A Writer’s Book of Days (01/14) – Write About The Horizon

“Wait a second, are we supposed to be going over a bridge?” Mom asked as the J train rumbles into daylight.

Crap. I forgot that Essex Street and Delancey Street were the same station and missed the stop.

In a few months, I was moving to the Bronx for college and was still learning the intricacies of New York City’s subway system. We certainly weren’t supposed to be going over a bridge. Nor did I know that the next stop, Marcy Avenue, wasn’t in the greatest neighborhood.

We got off the train at Marcy Avenue and waited for the next uptown train. There were some interesting characters loitering around the station, and I knew Mom was a bit nervous. She hadn’t ridden the subway in decades, and this wasn’t exactly a mistake that would calm someones reservations.

Finally, an M train pulls into the station and we hop on, taking a bench seat by one of the windows. It starts moving back toward Manhattan.

“Look at what God painted tonight,” Mom whispered, pointing to the sun setting over Manhattan’s horizon. The sky towards the front of the train was filled with brushstrokes of orange, red, gold, pink, and purple. It was one of the more spectacular sunsets I’d seen.

Flickr: bondidwhat

“Look!” she said more loudly, pointing towards the east. Not only we were witnessing a beautiful sunset, but a rare moon rising over Brooklyn’s horizon.

Sometimes missing your stop isn’t such a bad thing after all.

A Writer’s Book of Days (01/13) – After Midnight

“After midnight” means different things to different places. If I were to step outside my front door after midnight, I’d experience the eerie calm of a bedroom community sleeping.  There aren’t many cars on the road. House lights click off one by one. You can hear sounds from miles away – a Long Island Railroad train in the distance, traffic driving down Sunrise Highway, an ambulance racing towards Southside Hospital, a dog barking. It’s peaceful, but often times unsettling.

It’s like the world’s heartbeat has gone silent and I need to know it’s alive. Sometimes I feel slightly unnerved as I walk the block home from the train station, past the dark apartment complex and houses. There are people inside of those houses, but it doesn’t feel like there’s life. The only movement is from the 7-Eleven on the corner.

One of the most interesting ways to experience that time of day is to spend an entire night in Manhattan. Lexcie and I did that two summers ago. Our trip started late in the evening, and ended when I boarded a 7 am train back to Long Island. Some neighborhoods are like my own – quiet streets, no cars, and perhaps some boat horns in the distance. Times Square is almost like a casino – you’d couldn’t tell if it was 9 pm or 1 am with all the people milling about. Diners were packed with barflies and people ending late shifts at 3 am, while the Staten Island Ferry was surprisingly packed for 4 am.  It’s certainly the city that never sleeps.

Flickr: Coffee Maker

Although it was the heartbeat I was looking for, I felt something was also unsettling about the constant movement. Would I give up the eerie, yet peaceful silence of a bedroom community for this? I’ve yet to find that happy medium.

When I was younger, I went to St. Mary’s School in East Islip. Every December 8, we’d have the day off for the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, so we took the opportunity to go into Manhattan and spend the day doing fun holiday things. Even though I’m not off on that day anymore, I love spending at least one full day in the city doing holiday things. My favorites, in no particular order:

1) Visiting St. Patrick’s Cathedral – The cathedral is absolutely breathtaking, but there’s something even more special about it at Christmas time, especially when the nativity scene is up.

2) Doing the holiday window tour - This map is a great guide to hitting all the major store windows: Bloomingdale’s, Barney’s, Bergdorf Goodman’s, Saks, Lord & Taylor, and Macy’s. The last one is always my favorite, although they’ve replaced Miracle on 34th Street windows with Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. Wear sneakers! And Lexcie and I learned that if you go early – those few precious days between Thanksgiving and December 1 – there are barely any lines.

3) Visiting Rockefeller Center – Nothing makes you feel more like being part of a city than being in Rockefeller Center during Christmas. I’ve never ice skated there, but I do like to marvel at the height of the tree and the size of the crowd (and perhaps go get a foot massage at the Rockefeller Center Brookstone). Them, you can watch the lights show against the Saks building across the street.

4) Getting something hot from a street vendor – On cold nights, nothing beats a hot pretzel or a cup of hot chocolate. One particular Christmas was so bitter that me, Mom, my brother Aaron, my sister Alyse, and nephew Joey (his first time in NYC) were only outside for a few minutes before deciding to cut our trip to the city short (even though we did stop to see the Rockefeller tree). Before we left, we stopped at a McDonald’s to warm up and order hot chocolate and apple pies. When we asked Joey what his favorite part of the trip was (thinking he’d say the tree), he replied, “Hot chocolate and apple pies.”

5) Walking through Macy’s – I never buy anything, but it’s just spectacular how decked out the store is for the holidays. A few rides on the wooden escalators are fun too.

6) Visiting Bryant Park - It’s much easier to stand and watch the skaters at Bryant Park than it is at Rockefeller Center. And when you’re bored with watching people fall over, you can browse the pop-up shops that take residence in the park over the holiday season.

