right on, chuck

they got to me.

last Friday in the car, i had the radio tuned to the all-holiday-music station. on Monday, i dislodged the box of Christmas decorations from the top shelf in the closet. last night, i started writing out Christmas cards. tonight, i'm going to the tree lighting at Rockefeller Center.

the only problem? i'm not feeling the teensiest bit of holiday spirit. no wonder: it's still November.

years and years ago, when i was just a wee one, the McCarthy family on the next street over would decorate their entire house every Christmas. the exterior would be completely outlined in colored lights, there'd be plastic light-up figures on the front yard - Santa, Mary and Joseph, Frosty, and Rudolph as one big happy family. the windows were decorated, the front door, the roof, garage - it was, in a word, fantastic. they unveiled this unrivaled display each year on December 1st. i lived for that date. when it finally arrived, i would hover by the family room window as soon as it got dark outside - their house was visible from that angle - and wait for the moment when the McCarthys flipped the switch. oh, it was a beautiful sight, every year more magnificent than the last. to me, it was the official beginning of the Christmas season: come December 1st, the festivities could begin.

when i was home last week, in that same neighborhood, there were houses already lit up - before Thanksgiving. which i guess is no surprise, considering Christmas merchandise is available these days even before Halloween, which makes radio stations go to all-holiday music formats insanely early, which makes everyone think they're behind if they're not buying tinsel and blow-up snowglobes for their front yards in October, which causes extreme stress and downright madness, which is why people stand in line outside Best Buy at four-thirty in the morning, just hours after Thanksgiving dinner when they should be home in bed instead, angrily determined to get their hands on a marked-down plasma television because they'll be damned if so-and-so standing behind them gets their dirty paws on one before they do because this is Christmas, dammit, screw you and yours - i WANT a f%*&ing plasma TV!

in my opinion, Charlie Brown has it right. there's a reason they've shown that special every year for 40-something years (although, to my chagrin, ABC aired it last night - again, it's still November). Christmas has become big business, and every year i feel sadder about it. 'tis the season when retailers make up for all the money they've lost all year, pulling out all the stops to get in the black (anyone else getting 40 obnoxious promotional e-mails a day?). and 'tis the season when credit card companies sit back and listen to the sweet sounds - not of church bells or jingle bells - but to the cha-ching of people going into debt, most of the time spending money on gifts they haven't even really thought about but will still be paying for six months from now.

last night, as i was sitting on the sofa surrounded by Christmas cards and envelopes and labels and colored pens, i realized i wasn't the least bit enjoying it. i was just succumbing to the pressure, to the so-much-to-do-and-only-27-days-til-Christmas hysteria. most of us claim to love this season, but do we really? do we love it the way it is now? do we even remember it come January 2nd? in the last five or six years, i've felt a sense of relief when it's all over with, and jeez - December used to be my favorite month.

i think what we really need is a modern day Linus to remind us what Christmas is all about. (and i don't just mean the Baby Jesus story, although if that's what the season means to you, that's super.) for me, it's about baking cookies to give away, picking out and decorating our tree, spending time with my friends and family, watching the Christmas Story marathon on TBS, and singing along with the Muppets Christmas album, like the utter dork that i am.

and this year especially, it means slowing down. those people who want to rush through the season like a whirligig, well, they can whirl themselves right into the new year for all i care. me, i'm just going to focus on enjoying it - calmly, sanely, and stress-free.

starting, of course, on December 1st.

mb

a short story

so there i was, sitting in a chair in the hair salon, wringing my hands beneath the black cape draped around me. the stylist was making her way around my head - snip, snip, snip. and she had a look on her face that was a blend of fierce concentration and sheer terror... perhaps because with every "snip" my expression got a little tighter. i finally couldn't take it anymore and closed my eyes. i knew i was being pathetic, but i couldn't help it.

a month or two ago, i had this brilliant idea to get my hair cut. it had been so long for so long and i was itching for a change. but it's a funny thing when you have long hair - you get inordinately attached to it. even though you reach the point where you're always pulling it back into a ponytail or shoving it into a bun because you can't be bothered to style it anymore, you still can't quite imagine actually chopping it off.

after vacillating over it for weeks, i decided to just do it. but i went prepared: with pictures of styles i liked, and, of course, my mother. i made an appointment at the salon at home, where my mom is pretty much a celebrity. she's been going there for 20 years, knows everyone and is utterly adored. i figured with her there, nothing could go wrong.

and, OK, nothing really did go wrong. it just didn't turn out the way i had anticipated. at one point, after lopping off about five inches, the stylist asked me if the length was OK. "it's great," i told her, staring at my new shoulder-skimming strands. "that's exactly what i wanted." i was about to breathe a sigh of relief when something crazy happened: she kept cutting. suddenly, it was as if Edward Scissorhands were whirling around my head, clumps of hair flying madly through the air. i kept trying to catch my mother's eye - she was sitting in the empty hair chair next to me - but she was out of my peripheral vision. "help!" i wanted to gasp. "stop her!"

finally, she put the scissors down and picked up the blow-dryer. maybe it's not as short as it looks, i reasoned. maybe when it's dry, it'll look different. turns out, i was right - it did look different. it looked shorter. she sprayed it and teased it and i was desperate to get out of her chair before i burst into tears, but i could tell she was worried i didn't like it - because she asked me about a dozen times if i liked it - and i didn't have the heart to act as appalled as i felt. instead, i gushed over it and walked to the counter to pay with a big fake smile pasted to my face.

