Low-Tech Fix

At a recent visit to the optometrist, I learned that my vision has, once again, worsened. I have no trouble up close, but trying to make out far-away signs or facial features of actors onstage, two necessities in New York, was getting to be tricky. My doctor upped my prescription and recommended that I try to look away from my computer monitor frequently to let my eyes refocus on things that are farther away. I confirmed the benefits of this tip while reading a recent article about glaucoma (January is Glaucoma Awareness Month!). Like many resolutions, however, this one is easier made than kept, as my vision is about the last thing on my mind when I'm in the middle of typing or reading something. The reminder I've taped to the corner of my screen, however, is proving to be extremely effective at reminding me to glance around the room or down the hallway from time to time. Take that, technology! Scissors and markers to the rescue!

NYE in NYC

The loft, pre-party

When I decided to spend my first-ever New Year's Eve in New York, I vowed to stay as far away from Times Square as possible.  The ball drop did not interest me so much as warmth, available bathrooms, and personal space did.  What to do, though? Plenty of bars host parties which promise entertainment, bottomless drinks, etc., but the reality is that they're often overcrowded, understaffed (making it difficult to access those bottomless drinks) and overpriced. It sounded as bad as Times Square, and I had some serious responsibilities to consider: my friends Mark and Shelly were going to be in the city and I had to find a great way for us to ring in the new year. Luckily, Maggie and Leonard came to the rescue with a rented loft in midtown. They invited Ed and me to buy some of a limited number of tickets to help control crowds and cover expenses, and we were relieved to accept.

Before heading to the party, Mark, Shelly, Ed, and I went to one of my favorite restaurants in the city for some tapas. Socarrat, the name of the place, is almost next door to Ed's apartment. I'm not the only one who loves it, and so we weren't able to get a reservation (on New Year's Eve in New York City? Yeah, right.) but luckily they had a spot for us at the bar. The restaurant is a paella place, but they have lots of great tapas to pick from, too. We'd consumed more wings and fried pickles than any cardiologist would be comfortable hearing about while watching part of the Vanderbilt football game that afternoon, but we found room somehow for the stuffed dates, grilled zucchini, fried artichoke hearts, and other tasty plates we ordered.

Wall of Veuve boxes

The loft was designed for parties and was not residential - apparently it is a hot spot for bar mitzvahs - and Maggie and Co. outfitted it with a light-up bar, a beer pong table, and lots of beverages. Ed picked up a bottle of Veuve champagne to contribute, but when we got there, we saw that our hosts had beat us to it. In fact, there was literally a wall of the stuff - more than enough for midnight toasts, plus general drunkenness all evening long and morning-after hangovers. Liquor and mixers, wine, and even cheap beer (mostly for beer pong, but available to those with less refined tastes) were also on hand and all included in the ticket price; we just bellied up to the bar and helped ourselves. Also included was a hired doorman, who checked our names off the list, handed us each personalized sunglasses, and told us to enjoy ourselves when we arrived. 

Looking down from the second level

Beer pong champs

And we did. I learned that in addition to Ed's many talents, he is a fine beer pong player, and he and Mark enjoyed beating the pants off several times in a row before they threw in the towel and came to hang out with us girls. The sound system was on the blink and so while we had music, it was not loud enough (and we were not drunk enough) for dancing, alas. We all toasted, blew noisemakers, and hugged and kissed each other at midnight. And when it was finally time to go home, we stepped out into a remarkably warm night (for New York in January anyway) and went back to Ed's apartment, which was so close we didn't even need to fight the crowds of people on the sidewalks for a cab.

All in all, it was a pretty great start to what I hope will be a fantastic year!

How to Make a Superb Gin Fizz

My grandparents gave me some nice gifts this Christmas, but my favorite was the lesson my grandfather gave me on the art of gin fizzes! In the spirit of the holidays, which I am not ready to let go of, I share his secrets with you.

You will need all of this stuff: 

1) Fill a blender about halfway with ice.  Then add 6 oz. frozen lemonade concentrate.

2) Add a minimum of 6 oz. gin.

3) Though it is not traditional, my grandfather suggests 6 oz. of apricot juice as well. He uses Kern's.

4) Add 6 oz. half and half (I never said it was health food)

5) Now for the egg. You can use the whole thing, or just the yolk (for a Golden Fizz) or the white (for a Ramos fizz). Bonus points if your eggs are freshly laid by chickens in your own backyard.

6) Top off with about 2 tablespoons Cointreau.

7) Blend until nice and frothy. Be warned that the level of fizz may rise alarmingly, requiring emergency action from onlookers.

8) Serve to your friends and get going right away on the next batch – they'll be ready for it.

Hope your holidays were as fun and fizzy as mine!

Madame Butterfly

Ed's mother is an opera afficianado. Her father was a conductor, and she was brought up with classical music, reportedly attending operas from the age of 3. She estimates that she has seen Madame Butterfly somewhere between 15 and 30 times, and so when the Metropolitan Opera announced it would be performing it, she made the trip up from Texas for the occasion. Luckily, I was invited to tag along with Ed  and some of her other friends.

