serenity, with extra cheese

i had a real crapola day yesterday, so it was sheer providence that i also had dinner plans with Kate and Dolch. we'd decided just the day before to meet at a little restaurant in Park Slope we'd never tried before and though i attempted to bail on dinner (i didn't want my crapola day to put a damper on the evening) Dolch convinced me that it was far less pathetic to drink vino at a restaurant with friends than alone on my couch in my sweats. 

for many reasons, i'm so glad i listened to her. i got to the restaurant, Little D, about 20 minutes before the girls arrived. it was a cozy, serenely-lit, not-very-crowded restaurant and as soon as i walked in i felt better. the bar was empty, so i parked myself on a stool, ordered a glass of Malbec and pulled out my book.  

my sigh of relief was audible. 

the girls arrived soon thereafter and we ordered a bottle of the Malbec, got seated at a table and started talking. 

eventually, we ordered food. and that was when the night really got interesting. 

we shared three dishes: a hen-of-the-woods mushroom salad, a dish of mac & cheese, and something called the fall rigatoni. 

everything was amazing. 

especially the mac & cheese. no, seriously. it had gruyere in it. plus parmesan and cheddar and perfectly crusty bread crumbs on top. do you understand? if we'd been a wee bit more tipsy, one of us might have reenacted the deli orgasm scene from When Harry Met Sally... it was that good. 

in fact, it was so good that instead of ordering dessert, we ordered another round of the salad and the divine, restorative, so-good-we-could-cry mac & cheese. 

and, what the hell, another bottle of Malbec.

many times i thought how happy i was and how lucky i was. the strength and hilarity of my friendships never cease to amaze me. i have some truly fantastic women in my life. nine times out of 10 if i'm feeling out of sorts or down or down and out, spending a few hours with any of them snaps me right back into place. my friendships are a gift that keeps on giving, one i'm more and more thankful for as the years go by. 

Kate left first, to mentally prepare for Halloween (which for her involves attempting to teach a classroom full of costumed, sugared-up third graders). Dolch and i lingered a while, and then it was time to go. i insisted on taking the subway instead of a cab (our indulgences at Little D came with a price!) and she made me promise to text her when i got home.

i did, and i wrote: i'm home and i love you so much. thanks for tonite. jesus, it sounds like we made love :)

her reply? i think we did. xxx

my crapola day was officially de-crapola-ized. with my spirits lifted and my tummy full of good food and great wine, i went to sleep feeling 100 percent better and sure that everything would be OK. 

that's the power of friendship. and cheese.

mb

save the books

i've been noticing something disturbing on my commute lately, something that turns my stomach, depresses me and makes me wonder what will become of the world.

the something i've been noticing is: Amazon Kindle. 

i will tell you why it sends me to the depths of despair: i love books. actual books. books with a spine, books with a hard cover, even library books with cellophane covers that crinkle when you open them. i love the weight of a book in my hands, i love the smell of the pages, i really love when a book's pages are uncut. i love wandering through bookstores and taking in the sight of thousands of books on the shelves, i love the possibility it inspires in me. i love the sight of all the books i've read on my own shelves. i love imagining floor-to-ceiling shelves in my home office someday, full of all the books i've read and books i hope to read—maybe books i've written. 

Kindle takes all of that away. i'm afraid that more and more people will buy Kindle and actual books, physical books, will go the way of record albums. i'm afraid that my first book will be published and i won't have the satisfaction of going into a store and gazing at it on the shelf. 

i don't understand why people would buy Kindle, to be honest. most people go to work and stare at a computer screen all day. then you go home and stare at a television screen or an iPod screen or a laptop screen. do people really want to stare at yet another screen instead of picking up a made-of-paper, easy-on-the-eyeballs, wonderful perfect little book? 