"you know i'm about to have a heart attack, right?" i muttered to my mom, who was oblivious to my angst. she told me she loved it. traitor.

the whole car ride home i kept glancing at myself in the rear view mirror. "oh my god, oh my god," i moaned. my poor mother felt like she'd let me down somehow, hadn't sufficiently used her star power to save my precious hair. again, i realized the whole time how ridiculous i was being, how impossibly many more worse things could have been happening to me, but it was like i had a Samson complex - without my hair, i was weak, powerless...funny-looking.

well, it's been five days now, and i'm still getting used to it. everyone who has seen it loves it, or so they say - except for the girl behind the counter in the sandwich shop i visit once or twice a week. she saw me this afternoon and shrieked, "oh my god, what happened?" motioning to my hair. "i know," i said. "i'm still getting used to it." she stared at me for a moment or two and finally replied, "well, at least it'll grow back."

amen, sister.

mb

i'm stuffed

it's almost 11 o'clock on thanksgiving night. it's been a whirlwind day, and at the moment i have to confess i'm extremely thankful to have nothing but several hours of sleep ahead of me. nevertheless, it was a great holiday, despite the pretty gross weather.

this will be a short post, as i'm almost comatose, but i wanted to note that i really did feel thankful today, for so many things... my family, my health, the fact that i've (almost) made it through my 20s in one piece. i was also thinking today about how important traditions are to me. this time of year - at least the way i see it - is all about traditions, which is probably why i love it so much. maybe it's because i resist change, that i take comfort knowing i can count on certain things being the same. all i know is that every night-before-thanksgiving, i see my friends from high school, at least a few. i did that last night, and even though we each only had one pint, and even though our conversations veered more toward serious life issues than more frivolous things, it was great, just like it is every year.

and every thanksgiving morning, i wake up a little before 9 o'clock, so that i'm up and have the TV turned on for the start of the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade. i watch the first hour - of course i need to see all the Broadway performances - and then i take my mom's walkman (yes, the kind with a tape deck) and listen to the next hour while i go for a long run. it clears my mind and alleviates any calorie-obsessing later in the day. i always make sure i'm back in time to see Santa Claus reach Herald Square.

and every Thanksgiving, just before we eat my parents and i write down the things we're thankful for that year. we read them aloud, and even though that might sound corny, it really winds up being funny and meaningful. we save the lists each year, so we can look back and compare.

i take comfort in certain things staying the same, i do. (which is ironic, considering i chopped off a lot of my hair yesterday - but that's a whole separate post, oh dear.) so i guess today i'm most thankful for traditions. and speaking of traditions, i'm about to put Home for the Holidays in the DVD player, to watch until i fall asleep. it's one of my favorite movies, and - go figure - i make a point of watching it every Thanksgiving.

g'night.

mb

thanking my lucky stars

every year, Christmas steals a little more of Thanksgiving's thunder, which i think is ridiculous. there is a time and place for Santas and jingle bells and pressure to buy meaningless gifts - it's called December. this lovely month of November is about the Macy's parade, turkey and stuffing and sweet potatoes with marshmallows on top, and being thankful for things you forget to be thankful for all year long.

so this week, i'm bringing Thanksgiving back. today, and every other day this week, i'm going to write about what i'm thankful for in my life. lucky for me, there is plenty.

first up - my friends. i love my friends. all of them. the ones i've known forever, the ones i made not too long ago, the ones who live nearby, and the ones who are far flung. they're all different and wonderful and perfect. each fills her own little spot in my heart. they make me laugh, they make me think, they let me be myself, they tell me when i'm being a moron, they stop me from being too hard on myself, they listen, they laugh at me, they push me, they never get tired of reminiscing about the same damn things. without them, i would be lost. so, i would like to devote a little space to some of them:

christine & kate - my growing-up friends. we've stayed together through 12 years of Catholic school, and all the changes and excitement since. we live in different states and have different personalities, but we have a history and that is a very special and rare thing. we get together as often as we can and always have the best time. it's pretty amazing to be able to go out for drinks with people who knew you way back when you were learning how to spell.

kerri & geever - my college cohorts. kerri saved me from my lonely existence, and geever saved me from my horrible first roommate. i have more inside jokes with these two than with anyone else. we saw each other at our worst and at our best. we drifted apart and found each other again, many times. we cleaned up a guy's vomit together. that is bonding. these girls know things about me no one else does. they were - and still are - my sisters.


bonnie & chandra - my pixie dust. these girls were two of my roommates at Vista Way during the summer of 1997. it was an unforgettable experience, in good ways and bad. it's crazy how close you become to someone when you're thrown together, especially in a crazy place like Disney World. you start to think maybe you were brought together on purpose, that maybe you're soulmates. i think these girls are.


kate, dolch & lauren - my city girls. these three come from very different parts of my life, and each on her own is a treasure. together, they're trouble...in the best possible way. one example of many: last Friday night we crashed a random guy's birthday party, scammed free drinks at the open bar, met Liev Schreiber's brother, and sang Godspell songs on the cab ride home. needless to say, my life would be dullsville without them.

this is by no means a comprehensive list. just a few of the lovely women who've put up with me through all my ups and downs, ins and outs. to me, they're the salt of the earth.

mb

can i just say?

there have been some noteworthy events this week that i feel the need to vent about, and now that i have an outlet, i thought i'd indulge. in fact, most weeks i have things to vent about, so i may make this a regular Friday feature. yippee. this week's topics:

judith regan sucks we all know OJ Simpson is a pathetic excuse for a human being, which begs the question why are we still aware of his existence? apparently it's because publisher-from-hell Regan needed a smarm fix real bad and decided to publish the most inane "book" since - well, really, since Ann Coulter's anti-widow tirade last summer, but anyway, my point is - books should be used for good. i'm not saying that they all have to be happy, uplifting stories, or even subjects that will please everyone and offend no one. that would be impossible, and probably really boring. but these books-to-make-a-buck really need to stop. the publishing world has turned into a sort of legal defense fund/bankruptcy-buster for famous people who shouldn't be famous, lamebrains who've racked up lawsuit bills and other mounds of debt living their frivolous lives. some publisher gets a whiff of a seedy, pandering story, hands a wad of cash to the "author" and slaps together some sorry excuse for a book. when will it stop? not any time soon, considering i just checked and OJ's book - which isn't even available for another week-and-a-half, is ranked #24 on amazon.com. why, people? WHY? you are the reason Kevin Federline thinks someone will read his autobiography, don't you realize that? please, make it stop!

the wedding i've swear - tried to resist, i've tried to ignore it, i've tried not to know a single thing about it, but when the first segment of the 7:30 half hour of the Today show features Billy Bush blathering from Rome about Tom and Katie's wedding, you know it's unavoidable. you know there is no escape. so what i would like to know, since this is being shoved down my throat, is why all the hubbub? why are they getting married in what's apparently the paparazzi capital of the world? why not have a simple, small ceremony somewhere remote? or at least some place where there isn't a good chance of your precious baby being permanently blinded by flashbulbs. i say - the bigger the wedding, the shorter the marriage. the more attention you attract, the more hysteria you create, the less time you have to focus on the fact that the whole thing is a big fat sham. the whole thing does have some comedic value, though. apparently, part of the vow that Tom will make is to provide Katie with all the things a girl needs, according to Scientologists: "clothes and food and tender happiness and frills, a pan, a comb, perhaps a cat." i totally did not make that up.

