Christmas in the City

Everyone has told me that Christmas in the City is the best time of year. This month, I made it a point to experience as much of the holiday spirit as possible.

We kicked off the season in true festive fashion with a holiday tacky sweater party hosted at our apartment. Most everyone came dressed to impress, but I don't mind saying that I may have taken home the most creative prize. While the City offers a number of fabric stores, after searching high and low, I couldn't find any Christmas fabric. Instead, I purchased a plastic and velvet table cloth, complete with burgundy Santa Claus prints and made a tunic dress....best described by my fashion editor friend, "so holiday couture!"














This past Tuesday we did the most tourist thing possible: Radio City Christmas Spectacular! We luckily found discounted tickets, so a group of my closest City friends met for dinner and drinks prior to the show. Now, in its 49-year-stretch, this year the producers remade the show to include a 3D set incorporating a video game (hello millenium)! I wasn't crazy about the show and could've settled for just the Rockettes...they were amazing! I joked during the show that I should've never given up tap dancing, but unless I can grow another two inches to meet the 5'6"-5'10" height requirement, I don't think I'll ever make it to that stage.












Other than the Rockettes, the show included 14 scenes, such as Santa Flies to New York, The Nutcracker, The Parade of Wooden Soldiers and one of my favorites, The Living Nativity. This scene ended the show, and what a finale-- there were live camels, sheep and donkeys! Who knew Bethlehem was so urban?!












Post show we were able to stop by and see the Rockefellar tree. Thank goodness because a week earlier I battled the crowd with a friend to try and participate in the Lighting of the Tree Celebration, only to be practically stampeded by the thousands of onlookers and turned away before I could make it close enough to see the tree. Thanks for the early announcement of your performance at the event, Justin Bieber!

Additionally, I've strolled through a number of pop-up street markets, also known as holiday markets. They're located all over the City (Union Square, Bryant Park and Rockefellar Center), and they feature local vendors with Christmas trees and wreaths, home goods, gifts, jewelry and clothing. They're a great thing to check out after work or if you are going out for a coffee with a friend.

Overall, New York City did not fail me this holiday season. In most recent years I feel as though I've missed the season, lost in the chaos we sometimes call life, but this year, I remember the joy that Christmas brings. This truly is the most wonderful time of the year.

The "Civil"ized War

For those of you who aren't aware (and if you weren't, it means you haven't been following my blog), I moved, again, after three months in my studio apartment on the Upper East Side. I've been holding off on this post, as I was avoiding stepping on toes too soon...it's the holidays- I needed a returned security deposit!

You may be wondering why on earth I would be moving again, especially in the City, and it all boils down to customer service. As a PR professional, I can BS the best of anyone, but who I can't BS are those I work with and those I work for. Taking care of clients is (or should be, if it's not) any professional's top priority.

When I moved to New York, I could count on one hand the number of professionals I knew, therefore, I trusted. During my relocation, I experienced the harsh reality of being forced to trust people prior to knowing them. In the South, we have a little thing we call "southern hospitality." What this means is that strangers will bend over backwards to help you (and no, that's not just referencing the fact we'll stuff you full of fried chicken and biscuits). It's really a way of life- treat people well, and God will treat you well.

With this being said, I moved into an older brownstone, hoping the management would take care of me as much as I planned to care for my new home. Five days into my lease, I came home to find that all cooking gas had been turned off in my apartment. I was notified that a leak had been found in the piping in the street, and the gas would be reinstalled within one week. Ok, no worries (I thought), these things happen.

At the end of the week, I received another notification saying a new leak was found within the building, and the gas wouldn't be turned on until it was fixed. Over the next three weeks, I repeatedly called my management company to inquire the status. During one particular call, I explained to management that I had spent hundreds of dollars on eating out and expected restitution. It was received with a swift "It's not our fault. We aren't going to give you a rent cut. Get over it and stop calling" followed by a dial tone. Beep beep beep beep beep.

Well, I never! My appall at being spoken to with utter disrespect, lack of sympathy and no offer of apology turned from shock to anger to vengeance (yes, we Southern belles have a mean bone in us). I took to the phones, I took to the computer, and I took to my "attorney" (this was a 5-minute call through a reference, in which I was told I had the right to sue and to set up a $100 consultation...thanks for the advice)! I drafted a letter outlining the events that had occurred over the past month, and formally asked for a discount in the following month's rent. Management quickly responded that the leak was not their fault, and they would not give me a discount (little did they know I had already received a copy from the gas company confirming my management had not properly maintained their piping system- resulting in a leak).

I then drafted another letter, demanding a break of lease and a new contract confirming I would be reimbursed in full for my security deposit (assuring I wouldn't lose a dime to these jerks). My grounds were that the management breached the habitability clause in my lease, and an attorney advised me to stop paying rent for six months in order to be evicted, in which I would counter-sue. And of course I referenced the document I had, proving they had disclosed false information. Additionally I documented the conversations I had with management, classifying it as "harrassment."

