when I experienced (amateur) writer's block for the first time. I have been trying to meticulously list out all the little things that make me love the city, not wanting to leave anything out, for weeks and frustratingly found myself unable to actually rationalise my infatuation fully.
Maybe it's because anyone who lives here for more than a few months can call themselves a New Yorker, because the city is so inclusive, so incredibly multi-cultural and so transient that anyone has a right to citizenship as soon as they feel settled.
Because you can have a conversation with your Korean dry cleaner, your Pakistani concierge, your Jamaican street stall owner, your Thai take out delivery man, your Russian taxi driver or even your WASP Harvard MBA graduate colleague and find a common ground with them that transcend ethnicity, gender, wealth, religion and political convictions : we all have a story, a reason why we moved here and we are all on a seemingly elusive quest for more, faster and harder - be it money, career, love, life experience. You can’t stand still here, in fact people admire you for keeping up with the frenetic pace.
Maybe it’s also because while I have been to over 100 restaurants in 9 months – much more than in my 10 years in London – I can still discover new culinary delights every time I go out. Only recently, a girlfriend of mine took me to "Lure", an underground restaurant on Prince and Mercer, which I have walked past many times with not as much as a second glance. But as I was sipping on a delicious Ginger Apple Martini and sampling incredibly fresh and beautifully spiced tuna and yellowtail sashimi sitting on high stools at the sushi bar, I thought that there was no other place in the world I would rather be right now and that I had found somewhere I would go back to over and over again.
Because I never tire of the eclectic and raw beauty of the city. I still get a sense of awe and excitement when I catch a glimpse of Times Square on my way somewhere. Or when I walk in Central Park in all its bleak and winter beauty, the trees bare and the rocks protruding oddly. When I pound the picturesque streets of the West Village, Soho or the Lower East Side to meet friends for brunch, dinner or drinks. When I witness a jaw dropping sunset, luminously pink over the Statue of Liberty, outside of the World Financial Center every day.
Because despite this being the home of over 8 million people, I can still walk around anywhere in the city and feel that it belongs to me … that somehow that beautiful fire escape, that aging tree, that ornate architectural detail on a building, that lovely deli or even that random mad person on the street were put there for my enjoyment alone.
Also because life here is a lesson in time management. All mundane tasks are outsourced - we don't have time to do our own laundry, to cook our own meals, to do our own nails, to drive our own cars, to find our own dates. Work is crammed in whenever we can - everyone, including me, feverishly typing on their blackberry on the subway. Yet we make time to go to that special Seurat exhibition at the MoMa, watch that obscure play at the Steinberg Center just off Broadway, hear Jimmy Scott sing at Columbus Circle or go to the newest restaurant that was rated highly by the Zagat guide or the NY Mag.
The truth is that I will never be able to come up with a comprehensive list. Love or infatuation wouldn’t be as magical or special if it could rationalised.
I expect the city will continue to provide me with an endless number of reasons to sustain my love affair with it … I just have to live with the fact that I frustratingly will never quite be able to express them.
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