Happy (lunar) New Year

I'm a little apprehensive of the New Year. My horoscope (as a Dragon) said that the year of the Dog will be filled with conflict, because the Dog is directly opposite of the Dragon. This year I am supposed to keep my emotions (temper), stubborness, and outspoken nature in check. "Stay close to home and take care of family matters."

Well, maybe these things don't mean anything. There are approximately 6.1 billion people in the world, and if we assume an even distribution of births over a twelve year period (which we cannot, but....) that means over 500 million people are going to have a crappy year.

Just in case, I put away my aversion to cooking and made soup yesterday. In Korea, people celebrate the New Year by eating dumpling soup. It is supposed to bring good fortune for the year. So maybe the two things can cancel each other out.

The following is the recipe in case you get the yen to cook something lucky

Ingredients
Soup bones - I use beef bones. Some people like chicken, or mushrooms.
1 clove of garlic
Duk - Korean rice cakes. The soup kind are shaped like ovals.
Dumplings - you can make your own or buy the frozen ones (reccomended)
non seasoned Geem (Nori)
eggs
scallions

Boil soup stock with garlic. It is best to this step a few days ahead so you can defat it. Add duk and dumplings to broth. Drop in an egg. Serve with chopped up scallions and crumbled seaweed on top.

Psychic twins?

Freaked out our friend yesterday. I had not heard from him in months, so alittle out of the blue I gave him a call. He had left a message on ET#2's phone earlier that day saying to call him back and sorry he had been so out of touch lately. He saw the 617 number and thought I was her.

Sorry ET#2, for psychically recieving your messages.

uneasy listening

My office building has a baby grand piano in its lobby. During the work week, from noon until 1:30, a pianist plays said baby grand. It's kind of a nice touch. We have different pianists every day of the week. One lady plays strictly classical pieces -- she leans towards the romantics, lots of Chopin and Debussy. My favorite is the guy who plays Irving Berlin and other old standards -- a reminder of my adolescence spent watching old movies on PBS because my parents didn't believe in cable. When I went to get lunch today, the middle aged man who was tickling the ivories was playing a familiar tune, one I couldn't place, until he got to the refrain. It was Always by Atlantic Star. It has been in my head ever since. I don't know how to get it out. It's starting to drive me batty.

one for the thumb

I was back in the 'burgh a few weekends ago to visit my family. It was the weekend that the Steelers beat the Indianapolis Colts. Since then they have proceeded to win the AFC championship by beating the Denver Broncos. I knew that steelermania had hit when my youngest brother woke up early the next morning so that he could watch ESPN -- but then he watched Martha Stewart so all was right with the world. We talked about Troy Polamalu and how he was robbed of the interception. Incomplete pass?? Was the ref blind? OMG, was I actually talking about sports with my gay brother?

As anyone who knows me will attest, I am not exactly what you would call a sports fan. Three years in Boston didn't turn me into a Red Sox fan -- but now that I am in NY, neither am I a Yankees fan. If anything, I suffer from sports apathy. I never thought that the day would come when I would be using my DVR to pause a football game so that I "wouldn't miss anything" and rewinding key plays so that I could watch them again. I wouldn't even allow BF to continue watching the game while I ran into the kitchen to make some tea (no beer, although I did have some pretzels). I found myself cheering and actually jumping off the couch when the Steelers intercepted the ball and calling my family back in Pittsburgh to gauge their and the city's reaction. As an aside, I think that part of why I enjoyed the game so much is because I was watching it on my DVR and skipped the commercials -- it only took about 1.5 hours to watch the game. And, I was able to take breaks to do laundry in between.

For the first time, I am actually looking forward to watching the superbowl and I'll actually care about who wins. Who would've thought this would ever happen? I will be watching Superbowl XL, terrible towel in hand. Go Steelers!

Lacy intimate apparel

While the title may sound racy, I have actual practical questions for the readership that are very mundane.

As some of you know, I have implemented a fairly rigorous excercise routine. (Rigorous for me, not for the average joe/jane.) The unfortunate side effect is that my breasts have shrunken significantly. Which sucks because I have not lost weight or inches off of any other part of my body. I digress.