With my confidence at an all-time high, I pressed 'send' and sent my prayers up to the Big Guy. Within 24-hours I received a break of lease contract, complete with each requirement I demanded (I also received my security deposit two weeks ago). Well, that sure was easy...but I was still angry, and I still wasn't satisfied. What about all my elderly neighbors they treated no better than the flying rats (pigeons). Hmmm....

Since moving from this apartment, I have helped draft two requests for neighbors, whom have each successfully broken his/her lease with full security return, obtained a verbal agreement from my brokerage company (the second largest in Manhattan) to blacklist this management company, and now....I will be sharing this post with thousands of social media contacts.

I've learned over the years to pick and choose my battles, and it looks like I picked the right one to fight, while simultaneously helping others. I now live two subway stops from my office (as opposed to the former eight), in a new, luxury building (complete with a doorman, gym, laundry and southern hospitality-like neighbors) with one of my best friends....oh- and I'm saving over $200 a month! Cha-ching!

So, here's the moral of the story: follow what you believe is right, and NEVER let anyone treat you like dirt, especially when they rely on your business. And if you do go into battle...go all the way. I did...all the way to a beautiful rooftop view of the Hudson River.

Women Building Better....Bars?

Just to continue the harassment from you belles and beaus on why I haven't posted pictures of the new apartment yet, I will make a new and unrelated post in light of Veteran's Day and the act of service.

In 2010 I joined the Junior League of Charleston. It was a leap of faith, knowing I was in my final and most important year of graduate school and was already leading an after school club for some of Charleston's most at-risk students. Raised in a family where volunteering and serving others were encouraged, I felt this was a venture I had to partake in, regardless of how busy or how little time I felt I had to spare. Looking back, I don't regret a day of it. I busted my rump fulfilling service hour obligations and was involved in some of the most rewarding charities I have experienced.

When I moved to the City in July 2011, continuing my membership in Junior League wasn't a question. I looked forward to playing a hand in service opportunities here and working alongside other women who value their commitments the same as I do. How mistaken I was, and how devastated I am.

I transfered to NYJL from Charleston, which meant that my dues transferred with me. I recently received an email saying that I had not paid my dues, and if I did not pay them, my name would be added to the "naughty list" and posted in the women's coatroom at Headquarters. I was surprised by this, and double-checked to make sure my payments in Charleston had transferred. They had, but unfortunately for me, the dues in Charleston are $160 annually and in the City are $480. Woah! $480?

Ok...."don't flip out!" I tell myself, just find out why the dues are astronomical. I called Accounting and implored the women to break it down for me. "Well, I know the dues are high, but unlike Charleston, we have a house on the Upper East Side to maintain. The dues go to the maintenance of the house, specifically the restaurant and bar. As you know, this is a treat for you all, and this is why your dues are high," says the woman on the other line. Hmmm....the tagline for the League is "Women building better communities." Since when did a restaurant or a bar benefit the underprivileged, the homeless, the hungry?

I spent a week pondering over this, sending emails to my friends in the League. What am I doing? Does this go against my morals? Is this how I can best serve my community? I began looking back through the weekly newsletters, wondering if I could justify being a part of an organization that does so much good across the country. What I realized is that, while I know the organization as a whole lives up to its word, I'm just not sure NY does what it says it will do.

Our newsletter typically contain 15 announcements, and roughly three to five are designated to community service projects. The rest are announcements informing you of bridge classes, etiquette classes or knitting classes (oh, and none are free). Hello, this is 2011, not the early 1900s! Is this really what you value? Teaching women how to be polite, while playing bridge? What a travesty to women everywhere to continue this outdated, hegemonic and gender-biased portrayal of the role of women in today's society.

Despite my disappointment, I opted to request a 2-year leave of absence, thinking that if I transferred to a different city, my experience in that Junior League chapter would be different (after all, Charleston was, and my sister who serves in Raleigh takes pride in her League and the work they do). I put in my request and chose to leave blank the portion asking why I was leaving the League- my thoughts in doing so were that maybe someone might call and I could talk this through with them. Instead, I received an automated message saying my request was approved, but I needed to pay my dues, never once asking if I was okay. The receiver of my request still doesn't know why I left, whether I was ill or some tragedy had occurred, and quite frankly, it doesn't seem like they care.

Maybe the concept of Junior League didn't resonate well in the Northeast, or maybe they really think The Help is an accurate portrayal of what the League is today. Regardless, here's my message to NYJL:

Don't hold your breath for that money. In the words of Abeline "I is kind. I is beautiful. I is important." And on that note, I'll take that $480 and will build a better community with it....on my own.

Well, Yeah I'm Gonna Do It

It has taken me a little longer to post than originally planned...as I've been packing my apartment in preparation to move tomorrow (which will be next week's post)! But, this past weekend was an awesome and special one for me, so there's no way I'm skipping the post!

Thursday my sister, a childhood friend and a new friend all came to visit me in the City (for this post I will refer to them as Samantha, Miranda, and Charlotte...I'm Carrie, of course). While there was no Sex and the City, there was a whole lot of City and Grits!