The performance space, seen from seats much less awesome than ours.

The Metropolitan Opera House is spectacular. It's covered with red velvet and lit by grand chandeliers that rise up toward the ceiling as the lights go down. It was an elegant, quietly splendid venue. The crowd, I'm sorry to say, was often less elegant. Before the show and between acts, Ed and I did a lot of dramatic head jerking and whispering to draw each other's attention to yet another relic of the 1920's dressed in a skimpy, sequined cocktail dress her granddaughter was probably too old for. We also spent several minutes in hot debate about whether that person with the long hair, sparkling headband, and utility vest was a man or a woman. To balance this out, however, there were women in luscious furs and men in richly tailored suits and tuxedos.

The music, of course, was live, and the orchestra was conducted by Placido Domingo, one of the three tenors. (Ed was horrified that I didn't recognize his name, but like much of the world I know the three tenors as "Pavarotti and those two other guys.") When he took his position, the audience went wild in the way that opera audiences tend to do: more fervent clapping kept at a respectable, reasonable volume, with an occasional, ill-advised whistle.

Butterfly with her puppet son

I thought the show itself was wonderful. The staging was really creative, with a mirrored, angled ceiling above the stage reflecting the action and showers of cherry blossoms now and then. Extras in black clothing and black veils draped paper lanterns around the singers or flew birds perched on long staffs through the air to signify the changing seasons. One of the best parts was Butterfly's son, played by a traditional bunkaru puppet instead of a real little boy. (Apparently having a three-year-old on stage was too nerve-wracking, as no one was really sure what he'd do once he got out there.) He required three puppeteers to keep him in action, but it was really astonishing how life-like his movements were, and he got a standing ovation during the curtain call. In front of my seat was a screen displaying an English translation of the words, so I was able to keep up with the story.

The dramatic fan dance that begins Madame Butterfly

Following the show, Ed, his mother, a family friend and I went to a very late dinner at a fantastic restaurant near Chelsea Market that Ed and I have recently discovered. Our reservation was for 11:15, but by the time we got there it was closer to 11:30. Appropriately, we drank sake and ate a variety of Asian-inspired dishes, and I didn't get to bed until 2:00 in the morning! I loved seeing the opera and would certainly be open to seeing more, provided I continue to work in an office with a ready supply of coffee for the mornings after performances.

Getting Through the Holidays

I'm not going to any real Christmas parties this year, which is a little disappointing. My office will be having a "holiday dinner" at a restaurant next Monday (as I am the only full-time member of the staff who is not Jewish, I suppose a Christmas party would be asking a lot) and I'm going to an ugly holiday sweater party on Thursday, but I imagine that will feel like a regular house party except that everyone will be wearing bright colors. So when my friend Eddie told me he was singing in a Christmas medley show at the famous Birdland jazz club, I didn't hesitate to say I'd be there. Birdland is a lot of fun, I love watching Eddie perform, and I felt I was in need of some Christmas spirit.

The show was run by Zach James, a college friend of Eddie's who studied opera. Zach has been extremely successful, performing on Broadway not once but three times. Currently he plays Lurch in the long-running Addam's Family.  He certainly looks the part: he's very tall and thin, but at the same time seems too cheerful and good-natured to play the role. He emceed the show, entitled "Getting Through the Holidays," and sang quite a few of the numbers and was really wonderful.

Zach in the role of Lurch

Zach explained that he'd "gotten some friends together" to do the event, and I was struck by what a statement like that means for someone like that as the show went on.  Eddie's number, "The Oogy-Boogy Man" from The Nightmare Before Christmas was the first one, and he was fantastic. He really hammed it up and had the audience in stitches. A classically trained opera diva sang "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus," a version replete with extremely dramatic arpeggios in odd places.  A crooner with slicked-back hair joined Zach in a duet of "Silent Night." A friend of Eddie's in a slinky black dress with feathers in her hair sang a jazzy song about New Year's. A short, older, very Jewish woman did a few minutes of stand-up-style comedy before treating us to an overly phlegmy version of "Silent Night" in Yiddish. And a frumpy drag queen named Bertha, the self-titled "Hausfrau of the Heartland" did a hilarious act in tights and a red dress trimmed with white fur. It was, needless to say, quite a show.

I left full of martinis and the holiday spirit, feeling thankful that if I can't be a Broadway star, at least I can hang out with them.

Change-Up in Van Cortland Park

Today, I ran my 10th Road Runners race of 2011. This is significant because after race 9 a few weekends ago, I officially qualified for the 2012 New York Marathon - hooray! Today's race was not necessary for qualification purposes, but it was a very different race from the kind I'm used to here, and I'm glad I did it.

