The Apartment Chronicles

On Friday night Molly and I set out to partake in National Doughnut Day. We took the train to Chelsea, aiming for the famous Doughnut Plant. We were surprised that we had trouble finding it, despite having poked our heads in once before. It had been rumored that doughnuts were the new cupcake (this was before the NYTimes declared that pie was the new cupcake), but National Doughnut Day was the impetus we needed to get out and see for ourselves. We realized we had walked too far, but couldn't imagine how we could have passed it; we expected that others would also we celebrating the holiday. Upon looping back, we found the place and a sad, sad sign:

The Doughnut Plant, it would seem, underestimated New Yorkers' zeal for doughnuts. Heartbroken, we turned to Yelp, hoping to find a back up. And, similar to the doomed night of the cupcake that resulted in a late-night trip to Fairway, we learned that most bakeries close at nine. It was 9:22. Not to be thwarted, we wracked our brains. Where could we find something satisfy our dessert craving? Ah ha! Eataly! So off we went, only two blocks east of where we were and closer to the subway.

I had never been to Eatly at night. In the past I found myself there during prime tourist time, in the mid-afternoon on the weekends; Eataly felt quiet.

Molly opted for pistachio gelato, which was delicious and very pistachio-y.

I settled on almond mousse filled with dark chocolate. I hadn't even tried it yet when this photo was taken. Clearly I was excited--and I was not disappointed.

Here's something I learned while Nick and I were on vacation: I could never really be a food blogger. I find it much too embarrassing to take photos of my food when I'm not in the comfort of my own home (or that of a close friend). The only photo I took of food during the week was this one:

This, clearly, I took on the airplane last night. Nick and I were thrilled to learn that alcohol on airplanes is much cheaper than it is in NYC bars. This half-bottle of decent Pinot Grigio was $11 and it was three glasses worth. I guess these are my true colors shining through: I will take a picture of what I'm consuming only if it's a seriously awesome deal. But really, the personal-size cans of Pringles on this flight were like $5. We got the better deal.

In general I'm not huge fan of taking photos, preferring to experience the moment firsthand rather than on the screen of my iPhone. But I recognize that this is short-sighted of me, since I also know that I love having photos to look at later. Plus, there are my loyal blog followers to consider. So, as I did for last summer's trip to California, here's a photo essay of our trip to Colorado.

We flew into Denver and spent a night visiting with my aunt, uncle, and cousins. Here is Nick, my cousins, and their kids scaling a steep hill at Red Rocks, the beautiful outdoor amphitheater. This was an adventure in itself, seeing as my cousins' kids are almost two and three and a half.

This is a high school graduation that we crashed at Red Rocks.

Ah ha! There seems to be a pattern when it comes to consumption-related photos: I take them when I drink! This was taken at the Avery Brewery in Boulder, where Nick, my cousin, and I sampled many beers for very little money (there's that money thing again).

Then we went to Breckenridge, where we stayed at an awesome bed and breakfast and rented mountain bikes. This was taken after we pedaled up a mountain for a solid two hours. I am happy here because we had reached the top. Ten minutes later, though, as we rode back down, Nick looked back at me and asked, "Are you OK? You look terrified." And I was. I thought I was going to break my neck navigating a bicycle down a narrow dirt path covered with large rocks and roots. It was not my bravest moment.

Here is Nick with helmet hair standing on the balcony of our room. Not a bad view, eh?

The next day we rode bikes again, this time on a mostly flat, paved road. Then we went for a hike.

Yes, Breckenridge is nice.

The next day we went to Steamboat Springs, where we hiked to the top of a waterfall.

And after dinner, we walked to the Botanic Park. (Not pictured: all the food we ate in between these two adventures. There was carrot cake.)

The next morning, after a positively delightful breakfast of Californian Benedict (poached egg, sprouts, avocado, tomato, Hollandaise, with potatoes on the side), we went to Strawberry Park to swim in the hot springs.