derek jeter so wants me apparently that cad-with-a-glove-of-gold was spotted in LA with Jessica Biel. there was flirting, giggling, shoulder-rubbing [hold on - i need to barf - OK, better now]. this only interests me because i have been told on a few occasions that i resemble Ms. Biel. (though not from behind, unfortunately.) i don't see it, but hey - at least i don't get Molly Ringwald anymore. anyway, i had been convinced that i was not Jeter's type - none of the winners he's been with for more than two days have looked like me at all, until now. perhaps he's inching a bit nearer to moi via Jessica. one step closer to our chance meeting where he spots me and time stops and he can't believe his good fortune........ no? not so much?

trade places with me, mer i admit, i was a little bummed when Katie Couric left Today, and i had my doubts about Meredith Viera at first. but now i think she's great. she's a dork, she's goofy, she has Matt's number completely - and in the last week alone she's been in the Rockettes' Christmas Show kickline and Mary Poppins on Broadway. (if only i'd known that morning news shows were the way to the boards... i would have majored in broadcast journalism instead of print! rats.) anyway, what i'm trying to say is: Katie who?

you must be starving! so this morning i'm reading the Daily News and on page 12 is a rather large photo of Gisele in her skivvies applying lipstick in a mirror because who doesn't need to see that at eight o'clock in the morning? apparently there was a Victoria's Secret fashion show last night, and the reporter got some choice quotes from the models backstage, one of whom said that as part of her preparation for the show, she went to the gym a lot, "and i tried to cut down on chocolate. it's not that i stopped eating chocolate, but it's that i tried to have half of what i usually have." (in other words, she only ate half a chocolate chip.) oh, the sacrifices one must endure to prance about in one's underpants.

OK. i'm done now. onto the weekend...!

mb

so this girl walks into a pub...

i will preface this entry with: yeah, i know i'm a dork.

so yesterday i made plans to see my friend Oster (one of at least three friends i refer to by last name, i don't know why). we hadn't seen each other in what felt like forever and were way overdue. i suggested going to our usual wine bar on 7th Avenue in Chelsea. she e-mailed back, "Ehhh. There's a pub nearby, let's go there instead." i wasn't wild about the idea, but figured what the hell.

she got stuck at work so i found the place on my own - Peter McManus, it's called - on the corner of 19th and 7th. it looks normal enough from the outside, just your regular pub. the inside, however - well, as Oster put it, it's like being in an Ed Burns movie. or in a bar upstate, or somewhere in the middle of Pennsylvania. it really felt - as i texted Oster as soon as i got there - like a time warp. the place was dingy, i swear the air looked smoky even though it's illegal, and the patrons were - at least at first - 90% old men who'd clearly been drinking all day. normally i love places like this, but last night i felt painfully conspicuous and out of place. i'd been inspired that morning, for some reason, to throw on something other than my usual jeans and tee shirt for work. i'd gone all out, in fact - skirt, high boots, relatively low-cut sweater. i'd been pretty proud of the effort all day, but that pride dribbled away when i walked into McManus's. it really seemed like the music screeched to a halt when i opened the door, and all the patrons' heads swung in my direction. they stared at me as if i'd crashed their party. i half-expected one of them to ask me if i was lost.

anyway, i found an empty stool at the bar, ordered a pint and pulled out my copy of the Daily News. Oster arrived a half-hour later and we ordered more beer and some food (if mozzarella sticks and onion rings qualify as food) and finally got to catching up. Oster and i used to go out almost every Wednesday when we worked at Seventeen together, and carried on the tradition for a while even after we both left. our dive of choice then was Brother Jimmy's, as fratty a frat bar as you can find. Wednesday was ladies night at Bro Jo's, as we called it, and very rarely did we have an uneventful time there. last night, as McManus's started to fill in a little with all sorts of characters i said, "this is like Brother Jimmy's, for old people." she smiled her Oster smile and said, "it's Uncle Jimmy's."

a little later, we were in the middle of a conversation when in walked a tiny blond woman with a familiar face. it registered a moment later - Amy Poehler. Oster had told me that she'd seen Horatio Sanz in the bar a few times, so it was a funny coincidence that another Saturday Night Live cast member showed up. she looked completely unassuming, very un-famous, and just sat down at a table in the bar area with a couple non-descript guys.

the thing about New York is that celebrities sort of blend in. that's apparently why so many of them come here. New Yorkers supposedly could care less, don't bother them, don't even notice them most of the time. that's me - i never really notice anyone unless i'm paying close attention, which doesn't happen very often. but seeing Amy Poehler was sort of cool because i think she's hilarious, and she's married to Will Arnett, who's even more hilarious than she is. i have to admit, the fact that Amy was there gave the place some credibility. "see?" Oster said. "i told you."

a half-hour later, Oster and i were discussing People magazine's latest crop of Sexiest Men Alive. we agreed that we're over cover boy Clooney and quickly moved on to discussing the actual good picks they made - Patrick Dempsey, the new guy on Lost, Taye Digs, John Krasinski from The Office. i was particularly gushing over John. i love The Office, i love the character he plays, and i happen to think he's completely adorable. i swear to god, maybe 30 seconds later, while we're still discussing our sexiest picks, a few more familiar faces walk in the door - Will Arnett, Kevin Pollack, some actor who looks like a younger Paul Giamatti and - i'm not kidding - John Krasinski. i was squeezing Oster's arm so tight, i'm sure i left a bruise.

only once in my life have i lost my mind over a famous person. i met Joey McIntyre a week before my 25th birthday - i'd been slightly obsessed with him as a pre-pubescent and couldn't resist the opportunity to see him perform in an off-Broadway show. i took a picture with him after the show, which was pretty embarrassing, but not as bad as what happened a few days later. the mortifying, pathetic, most ridiculous part was when i mailed him the picture with a note, inviting him to my birthday party. (he, uh, didn't show up.) i still haven't forgiven myself.