i was contemplating all of this on my way to work this morning, as i held Alice Munro's Selected Stories in paperback. i've been re-reading short stories of hers lately that i haven't read in years (amazing how much more i appreciate them now) and today i was caught up in "Something I've Been Meaning to Tell You," what i believe is quite possibly one of the most brilliant short stories ever written. as i neared the end of the story, i was flipping back to the beginning, skimming over the middle, re-reading paragraphs, taking in the structure of the story, the transitions between past and present, all the nuances.

i can't imagine that's half as enjoyable on Kindle. 

i know i'm a big book nerd, and maybe three other people on the planet would agree with me about this, but i had to vent anyway. i can't imagine books are that inconvenient that people need to buy them digitally and read them on a weird-looking, battery-operated device. you couldn't exactly bring your record player on the airplane or a car ride or to the park. MP3 players make sense. but books? they're so transportable! they're so convenient!

they're so wonderful. please save them. 

mb

guilty with an explanation

my posts have been infrequent and rather crappy, i know, but here's why: i have some "projects" on my plate right now that are sort of top secret. (as my dad likes to say, i could tell you about them, but then i'd have to kill you.) 

i'm the kind of writer who enjoys blathering about EVERYTHING going on in my life, no stone unturned, no detail unshared, so having to exercise such uncharacteristic restraint has caused me the following afflictions: 1) stunted writing and 2) severe avoidance.  

my apologies, but i'm hoping within a few weeks i'll be able to reveal all and get back to blathering.

in the meantime, after my rant last week about the Oprah disciple with a book deal, i decided to stop whining and start writing. (if everyone and their uncle are getting a book deal these days, why not me?) so every other morning i've been getting up early and spending forty-five minutes to an hour at my kitchen table, typing away on my laptop. i'm not concerned with what i'm writing, whether it's good or not, i'm just letting it out. (i'm also keeping myself from compulsively editing what i wrote previously, which used to be my old and best method of procrastination.) 

i have to say, it feels really, really good. i'm sort of amazed at how—when i'm not thinking about it—stories actually do take shape, almost on their own. and taking the pressure off myself (ie, not sitting down thinking i have to write something brilliant) seems to have helped. i truly look forward to the mornings i get to write (i'm at the gym on the alternate mornings), which also feels really, really good because for a while there the thought of writing filled me with a lot of anxiety. 

so yeah. that's what i've been up to. along with those secret projects. details TK, i promise. 

mb

city mouse, country mouse

i've been meaning to say that i spent this past Saturday on the North Fork of Long Island visiting the area's various wineries. it's absolutely stunning out there, especially at this time of year, and i loved every minute of it. (yeah, OK, all the wine i tasted did play a part in my enjoyment.)

as we drove by the open fields and rows and rows of grapevines, and the old houses and farm stands, and all the trees with their changing leaves, i felt an ache in my chest, almost a longing—like i was meant to be out there, like i need to live there, or somewhere similar. it reminded of the same wistful longing i felt every time i visited the city years ago. i'd feel so alive and exhilarated being there, and then so disappointed on the way home. i felt like i was missing out. i couldn't wait for the day when i'd live there. 

i suppose this is proof that i'm maturing? longing to be back in the country now that i've experienced life in the city? i do never make things easy on myself...

mb 

i can't stand it

i've had this thing lately where i keep hearing about book deals for people i don't think should be writing books at all. i will preface the rest of this entry with: yes, i am probably deeply jealous and just being a brat. however, i do think publishing houses are signing deals way too cavalierly. but that must also mean that people are actually reading the ridiculous things being published, so i'm not sure who's more to blame for this vicious cycle.

the other morning on the Today show, they did a segment about a truly crazy woman who decided to spend a year doing everything Oprah says to do. she called it a mix of performance art and a social experiment. right. she watches every Oprah episode, reads every issue of Oprah's magazine, and has done ridiculous things like buy a fire pit for her backyard even though she doesn't have a backyard, simply because Oprah said she had to buy it. she's bought clothes because Oprah recommended them, garden supplies because Oprah thought they were great, and adopted a cat because Oprah thought it was a good thing to do. she ordered a fire pit for her non-existent backyard because - say it with me - Oprah said it was a must-have.

