status update

Thanks to a recently diagnosed tree nut allergy, I've been starting my mornings with an egg as opposed to my usual bowl of allergens vanilla almond cereal. I'm uncomplicated when it comes to my eggs - one egg scrambled and fried on a piece of toast, sprinkle some shredded cheese during the last five seconds of cooking, maybe a swipe of avocado if I'm feeling fancy. It's quick, easy, and foolproof, and I've been making my eggs like this for quite some time now (and even more so now that I have to remove my beloved cereal routine). Except that this morning I completely screwed it up. I don't know if I added too much milk or didn't use enough heat or maybe I scrambled the uncooked egg too vigorously? Whatever errors I made, the egg was bubbly and oversized and entirely too runny and took over the toast like a b-movie blob. I still ate it, though. Runny or not, it was still an edible breakfast, and anything can be tasty if you cover it in enough cheese.

*Speaking of breakfast, it's 8am somewhere
*And speaking of cheese...
*Nail biters anonymous
*There's more than one way to write a recipe
*An old friend and her new endeavor
*This is everything I love about everything (did I mention I love this?)

book report #8

*The Story of a New Name (Elena Ferrante) I was hooked by book no. 1, and now with this second Neapolitan Novel, I have become fully addicted to all things Ferrante. It's a little like the first-year psychology student discovering that he has all the issues he's studying, but I found so much of myself, my teenage years, and my current feelings toward life-long friendships in this book that it was almost as if I was reading my parallel universe. I'm at the mercy of the Queens Public Library to decide when I get to read the third book, but if it takes much longer I may just buy the series myself.

*Among the Ten Thousand Things (Julia Pierpont) a slightly disjointed narrative that annoyed me at first, but then I got used to it. I can't say I ever got fully onboard with this book, but the storyline was interesting, if not the tiniest bit tired (husband cheats on wife, their entire family derails). A quick read that does well on airplanes and subways.

*I Will Teach You To Be Rich (Ramit Sethi) I haven't proselytized a book in quite some time, but I cannot shut up about this book. Seriously, ask my friends. I've talked about the financial lessons I gained in this wonderfully comprehensive and plainly stated how-to book over dinner with friends, in bed with my fiancee, to my parents around the breakfast table, on the subway, at work, and even while driving a golf cart in Hawaii - because it's just that good and easy to understand. By breaking down money management to its' most elementary terms and practices, Sethi makes having and keeping money entirely possible. I read this book off a suggestion of a fellow blogger and wish I'd read it five years ago. But there is NO time like the present to get started on making smart financial decisions that will benefit you for the rest of your life.

*The House of the Spirits (Isabel Allende) it took me a REALLY long time to get into this book. It's not a nice story - set in pre-revolutionary Chile, the men are mean, the women are persecuted, the rapes are rampant, and there was such a graphic abortion scene that I had to skim over a few pages. However, once we met the mother of this multi-generational saga, the harshness of the characters' lives eased up (slightly) and things got good. Above everything else, it's a beautiful tale of love, life, and revolution in an era and country I know so little about. Also, it counts as the second of ten translated works I'm hoping to read this year.

*The Vacationers (Emma Straub) A light, quick, and breezy read (which I really appreciated after the heaviness of the aforementioned Allende), but nonetheless surprisingly poignant and delicately written. The setting (a two-week vacation in Mallorca) didn't hurt either, nor did the dime-store descriptions of the sexy Spanish tutor. The perfect beach book.

*A Little Life (Hanya Yanagihara) Devastating, depressing, and over 800 pages long, yet somehow also easy to read and impossible to put down. By the last 100 pages, I was crying so hard that I could barely read the words on the page, and this book was ultimately the catalyst for not one, but two evenings of actual weeping. This was my pick for my book club (I know, good job, Mar) and everyone who finished the book had equal-if-not-worse visceral reactions to any one of the horribly violent and sadistic rape scenes. One member had such bad nightmares that she threw in the towel at page 400 and didn't even finish the book. So it it worth a read? Well, the ensuing discussion at book club was one of the longest and deepest we've ever had - so many themes and questions emerged from the reading that we couldn't stop talking about it. If you're looking for a meaty but upsetting tome to sink your teeth into, this book is for you. Just be warned that it is not a nice story.

Quality Meats

I was recently on a flight (MCO - LGA) where I was trying with all my might to ignore the screaming children seated behind me. They were old enough to know better, and even if they didn't know better, their grandmother, seated in the aisle seat (the children were in the middle and window seats, respectively), most certainly should have been proactive in keeping them quiet. She, unfortunately, fell into a deep sleep before we even got off the runway in Orlando and remained in said sleep until we landed two hours and twenty three minutes later in New York.

