Join Today!

Anyone who is 50 or older, whether they are working or retired, can join AARP for $16 per year. I know this because they sent me a membership card and requested that I send them my $16 check immediately to activate my exciting benefits as an AARP member.

I will say one thing: I look damn good for someone who is 50 or older.

If You Want to Look Good, Check This Out

Although I cannot be bothered to wash my face on a daily basis,* I am excited to link to my friend's blog, Ask An Esthetician. She is a licensed esthetician who is giving out excellent (free!) advice on beauty, particularly skin care. I know that most women are not slovenly shlubs like me who wander around with uncombed (albeit usually clean) hair, un-moisturized skin, and legs and armpits that make them look like Chewbacca's midget sister, so I thought I'd do a public service promote her blog.

*Despite this gross habit, my skin is pretty clear. I am not sure why this is since in my pre-teens I was a horrid pizza face on the way to scars that would make Norriega look like a beauty queen. My mom insisted that I go to a dermatologist even though I protested, and the antibiotics he prescribed made a huge difference. (Thanks, Mom!)

After years of happy skin, I was covered with cyst-like zits in my early 20s. Another dermatologist gave me drugs, which did not work well, and he said I should consider Acutane as an option. No fucking way was I going on Acutane. In addition to requiring me to take birth control pills (which I was on anyway) and submit to regular pregnancy testing because it is so dangerous to fetal development, and cause hair and skin to fall out in chunks, it could cause people with depressive tendencies to commit suicide. I told him I'd rather be zitty than dead and fleshless.

BOMB and Explosion

My friend Mark and I went to check out Brooklyn's Other Museum of Brooklyn (BOMB) after work this evening. (If you visit the website, note that the BOMB we went to and the BOMB depicted are different buildings. BOMB moves with the real estate market.) It is open every Tuesday from 7 - 9 pm.

The new BOMB is in a building that is not heated or necessarily finished. As I went up the staircase, I was slightly fearful that I would plunge through the boards. It was sturdy, though. When we were upstairs, the curator, Scott, offered us beers. When I said I don't drink, he sweetly said he also had cranberry juice and various flavored seltzers.

Basically, BOMB is a museum dedicated to promoting the historic preservation of Admiral's Row, which is a set of buildings in the Brooklyn Navy Yard that the Mayor's office wants to tear down, and a place for the curator to store things that he rescues from the trash. Here's what Mark and I saw (apologies for the blurry pics - I used my BlackBerry phone):

If you squint really hard at the upper right, you can make out a canister used during Prohibition to make alcohol. The twisty spigot is wrapped around a gumball machine. Near the furnace to the right, sort of behind the fireplace, is a long black cylinder which is a rusted out sewage pipe. The window shade is pulled back by a paper mache puppet that looks out the window and admires the neighborhood.

The bathroom counter is covered with items that Scott, the curator of BOMB, found on the beach. This includes a femur, many pieces of broken china, coins, and rocks.

This portion of the wall was part of a church steeple in the 1800s. I love it. Yes, that is a cow skull hanging in the center of it. The Disgruntled Cow uses Scott to express her displeasure at how the Mayor milks the City dry. The object with wheels is a racing car from 1920 that reminds me of a go-kart.

This torpedo used to hang outside the museum. I sort of like it in the niche at the top of the staircase.



Mark and Scott are far more knowledgeable about Brooklyn than I can ever hope to be, so I mostly listened to them chat as my feet went numb from cold. Scott gave us all kinds of goodies to take home. Of course, I loved every second of my visit.

The explosion on the subway ride home, though, was terrifying. As we sped through the tunnel, a passenger with a wispy white goatee suddenly blew up at another rider. He jumped in the man's face and bellowed, "Why are you staring at me? Get your eyes off me! Do you have a problem with me. I said stop looking at me. Are you sweet for me, huh? Are you a homo? DO you want me to shove something up your ass? Fuck you!"

A few months ago, someone was randomly stabbed on the subway under very similar circumstances, and even though I was at the other end of the car, my heart thundered away. The other passengers watched the scene unfold and looked nervous, but only I changed cars when the train stopped. The man who was harassed got off, whether it was his stop or not. I hadn't been that nervous on the train since I was caught in the middle of a fight during rush hour and a guy broke a glass bottle and brandished it at someone.

Time Vampire

Urban Dictionary's Word of the Day is Time Vampire. This is something that sucks away your time like a vampire does blood. I love, love, love this concept.

My thesis is a time vampire. Or at least it will be once I start working on it for real. My goal is to write 3-4 pages a day for the next two months, not including weekends for the most part.