now, this story is mind-boggling enough already. then Matt Lauer asked her why she was doing this, what was the purpose. she apparently writes a blog about her daily Oprah adventures, and i'm not sure who reads it (besides Oprah, naturally) but i guess enough people do because she said she was going to turn her experiences into a one-woman show. but then, she had an even better idea.

she's going to write a book.

this is not shocking to me at all. just disheartening. i am sure she's picturing the episode of Oprah where her book is announced as a Book Club selection and it shoots to the top of every bestseller list in the world. and you know what? it'll probably happen. because that's just how things are these days.

i know i sound like sour grapes. guilty as charged. it's just frustrating to think of all the writers out there toiling away, struggling, doubting themselves, drinking too much, producing excellent work and they have no shot in hell of getting a book deal. but this kook (nothing personal, i just find it a little insane that, especially right now, someone would waste a lot of money trying to be the most ardent Oprah disciple on the planet) gets a deal just by being a kook.

mb

maddening

the debate last night was held at my alma mater, Hofstra University. i would've been watching the debate regardless, but i was definitely more eager to tune in last night and see how my lil' school did on the national stage. (as it turned out, you wouldn't even know it was Hofstra if not for the mentions made by the moderator, candidates and reporters.)

i guess it was a good debate, a lively one for sure. but toward the end i was struck by a fresh wave of rage and frustration. it happened around the time the topic of appointing Supreme Court justices was raised, and Roe v. Wade was mentioned. 

as a woman, i cannot tell you how infuriating it is to listen to men discuss what i can and can't do with my body. plain and simple. how is this of any interest or importance to a damn politician, priest or protester? why is this still such an ongoing, heated, violent debate in this country? why is half the country so hell-bent on overturning a decision made more than three decades ago? it's beyond my comprehension and it disturbs me greatly. 

when there are unspeakable things happening to children because those who have them are uneducated and unprepared, when grown kids are being abandoned by overwhelmed parents, when there are ongoing, serious problems in schools across the country, i strongly believe elected officials (and those who've taken various vows such as celibacy) should focus on issues truly and actually affecting the country. 

they should stay out of the business of women who are facing a personal crisis painful enough without delusional radicals weighing in, trying to take her rights and her privacy away from her. 

i just really had to let that out.

mb

hay fever

i went home to see my parents over the weekend and on my list of things to do, in addition to making a stop at Target and buying a jug of apple cider because i haven't been able to find it anywhere near my apartment, was visiting None Such Farm.

after last weekend's visit to the pumpkin patch with the boys, i got a particularly intense burst of nostalgia. every October when i was little, my parents and i would take a drive to Bucks County to visit None Such. we'd pick our pumpkins and go to the farm's market for hot apple cider. the market also had a wide selection of those old-fashioned candy sticks - you know, the swirly-colored things that look like candy canes, without the curvy part at the top. back in those days, choosing the right two or three candy sticks was even more crucial than choosing the right pumpkin.

but it wasn't just about the candy (hard to believe, but true). i have nice, fuzzy memories of those days and every once in a while a girl gets an urge to revisit the old, fuzzy days. i floated the idea with my parents, they loved it, the weather couldn't have been nicer, so off we went.

the first clue that times had changed should have been the line of cars waiting to get into the "pumpkin festival" at None Such Farm. gone were the simple days when it was just a field of pumpkin vines. once we were able to actually make the turn and inch down the long dusty road toward the farm, we realized we had happened upon a major event.

there were pony rides, a corn maze, face painting, a banjo band, hay rides - pulled by either horses or a tractor, whatever your pleasure - and, oh yeah, pumpkins. there were a ton of people there, more than half of them kids, it seemed. most adults would either be a) charmed or b) overwhelmed by this.

i chose option c) reverting back to the 1982 version of myself.