anyway. i tried extremely hard not to be a spaz last night, despite the fact that Jim from The Office was playing Golden Tee with Gob from Arrested Development two feet behind me. they seemed like normal guys, drinking beer, hanging out, hopefully unaware that i was gaping at them. Amy Poehler was old news by now. My heart was thumping solely for John Krasinski. not because i wanted to make-out with him or become his best friend. seriously. i'm not that nuts. it was just because this is a guy i had just been reading about on people.com earlier in the day, a guy i watch every week and absolutely love, a guy i really had not expected to see in this crappy little pub on a random Wednesday night.

i really, really wanted to ignore the situation, just keep chatting with Oster and the dorky (non-famous) guys sitting next to us. but i couldn't stop thinking that i had to do something. i don't often find myself in such situations, and i knew i would kick myself later if i just shrugged it off and sat there. "buy him a drink," Oster suggested. i already knew he was drinking Guinness - a girl just notices these things - and i sort of liked the idea. problem was, as far as i could see, his pint was full. maybe i needed another in. i got up to go to the bathroom at one point and brushed by him on the way - not even on purpose, the pub is just pretty small - but he was deep in conversation with Amy. i sat back down on my stool afterward and vacillated: be ballsy, or be a wimp? take a chance, or go home? have a story to tell, or no story at all? i glanced back once more and John's pint was two-thirds empty.

"OK," i said to my friends at the bar, "i'll do it." i flagged down the one young, non-senile bartender and began my schpiel: "look, i know i'm a huge dork, but you know that guy over there in the navy blue shirt, he's on The Office? i wanna buy him a beer. i'm not a stalker, i'm not a freak, i have a boyfriend i'm very happy with. i just think he's really cool." the bartender thought nothing of it, said, "no problem. he's drinking Guinness." i paid the $5, the bartender filled the pint glass, and took it to John, who was sitting in a booth in the back by then with the rest of the group, out of my line of vision. the bartender came back a minute later and said, "John said that was really sweet of you. i told him where you're sitting." i smiled and thanked him and tried to appear calm, but my heart was pounding like crazy.

"that was really brave of you," Oster told me. "i know!" i said, still a little amazed that i'd done it. all i could think was that i'm getting pretty bold in my old age. i was a little bit proud of myself. i mean, i used to be the shyest, most play-it-safe girl. now, i'm buying beers for guys on TV. "if he's a true gentleman," Oster was saying, in the middle of my reverie, "he'll come thank you, or ask the bartender what you're drinking and buy you a beer." i gasped. "No! Oster, i'm drinking Bud Lite!" as fast as i could get the bartender's attention, i ordered a Bass.

maybe 15 or 20 minutes later, while Oster and I were engrossed in another conversation, i felt a hand on my back. "are you the one who bought me the Guinness?" just like that John Krasinski was standing there, talking to me, asking my name, offering me his hand - "I'm John," he said - and oh was i so happy i'd dressed up that morning instead of my usual jeans and a tee shirt. he was saying, "that was really cool of you, thank you so much. that was so nice," and i was saying, "no problem, you're welcome, i think you're great." i asked him if he was hosting SNL this week, if that's why he was hanging out with those guys and he said, "no, but i should be, right?" in an incredibly goofy, adorable way - he came off exactly like Jim, actually - and then he explained that he goes way back with Amy and Will, and they were all just hanging out. i told him i couldn't believe the place when i walked in (and Oster got in her line about being in an Ed Burns movie) and that it was so funny to see familiar faces there. he said he hated clubs, much prefers places like this, always sticks to places like McManus when he's in New York. "i was impressed that you knew i was drinking Guinness," he said to me. "i wasn't stalking you, i swear, i just noticed," i told him, which Oster made fun of me for later ("you could have just said you asked the bartender what he was drinking!") but he said, "no, no, it was really cool." he had his coat on, i figured he was taking off, so he thanked me again, i said it was great meeting him, and that was it.

the amazing thing was, i didn't stumble over a single word. i didn't say anything embarrassing, i didn't drool on myself, or on him. i was just thrilled. thrilled that i'd been brave, thrilled that he'd come up to thank me, so thrilled that he was such a nice, normal guy. we left the bar a little later, and i couldn't wipe the smile off my face for anything. "aren't you glad we came here?" Oster gloated as we walked out. "yeah, yeah, yeah," i grumbled.

then i looked at her. "you know we're coming here every Wednesday now, right?"

mb

earth to dad

today is my dad's birthday. he's not really telling anyone about it, so don't say anything if you see him. but i am taking it upon myself to dedicate an entry to him today because he is, after all, my hero.

i've inherited many traits from my father: my sense of humor, my perfectionism, my love of red wine, my penchant for overthinking, my extreme (sometimes frightening) passion for the Yankees, my relentless sweet tooth, my green eyes, my smart-ass mouth, my competitive steak, and a few more.

my dad has always been part-father, part-buddy to me. when i was little, he would whip me into a frenzy every night before bedtime. this didn't exactly thrill my mother, but i loved it. we would race upstairs to my bedroom, both of us so fiercely wanting be the first to cross the finish line that one night we actually ripped a limb off my Curious George doll in the process.

when i was kid, i would follow him around everywhere on the weekend - front yard, back yard, basement, wherever - wanting to know exactly what he was doing, and how to do it. i was fascinated by the way he could fix pretty much anything and that he knew how to do everything from painting a wall to building a deck. he never minded me being his shadow, and now thanks to him i'm pretty handy for a girl.

in high school, my dad may have spent more time working on the plays and musicals than i did. he built sets, he supplied props... my senior year he even snagged a part in the show. a speaking part! and he upstaged me! we shared a scene in Bye, Bye Birdie, a show in which i was one of the leads - it was a dream role for me, actually - and there he was, stealing laughs from me, every single night. but i loved it.

my whole life, my dad has gone the extra mile for me. when we stopped taking summer vacations to the Jersey Shore because we got a pool in our backyard, he built me my own perfect little beach in the corner. he moved me in and out of every dorm room i had in college - packing and unpacking the car, lugging my superfluous belongings between Pennsylvania and Long Island, twice a year for four years. when i got terminated from the Disney World College Program, he picked me up from the airport and gave me the biggest hug. we talked about my severe lapses in judgment, but he never made me feel bad about what happened. and when we had to put my dog to sleep last year, he was the one to stay in the exam room with her while the vet administered the shot because he knew it would be too much heartache for me to bear.