Probably it is bad that I describe the writing of what I hope will be my next book as a time vampire, huh?

One Star!

I noticed a new review of Off the Beaten (Subway) Track: New York City's Best Unusual Attractions on amazon.com. Then I noticed that it was for one star. The last time I received a less than stellar review, the reader complained that the book only had weird and unusual attractions. I was curious what the problem was this time:

I was actually looking for places "off the beaten track" but this book had nothing you could not get off the net or regular tourist book. It's basically a listing of museums and churches. Very Very disappointing

I'm very intrigued by this. Partly because I don't agree at all that it is a list of museums and churches that you can get off the internet (without searching pretty damn hard, anyway - you can get anything off the internet with a little effort) and definitely most places are not in regular tourist books (although some are, and I put an unusual aspect of the place in my book, like the vertical tour of the Cathedral of St. John the Divine). Mostly I want to know what the person expected the book would be about. It has parks, restaurants, museums (some inside people's homes), a former airport, forts, churches, stores, and monuments. Aren't those what constitute "attractions?" I'm not asking to be defensive, I'm asking because I genuinely want to know for next time and there's no way to contact this dude and ask. Any thoughts?

Happy Anniversary, BlogHer!

Four years ago, someone took a chance on me. I'd only been blogging for a few months when I heard that BlogHer was looking for volunteer contributing editors for a new site they were launching. I rushed to their current homepage, noticed that people already claimed the topic I most wanted (feminism and gender), and saw that travel and recreation was still open. Well, I love traveling and do it a lot. I had just blogged a trip to France. I left a message with links to three posts (this was before I had any idea what HTML was, not that I'm an expert at it now), and hoped for the best.

Not long after, I heard from Lisa Stone, one of BlogHer's founders. She said that she "loved" my blog and offered me the gig. I was thrilled! (Re-reading her email today, which I just looked at again, brings tears to my eyes. Yeah, I still have an email from January 2006 in my inbox.) My first post - Introduction to Travel and Recreation appeared on January 22, 2006. I hoped for many things, but was not sure what to expect.

Four years later, I still write for BlogHer, although on feminism, not travel. It offered me a platform when I was just exploring writing. It offered me a platform when I sent out proposals for a travelogue I was writing about unusual things to see and do New York City. It offered me a platform when my book, Off the Beaten (Subway) Track, was published 2.5 years later. It offered me a platform to meet and be inspired by other women.

Sure, it hasn't been all champagne and roses. When I realized that my four year anniversary was coming up, I compared it to my marriage: sometimes I wanted to scream and stomp around with selfish, delusional indignity, but overall my life is richer, happier, and better in every way because I have it. (Husband was slightly offended by this analogy, but I stand by it.) I'm so lucky.

Go Figure

Yesterday my grandmother finally recovered enough from the sedatives given to her before her angiogram/angioplasty for my mom to tell her what happened. We expected Granny to be upset. My mom assured her that we would find her another doctor.

Upon hearing that her doctor forgot which stents he was supposed to use, my grandmother, apparently, shrugged. "Well, I like him. He doesn't talk to me like I'm senile or a child."

My mom was confused. "So do you not want a new doctor."

"No," Granny said. "I'm happy with this one."

While I hope that he does not commit a much bigger fuck up in the future, I'm relieved that she is not upset about what happened. This doctor got lucky. That's all I'll say.*

*Except that if he does anything to hurt Granny in the future, I will come after that fucker with everything I've got.

I Don't Even Know What to Title This

Granny is mostly OK. Sunday the cardiac doc came to discuss her options. Her blood work indicated that she had a very small heart attack, so he wanted to do an angiogram. Depending on what he saw, he would insert balloons or stents into her arteries. Everyone agreed that because she needs oral surgery soon, he would use nonmedicated stents because the medicated ones would basically cause her to bleed out if she had dental work.

On Monday morning, the doctor told us that the test went well. He said that her heart was strong and that there was no damage from the heart attack. Then he said he saw a lot of heart disease and inserted a balloon and two medicated stents.

My mom and I recoiled. "What do you mean medicated stents?" she asked.

"Oh. Ooops. I forgot. I even wrote it on the board and I forgot. Sorry about that."

Yes, that is actually what he said. "Ooops... sorry about that."

"What about the oral surgery?" my mom asked. She was trying not to punch him. (She later told me that she was more angry about his flippant tone than the fuck up, not that she condoned the fuck up.)

"Oh, she'll have to wait at least six months, but I really recommend a year," he said as if it's no big deal to have a mouth full of rotting teeth. "Maybe you can find a dentist who would be willing to do a procedure while she's on Plavix."