as soon as i saw the horses pulling the hayride wagon, i lost my (for lack of a better word) shit. these words literally came out of my mouth: "horses! hay ride! horses! we have to go! can we go? we have to!" my hopes were buoyed when i saw a sign that said hay rides were only $3. surely dad couldn't say no!

my father, being the smart, shrewd man that he is, made a beeline for the pumpkin patch, asking for my help in finding the two most perfect pumpkins available. we searched for about five minutes, plucked two beauties right off the vine, and headed for the checkout. he was in the process for paying for the pumpkins, plus two potted mums for the front porch, when i realized that we'd have to take our purchases all the way to the car, then walk all the way back to buy tickets for the hayride.

considering the fact that my mother's knee is acting about 30 years older than the rest of her, the odds of this were slim to none. actually, they were just none.

i was embarrassingly disappointed. i didn't pout, necessarily, but when my father said that he would take his grandkids on a horse-drawn hayride someday (i love how parents throw those grandkid comments in, just to underline the fact that you are, indeed, old enough to give them grandkids). i replied that i would tell his someday-grandkids that their grandpa was no fun, that he had the chance once upon a time to take their mother on a hayride and HE SAID NO.

(i'm not proud of this, just to clarify.)

we got back in the car and waited in a lot of traffic simply to cross the street to get to the None Such market. at least, i thought, i could get some hot apple cider and a few candy sticks to soothe my disappointment.

you know where this is going.

THERE WAS NO HOT CIDER. and not one single candy stick. i wandered around the market not wanting to believe it, waiting for the nice, fuzzy feelings to kick in, but it was no use. with slumped shoulders, i mumbled to my parents that we should just go home. on the way out to the parking lot we saw a flier for the pumpkin festival we'd just left. i gasped. "look!" i said and pointed to the part of the flier that said HOT APPLE CIDER would be available, along with hot dogs and face painting. "it's across the street!" i told my dad. "we missed it! let's go back!"

that's when my dad said, "there seems to be a direct correlation between two-year olds and almost thirty-two-year olds."

well, when you put it like that...

so, lesson learned. nice, fuzzy memories are nice and fuzzy because they took place in a kinder, simpler time. and trying to recreate those times only works if your expectations are in check - and if you can revisit old places without regressing.

something i probably need to work on.

mb

oh brother

after a fairly stressful week, i boarded the #324 NJ Transit bus on Sunday around 12:30. destination: the Route 23 Transit Center. my Aunt Val picked me up in her minivan, with my cousin Henry buckled in the backseat. he smiled his shy, irresistible smile when he saw me and i knew it would be a good day.

we found Scott at home, in the driveway, in socks but no shoes because that's just how he rolls. we all went inside, where i gave Henry his birthday present (he turns three tomorrow) - a cool "Cars"-related toy i would've loved as a kid, because i loved toy cars (and building blocks and Star Wars figures) as much as i loved my Strawberry Shortcake collection. anyway, Henry got to work playing with his new present while Scott taught me the game he invented called Bruto Ball.

"wait, what's it called?" i asked him.

"Bruto Ball. like "brutal" only without the "L" at the end."

oh. duh.

Bruto Ball involved an old tennis racket (probably my Uncle Mark's from circa 1978) and a partially deflated purple balloon from a birthday party Scotty and Henry had gone to the day before. the rules kept changing, as they often due in a newly-invented game (i'm sure it took them a while to nail down the three strikes per out, three outs per half inning rule in baseball), but the basic gist involved one of us using the tennis racket to keep the balloon in the air. the other had to use her hands or feet or whatever means necessary to do the same (all the while making sure she didn't lose an eyeball or consciousness due to the tennis racket).

eventually i got to use the tennis racket myself and i have to say, it was sort of fun batting that balloon around the living room while Scotty shrieked and yelled and giggled and performed amazing acrobatics to save the balloon - oh, forgive me, the Bruto Ball - from touching the floor.

it's important to note that my aunt and uncle were not home during Bruto Ball. they were at the firehouse setting up for Henry's birthday party (which was today) and when i saw their car pull into the driveway after 20 minutes or so, i told Scotty to ditch the racket real fast. somehow i'm a less responsible babysitter today than i was when i was 15. (just kidding, Aunt Val! haha!)

next up was a trip to the pumpkin patch - mostly so my Uncle Mark could sleep in peace for a few hours before work. Scotty requested that i sit in the back of the minivan with him for the ride.