We began the weekend off right with a viewing party for Samantha's debut on the Dr. Oz Show and a few glasses of wine we had delivered....now maybe SATC believes me when I say, "EVERYTHING is delivery in the City!" Samantha was amazing on Dr. Oz, but most importantly, she gave us the quote of the weekend: "Well, yeah I'm gonna do it!" That night we ate at Schiller's Liquor Bar...and I'll just say now that we didn't have one bad meal all weekend, so any of these suggestions are MUST EATS! Following dinner we went to Pravda, which is a martini bar in Soho. You can only find this bar by locating the miniature lit sign above a staircase, as the bar is underground and strongly resembles the catacombs Edgar Allan Poe once wrote about. Pravda was very chic, but if you want to keep it classy like the theme, don't order a dirty martini....no dirt + all liquor = no chic.

Friday we went to eat at Le Pain Quotidien for a late breakfast (trip one of two), a local chain restaurant, but so AMAZE! The venue alone is very French, complete with cutting board tables, arranged in a family-style setting. After our rendezvous with Paris, I went to work (as a writer, of course) and Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte hit up all that the City shops have to offer.

That evening we went to the 9/11 Memorial, luckily able to reserve tickets the previous week. The original reservation time was 6:00, but it took nearly 30 minutes to get through the lines and security. I'm not complaining though because A) you MUST go to the Memorial and B) you MUST go after dark. We all saw the video footage of the Memorial on the 10-year anniversary, but video (and the inserted pictures) simply do NOT do it justice. The words engraved on the outer portion of the pools had lights behind them, allowing visibility even at night. Even the first Freedom Tower, which I've seen 100 times now, lights up with red, white and blue lights, which I would've never known unless visiting at night. Take note of the picture on the right. Samantha says dots like this are said to represent spirits...what do you think?



After dinner we went to Adrienne's Pizza Bar, which I referenced in one of my first City and Grits posts. It was the first time SATC got to meet my new roommate, and what a good laugh we had! M is always center of attention, and his stories of private school, professional college-finders and police run-ins were just what we needed after a somber experience.

Saturday was the day where we did serious damage-- to our bank accounts and feet. We began the day with brunch at Pastis, a local hot spot where celebrity-spottings are common. We didn't run into a celeb there...but, wait for it! After brunch (which was very tasty, but slightly over-priced) we walked the High Line. Now, the HL is the best metaphor for rugged urbanity. Originally a train track, the HL weaves between buildings above ground for roughly one mile, and it is overgrown with weeds, bushes and random patches of grass. The HL is likely famous for its direct view of The Standard Hotel (and shameless visitors undressing in front of the windows), but is an experience that makes you feel like you are part of a forgotten world of the future.

Following our blast into 2030 we shopped all around the Tribeca (my soon-to-be neighborhood) and Soho areas. Since moving here, I'll admit it, I ALWAYS keep my eyes peeled for celebrities (sure, you can call me a star-chaser). Observation pays off because wouldn't you know...I spotted former Dawson's Creek heart throb and Joey stalker, James Van Der Beek! The good host I am, I took one for the team and approached him to ask for a photo with one of my childhood crushes. Miranda and Charlotte currently live in Wilmington, home of Dawson's Creek, and it made a nice topic of conversation...buying us a solid five minutes with JVDB. For my first celebrity encounter I was more than surprised....what a NICE guy!! Maybe fame doesn't freeze your heart afterall?

Saturday evening we attended a Broadway show called Fuerza Bruta. It wasn't your typical show...in other words, I imagine it's similar to what drug addicts experience daily. The audience stood for the 60-minute show, with most all of the act taking place above your head. The performance was complete with a light show, DJ who wore a George Washington wig and sprayed the crowd with a water hose, and best of all....a floating pool! Yes, this is real life. The pool was unreal! It literally appeared out of nowhere and lowered all the way to the audience so that we could lift our arm and touch it. Inside the pool were girls swimming and dancing and being blown from one side to the other from fans pointing into the water. Girls even came from the ceiling at one point, attached by harnesses, and ran in circles after one another on the four walls. I hope these pictures may give you some perspective of the show, and if not, know that the show was the most bizarre and most awesomely amazing experience of my life.

There's no way to come down from an experience like that than to end the night with some pastrami. SATC ventured to Katz's Deli, one of my favorite local spots. We had traditional pastrami sandwiches on rye bread with a side of pickles...as my Jewish friends say, "real Jew food." If you've never heard of Katz's, you've certainly seen it. Meg Ryan's famous scene from When Harry Met Sally was filmed here, and a sign above the table reads "Where Harry met Sally...hope you have what she had."

We didn't have what Sally had, but we did bring the grits to the City...and what a delicious weekend it was!

Free Arts NYC

Like every other Southern belle, I am an active member in the Junior League. Now, most people like to refer to this as an adult sorority, and while you may not be too far from the truth, the League also does a number of great things in surrounding communities.

I joined the League in Charleston, and I recently transferred to the NYJL (yes, there really is one here). As an active member, I am required to volunteer a designated number of hours per year with one of our sponsored organizations. This past week, I chose to spend a day with an organization called Free Arts NYC. I was instantly attracted to this organization because it mirrors one that I organized last year as a graduate student.