I pictured some back alley dentist ripping up my Granny mouth and leaving her to bleed out when things went awry. I wanted to slap the doctor. (Husband suggested slapping the doctor - with a lawsuit.) I know it could be worse, but this really, really sucks.

Early morning at the hospital

Granny's hospital cubicle was dark when the nurse arrived slightly
after 7 am to prep her for her angiogram/angioplasty. "I want to turn
the light on so I can see you," she told Granny.

"You'll be sorry," Granny replied. I realized then how much of my
repertoire I take from her.

As Granny rose from the bed to go the the bathroom, the back of her
hospital gown flapped open.

"Take a good look so you'll know what your butt will look like when
you're 87," Mom said to me.

"Hmmm... It's not that different from now," I noted.

"What's going on here?" Granny mumbled. "No peeking!"

A real house of yuks, her room is.

While Granny used the facilities, the nurse's assistant waited outside
the bathroom door. My mom hovered near by. I slumped in my coat in a
chair by the empty bed.

The nurse turned to me and smiled. "So are you in high school?"

I sat straight up and giggled. "Me? Really?" She nodded. "I'm 34 -
thank you!" I guess I look pretty good compared to the other senior
citizens she sees every day. A room full of yuks, I tell you.

--
Sent from my mobile device

Blog: www.cussandotherrants.com
Book: www.offthebeatensubwaytrack.com

A Hospital Conversation

My mom, sister, and I sat with my grandmother in her hospital cubicle,
chatting (and sweating, since Granny convinced the nurse to turn the
thermostat to 80, which may kill the woman sharing the tiny room). I
told them about the 8mm films from the "olden days." One was a
birthday party of Dana's.

"Hey, so you remember how old you were when you got that stuffed
animal dog wearing a purple striped leotard and leg warmers?" I asked
my sister.

"You mean Fifi?" Dana replied. "Hmmmm... I don't know how old I was
when I got Fifi."

"What?" Grandma cut in. "Why are you talking about feces?"

--
Sent from my mobile device

Blog: www.cussandotherrants.com
Book: www.offthebeatensubwaytrack.com

Report from the Homestead

Because I worried about my grandma when I saw her at the end of
November, Husband and I headed to Chicago for the weekend. Things are
not so good.

Upon landing I learned that Granny went to the ER earlier that
morning. She had woken up in a cold sweat with aches at 4 am. My mom
went to her house and called an ambulence. The EMTs thought it was
the flu.

At the ER, they decided to admit her for observation, although they
ruled out the flu. Blood work indicated that she may have had a small
heart attack. She's going to get an angiogram on Monday, but
hopefully we'll know more tomorrow.

Since our original plan to belatedly celebrate my mom's birthday at
Red Lobster was scrapped, we had a little cake from the grocery store
at home instead. This could have sent my 8 month old nephew to the
hospital, as my bubbe tried to give him a piece of cake. Seriously.

When my sister all but slapped it out of her hand, Bubbe pouted and
told her it was OK because she was just giving him crumbs, as if
infants should eat cake and sugary frosting and my sister was
depriving him. Then she winked at me.

On a more uplifting note, we did have a hearty laugh when my
brother-in-law mentioned that Marcus is already 8 months old, but
lacking a job. "He needs to do some hard labor to earn his keep,"
Ryan said.

"He does hard labor," my mom said. "He works really hard when he
makes a doody!" Marcus, who sat in my dad's lap during the discussion,
banged happily on the table in approval.

--
Sent from my mobile device

Blog: www.cussandotherrants.com
Book: www.offthebeatensubwaytrack.com

Breaking the Law Hurts

I hit my knee this afternoon while I was breaking the law. Now it hurts. I didn't want to break the law, but I was forced to when my monthly MetroCard pass stopped working and several the subway station clerks refused to give me an envelope to return it, insisting that it will work if I run it through the turnstile enough times.

It doesn't.

The good news is that it works in one turnstile in the station nearest my apartment, so I can get to work on time. The bad news is that it doesn't work in any other; all it says is "PLEASE SWIPE AGAIN." This would be fine if people actually worked in the stations and could buzz me through, but their jobs where eliminated, so many of the stations I use are completely unattended. When my card doesn't work, I have to jump the turnstile.

So this afternoon when I left work, I tried to swipe my card. I gave it a good five minutes before I realized it was not going to work. My initial attempt to duck under the turnstile (which worked well for me in Times Square on Tuesday night) led me to fall, partly because my backpack got caught on the turnstile. It was ugly. Fortunately, no one was around to witness me embarrassing myself. Then when I stepped over the turnstile, I banged my knee.