now that i'm older, my dad has gone from being a buddy to being one of my best friends. now i go home on weekends and we share a bottle of wine (or three) and talk about everything - our jobs, TV shows, sports, politics, the meaning of life. he's still my dad too - willing to offer advice or input on career moves or my 401(k) - but he knows it's my life now, that i have to live it for me and no one else, and he lets me do my own thing.

he's taught me so much - humility, hard work, sacrifice, how to bounce back after mistakes (and that's just what i've learned by losing to him in Scrabble!) - way too many things to fit in one blog entry. but he really is about the best dad a girl could ask for and i just want to wish him the happiest birthday, a happy, healthy, productive year - and all the red wine and dark chocolate he could possibly wish for.

mb

the magic of mallomars

ahh, stress. no matter what you do to avoid it, it always seems to find you. get exercise, eat right, sleep enough, keep a journal, see a therapist, meditate, throw things across the room... and all the while stress just sits there in the corner, panting, drooling, waiting to jump all over you.

i've hit a stressful patch lately, which i guess isn't uncommon this time of year. christmas music is playing everywhere already - a constant reminder that, oh yeah, there will be a massive draining of my bank account very soon and, oh yeah, i have cards to write and cookies to bake and an office party to dread, and, oh yeah, another year has come and gone in the blink of an eye. add to that normal life stress, and the eight million other things rolling around in my crowded head and i am one cranky girl.

the normal stressbusters haven't been working for me lately - i try to go for a run, and wind up stressing the whole time that i'm not running fast enough; i try with all my willpower to eat healthy, but still wind up at Dunkin' Donuts for a carb-and-sugar fix; i attempt to get more sleep but someone's operating a jackhammer a few blocks over; et cetera. i really hate feeling stressed - it just doesn't suit me (or anyone around me for that matter) - so i've been forced to improvise, compelled to find another way to stay sane.

i've been trying the completely unorthodox practice of - wait for it - taking joy in the simple things. the simple what? you may be asking. but i'm telling you, it works. you just need to pay attention, be a little creative. here are some examples that have worked for me:

- nature... where i sit at work, there are no windows to gaze out all day. basically, unless i go outside i have no idea what's going on out there. however, there are windows in our East Side conference room and last week i discovered they offer a perfect view of some trees a few blocks away, peeking over the roof of a brick building. their leaves are a golden yellow - and quite breathtaking against a deep blue sky. i was transfixed, staring at the trees, and suddenly my worries seemed much less worrisome. (i know i sound like a nut, but don't knock it 'til you try it.)

- crazy people... well, not truly crazy people. maybe 'free spirits' is a better term. one morning last week i was trudging to work and as i approached a corner near my office, i spotted two people - adults, one man and one woman - dressed in head-to-toe yellow. canary yellow. yellow tights, yellow sneakers, yellow faces. they were huddled near a phone booth, laughing. i glanced around to see if there were any production crews or location vans around - i thought maybe they were filming something, a wacky commercial maybe - but there was nothing. just these two happy whack jobs, starting their morning in a very peculiar way. and i had to laugh. those crazy moments you know no one else will ever experience - i'm telling you, they're good for the soul.

- Extreme Makeover: Home Edition... i have only truly discovered the wonders of this show this season. but i am a devout fan now and will never give it up. yes, it's cheesy and the product placements are more than blatant and Ty Pennington needs to be permanently sedated. but i'm the biggest sucker for the triumph-over-tragedy stories, and the move-that-bus moment, and watching the kids see their new rooms for the first time. i have yet to make it through an episode without dissolving into tears. but at least they're happy tears. and at least i'm focused on someone else's stressful life for an hour instead of mine.

- Mallomars... yeah, yeah, yeah, processed foods, refined sugars, blah blah blah. sometimes desperate times call for desperate measures. and emotional eating isn't always bad, Oprah. a few times recently i've sat down with a box of these sent-from-heaven cookies and an episode of Ugly Betty and the result was pretty close to euphoria.

- red wine... i swear this is a cure-all. i'm not talking about downing a whole bottle by yourself (though i'm not NOT talking about it either). just a glass or two at the end of a long day can make such a lovely difference. whether by itself, or with some olives and cheese - or, you know, a box of Mallomars - i find that russo vino is an antidote for all that ails me.

- The Doodlebops... i happened to see an episode of this show on Sunday morning. it wasn't by choice really, but i watched it with a combination of awe and fear. i wondered, what are Doodlebops exactly, besides colorful fake musicians with crazy-looking fingers and yarn for hair? is this really what kids are watching today? is Sesame Street outdated? then i watched the actors and wondered if they'd gone to Carnegie Mellon or NYU, if this was just a gig to pay the bills until they made it to Broadway or a reality show. and then i started feeling so grateful that i gave up acting. (and then i started praying that the Doodlebops will be ancient history by the time i have kids.)

- Frank Sinatra music... specifically, for me, "New York, New York." i have such an emotional reaction to this song. partly because i used to take (and maybe still do) the lyrics so seriously... If I can make it there/I'm gonna make it anywhere... listening to it invigorates me and my outlook on life. here i am, in the city i obsessed over for so long. i may not be necessarily making it, but i'm doing all right. this particular song also conjures up happy Yankee memories, and makes me feel hopeful about next season, but that's getting a little ahead of myself. honestly, though, any Frank Sinatra song will lift your spirits. (except maybe "That's Life.")

anyway, you get the idea. the world is full of simple things that, if caught at just the right moment, can ease your mind for a few minutes or an hour or maybe all day. it's too much to ask to always be stress-free, but patch enough of the simple things together and you may just find yourself feeling pretty darn good.

mb

adventures in babysitting

"hello. welcome to Scott's butt. how may i help you?"

these words came from my five-year old cousin, who was peering at me from between his skinny legs, head upside down, tiny denim-clad butt in the air. i didn't know if i was supposed to correct him for saying "butt" (are five-year olds allowed to say that?), scold him for being so cheeky (no pun intended), or pretend i hadn't heard him.