Free Arts NYC gathers underprivileged children from schools and homeless shelters to participate in art every other Saturday. Each child is paired with one volunteer to ensure they receive the most attention possible during their time at the event. Over a five-hour period, volunteers create arts and crafts with their buddy, followed by lunch and a performance from a local dance or theater group.

I was paired with a 10-year-old girl, who I will call T. She lives with her mother and two older brothers, and she goes to school from 7:00 a.m.-9:00 p.m. each day because her mom works two jobs to support her and her siblings. She eats three meals at her school, and the majority of her waking hours are at school.

Coming from a hometown with a high poverty level, I am not surprised that these conditions exist, but what is surprising is how normal she thought her conditions were, as though this is how most children live their lives. Organizations like this re-ground you, making you realize what is "normal"....essentially something different to everyone. Organizations like this reaffirm just how lucky we each are to have grown up in a home where we ate nearly every meal with our family and spent quality time with our parents.

Last year, I ran an after school program once a week with friends where our focus was similar to Free Arts NYC. Most people think that as schools lose their budgets, they lose physical education classes, but in reality, art and music classes are the first to go. Growing up, I learned through my art classes that I was a strong creative writer. Had I not had these classes and been told this by my teachers, I wouldn't be where I am today. Every child deserves the opportunity to discover what they are good at, and often this comes through creative art forms, such as painting, drawing, writing, music, etc.

For the few short hours I spent with the kids, I had the chance to give the attention to T that she deserves, and hopefully I helped her to realize her strengths. If you are looking for an organization to volunteer with, I highly recommend Free Ats NYC. If I can't change the world permanently, I can hopefully change the world for a few hours.

Mother Teresa, foursquare and Beanies

This is the longest period of time I've gone without blogging, and since you've all been asking, I'm making a post, but not about the City...rather my favorite city in the States.

Last weekend I experienced my first journey outside the City since relocating here. Hesitantly and excitedly I traveled to Washington D.C. to visit two of my very best friends, one who recently moved there, and one who was visiting her little brother, a recent freshman at GWU. I say 'hesitantly' due to the fact that for the past two years I have told everyone I was moving to D.C. after graduate school, and I feared being in this city would make me jealous not to be there...clearly God had other plans, and all has ended well because I'm obsessed with my job and achieving so much in NYC (and again, I will hesitantly admit NYC is growing on me, and I halfway love it).

Surprisingly, in my 24 years of life I experienced my first bus trip, courtesy of the Bolt Bus, a so-called "bus with extra leg-room and wireless internet." Needless to say, the space was equivalent to coach seating on an airplane, and the wireless internet worked on and off in increments of 30 seconds...not to mention the guy beside me eating curried tuna out of a ziplock bag his mother clearly packed (thanks for being courteous, buddy). Each way I arrived to my destination one hour past expected, but then again, what can you expect with a $39 round-trip ticket?

The weekend was filled with great food and drinks, outings, shopping and catching up. My friend, L, was visiting the city for her first time, and I'm happy to announce she realized quickly why I'm obsessed with it. Additionally, her little brother recently began college, and is not only new to the city, but new to freedom. Wow, did I not only feel old, but missed the amazement that comes with moving out of your parents' home for the first time and feeling complete liberation (sorry, mom and dad, if you're reading this). 

L and "little bro," as I'll refer to him, come from a family unlike any you'll ever meet. Likely the most laid-back, up-for-a-good-time type of family, and never a disappointment to travel with. Little bro was the energizer bunny, keeping us up until 5:00 in the morning (I can't remember the last time I did that), and L, on the prowl for "finance guys," as she referred to them all weekend (I corrected her a number of times that she's referring to my City, and "Hill guys" is the appropriate reference for D.C). But underlying their relationship is this profound support for one another that cannot be dismissed. While L is struggling to get settled into a new job, and little bro into a new lifestyle, they are there for each other through and through.

My friend, M, also recently moved to the city to begin a job with one of my favorite companies. I happened to be one of the lucky ones who graduated with a job, but M took a few months to find something. Of course none of us ever doubted it would work out for her, but when it did, it was what she was destined to do. I experienced the uncertainty of the months prior to her starting her job, and seeing her in an amazing city and loving her job meant the world to me. 

I didn't quite realize how desperate I was for time with my best friends (DUFFs, as we often refer to one another), and am going through a bit of withdrawal this week. But what I realized on this trip was that no matter how far my friends live from one another, our friendship spans thousands of miles. Everything always works out in the end, it's simply just making it through that period of uncertainty to get to certainty. And no matter how difficult those times are, it's like we can come back together and it's as though there is no physical distance. Seeing one another gives us that extra kick we need to make it through.

I'm not sure if it's just the company I choose to keep or the vibe you experience in D.C. People in this city are often scrambling, working themselves to death for literally the clothes on their back, yet in the end, it all works out. They find satisfaction and happiness in their lives, and along the way they pick up those friends that stick with them through it all.

And for those of you who don't understand the title's references, don't worry, because what happens on the Hill, stays on the Hill.

Race for the Cure 2011

Sunday I participated in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure in Central Park. I was joined by eight of my colleagues and three friends, representing our company.

This was the first race of its kind that I've participated in, and one that I will certainly participate in for years to come. The event hosted thousands of runners and walkers (myself the latter...as all I do is eat nowadays), all varying in age from children to elderly.