"Crime" doesn't pay, I guess.

"I Am Not a Hero"

Miep Gies, one of five people who hid Anne Frank's family and four other people, died on Monday night. She was 100 years old. I read parts of her memoir, "Anne Frank Remembered," a few months ago when I went to research at the Holocaust museum in New York City.

"I am not a hero," she wrote. "I stand at the end of the long, long line of good Dutch people who did what I did and more - much - more during those day and terrible times years ago, but always like yesterday in the heart of those of us who bear witness."

If anyone can read those lines without crying, I don't understand how.

Today the New York Times published a letter from someone praising Mrs. Gies and lamenting the lack of "empathy, courage, and selflessness" that exists in people today, noting that these "were once the kinds of behaviors we valued most in human beings." This is a nice sentiment, but it is not true. It has never been true. If we really valued these behaviors, the Holocaust would not have happened. Years of institutionalized and individual racism would not exist because people would have stood up and said, "This is wrong," no matter what the cost. People were as narcissistic and self-involved back then as they are today. That is what makes Miep Gies so special.

Mrs. Gies said that she was "only one" of many who acted so humanely and courageously, but that is another indication of her generous nature. Then and now, people pay enormous lip service to the "sanctity of life." Most people will not risk their own lives to stand up for others. I think often about what I would do if I were in Mrs. Gies situation. I only hope that I would act as she did.

Speaking of Fame...

Obviously, this photo is of the crowd of shrieking 12 year old girls who lined West 75th Street on Friday night, the police cars that escorted a black SUV down the street to the stage entrance to the Beacon theater, and Nick Jonas getting out of the SUV.

I passed by the mob scene on my way home from work and thought it was hilarious enough to stand around in the cold for a few minutes and repeatedly mumble, "Oh. My. God. It's the Jonas Brothers!" as other startled Upper West Siders made their ways home. The best part is that I didn't know it was Jonas-related, but decided that it had to be, given the situation. (I guess it could have been for Taylor Swift, but then maybe boys would also be there.) I was only partly right - the show was Nick sans Brothers.

Once upon a time, in a land far away, I was a 12 year old girl. The New Kids on the Block were the hotties of the moment. The female tweens would line up on cold streets and shriek for their heartthrobs, but I didn't really get it back then, and I still don't today. This weekend, Dr. P and I discussed our wonderment at the crazed desire that girls threw toward Elvis. (We saw a clip of an Elvis flick on TV and she commented that he was sort of chubby, even before he was Fat Elvis.) Maybe if I was a youth when the Beatles first journeyed across the ocean would I feel compelled to participate in such behavior. I'm such a dork.

Bobblehead Suzanne: Online or On TV...

I wish that I didn't nod nervously throughout my interview with the wonderful AnneLise Sorensen, but I am glad that I didn't look like a zombie:



Thanks again to AnneLise for having me on her show!

Thanks for the Heads Up

A minute ago, an email popped up on my BlackBerry. It was from an organization that I interviewed with in early November. The email thanked me for recently interviewing with them.

Since they had told me at the time of my interview that second round interviews would take place in mid-November and then no one called me, I used my finely honed logic to deduce that I was not a finalist for the job. It wouldn't bother me if they had just sent an email two months later thanking me for coming in and informing me that I didn't get the job but for the fact that it said "recently." Two months ago - not recent. Either send a timely rejection, or don't bother. Yeesh.

Incidentally, I accepted my current job once I left that interview. All's well that ends well.

Best Public Service Ever!

A lot of people I adore are librarians. Not coincidentally, the
library was one of my favorite places when I was a wee lass. At
various ages, I loved the summer reading club, the blocks, the story
hour, and the librarians who ran it all. Once I was at the library
when a tornado hit, and I was so excited to see all the books they had
in the off-limits basement area in which patrons and staff took
refuge.

Anyway, when I first moved to NYC, the library system overwhelmed me.
Only in the past two years or so did I really turn to the library for
books instead of sitting in Barnes & Noble for hours or buying used
books. Now that I "get" it, I realize what an amazing system it is.
Cardholders can order a book from a distant branch and have it
delivered to one near them. Books can be renewed online, too.

Today I even discovered that one of the Manhattan branches is open
three days a week from 8 am to 11 pm. In economically hard times,
libraries are often lifelines for people. It swells me with pride to
know that my city library system is finding a way to deliver services
rather than cut them.

All libraries - and the people who staff them - are awesome. Thanks
for all the hard work!