i opted for none of the above and burst out laughing instead. i couldn't help it. and that's usually the case with this whirling dervish of a boy. until you've met him, you can't fully understand or appreciate the uniqueness of Scott. he is not just a five-year old kindergartener; he is a firefighter, a policeman, a construction worker and the host of Dirty Jobs. he is a superhero, a news reporter, a baseball player and, sometimes, a rabid dog.

he is, without a doubt, one of my favorite people in the whole wide world.

there's about a 24 year age difference between us, but i swear i learn more and laugh more spending time with him than i do with most people my own age. his imagination is bigger and more powerful - not to mention totally whacked - than any other i've encountered. he has a surreal, super-human amount of energy and is seemingly fearless.

no one has any idea where he came from.

i finally had a free Saturday, and so i let my aunt and uncle know i'd be coming for a visit. god knows they could use a break - Scott also has a one-year old lovebug of a baby brother, Henry - and i'm always thrilled to spend time with my cousins. so i made the bus trip that afternoon and the hilarity began. here are the highlights:

2:39 pm: my aunt picks me up at the bus stop, with a sleeping Henry and oddly-quiet Scott in the backseat. i ask him, "what's with you?" and get no response. my aunt informs me he's sort of in trouble at the moment. ahh.

3:05 pm: the two little girls - twins - who live across the street rush over when they see Scott has returned. i have heard so much about these girls, but it's the first time i'm actually meeting them. they stare up at me, smiling and wide-eyed like i'm Hillary Duff or something, while Scott bounces off the walls, clearly on sensory overload with all the special guests in his living room.

3:08 pm: i learned how to juggle in high school for a part in a musical, and Scott wanted me to teach him how to do it. i came prepared this time with the Klutz guide to juggling, and three little beanbags. the twins' brother comes over to retrieve them, but they want to see me juggle first. so i break out the beanbags and do a completely lame demonstration. i hand the bags to Scott, who immediately begins beaning himself in the head with them. i say, "not like that. like this," and throw them gently. he takes them from me again and flings them up at the ceiling, as hard as he can. the juggling lesson is over.

3:45 pm: the girls have gone home, and Scott and i are outside. he wants to play baseball and begins gathering the equipment. he hands me his bike helmet - doubling today as my batting helmet - and a wooden bat. i ask him for the baseball so i can engage in a little self-administered BP.

3:46 pm: i surprise myself and hit the ball clear across the front yard. it lands in a tangle of ivy and bushes that separates Scott's yard from the neighbors'. i alert him that the ball is missing. this isn't a problem, as he's always up for a little search and rescue.

3:48: we're crouched under branches and looking intently but can't find the ball. i hear him utter a four-letter expletive. "WHAT did you just say?" i demand, but before he can repeat the word, i go on: "you can't say those words 'til you're at least in sixth grade, OK? you got that?" he says, "yeah" but somehow i don't think he'll adhere to it.

4:06: we give up on the ball and find a new one, but within a few minutes the ballgame is over (incidentally, i did not get any at-bats) and Scott zeroes in on his bike. "i'm going to ride my bike and you can run and i'll chase you," he tells me. "uhh, not so much," i say. "i don't feel like getting run over today, thanks." he shrugs, "so i'll ride my bike and you chase me." warily, i agree to this. we begin this bad idea of a game, and i go running across the front yard after him. he promptly - and on purpose - crashes his little two-wheeler into a shrub. "no! not there!" i hiss, grabbing at the bike. "hurry up before your dad sees."

4:20 pm: my uncle is up on the roof cleaning leaves out of the gutters and, when he's done, Scott clambers up there, too. he waves down at me, and i snap some pictures. then he yells down to me to go inside and stand in the room beneath him. "why?" i ask. he starts jumping up and down - on a slanted roof! - telling me he wants to know if i could hear him stomping from inside. my uncle puts the kibosh on that experiment real fast and they climb back down the ladder.

4:23: Scott gets my uncle to let him operate the leaf-blower, which he uses on the leaves for about 12 seconds. then he turns it on me. i stand there and make the requisite "oh no, i'm blowing away!" faces and he suddenly turns off the blower. "your hair looks so pretty like that," he tells me. (god, what did it look like before?) "do mine!" we spend about five minutes taking turns with the leaf blower. then he gets serious and hauls out two rakes. we need to rake the leaves into a big pile, he informs me, so that we have something to jump in.

4:45: after quite a bit of manual labor, the jumping commences. i realize i can't remember the last time i've jumped in a pile of leaves and so i go at it with abandon - like Scott - and get my white shirt all muddy, and my jeans all wet. we take turns burying each other and pretending to be leaf monsters emerging from the pile. it's pretty awesome.

6:30: Scott and i are inside in the playroom and i mention that i don't really know CPR, so he gives me a thorough demonstration on his teddy bear. i then make the mistake of telling him about a crime scene i witnessed a couple months ago across the street from my office. i tell him about all the cops and detectives and yellow tape. i tell him they found a poor guy who'd died on the sidewalk and it took them a long time to figure out what had happened. (yes, i realize this seems like a lot for a five-year old, but he knows all the lines to Backdraft and one of his favorite shows is 24.) after my story, he leaves the playroom for a minute and i hear him in the next room telling my uncle mark, "dad, megan has a dead body...." i jump up quickly to clarify.

7:05: my aunt and uncle have escaped for a night out sans kids, so now it's just the three of us, and we're hunkered down with the Disney channel, some soda, some fruit snacks and a bowl of microwave popcorn (we played movie-theater-concession-stand in the kitchen while preparing said snacks). Scott is almost to a normal level of energy now, a state i've rarely witnessed in him, and he behaves like an angel all night: he entertains himself while i need to take care of Henry, and quickly cleans up the box of crayons when it spills. just when i'm starting to wonder what happened to the real Scott, he comes downstairs in his pjs with the pants pulled up to the middle of his chest. "all done," he tells me and when i ask him if the pants need to be up quite that high he shrugs and says, "it works for the old men."

10:15: it's bedtime, and because he's been so good i tell Scott i'll read him any stories he wants. he gazes up and down his bookcase and finally points and says, "that one." i follow his finger and spot a thick, orange book. it's the Home Depot Guide to Home Improvement. "uhh, anything but that," i say.