On Saturday, while I was shopping for a gift for K's baby shower, I stopped into our favorite place in the world, Filene's Basement. I hit all the regular sections, purses, shoes, dresses, the vault, juniors, and this time I checked out one section I normally avoid, lingerie. ET#2 and A, think the lingerie section is a critical part of the Basement experience. I feel a little uncomfortable amongst all the thongs and push-up bras. Yet, with my shrinking boobs, I would be brave and sort through the bins for something size appropriate.

For years now, I purchased most of my panties from Costco, where for $6.99 you can purchase a six pack of white cotton bikinis. Since Costco does not sell brazeers in the same manner, I normally am forced to a deparment store, in which I pick one style and buy it in three colors, white, nude, and black.

Finding the simple brazeers I am accustomed to would not be possible at the Basement. I would have to venture into something a little more risque. Hopefully, these undergarments would only have to be worn temporarily, so I could handle a few months of something out of the ordinary.

In the bins, I found two acceptable bras. Both were under $10, which allowed me to overlook the lace overlays. Happy, I walked away only to spot a matching lacy panty to one of the bras. Intrigued, I picked it up too. Since it cost more than half a packet of Costco bikinis, I found it hard to justify the purchase. But a positive disposition, or wishful thinking, drove me to buy it. You never know if there may come a day when someone other than the women in gym locker room may see my underthings. It could happen.

Later that day, I was struck by this thought. A matching set is very impractical. Most women wear a bra for more than once between washings, but a panty just gets a one day use. At some point one will wear out before the other.

Why don't they sell one bra with two matching panties?

Are you always supposed to wear them as a set?

If it says hand wash, can you at least gentle cycle them with Woolite with a little bleach?

I swear, sometimes these puppies should come the a handbook.

not so anonymous

I logged into friendster the other day -- the first time in a while. Friendster now has a feature called "who's viewed your profile." I was surprised to find that 11 people had viewed my profile since the beginning of the month. When I checked to see who these people were, I saw that the ex, who I haven't heard from nor spoken to in 2 years, has been viewing my profile. I didn't really know how to react to this. I was curious about what the ex was up to -- his sister, who I still keep in touch with, if anything we are closer since the breakup, has given me some updates. He is still living a happy life in SF, and I am happy for him. I then realized that the ex is really bad at cyber stalking. I didn't click on his profile until I turned on the "view profiles anonymously" function. No real information there, although I did view some of his friends' profiles (anonymously, of course) and the ones that rubbed me the wrong way are just as irritating electronically as they were in real life.

Law and disorder?

"In the criminal justice system the people are represented by three separate, yet equally important groups: the police, who investigate crime, the district attorneys who prosecute the offenders and the jurors, who were too stupid to get out of their civic duties. These are their stories."

PUM PUM

Scene 1: Early summer. A tired graduate student looks in her mailbox. She screams. In her hand is a letter that summons her to....Jury duty.
The young woman gathers herself. She sees that she is to report to a court in Dedhem. All of a sudden, she has an idea. She replies to the summons saying that she does not own a car and this summons would be an undue hardship.

Scene 2: Two weeks later. The graduate student finds yet another letter from the State of Massachusetts in her mailbox. It tells her to report to jury duty this time in Quincy on January 6, 2006. She laughs. That date is more than 6 months away.

Scene 3: Winter has come. Hard living has aged the graduate student. Her wrinkle hand points and then slaps her forehead. The camera pans to a calendar on her wall. January 6th is circled in red. She hurries out of the room. She goes to a small wine party with her friend V. At the party, she meets, H, a mild mannered computer programmer.
GS: I’m dreading next week because I have to go to jury duty. It is the 7th time I have gotten a notice. No matter what state I move to, I always get chosen.
H: I have had to miss work for the past week. I’m a juror on the world’s longest case. Actually, it is really interesting case, but I am not allowed to discuss it.
GS: Really, I have never heard of anyone having to serve. I once got chosen, but the case got plead out. Wow, you are unlucky.
H: Yup and I don’t know when it will end.