Then, we returned to Denver for a tour of the Great Divide Brewery and then dinner with my family. Yesterday we came home. Aside from realizing how much I dislike taking photos of what I'm eating, Nick and I also learned just how much we want to live somewhere with access to nature activities. Of course, figuring out how to manage this while remaining employed in New York City will be a feat.

I don't often have reason to go to Brooklyn. In fact, on the weekends, I admit to being one of those Manhattanites who says, "Brooklyn? Can't get there from here." But on Saturday work called me to a Brooklyn bookstore for an event. One of our authors was reading her latest picture book during story hour. I'm not going to complain about how, of course, neither the 4 nor the 5 train was running to Brooklyn, and how I had to trek over to the 2 and sit on the train for an hour, nor will I complain about how I had a terrible cold so the last thing I wanted to do was go to God-forsaken Brooklyn. Ahem. That's not what this post is about.

I do a lot of babysitting. I used to think that I was pretty well acquainted with the average New York City parent. Turns out, I'm actually really only acquainted with the Manhattan parent. Or maybe I should be even more specific and say that I'm really only acquainted with the Upper East Side parent. I'm speaking only from experience, I should emphasize, but usually when I arrive at an apartment, I meet the kids' mom. Dad is usually at work still, and I meet him only later when the parents come home. He's always wearing a suit. The kids are always impeccably dressed--always. Oftentimes, they have better fashion sense than I do, and they're like three years old. But on Saturday morning I encountered a whole new kind of New York City inhabitant: The Brooklyn Dweller. Saturday, it turns out, is mom's morning off. With two exceptions, all of the kids were accompanied to the book store by their dads. First, let me tell you about the dads. These were not the loafer-shod, khaki- and sweater-clad dads of Manhattan. These dads, and I'm not making this up, were wearing an entirely different uniform: jeans, black hipster glasses, New Balance sneakers, and track and field sweatshirts from colleges like Bowdoin and Swarthmore. Each dad had messy, greasy-looking hair, giving him the appearance that getting his child to story hour and putting on his hoodie was as much as he could handle this morning. And the moms? One had short dark hair with bleach blond streaks and a nose piercing. The other was wearing baggy jeans and clogs.

Now the kids. These kids looked to me like kids should look. They didn't look like they came straight from the Crew Cuts or Mini Bodin catalog. They looked like they dressed themselves: fairy wings, sparkly dresses, striped leggings, tights. Their hair, too, was messy. While I found the uniformity of the dads pretty odd, I found the kids strangely comforting. (When I was little my favorite outfits always included white tights and jellies. Remember jellies?)

I apologize if lately my blog has been all about running. Please bear with me a little longer, and I promise to soon return to more caloric topics, like cookies and cupcakes.

Tomorrow is the Boston Marathon and today was the Rotterdam Marathon. That combined with my growing excitement for New York in November, I've got running on the mind!

I know a lot of people who really dislike running, usually for physical reasons like bad knees. It gets a bad rap, as demonstrated by those cross country and track T-shirts that say "Our sport is your sport's punishment." It's true that it can be a solitary activity, unless you run in Central Park, of course. (I've been running with my friend Molly in the park, which makes it way more fun. And then we get bagels--even more fun.) There are very few famous American runners, especially when compared with, say, famous American football, baseball, hockey, basketball, etc. athletes. For some reason, most seem to think that running is not as interesting to watch as two teams battling for victory.

But there are some really cool things about running. First, it's the only sport I can think of in which the greenest amateurs can participate in the same competition as the most elite athletes. Tim Tebow certainly doesn't play Zog football.

Second, the idea of winning is completely different from what it is in most other sports. There aren't two teams where one wins and one loses. When you're participating in a race with hundreds, if not tens of thousands, of participants, it's unlikely that you're racing to win. So instead, running races becomes only about personal improvement. You can run to improve your overall pace, to improve your time on a particular course or distance, or you can run to finish a certain distance. There are more ways to feel accomplished, and winning rarely even enters the picture.

Finally, running is low maintenance. You need sneakers, some shorts, and some sort of surface. No cleats, lined field, shin guards, shoulder pads, mouth guards, referee. Grand!