7) Walking in the snow - Very weather specific, I know. But the silent, soft snow against the harshness of the city is stunning. I love getting caught in snow when I’m in New York City.

8 ) Listening to random street performers – Everyone breaks out the holiday tunes, from the Salvation Army ringers to the steel drum player in the Times Square subway station. One of my favorites is a group of church singers on Fifth Avenue.

9) Riding the vintage holiday trains - Each year, New York City Transit pulls out vintage R1/R9 subway trains and runs them in service one day each weekend before the holiday. This year, it’s running on Saturdays.

10) Visiting FAO Schwartz - Nothing brings you back to your childhood like taking a dance on the giant piano.

My favorite NYC Christmas trip was two years ago. Mom and I went to the top of the Empire State Building, had dinner at the soon-closing Tavern on the Green, and went to Barnes & Noble for a Christmas sing-a-long with “Sesame Street’s” Bob McGrath. By the time we were done, we were too exhausted to do the holiday window tour, but did see Macy’s. We’ll make up for it this year.

Visited 7 and 4 World Trade Center today for my job. Here are some pics I took – the best ones will be in Bisnow Wednesday and Friday.

As Lexcie helped himself to a heap of some Mandarin cole slaw I made yesterday, he commented how I’ve been cooking a lot more Asian-inspired foods lately. He thinks it’s particularly funny because I’m Italian. But it’s true. I’ve been on an Asian food kick ever since we visited Taiwan last year, which was quite the gastronomic adventure (see Day Two, which includes jellyfish, sea cucumber, shark fin, and quail eggs, among other culinary delights). Even the new restaurants I’ve visited as part of my 101 in 1001 challenge have been overwhelmingly Asian in nature (next stop: the new Koreatown food court).

I even just purchased a Taiwanese cook book I found on Amazon.com, which is going to be quite an adventure, since I’ve never used half the ingredients the recipes call for, like sweet potato powder.

In the meantime, I’ve been playing with my own Asian-inspired recipes with foods I normally have on hand. A few of you have asked for the recipes, so here they are.

Mandarin Slaw

• Half head of green cabbage (or 1/4 red, 1/4 green), shredded
• 2 medium carrots, shredded
• 14 oz canned bean sprouts, drained
• 2 small cans Mandarin oranges, juice pack, drained
• 2 Tbsp sesame seeds, white or black
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 1/4 tsp black pepper
• 1/4 tsp wasabi powder (optional)
• 3 Tbsp white rice vinegar
• 2 tsp sesame oil

Toss the vegetables and oranges in a large bowl. Add vinegar, sesame oil, and spices, and mix well. Let it sit for an hour in the refrigerator before serving. Feeds six.

Hoisin Shrimp

• 30 large shrimp, peeled and defrosted
• 1/2 cup hoisin sauce (I use Soy Vay Hoisin Garlic Asian Glaze and Marinade)
• 2 cups shelled edamame
• 8 oz canned sliced water chestnuts, drained
• 1 Tbsp grated ginger
• 1 Tbsp sesame oil
• 3 cups wild rice
• Salt and pepper, to taste

Marinate shrimp in hoisin sauce for two hours.  Meanwhile, cook rice according to directions. After you’re done, pour the sesame oil  and grated ginger into hot frying pan, and fry the edamame and water chestnuts for two minutes. Add the shrimp, and continue frying until the shrimp is pink and cooked thoroughly. Serve shrimp and vegetables over hot rice. Serves six.

Asian Meatloaf

Adapted from Health‘s Turkey Meatloaf

• 2 lbs uncooked ground turkey
• 3/4 cup panko bread crumbs
• 2 eggs, lightly beaten
• 1 cup carrots, shredded
• 1 cup scallions, sliced
• 1/4 cup grated ginger
• 2 cloves garlic, chopped
• 1/3 cup chicken broth
• 1 Tbsp soy sauce
• 1 Tbsp sesame oil
• 1/3 cup hoisin sauce
• 3/4 tsp salt
• 3/4 tsp black pepper
• 8 oz can sliced water chestnuts, drained and chopped

1. Preheat oven to 375°.  Pour sesame oil into medium skillet over medium heat. Add scallions and cook, stirring frequently, until onions are soft and slightly translucent (about four minutes). Add garlic, 1/4 tsp sale, and 1/4 tsp of pepper, and cook for another minute. Stir in soy sauce, broth, and 1 Tbsp of the hoisin sauce, transfer mixture to a large bowl, and cool.
2. Add turkey, panko bread crumbs, eggs, and remaining salt and pepper to mixture in bowl, and mix well (mixture will be very moist)
3. Cover a baking sheet with alumnium foil, and coat lightly with cooking spray. Form the turkey mixture into a loaf, and place on pan. Brush the meatloaf evenly with the remaining hoisin sauce, then bake 1 hour or until thermometer inserted into the center of the loaf registers 170°. Let meatloaf stand 5 minutes before serving. Serves eight.