Scene 4: The grumpy graduate student looks over at her alarm clock. It is 6 am. She gets out makes breakfast. She gathers her purse, some paperwork, a novel, and her Zillion. She gets on the train at 7:15 am. At 8:20am, she arrives at Quincy center. She makes her way to the Quincy District Courthouse. It is a squat two story, square brick building. It is supremely unimpressive. She walks through the metal detector and gets greeted by a woman with a metal wand. Slightly violated, she climbs a set of stairs and enters the Juror room.
A montage with somber music: The room is full, but she finds herself a seat in the back and starts reading her paperwork. They watch a VHS tape, which has instructions on how to be a juror. The graduate student gets called with the other members of panel #1. The judge asks the group questions and the jurors raise their hands. Then the lawyers call the graduate student and interrogate her. At the end of the montage, we see that the graduate student is chosen with six other people.

Scene 5: Graduate student is in her advisor’s office.
GS: So I will not be in next Tuesday. I have to go back to serve on a jury.
A: Really.
GS: Yes. I will get a sheet of paper from the State saying so just as proof for you.
A: That is okay. You are really unlucky.
GS: Don’t say that. It could haunt you later.

Scene 6: The graduate student returns to the Quincy Courthouse. She sits in her seat and listens to testimony. She tries desperately not to fall asleep, but occasionally nods off. She returns the next day, the next day, the next day and then the next.

Scene 7: In the Jury room, the jurors find a verdict.

The graduate student is free for the next three years. Wahoo!

A geritrically good time

I've mentioned in previous postings that I have a strange allure to kids, animals, and old people. For instance, let us use last week as an example. On Wedneday at Stop & Shop, an old lady made me pass her cans of Pam off the top shelf as she compared the ingredients. Next to her was a man that was a good six inches taller than me, but for some reason I must have had a better reach. On Friday, a toddler grabbed my hand at the local courthouse. And yesterday on my run, a brown pitbull followed me in the snow for about a mile. I petted him, he whimpered, and then he ran back.

So it should have been no surprise to anyone that my landlord, who is pushing eighty, and his wife, who is in her mid-sixties, think I am peachy keen. My landlord went to Middlesex, a local boarding school, and apparently years ago when rifling through my mail realized that I went to a boarding school too. This revelation was a bonding because in the subsequent time I have heard some very personal stories from this man. His wife, on the other hand, loves me because I am yellow. That's right yel-low. This crazy jewish lady adopted a chinese girl and thinks that I, even though not chinese, could serve as a good role model.

On New Year's Eve, I dropped by my landlord's apartment for some pre party festivities. They had been inviting me all week. While I tried to slime out of the event, I was cornered that morning and promised to drop by for one glass of champagne at 8pm.

When I entered, I was a little surprised. I assumed that they had invited everyone from the buildings. Never assume. Besides, the adopted chinese girls and her best friend, I was at least 35 years younger than anyone there. My landloard poured me a full wine goblet of Pierre Jouette. I sat down next to W, who told me he graduated Harvard in 1959. His wife a local artist was talking to another nice lady about the medicare prescription plan. One couple had just visited the hospital to visit their 5th grandchild. And a widow, asked me if I wanted to drive her car once a week during this cold weather. Luckily, my landlord poured me another goblet of champagne. At 9pm, I got up to leave. I told them I needed to get ready to go out to the city. "Doesn't that sound like fun, remember that time...." W said.

It was a fun night, both with people my age and the young at heart.

living in fear

I have been coming into work later and later these days. Most of the people in my group get in by 8:00 am. I am lucky if I make it in my 9:30 am. Lately, I've been pushing it by sneaking in at around 9:45.