The Peter McArdle Cross Country Classic took place way up in Van Cortland Park, in the middle of the Bronx. The park is large and connects to a network of running trails that go through woods, so it was a welcome change from the road races I've gotten used to. It was a 15K (9.3 miles) course, made up of three 5K loops - not the most thrilling set-up, but there's something to be said for gaining familiarity with a hilly terrain.  By the third go-round I knew exactly where the biggest hills were and was ready for them. (Well, as ready as I was ever going to be.)

An uncharacteristically flat portion of the Van Cortland trails.

I've been going to the gym a lot lately, but I've been riding a stationary bike, lifting weights, and doing short running workouts, so I wasn't very prepared for this sort of run.  Not only was I out of shape, the hills were steep and the day was cold; when I left my apartment, my phone told me it was 37 degrees. Brrr. I dressed well for the race, though, and as soon as my muscles finally warmed up, which took ages, I was quite comfortable. The sunshine, when we weren't under tree cover, helped as well.

I ran a slow race, but a strategic race, which I was proud of. Lots of people barreled by me in the beginning only to run out of steam near the end, and I passed most of them again during the third lap, which was a nice feeling. I also seemed to be one of the only ones near the back of the pack who knew how to run hills. The idea is to shorten your steps and lean forward on the uphill - particularly if it is steep - and then open your strides as wide as possible on the downhill side and let gravity take you down; even though you're going quite fast, this approach actually takes less energy than trying fight gravity and slow yourself down.

Given that I haven't run more than 6 miles at a time in something like 2 months, I was surprised that I wasn't completely exhausted by the end. I held a steady pace throughout and did not fall into my usual post-race stupor once home. Despite my unexpected success (of sorts), this race was a good wake-up call. I've entered the lotteries for both the NYC half-marathon and the Empire State Building Run-Up, a race up the stairs to the top of the Empire State Building. If I get into either or both of those, I'd better adjust my training schedule, post haste.

Failed Experiement

On Sunday, I went over to Eddie's apartment. He had made dinner for Jeremy and me, and after tasty pasta and lots of wine, we walked over to a theater I shall not name to watch an opera I shall not name by a production company I shall not name. All this secrecy is because Eddie used to be involved with this company and had originally been cast in this opera, described by its creator as "experimental," "modern," and "techno." After reading his scene and attending a few rehearsals, however, he arranged to be replaced; he didn't want to quit exactly, but he also didn't want to be involved so he skipped a rehearsal and was generally unenthusiastic until he was informed that they were "going with someone else." Still, he wanted to be supportive, so Jeremy and I joined him. We met two of Eddie's friends, Steven and Chad, at the theater and all headed to the very back row post-haste.

The "lobby" of the theater, with blue tarp curtains and the name of the opera company in unsearchable text.

 The opera was a modern piece set to techno beats instead of instrumentals. It was supposed to be more accessible and enjoyable to a present-day audience, but it ended up being depressing and totally discordant. Within the first three minutes, I was glad I was slightly drunk. In each scene, several characters sang their way through various scenarios, like a straight couple trying to rent an apartment and arguing, a gay couple breaking up, a woman having an affair with a married man, and a power-obsessed stripper screaming at her roommate. All of this was delivered in very stylized operatic style, except that it was sort of unsettling to hear a soprano soaring through the upper registers of song to complain, in a Jersey accent, that having to act as landlady was "a pain in [her] ass." This contrasted further with the techno beats doggedly hammering away in the background. The dialogue (is it dialogue in an opera?) was repetitive, and once the characters' scenes were over, we didn't see them again until curtain call, making it hard to get attached to them, or to care about their dismal circumstances.

The stage. Each act took place in this setting, though different bedspreads were brought in to denote different rooms.

For 90 minutes we sat through the intermission-less show. Eddie kept himself busy by guiltily avoiding eye contact with everyone. Jeremy squeezed my knee at particularly bad moments so hard and so frequently I was sure I'd bruise. Steven mimed putting a gun into his mouth and pulling the trigger, and learned later that he had been sitting next to the writer. Whoops.

As soon as the show was over, we practically ran down the stairs to the street, struggling and mostly failing to contain our giggles and yelps of outrage. On the sidewalk, I was treated to a second, much more enjoyable theatrical performance as Jeremy and Steven, both theater majors and one exuberantly gay, treated us to an extremely dramatic rant about the horrors they'd just been through. Eddie did his best to shepherd us away from the theater door - he's worked with this company in the past and wasn't eager to burn too many bridges - but I'm pretty sure at least a few of the cast members heard Steven's detailed account of his suffering. Steven is one of those delightful people who spends virtually all waking hours with his foot in his mouth.

Eventually, Chad escorted the still spluttering Steven back home, while Jeremy, Eddie and I retired to a nearby bar to soothe our spirits with spirits. Looking back on the experience, if I was going to have to see a show like this I'm glad I saw it in the company I did. I am glad to have book-ended the experience with drinks. And I am also glad the performance was free.