I know all this about the family behind me because the children started screaming as soon as they sat down. Both I and my next-seat neighbor (me, window seat; he, middle) startled forward at the first of hundreds of kicks to the back of our seats, and I, already tired and annoyed at having to get up well before my usual wake-up time to make a 10am flight, grumbled something under my breath about how these kids will NOT scream through this entire flight if I have anything to say about it.

"I'll hold you to it!" said the man.

"Pshyeah!" I stammered, not realizing that I actually said my inside thoughts aloud.

Then an announcement came over the loudspeakers, the man closed his eyes and laid his head back, and I stuffed my earphones into my ears and tried to let the cool tones of Hoda and Kathie Lee lull me into oblivion (thanks, JetBlue!) as I mindlessly paged through a magazine.

The kids would not stop. At one point I was driven from mere passive-aggressive thinking to actual communication when, after sustaining yet another kick to the back of my seat, I lurched over my chair and said to the boy, "hey buddy, when you kick the back of my seat I feel it, ok?" He nodded blankly and to my surprise, ceased all extraneous movement.

For about 20 minutes, that is. Halfway through the flight, the child in the middle seat let loose a kick so hard I was surprised the captain didn't ask everyone to brace themselves for turbulence. The man next to me flew forward in his seat, glanced sideways at me, and said "I thought you were going to keep them quiet."

I shook my head. "I tried! And I failed miserably!"

He laughed. "Ah well. Looks like I'm not getting my nap in this morning."

"And I guess I'm not reading this magazine today," I sighed as I silenced Kathie Lee.

"I'm Mark," he said as he extended his hand. "What brings you to New York?"

And with that, we began as all pleasant airplane conversations begin. I told him how I was between gigs and had seized an opportunity to spend a few days in Florida at a friend's parent's house (free food! In-ground pool!!), and he told me how he used to travel from his home in Connecticut to New York on business all the time, but that he's retired now and has permanently relocated to Florida. We talked about jobs and politics and the weather and the Queensboro Bridge and how I'm an only child and he has two kids and six grandchildren, all girls. Eventually, I got around to inquiring why he was on his way to New York.

"Well," he said, matter-of-factly, "I'm going to have dinner with an old buddy of mine. One of my closest friends, in fact. We met on the golf course forty years ago, and we were foes when we started out because we were always trying to beat each other's score. But eventually we realized that we liked hanging out more than we liked playing golf, so we gave up the game and started being friends. People used to call us TooTall and TooSmall (he was very tall, you see, and while you can't see it because I'm sitting down, I'm actually very short!), and they'd see us coming and say, 'Oh look, there's TooTall and TooSmall, together again!' We even went into business together for a while, and even though we're both retired now, we talk on the phone two, maybe three times a week. But he just got diagnosed with stage-four cancer and was given only a few months to live, so I'm going to New York for the evening to have one last dinner with him. We're going to Quality Meats for steak and then we're going to find a nice quiet bar and have a couple cocktails and reminisce about the old days. This'll probably be the last time I see him."

I was very quiet for a while. "I am so sorry to hear that. That's the saddest thing I've heard in quite some time. I hope you have a good time tonight...?"

"Oh we will! It'll be good to see him again. And don't be too sad, he's lived a good long life and we've been lucky to have been friends for so long. I'm just grateful that I get to do this. But this is the important thing: live your life so that one day, you too can buy a last-minute plane ticket to say goodbye to your friend. Not everyone has the means or the freedom to do something like this, but I do, and I'm grateful for it."

We began our descent into New York not long after that. The plane came to a full and complete stop, the seatbelt sign went off, and we stood for the never ending process that is disembarking a plane, taking the opportunity to glare at the oblivious children and grandmother behind us (I noticed, with more than a little satisfaction, that I was not the only passenger in the vicinity shooting angry looks at the family). But secretly, I was the tiniest bit thankful for those obnoxious kids and their headphone-less iPads. How often do we actually talk to the stranger seated next to us on an airplane?

I'm not suggesting that every flight is going to be accompanied by moving and thought-provoking dialogue. People are often at their worst during times of travel (I know I am), and the last thing I want to do is be stuck next to some bloviating armchair politician while speeding through the air in a flying tin can 20,000 feet above the earth.

But sometimes you have to throw caution to the wind (and throw out all hopes of rest or magazine-reading) and talk to the person sharing your recycled air, because you just might be granted the gift of a beautiful story.