Big news: I'm really running the New York City Marathon! I've been determined to do it since I moved to the city, and last year, you'll recall, I entered the lottery but was not picked. Regardless, last year I knew was going to be the year I ran my first marathon. I chose the Philadelphia Marathon because it was the closest both geographically and chronologically to the NYC one. (You can read about the experience here.) To recap: overall the experience was positive in that I didn't have any bodily crises and I finished without walking. What wasn't so great was the course (even though I got to high five the mayor at the starting line).

First the race route takes you through some scenic parts of downtown Philadelphia. This part is great because there are people cheering for you and it's pretty. Then you go through college territory, also fun because the few students who are awake to cheer are hungover and offering shots and beer. But then the route goes farther outside of the city. Running along the Delaware River is pleasant, except that you do it three times. First, you run along one side of it until you get to the most mentally torturous moment: the halfway mark. The half marathon runners run with the full marathon runners, so at mile 13 there is a large sign that says "Half Marathon: Turn Right to Finish, Full Marathon: Turn Left to Continue." No matter how much training you've done, after 13 miles the thought of being done is a pleasant one. I doubt there was a single runner who wasn't momentarily tempted. I was indeed tempted, but quickly turned my thoughts to how long and hard I'd trained, and therefore how disappointed I'd be in myself if I didn't finish the full race. I soldiered on. But of course, things only got worse after that. After you cross a bridge to the other side of the river, the course takes you back in the other direction toward Manayunk. What's mentally difficult here is that the course doubles back on itself, so while you're traveling away from the finish line and on mile 14, there are other, faster runners on mile 23 who are almost finished running toward you on the right side of the road. You continue along the river for another 6 miles to the center of Manayunk, which is at mile 20. There, finally, you turn around, knowing that you still have 6 whole miles left. At this point it feels good to see the slower runners now on your right who still have to make it all the way to the 20 mile point, while you are finally making your way toward the finish. Honestly, for me it was those 6 miles between miles 14 and 20 that were the toughest. Knowing I was heading to the finish for those final 6, despite being totally exhausted, was at least mentally easier.

So, as I said, I did make it to the end. I couldn't walk for a week and had to walk down stairs backwards because my legs were so sore. I almost lost a toenail, but that was the worst of my injuries. I didn't meet my goal, which was to qualify for the Boston Marathon, but I didn't do horribly either.

It's been five months since the race and I'm totally ready to run another one. (I compared marathon running to childbirth previously, but doubt anyone with a five-month-old is ready for another child.) This year, I've decided, IS the year of the NYC Marathon. To ensure that it happens, I'm running for Camfed, a really cool charity that raises money to help young women in the poorest parts of Africa complete their educations. The money helps pay tuition as well as for school supplies and additional classes after high school. The benefits of education are manifold, including decreased chance of contracting HIV/AIDS and a 25% increase in income. As Camfed's website says: When you educate a girl in Africa, everything changes. It's tricky to be running for a charity team, though, because asking money is always hard. In high school I raised money for the AIDS Project, so it's been seven years since I've done any fund raising. I hope this means that my family and friends are feeling generous!

My goal is to raise $3000. As of today, I've raised $435. Good thing I have seven months to go. I've started a fund raising page through Camfed. Please take a look and consider donating to Camfed, an exemplary organization. To learn more about Camfed, please visit their website.

In summary, please consider donating both to help a truly great cause and to help me run the NYC Marathon. Please?

This is Roshan and me after running the Manhattan Half Marathon in January. Next up: the Plattsburgh Half in two weeks!

Over the last few days I've fallen in love with New York over and over again.