I was astonished by the amount of support from such a huge number of people, many being survivors, family members of survivors or deceased, or even those who just care about the cause and understanding its devastating impact on women and men.

What touched my heart were the children wearing memorial tags reading "my mother." We often forget that cancer has no age or no consideration for those it may affect. It was one of those experiences that makes you stop and count your blessings, remembering that whatever is difficult in your life is suddenly so insignificant.

Race for the Cure is more than simply a way to raise money for research, but it was a way to show all of those battling cancer or ones who have lost loved ones from the disease that there is support all around us. It reminds us that we are all in the fight to eliminate cancer together, and that even when times are unbearable and no future is in sight, there are always people who will pull us through the finish line.

The Big Orange Meets the Big Apple

Who says Tennessee football only exists in Orange Country? This Saturday I ventured to Traffic Bar and Lounge, walking into my newest destination this football season.

New York City is said to host a number of college chapters, each sponsored by a local bar...of course there has to be booze involved when it comes to the SEC (I still maintain that no other division knows quite how to tailgate like we do). The front door welcomed pedestrians with a Power T and blowup Smoky-- that's a winner in my book!

The Bar boasts two stories, the top designated for all those who bleed orange. This past week I did a Facebook search of friends living in the City, deciding I was done spending so much time with male friends, and needed some girlfriends (which was reaffirmed by my gay best friend saying he didn't count). To my surprise, I came up with a number of friends that I either had classes with or knew through mutual friends. We all agreed to meet up Saturday, and what better way than to cheer on our alma mater?

Although we weren't at Neyland Stadium, we certainly celebrated like we were. The crowd was a sea of orange, Southern dialects broke the air with their vulgar rants, and whiskey flowed almost as smoothly as the moonshine would in Knoxville (let's just say I'm NOT in college anymore, and I may or may not have been in bed by 8:30).

I had an absolute blast catching up with old friends and making plans for the upcoming weeks-- even convincing one friend to join the New York Junior League, which I just transferred into last week (yes, that's the Southern in me). I met many other new faces as well, since, just like below the Mason Dixon, we'll talk to about anyone. Ironically, one girl and I have 65 mutual friends (according to FB, of course), some being my best friends from undergraduate!

What I realized about this experience was not necessarily that I may be past my celebratory prime, but rather that even after being gone from the College for more than two years, it still is providing me with what I loved most about it. It brings together a number of people, no matter age or hometown, but all there for the love of our undergraduate memories. Through this commonality (of once being ranked one of the most delusional fan bases in college football) we form friendships no matter if we are in the Tennessee hills or are amongst a city of skyscrapers.

So here's to Rocky Top and all the half bears/half cats I met this weekend.

I Seeeeeeekype You

Digital media is my life. It’s the world I grew up in…even though I can remember life before the internet (vaguely, that is). It is what I spent six years studying in college and graduate school; it is how I share my life with the world; it is how I make a living; and most recently, it has become my lifeline.

Enter: Skype. The free video chat application has blown up the digital world since its introduction in 2003. Now hosting 929 million users, the company is said to be worth $8.5 billion. It’s being used to connect deployed soldiers with their families, educate students together, separated by continents, and most recently as a cost-reducing tool for “in-person” interviews, eliminating the need for candidates to be flown into offices.

Whatever its use, it’s brilliant, and I think sometimes it has enhanced my life in significant ways. I’ve always found that the hardest part of living far from home is missing out on watching my nephew and nieces grow. They are the only children in our immediate family, and are loved in a way I didn’t know possible for children that weren’t your own.

Since I have moved to the City, Skype has been my lifeline to them. I’m not left with phone conversations where every two minutes my sister says, “Avery, you have to hold the phone to your ear,” or have to be told that Sadie Grace’s hair is turning red. I can now see it with my eyes, and it’s like I’m there.

My immediate family, my aunt’s family and my grandparents usually do Sunday dinner together. It’s a tradition I grew accustomed to during my brief time living at home before I moved here. Now I don’t have to miss out on Sunday dinner. I Skype with my entire family, everyone taking a turn in front of the computer to hear about my week and tell me about theirs. Now Jackson can tell me about the girls in his new class, and I can see him blushing, knowing he has a crush on someone. I wouldn’t know this if I only spoke to him.

You might think that Skype isn’t for everyone, but you’re wrong. My grandparents Skype with me unfazed that even though they don’t know how to program a number in their cell phone, they can video chat with me. My parents Skype with me, following the directions to log on that my sister typed out for them. My uncles, so tech-unsavvy were giggling like 5-year-olds in a candy store the first time we saw each other through computer screens. Even SG, in her short four months of life, Skypes with me, staring at the bright computer screen with her wobbly head, smiling just because she hears a familiar voice.

I also spend Sundays Skyping with my girlfriends. The one thing I miss most about living with my future bridesmaids is laying around on Sunday, recapping our weekend (and the *ahem* crazy nights out). Although we aren’t together experiencing things, we still talk like we are all together. I don’t have to miss out just because I’m so far away.