--
Sent from my mobile device

Blog: www.cussandotherrants.com
Book: www.offthebeatensubwaytrack.com

My Stash

I sorted my stash tonight, and made a horrific discovery. One of my maintenance inhalers (Qvar) expired in October 2006. Even I'm not messing around with that - in the trash it goes. I also discovered that the sample of my regular inhaler (Ventolin) given to me in December by my allergist expired in June 2009. Harumph.

Ironically, earlier in the evening, while chatting with Dr. P on the phone, I discovered a jar of pasta sauce that expired in December 2007. It was unopened. Dr. P advised me to toss it. I put it back in the pantry. (It was unopened!*) I did, however, toss out the jar of pasta sauce that expired in June 2009, which seems to be a busy month for products to expire in my household. (It was half empty, and I thought I spotted mold in it, although it was refrigerated.**)

Fortunately, my 'stache stash is stocked and ready to rock the world, should I ever need a clever disguise or seven. Steph gave Husband a new extra long fake mustache and a mini mustache comb for the holidays. Between the asthma meds and the synthetic hair and glue, we are good to go.

*God, I am turning into my aunt. If I ever serve salad dressing that expired two years ago, then claim it is fine because it is unopened, I give the recipient of said dressing permission to slap me.
**There is hope for me yet.

Awesomeness

My cousin told me to say hi to Tina and Alex when I went for my taping at 30 Rock, but sadly, I did not see them. Heck, I didn't even see the guy who plays the page. Or Janice Huff, my favorite weather person, who I'd be far more likely to run into since I was on the same floor as the news. I think.

The lack of celebrity sightings did not make my first TV appearance* any less exciting. AnneLise calmed my nerves, assuring me that I did not look like a zombie with too much eye makeup. She also said she liked my pixie haircut. Once I saw myself on the monitor, I felt a little better. AnneLise and I sat in front of a green screen, and I thought the subway car backdrop that they chose was pretty awesome.

AnneLise was great leading the interview, and I had a fun time talking to her. The production staff was also very nice. After we finished, they asked if it was my first time taping for TV. When I said yes, they said I was very professional. It was just a super experience overall. I can't thank AnneLise enough, and I also can't wait to see the segment on New York Nonstop!

*This discounts various times that I showed up in the audience of shows, like The Bozo Show when I was a kid, or during my period of talk show obsessions in 1994-1995, when I made a comment on The Rikki Lake Show and possibly also The Rolanda Show. Also, I ever so briefly appeared eating hot dogs in MTV's episode of Real Life ("I Want to Be a Professional Eater") because I stuffed my face next to Tim "Eater X" Janus, who was featured on the program. Although exciting, I do not count these.

30 Rock

Tomorrow I will be interviewed about my book by AnneLise Sorensen for her weekly travel segment on NBC. I owe this exciting opportunity to Julie Ross Godar, who is friends with AnneLise and suggested that she contact me.

Barring any last minutes changes in studio availability, I'm meeting AnneLise during my lunch hour at - drum roll, trumpet blast, gong bang, whatever other large noise - 30 Rockefeller Center! Yes, 30 Rock! Man, oh man, I am so excited.

At the same time, I am scared shitless. Not to be interviewed - I'm psyched about that - but to appear on HDTV. AnneLise suggested that I will be fine if I wear "just a little more make up than usual." Ha ha ha ha! Oh, if only she knew. That means I will look like a zombie with a little lip gloss* and mascara. Sigh.

*That, however, is not like dressing up a pig in lipstick.

Bless the Internet!

Not long ago, I wrote about my mother's love of fruit cake (concluding that it takes one to know one), but I didn't mention that as she told me her tale of fruit cakeless woe on the phone, I plopped my ass down in front of the computer and ordered one online for her birthday. (I didn't want to spoil the surprise in case she read my blog before it arrived.) My blog friend Pamela kindly suggested a good online fruit cake source, but I had already secretly ordered from Hickory Farms. I believe that I will make online fruit cake ordering a new tradition. Next year: Pamela's suggestion, Collins Street Bakery. I love their history.

After I accomplished the fruit cake mission, I turned to the internet for some research. I was asked to contribute an article to an almanac about New York City. My assigned topic was a forgotten crime spree from the 1950s. The New York Times archives offered me articles from those days that gave me all the information I needed to complete my story. No microfiche! Hurray!

With the internet, is there ever a reason to leave home except to go to the gym, see people, or travel? (And the travel can be 100% planned through the internet!) I can do research, order gifts, and arrange for food to be brought to my doorstep. If only I could harness the power of the internet to work from home.

I love you, internet....