10:45: he's in bed, but not exactly sleeping... more like playing with his Leapster until he runs out of gas. i'm downstairs, half-comatose in a comfy chair, amazed at how he keeps going. i honestly don't know how my aunt and uncle do it. i spent less than eight hours with the kid and i'm ready for a nice, long, 48-hour nap.

but, it goes without saying that i'm already scanning my calendar to see when i can hang out with the kid again. i can't wait to see what he comes up with next.

mb

feeling, ahem, blue on election day

i have been instructed by Hillary Clinton herself to encourage everyone i know to vote today. granted, it was in the form of a mass e-mail and i have a sneaky feeling she didn't really write it. nevertheless, i wanted to pass along the message.

my dad and i have watched The American President probably over a hundred times. we know most of the lines by heart, and one of them has been in my head for the last week or two, in regards to today's election. ironically, it's Michael J. Fox's character who says it, toward the end of the movie, during a highly charged scene: "Vote your conscience, you chickens**t lame-ass."

i couldn't have said it better myself. i'm not telling anyone who to vote for - of course not. (nor am i calling anyone chicken droppings.) i just think consulting your conscience before you vote is a good idea. the whole political system is in the toilet, naturally, and i'm sure plenty of people would just as soon avoid the whole thing. they think, my vote won't change anything. why spend an ounce of my precious energy on these bozos? they have a point. but the only way we'll get it right is to keep trying, keep changing it up. eventually it has to get better right? wait. don't answer that. just vote. if you can find no other valid reason to pull that lever today, do it as a celebratory act: finally, the onslaught of political TV ads is over.

well, at least until my pal Hillary announces her candidacy for President...

mb

like the wind, honey

the summer between my junior and senior year in college was a big one for me: i had hit rock bottom. not in the E! True Hollywood Story way, but enough so that it was a wake-up call. my grades were, you could say, utterly lackluster. i had lost my enthusiasm for a lot of things. oh, and i was 30 pounds overweight.

i remember so clearly getting on the scale in my bathroom at home that summer and being utterly shocked at the number. i'd been so weight-conscious since puberty; the fact that i hadn't noticed the extra poundage until then was symbolic of how i was living my entire life. i'd stopped noticing pretty much everything important. my two major food groups junior year were beer and Entenmann's, and the only exercise i'd get was walking to and from class - and that's if i even made it to class.

yeah, it was a bad stretch for me. but stepping on that scale was the turning point. (so was my father threatening to pull me out of college, but i'll save that story for another entry...) i read issues of Shape and Self and Fitness obsessively for ideas on what and how to eat, and i changed my diet completely. goodbye Rolling Rock; hello fruits and veggies. i had a full-time job that summer - a temp job that turned into a regular gig - and got into a routine of packing healthy lunches, and eating smaller portions at dinner. i felt much better, but food was only half the battle.

i had never been particularly athletic. i took dance classes and gymnastics as a little girl, and i played softball when i was nine or 10. in seventh and eighth grade, i was even a decent center on my CYO intramural basketball team. but i played on that team because i wasn't good enough for varsity or even JV. i had planned on trying out for cheerleading, until a friend of mine suggested i'd make a good base. to me that was code for: you're too chubby to look cute in a cheerleading uniform so don't even bother, Thunder Thighs. funny how those things stick with you. i just never thought i was capable of being athletic, so i didn't even try.

but i knew i had to try, that fateful summer of 1998. i knew i had to change. we had a treadmill in the house, and so i started getting on it every day, after work, walking for a half hour. the number on the scale dropped a bit, and that was all well and good. but walking was too slow for me suddenly. it wasn't enough. without even fully knowing what i was doing, i started jogging - pushing the speed up on the treadmill a bit, huffing along for a minute or two, slowing back down to a walk. it was hard, but it felt good. i had dreaded running my whole life - i viewed the annual mile-run fitness test in gym class as a special blend of humiliation and torture. but here i was, jogging longer and longer each day - actually doing it!

the pounds started to come off even faster, and that was awesome, but it was the mental results i loved the most. running cleared my mind - of all the negative thoughts about myself, of all the failures i'd let happen, of all the inner-turmoil i was experiencing. none of that mattered when i was pushing myself to go a little faster, run a little longer. when i ventured off the treadmill and onto the streets, it only got better. it was metaphorical i guess - i was no longer running in place; now i was really going somewhere. i was finally that girl i'd see from my window or pass in the car and feel so envious of. i was running.

when i went back to school to start my senior year, i was a different person. a better one. i was healthy, i was toned, my weight was exactly what it was supposed to be. and, most importantly, my head was clear. i knew who i was again, and what i wanted. after struggling uncharacteristically with my course load for three semesters in a row, i made the dean's list my final two semesters, ending my college career on a high note. it was one of the best feelings i've ever had - knowing that i picked myself up, said adios to the bottom of the barrel, and changed my life.

i attribute a lot of that metamorphosis to running. and i was thinking about it yesterday morning, when i walked over to Fourth Ave. in Brooklyn to watch the New York City Marathon. i'd only ever seen the marathon live once before, when i lived on the Upper East Side, and that was partly by accident. yesterday i stood there for two hours, cheering these amazing people who were attempting such an amazing feat. i related to so many of them, because while of course there are the elite runners - incredible creatures, truly - the majority seemed like just regular folks, young and old, all shapes and sizes and backgrounds. you could see the concentration and focus in their faces, and the gratitude when they heard someone call out their name, encourage them, pump them up. i literally had goosebumps. i haven't been that inspired in a long time.

of course, i started thinking yesterday that i would begin training immediately for next year's marathon. never mind the fact that i only usually run four miles at a time now, and that the last race i did - a 10K two years ago - nearly killed me. that doesn't mean i couldn't run 26.2 miles. i mean, please - if Lance Armstrong can run a marathon, i definitely can. (ha!)

by last night i'd decided maybe i'd start with a half-marathon before attempting the biggest, most prestigious race in the world. regardless, after watching those heroic runners yesterday, i definitely felt the urge to push myself again. it's easy to settle into a comfort zone, a place where you're almost on automatic pilot. but i've never done well there. it's not a place i like to stay for too long.

the good news is, all i ever have to do is run like hell and i'm outta there....

mb

into each life, a few leaves must fall...