If you have a friend or family member that is as far as a phone call, I suggest this solution to closing that gap. The digital world wasn’t designed to make our world more difficult. Although it makes our world more complicated at times, it mutually makes it better. Thank you God for the creators of Skype, they’ve made my life better. 

Holy Hurricane!

Finally Hurricane Irene has continued on her slow moving path and left minimal destruction in the New York City area. Other regions weren't as lucky, such as Atlantic Beach, NC and the New Jersey shore line.   I initially thought the area I lived in the City had a mandatory evacuation, but later discovered it was the end of my block that had to evacuate. I'm still trying to figure this out since I live on the East River, but zones were based on elevation, and I suppose I must be at a much higher elevation than my neighbors. None the less, to my mom's objections, I stayed put and decided to battle out the storm...Southern style. I loaded up on water, sweet tea, books and a yummy meal of creamy chicken, biscuits and wine...clearly, I was prepared!












My chances worked out in my favor because I woke this morning (apparently having slept through the eye of the hurricane) breathing and with electricity...I survived! People are out surveying the damage today so I  took a stroll myself to Carl Shurz Park on the Upper East Side, a favorite spot for many residents on the UES. It sits along the East River, and I was quite shocked to see the amount of damage done to the park. While only half a block from my apartment, the effects of Irene were seemingly undetected until I reached the park. Others must have had the same idea because the park was swarmed with people taking pictures of the damage-- and a few getting in their Sunday run.

Trees are down in many parts of the park and yellow caution tape is strewn throughout the park marking off areas with limbs on the verge of falling or trees already split in half. Mud, water and debris cake many of the sidewalks winding through the park, and trash is scattered everywhere. I even discovered a birthday balloon stuck in one of the tress (Happy Birthday to you!).

The most shocking discovery in the park is one of my favorite alcoves sitting below sea level. It is a secluded area normally filled with people on benches, and a central water fountain. Nearly the entire alcove is submerged by river water, making only the top of the fountain and benches visible. There was one dog having a field day playing fetch in the water, and became the one happy light of onlookers (I just hope they give him a bath in bleach and tetanus shot when they take him home).

The damage is certainly not in the streets, but along the water, in areas filled with tress. While the UES is known for its tree-lined streets and parks, so is the Financial District and its areas along the Hudson River, which are said to have been effected most on the Island. While we likely got the least of Irene, I can only imagine at this point what Lower Manhattan looks like.

Overall, I feel like officials in the city did a great job preparing people for the storm and evacuating high-risk areas. Many people are upset today with the decisions that were made, saying authorities over-reacted. But, it's always better to be safe than sorry. 

 

 I've now experienced two firsts this week-- an earthquake (18 stories high, mind you) and now a hurricane. Ok people, I'm checking out! Enough Mother Nature for now.

God Bless Saks, Jesus and Pizza

This weekend I tried to take advantage of the break from the rainy weather and spend as much time outdoors as possible. Saturday marked the last weekend the City celebrated Summer Streets, which happens for three weekends during August. Each Saturday officials close Park Avenue from Brooklyn Bridge to Central Park, setting up a series of "rest stops" where they have food vendors, kid-friendly activities and free bike repairs. I leaned about the event from coworkers who suggested I go. Of course when I think of a street festival I think of food AND retail vendors. I arrived to 68th and Park, dressed in my cute sundress, ballerina flats and iced White Chocolate Mocha in hand only to discover that the event isn't for the weekend stroller, but rather a mad house of runners and bicylists taking advantage of the few hours they don't fear for their lives thanks to the lunatics we call taxi drivers.

I walked along Park Avenue for about half a mile (I mean hey, I was there so why not take advantage of a closed street), and quickly decided I looked like a moron next to the exercise fanatics. On top of that, I started to feel very sad seeing the bicyclists and remembering my adventures on my beach cruiser back in Charleston. Well I suppose there was no better way for me to cure the lonely heart, but to suppress it with a little retail therapy. I got on my Blackberry and searched shopping destinations on Foursquare (which if you haven't uploaded the new version, do it. Immediately!) and what would you know...Saks Fifth Avenue was just around the corner!

While I may have been overdressed for Summer Streets, I'm sure I looked like a hobo in Saks. I walked around the ground floor for probably 20 minutes trying to figure out where all the clothes and shoes were. Thankfully I discovered a directory that informed me there were seven floors of shopping....Lord, save me! I took a deep breath and decided to only choose one floor (shoes and handbags) so it appeared I was there for something in particular and not some tourist going as part of a destination location with no intent to puchase. The feeling I got walking around must be similar to Andy in Devil Wears Prada, ovewhelmed and drooling at the masterpieces in Vogue's clothing department. I've been wanting to get a new bag, and they have lots of smaller bags that I'm sure I could afford...$2,000 for a clutch? Just kidding! Instead I settle on a pair of light brown Tory Burch ballerina flats, because afterall I've been thinking about it for awhile, excluding them from the "impulse buy" category.

I topped off my day with a late lunch at Rockefeller Center and last minute sale at Anthropologie. I was extremely successful at this store, and I reaffirmed why I believe you should NEVER pay full price for something (except my Tory Burch flats, that is) because I got an amazing summer dress for $20 marked down from $188...insane!