On Thursday night I went out for drinks with Nick and his coworkers. It was a beautiful evening, so first we went to a bar near Grand Central that has an outdoor patio. Of course, everyone else in the city had decided they also wanted drinks outdoors, to the bar was packed. It wasn't unusual that the patrons of the bar were very well dressed, but it was odd that the majority were men. We tired quickly of that scene, and moved on to another bar around the corner called Bier Haus. Bier Haus was a completely different scene. We climbed a flight of stairs to be met by rows of long tables and benches, a polka band (complete with accordion and trumpet), dirndl-clad servers, and people drinking beers out of HUGE steins. We even saw a few sets of brave people doing shot skis: a ski is equipped with spots to hold five shot glasses. Five people line up and tilt the ski up, all taking shots at the same time. Yikes. There were people from all walks of life: young, old, middle-aged, dressed in suits, dressed in construction worker clothes, and everything in between. And everyone looked to be having a blast. The polka band sang happy birthday intermittently, seemingly to no one in particular. We all ordered our huge beers (no one was brave enough to order the famous boot), and found seats at one of the long tables. Nick was the only guy in our group by that time, so we were quickly joined by two intoxicated dudes from a neighboring table. One claimed it was his birthday (although his friend standing behind him made a gesture indicating that this was not true) and the other began showing us tricks he could do with a coaster. Nick and I like to leave wanting more rather than regret staying too long, and when we made our exit, the birthday boy kissed my hand goodbye and the coaster magician gave me a huge hug. I think making new friends in usually a pretty good sign that happy hour was a success.

As we walked toward the subway thinking about dinner, we came across a $1 pizza slice place. We caved and got a slice each, then continued our walk. After two blocks, both slices gone, we regretted not getting two each. But lo, the pizza gods smiled down upon us! On that very block we found  another $1/slice place! Isn't New York incredible?

These next two items are mundane, but I feel they should be mentioned anyway. I've been in the market for new dress pants for ages now. I've been to probably five different stores and tired on about twenty-five different pairs of pants. Yesterday Nick and I were walking around the Upper East Side, when Nick suggested we stop in at Goodwill. I'm a terrible shopper and quickly feel overwhelmed by stores like Goodwill, but I conceded and in we went. As soon as I started looking through the racks of pants I realized that all my dreams were about to come true. There I found a pair of black, virtually unworn JCrew dress pants in my size for $7.99! WIN! (Yes, this is probably the best Goodwill in the entire country.) To make things even better, I had just come from getting a copy of the key to our building made. I'd never gotten a key made before, and I was thrilled when it took the locksmith about eighteen seconds to make the key with his fancy saw thingy--and then he charged me $2. It's the little things.

Also yesterday--yesterday was a big day--Molly said she wanted to do" "something out of the ordinary." "But what?" was my question. The weather was gray and threatening to rain, so when Nick suggested that we ride the Staten Island Ferry, I was reluctant. But I'd never been before, so the three of us hopped on the subway all the way to the very bottom of Manhattan, where we met Zachary, Molly's brother.

The Staten Island Ferry is free and the ride takes twenty minutes. It's perhaps one of New York's best kept secrets that the ferry also has some of the cheapest beer around. Once we boarded, we made a beeline to the snack bar, where I purchased a $4 Corona. We snagged some prime viewing spots at the back of the ferry and began snapping photos like tourists. Here are some of them:

Molly and Zach

Nick and me

Our fair city

The ferry leaves every half hour from both ports, so once we got off the ferry in Staten Island, we hightailed it through the terminal to board the one heading back to the city. The views, obviously, are beautiful, and include the Statue of Liberty, Governor's Island, and the Ikea in Brooklyn.

A strange side note: once we were off the ferry and back on the subway heading uptown, the four of us found ourselves the only ones on the entire train car. So we spread out:

Molly toward the very back, then Zach, then Nick

After our Staten Island adventure, we put our names in at Ippudo, a ramen restaurant that is famous for having four-hour wait times. Zach had been a few times before, and Molly once, so we were prepared for the the wait. When they told us it would be two to two and a half hours, it seemed like no big deal. We headed to a bar with great beer, had one, and then got the call from the restaurant that our table was coming up. It had only been a little over an hour. We rushed back to the restaurant for a fabulous dinner. Until very recently, I didn't realize that ramen was anything other than the $.50 packets of dried noodles. (When I was in elementary school, there was a brief craze for bringing Top Ramen packets to school, sprinkling the powered seasoning over the noodles and eating them like chips.) Real ramen, though, is completely delicious.