my first and most enduring memory of fall is a red plaid jacket i wore when i was two or three years old. sometimes i give my mom a hard time for dressing me like a boy back then, but i have to admit the plaid jacket was pretty perfect. if i could find one in my size now, i'd wear it all the time. it's crazy that i still think about it, but somewhere in the recesses of my brain, i associate it with perfect fall days on Pinecrest Terrace - the kind where the air is crisp and smells utterly clean, with a hint of fallen leaves. i think of that jacket and remember afternoons when the sky was so blue it almost hurt to look up, when the sun filtered through the trees and made funny-looking shadows on the grass. i mean, i was a baby when i wore it. but every time i think about it, i feel happy.

obviously i'm not wearing said jacket in this picture. but i'm including it simply to prove that i have always loved autumn. it's always, always been my favorite season. when other people start panicking in August that summer's almost over, i start itching for cooler weather, for the leaves to stop being such a predictable shade of green, for the chance to gaze at fall skies again - the kind full of bloated navy-gray clouds, pushed grudgingly along by the chilly wind. honestly, how can you not love autumn? consider how many great things happen during it:

the leaves change colors - is there a more magical transformation in nature?

football season - college, NFL, high school...take your pick. there's nothing like the sound of helmets crashing, bones crushing and my father cursing at the Giants.

back to school - granted, this no longer applies to most of us, but it's still exciting, isn't it? to see pencils and binders and schoolbags on display in the stores? to see the big yellow school buses ambling down the road again? ok, maybe that's just me.

candy corn - a vegetable made entirely of sugar. God is listening to me!

baseball playoffs - a sore spot this year, but in general, an excellent reason to love October.
Thanksgiving - quite possibly the best holiday ever created: giant cartoon balloons drifting down Broadway and carte blanche to eat 'til you burst.

a lot of my favorite personal memories are tied to fall, too:

when i was a kid, i loved playing outside with Christine, Kevin and Julius on cool October weekends. our wacky-but-brilliant imaginations took us on so many adventures, and we'd run around outside until our noses were red and runny, until the lights went on in our kitchens and we knew our moms were inside making dinner. did it get any better than that?

in high school, we'd put on a play every November. my favorite was senior year when we did Our Town. i had the role of the Stage Manager (there weren't many guys in the drama program, plus i did a mean New Hampshire accent) and i think it changed my life a little. during Act III of every performance, i'd get a lump in my throat when we got to the lines about the stars. i really loved that play.

right after college, i had started my job in the city, but hadn't found an apartment. in the meantime, i lived with my Gram in northern New Jersey during September and October. the commute was the worst, and i was about as lost and lonely as i've ever been, but i think back to those two months and feel lucky - lucky that had somewhere to stay, lucky that i got to spend so much time with my grandmother, and lucky that i pushed through a really hard time and came out the other end all right.

i get so darn nostalgic when the leaves turn. i've just always loved fall. it goes by so quickly anymore, and sometimes i worry that i'm not taking enough time to enjoy it. but all i need is one cool, clear day, when the air smells like it did back on Pinecrest Terrace. i think of that little red plaid jacket and smile.

mb

trick-or-freak

honestly? i think Halloween has gotten out of control. i loved the holiday when i was a kid. mostly because of the candy, i admit (i had friends who made theirs last 'til Easter... i was lucky if mine made it to Thanksgiving) but i loved the costumes, too, and haunted houses and hay rides and getting to roam the neighborhood after dark with my friends. when we were done trick-or-treating, my mother would always have apple cider and donuts for us to feast on at home while we categorized and analyzed our candy pull. pretty awesome.

now, however, Halloween seems less about the kids and more about adults using it as an excuse to let out their inner-freak. maybe it's not so bad where you live, but here, it's insane. i work in the Village, which is the epicenter of Halloween. last year was the first year i encountered The Parade, and the experience stayed with me for a long time. i was forced to walk blocks and blocks out of my way because my usual subway station was closed - or, they were only letting people out, not letting anyone in. i thought somehow they'd skipped holidays and people were actually gathering for the Macy's Parade, the crowds were that enormous. i shoved my way uptown, through throngs of slutty witches, slutty nurses, slutty vampires, slutty devils and, of course, transvestite priests and people in body suits with plastic boobs and strategically-placed Brillo pads. it was more than a little surreal.

so i was not looking forward to the same thing last night. in fact, i was dreading my trip home. thankfully, my brain kicked on and i found an out-of-the-way subway entrance that hadn't been closed yet. still, i had to wait in line to go through the turnstile and had plenty of time to watch the steady stream of people leaving the station. again, i saw the complete collection of slutty _____ [fill in whatever noun you want here] and fake-blood-soaked creatures and comic book characters and President Bushes and a ton of cross-dressers. it dawned on me, especially when i noticed some cop uniforms in the crowd, that on Halloween in New York City, you can't tell who's in a costume and who's not. if one of those cops had stopped me i probably would have bolted, thinking they were psychos dressed up and trying to get away with something. it sort of creeped me out.

i made it safely to Brooklyn and stopped in at my usual wine shop on the way home. one of the guys who works there was standing outside with a bag of candy for the kids. "you're not giving away Merlots, are you?" i asked. [that would be a holiday i could get into!] inside, the older man who i always talk about the Yankees with was in his usual spot behind the cash register. i said hello to him, but was cut off by a woman in sweatpants, a hospital gown and ID bracelet. she looked sort of haggard and was clearly a regular customer - the man knew to pull a fifth of vodka off the shelf for her without her even asking. i noticed her get-up right away and was still trying to figure out what her deal was when the man asked her how she was doing.

"ahh," she rasped, "i cracked my shoulder yesterday. chasing after the dogs."

the man looked startled. "jeez, that's terrible," he said. he handed her the bottle and her change and she left without another word. as soon as she was gone, he looked at me.

"i thought she was in a costume!" he half-whispered. "but then she mentioned her shoulder and i didn't know what to think. that was really weird."

"maybe she should still be in the hospital," i said. "that ID bracelet looked pretty fresh." then i told him my new realization about Halloween in New York, that you just never can tell who's who or what, and he agreed.

after that, i got myself home real fast and decided that i'll love Halloween again when i'm a mom - when i've sold my soul to the suburbs, when i can serve donuts and cider, and swipe a Reese's Peanut Butter cup or two from my kid's stash. until then, the freaks can have their day. me, i'll just hunker down on October 31st with a glass of wine and yet another showing of It's the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown!

mb