As I'm walking back to the subway, and dreading the sauna that awaits me, I walk past an enormous cathedral. Hmm, there were a lot of people in front and crosses at the top of the steeples...it must be Catholic. I look closer at the sign, and discover it is St. Patrick's Cathedral. I've literally been scoring left and right because this was on my list of places to see! Winning! Although I felt sacreligious with my shopping bags, I went inside and realized why this is rated with five stars in my tour of NYC book. The cathedral began construction in 1858 and was modeled in a Neo-Gothic style. After a brief halt in construction during the Civil War, the Cathedral opened its doors in 1882. Each side of the Cathedral is lined with chapels dedicated to saints and each housing offertory candles. I sat in a pew taking in the grandeur of everything all while watching a wedding take place at the main alter (I am later told the bride and groom must be politicians' children). I recommend Saint Jude's Chapel located on the left side of the Cathedral and the prayer card table at the back right of the Cathedral.

I wrapped up my weekend with a Sunday gathering for my amazing co-worker's 33rd birthday. She hosted it at Adrianne's Pizzabar in the heart of the Financial District (literally, blocks off from Wall Street). Adrianne's can be found on Stone Street, a hidden teasure in this concrete jungle. The street is lined with fabulous restaurants and pubs and is closed to vehicles. Guests can sit at tables on the cobblestone street, and it is perfect for hosting large groups. It was such a treat to meet a lot of new faces in the city and to see a gem I would have likely ovelooked.

This weekend is certainly one for the books, finding sweet surprises around every corner...literally. God bless Saks, Jesus and pizza.

The Met: Part 2

Somehow we are back to another weekend, so I will continue my journey where I ventured through several centuries in the African, South American and Native American exhibits.

The Ethiopian exhibit featured dozens of masks and costumes worn during ritual ceremonies. Several masks struck me with their direct connection of historical events happening during the time of their creation. These masks, referred to as "white-faced masks," portrayed light-skinned males. During the time these were made (19th century), Europe was having a field day on these native lands colonizing each region and introducing Christian missionaries into the region. While many of the items found in these exhibits resembled African gods and goddesses, there was a significant number of items also featuring Christian images. Bibles, necklaces and tapestries all were designed with scenes from scripture of Christ hanging from the cross.

Regardless of religious beliefs, Africans during these periods had a strong sense of what marriage was and how sexuality played a part in that union. I stood by listening to a tour guide (I know, I took a brief, free tutorial) describe the significance of one statue in particular. She said the statue represents a married couple because of the arm placed around the shoulder of the female. The placement of the male's hand signifies that his wife is with child, and the enlarged belly-buttons of the couple represent a connection between the two coming from the core of their bodies. African culture believes all unions come from the center of the body where the most vital organs are located. There were many of these types of sculptures throughout the exhibits, and while I thought they might be a bit R-rated, it was amazing to me how scholars on the subject can put such meaning into a piece based solely on a few depicted features of the body.

It's not uncommon today to see people with enormous holes in their ears from stretching the earlobe by gauged earrings. This trend is one that began far sooner than most would know, and it was shown in the Colombian collection dating back to the 16th century. The jewelry was astonishing in its size and weight. Ear gauges, or as they were referred to, "ear rods," nose pendents and even necklaces weighed several pounds, and if seen being worn, I can only imagine would cover half the face. The South Americans utilized all resources found in that region of the world, from gold and silver, to bronze and wood.

As astonishing in size as the South American jewelry were the Native American totem poles. These poles adorned meeting houses to ward evils from places of sacred value. The tribes owning these poles can be identified by the spirits personified on each pole. The detail of the wood is one that any carpenter would give a leg to have the skill to copy.


I feel that my adventures to The Met are not over, but this is a taste of what you may expect to find. Let the adventures continue...

The Met: Part 1

Over the past few days parts of the City have flooded due to nearly seven inches of rain. Keeping my promise to explore one new place each week, I decided to go to The Met, formally known as The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Of course I knew this would likely be the day activity of half the City, but decided to take my chances. I couldn't foresee the mass chaos and magic that lay ahead.

Now, The Met's architecture is a museum in itself, consisting of three floors with more than 100 different rooms on each floor. Many of the rooms range in size dependent upon the particular exhibit, and finding them must be similar to a rat in a science experiment. I've never been one for art, or understanding the philosophic viewpoints of how certain brush strokes or colors make tangible a specific emotion, but have always loved my grandfather's paintings. In his retirement he took on his childhood hobby, and shares his love for art by giving his family and friends pieces of the simple things from his life. Whether it's a bench in a garden or an Italian loaf of bread, he makes the simple simply beautiful.

Deep in the heart of The Met I felt this too, not by the paintings or photographs or charcoal pieces, but through the "simple" things that used to be part of everyday life to the Ancient Greeks, Ethiopians, Colombians or Native Americans.  Throughout the day I explored these exhibits admiring the detail and ritual behind each piece, that today, we often find so irreplaceable.