Most NY corporate law firms give their associates blackberries so that we can "have the convenience of checking e-mail while out of the office." It is little more than an electronic leash. I check my blackberry first thing in the morning (around 7:45 am). If I don't have any relevant messages (I get about 25 firm related -- internal spam -- emails each evening), then I take my time getting ready. If I do have messages, then I have to race through my morning routine, skip the Dunkin Donuts coffee, and head straight to work. I generally don't have blackberry service while on the subway, but sometimes I get reception between 125th Street and Columbus Circle. But at that point, I am only about 10 minutes away from the office, so getting messages during my commute doesn't really bother me. What strikes fear into my heart is walking into my office and seeing the red light on my phone. Every morning I live in fear of that light and messages from partners asking for documents that I should have reviewed and revised before leaving the previous night. Pretty much, I am a slacker or master procrastinator.

I also hate that my faxes are routed to my phone instead of straight into my inbox. This causes me much unnecessary stress. Why? Because lately, I have been getting spam via fax -- not so frequently that I am used to seeing the red light on my phone every morning, but just often enough to freak me out. Is this any way to start my day or my new year? I think not...

The kindness of strangers

Though I would never confuse myself with Blanche DuBois, I do sometimes depend on the kindness of strangers.

December 31st, 2005 was my first New Year's eve away from my family. Over the years my sister and I often bemoaned our parents not letting us go out for the night. We stayed at home showered, dressed up, and sat in the living room watching people party around the world. At the stroke of midnight, we open champagne (no sparkling wine for the k's). My mother always prepares some kind of seafood, I have no idea why, to accompany our champagne. Then at 12:15 am everyone goes to bed, normally leaving me to watch some cheesy romance movie on local television.

This year I was ready. I finally got to say "yes" to my friend's invitations to go out for the night. Since I had never gone to a city and done the whole bar thing, I thought I would give that a try. I dressed up in a black striped dress and gold open toed shoes, very gauche for the winter, but what the heck how often do I wear a dress? Of course, it was snowing that evening, the first time in weeks, but I was not deterred. I met V and C and V's apartment, watched a little more last minute primping, and the off we were.

When we got to Mantra, we waited in line for a few minutes. Lots of drama was all around as drunk girlfriends and boyfriends were rarin' to go, either by dry humping or having large splashy fights. I guess passion can take you either direction. Inside it was crowded, with the largest south east asian community I have ever witnessed in white Boston. We met up with N, D, and another couple shoe name I have already forgotten. It was nice we danced the night away, got hit on, the usual fare.

The party ended at 2:30am. As always the Boston Public transportation system shut down an hour before the parties ended. A conspiracy perhaps? Anyway, V, C and I were desperate to catch a cab. V and C had lost all other feeling but pain in their feet, and were drunk enough not to be able to navigate a straight line, especially on the icy sidewalks. On the stree,t a sea of filled taxicabs passed us by. Everyone was out trying to get a ride home. V saw a group of girls next to us and lamented "Those bitches are hot. They are going to get a cab before us." They in fact did not.

After a good while on the street corner, a van stopped at the stoplight. As a joke, we asked the driver if he would take us home. When the light turned green he did not move. He was talking to the someone on the passenger side. Then he said "Where are you girls going? Actually that is okay, just get in we'll take you home."

Now, on any other day a man with a van may not be a first choice, but we climbed inside the van. In the van were four people, the driver, his blonde girlfriend, her blonde sister, and the sister's boyfriend. The two women were wasted, loud and fabulous. As we were driving, the girlfriend noticed a girl in a silk halter top shivering by herself. The van stopped and she got in too. This girl was having the worst night, as her top was falling off, she did not know where coat was, and her boyfriends was a jerk. Now, we were filled to the brim.

It was snowing quite hard and it was hard to see out the window. We took the poor driver in the most round about way V's apartment. That was okay because the drama in the car was quite entertaining.

When we finally got to the apartment, J, the girlfriend, left us with some sane advice, "Now, no more getting into cars with strangers." You are blitzed, but wise J.

The next morning I could not believed what we had done. But I guess we were in a less than an ideal situation, and I could not imagine having to walk back in ridiculous open toed shoes and two drunk friends. It was a perfect way to ring in the new year, by being reaffirmed that people are essentially kind.

So Tom of Revere with the van if you ever read this "Thank you again, and God bless you."