"are you going to torture me?" i asked him.

"no," he said with a straight face. so i agreed.

as soon as i buckled myself in, i witnessed Scott pluck a god-knows-how-old sort of red Mento out of the cupholder, dust it off on his pants and pop it into his mouth.

"that's disgusting," i said.

"what?" he asked, though it sounded more like "whoh?" because he had a mouth full of stale candy.

on our way to the pumpkin patch, we stopped at the Wendy's drive-thru to get lunch. the boys got their requisite chicken nuggets while i opted for a cheeseburger. i'd done an hour on the elliptical that morning, not to mention made a mad dash through the Port Authority to catch the bus, so i was pretty starving by that point. i was just popping some fries into my mouth when i noticed Scotty playing with his toes. (his rainboots and socks had come off almost as soon as we got in the car.)

"what in the world are you doing?" i asked him.

"peeling dead skin off my feet," he said.

"why?"

"i can't stop myself," he said.

"well, how about you take a break 'til i'm done eating my lunch. that would be helpful."

"OK..." he said, though i knew he was far more interested in dead skin than chicken nuggets. i'm guessing he was picking skin from old blisters, though i really couldn't bear to look long enough to fully investigate. i had to focus my mind and take deep breaths just so i wouldn't gag.

"everyone sheds skin," he went on. "humans shed skin just like snakes." while i was impressed by his knowledge on the matter, i desperately wanted him to stop talking about skin.

he is seven years old, after all, so within a few minutes he'd moved on to other interests. namely, a Barry Manilow Greatest Hits CD. my Aunt Val had it in the car (a fact i found both slightly appalling and wonderfully comforting) and Scotty wanted to hear it. apparently it's one of his current favorites. (he's so over the Naked Brothers Band.)

"Bandstand Boogie" came on, and Scotty and i counted how many times Barry sang "bandstand." (the official count was 22, though i think we started counting halfway through the song.) at one point Scotty, with a mouth full of french fry, was laughing at something. he cracked up and, in the process, sprayed me with soggy french fry bits.

"oh my god. gross!" i said. "gross!"

this only made him laugh harder. and that's when i realized: he is officially my cousin, could easily be mistaken for my nephew or - oh dear god - my son. but really, mostly, he feels like my little brother. the adorable, hilarious, nutty, pain-in-the-butt little brother i never had. i told him as much, which made him laugh, and my aunt too.

the pumpkin patch was fun. we went on a hayride, got some pumpkins, ran through a hay maze, and Aunt Val and i got delicious hot apple cider. after that, we all went to see Gram, for a brief but lovely visit. and then we went back to the Route 23 transit center so i could catch my bus back to New York.

we missed the 6:54, the one i'd hoped to catch, so we sat in the minivan for a while, waiting for the 7:24, talking and goofing off, all four of us crammed into the front seat area. when the bus finally pulled up, i said my goodbyes, got my kisses and got out of the car. i sat on the bus feeling beat but bouyant.

an easy cure for acute stress and loss of perspective? several hours with two kids who are curious, carefree and have no reason not to absolutely love life.

this morning i checked my e-mail and my aunt had written, letting me know they'd had fun. she told me that after i got out of the car to go catch the bus, Henry said, "boy, i sure do miss Megan."

i got all teary-eyed when i read that. i was smiling, with a huge lump in my throat. as always, i feel so lucky to be related to those two, let alone to have the kind of relationship with them that i do.

they're the best just-like-little-brothers a girl could ask for.

mb