My final semester of Graduate school I took a course about Classical Rhetoric (yes, I probably should have signed up for Modern offered the previous year), and often struggled understanding the concepts my professor proposed in class discussions. But when I saw first hand what he was trying to say, I felt that same sense of awe I knew he had for the subject. Each piece in the Ancient Greek exhibit, whether it was a pair of earrings, perfume vases, armor, pottery, combs or even tweezers, they each had a story. Intricately carved into every item were symbols of animals, Greek gods and goddesses and historic battles.


One set of gold earrings featured a scene of Prince Ganymede in the grasp of Zeus, personified as an eagle, the pair hanging above honeysuckle. Greek mythology claims that the Prince was the most beautiful human creature and was an honored soldier from Troy. Zeus transformed into an eagle and swooped up the Prince and took him back to the heavens to be the torch bearer for Olympus.

There were cases filled with hundreds of pendents, or for all purposes, medals. Each were decorated with similar mythologies, such as one dating back to 1450 B.C. with the image of the phoenix. As mythology goes, the phoenix is burned to ashes every lifecycle (500-1000 years), resulting in a new phoenix hatching, symbolizing rebirth. Many Catholics today even wear these medals, depicting saints or images of Jesus engraved into each, acting as a constant reminder of spirituality and beauty in simplicity. Whatever the piece in the exhibit, it meant something to its owner, and it wasn't found on a canvas, but in everyday items.

Governor's Island: The Home of Ghosts

This weekend I spent a day exploring Lower Manhattan with a friend who lives in the area. He graciously attempted to be my tour guide for the day, beginning with a stroll along the Hudson River followed by a quick excursion off the Island. Living on the UES I am getting used to the East River and the small parks that line it, hosting several basketball courts, small picnic areas and even a public pool (although I won't be taking a dip in there anytime soon). The Hudson River is far more luxurious and upscale in comparison. Home to many multi-million dollar yachts, its shoreline is marked by cafes, dining tables and sculptures. Parallel to the shoreline is a sea of sky scrapers and important landmarks, such as Trump Towers, Goldman Sachs, Wall Street and the site of Freedom Tower (the first building to replace one of the fallen Twin Towers, and absolutely stunning in design). It is lined by the business Mecca of New York, and you can literally see the difference below your feet. I just so happened to look down as we walked past a homeless man (maybe another sign of the wealth in the area) and low-and-behold I found a $20 bill! What are the chances? Wait, you will see where I'm going with this soon...

Our destination along this path was the Governor's Island Ferry, a free ferry ride to an historical island. This piece of history is only open to the public Friday-Sunday and all Monday holidays.  We did not know much about the Island prior to our journey, and were left with little to see upon our arrival, except for this eerie feeling that we had stepped onto the set of Shutter Island. As we exit the ferry, wondering what we have walked in to, I look down again, this time finding nine $1 bills. Now, finding substantial money at all is rare, but twice in one day? It must have been either Lower Manhattan or Governor's Island boosting my luck that day! Now, back to the point...

We stepped onto the Island and noticed a lot of visitors on bikes, which we later learned personal bikes could be transported on the ferry. Luckily for us two bike rentals for two hours was $30, so we took the cash I found, tossed in an extra dollar, and rode on our merry way. Cheers to my good luck!


Now a little history-- the Island has gone back and forth between control by the British, Dutch, U.S. Army and U.S. Coast Guard. Originally controlled by Native Americans, "Nut Island," named after its abundance of nut-producing trees, was officially purchased in 1637 by Dutch representative Wouter Van Twiller. Twiller was lucky he only shelled out a few building nails, a string of beads and two axe heads because only one year later the Dutch government confiscated it.

Nearly 30 years later the British regained control over the Island, then referred to as "Nutten Island," when they seized New Amsterdam, renaming it "New York." The Island became the home to His Majesty's Governors over the course of a century until Britain's exile from New York following the Revolutionary War. America captured the Island, naming it Governor's Island, and utilized the land for an Army post. Governor's Island Railroad, a stretch of 1.75 miles of track, was even built to help haul supplies from the harbor to the warehouse. This post became a vital tool in regards to artillery storage and residential housing during the War of 1812 and Civil War.


In 1966 the Island was then turned over to the U.S. Coast guard, where it was the home to nearly 3,500 guards, becoming the largest American installation. In September of that year the Coast Guard relocated all residents and considered the Island a public property. Governor's Island is now a vacant island of dormitories, municipal buildings, a post office, a bookstore and rows of homes once occupied by high-ranking officials. The homes, distinct for their pastel colors (and only color on the island) reminded me of the historical homes in downtown Charleston, marking the post-Antebellum era. One of the homes we were able to go into where we found framed photos of various monuments, homes or views of the Statue of Liberty from the Island. Each home is unguarded, making it extremely easy for the rebellious travelers to venture off course (which crossed my mind, but I didn't sneak on this trip).

Governor's Island apparently hosts a slew of events throughout the summer months, even concert series and kid-friendly events. During off-peak periods the Island lays dormant and makes for a quiet afternoon of biking or even picnicking on some of the homes' lawns. It doesn't make for much of a history lesson (as the majority of these facts I've told you I found through additional literature), and should only be visited if you need a timeout from the City for a few hours or are interested in 17th century architecture.