Today, CNN had an interesting iReport titled “Christmas Creep Invades NYC.” Of course, anyone who works and/or lives in New York City knows that this is nothing new. Weeks before Halloween, Duane Reade and other stores stocking (no pun intended) on Christmas decorations, wrapping paper, greeting cards, and other holiday fare. I even joined in the disgust in an article I wrote for the November 12, 2003 edition of Fordham University’s The Ram, which you can read here.

But for the past few years, Christmas has been speeding by. Sure, I attend a lot of secular holiday parties, put up decorations, and listen to Christmas straining from every radio within earshot. But the spirit, the wonder, and the fun has been quickly disappearing. I’ve been working too hard and am too wrapped up in life to enjoy it as I once did. Like watching It’s A Wonderful Life while drinking hot cocoa. Putting together our Christmas village, intensely focused on where every tree, resident, and skating pond are placed. Practicing all my Christmas songs on the piano so I can play for the family on Christmas Eve. Baking butter cookies and strufoli with rainbow sprinkles.

Even thought I’ve been dead-set against celebrating Christmas before Thanksgiving in the past, I’ve begun to give in. As soon as Halloween was over, I blasted Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas Is You” and Sergio Franchi’s The Heart of Christmas. I’ve been drooling over Pier 1 Imports’ latest catalog, itching to bring up the decoration boxes from the basement. I’ve already starting mapping out my route to visit all of New York City’s store windows after Thanksgiving weekend. I want to enjoy Christmas as much as possible this year. I want to be in the spirit again – not looking at the Christmas tree on the night of December 25 and saying, “What happened? Where did it go?”

Of course, I will not forget Thanksgiving. It’s important to give thanks for what we already have – and I do every day. But Christmas is an extension of that for me. My family has stopped buying gifts for each other, which has been a great step. We don’t need anything. So instead, I’m focusing on what I already have, and am sharing that with others. One of my favorite things to do during the Christmas season is participate in AREW Charitable Fund‘s Secret Santa program, which provides gifts for children in NYC’s  Women In Need shelters.

Last year was particularly poignant. When I was 10 years old, I asked Santa for a bicycle for Christmas. That was during a rough economic patch for my family – we certainly couldn’t afford one, let alone two for me and my sister. But that Christmas, there were two shiny new bikes underneath the Christmas tree, and it was one of the best presents I’d ever received. Thirteen years later, I learned who my Santa Claus was – my mom’s co-worker, who knew about our situation, and bought the bicycles for us. And last year, I was the Santa Claus for a three-year-old boy named David from Women In Need, who wanted a bicycle for Christmas. It was one of the best presents I’ve ever given.

So, don’t judge if I want to celebrate Christmas a little earlier this year. I want to extend the magic past those 40-or-so alloted days. Last year, Mom and I saw Sesame Street‘s Bob McGrath at Barnes & Noble in Lincoln Center, and he sang a song from one of my favorite movies as a kid, Christmas Eve on Sesame Street. This is what I want Christmas to feel like again:

Ever since I was a child, I’ve been friendly to strangers (within reason, of course – I wouldn’t follow someone back to a big, creepy van for candy). My mother taught me that it was okay to smile back at someone, or nod and and give a friendly “Hello!” or “Good morning!” when passing someone by on the sidewalk. I think I even deflated someone’s ego a few years back after he realized I wasn’t saying “Hello” to him.

Today, I was walking down 42nd Street, when I saw a man who looked like someone I knew. I glanced briefly at him, he looked at at me, and I gave him a little nod and smile as I passed by. Nothing more. He then turns around, and nastily says, “Why are you looking at me? Are you desperate for attention or something?”

I realize that he probably isn’t all there – but it still threw me off. I was only being friendly. Despite what people say, New York City isn’t that rude (and Smithsonian magazine explains why).

It put me in a funk for the next few blocks. I then entered my office building’s lobby and the security guard said, “Girl, you need to smile!”

Sigh.

I’ve managed to get avoid yet another Summer Friday on the Long Island Railroad. It’s the period of time starting the Friday before Memorial Day and ending after Labor Day in which Fire Islanders, Hamptonites, and Montaukians take over the normal, usually quiet, commute home. Ask an everyday commuter on the Montauk Line about Summer Fridays and I guarantee they’ll make a face or groan. Certain beachgoers have earned a well-used nickname – citiots, short for idiots from NYC.

You can tell easily tell the beachgoer from the regular commuter. Beachgoers are Teva, Havaianas, polo shirts, and sundress-clad; smell heavily of suntan lotion or preppy cologne; carry Vera Bradley duffel bags and totes; have cell phones glued to their ears; and sometimes bring along a small dog, usually without a leash or crate. Your regular commuter is dressed for work, whether business suit or hard hat; has a monthly pass hanging around his neck; carries a newspaper and cup of coffee or platform beer; and attempts to sleep the entire way home.

There are unspoken rules that the regular commuter follows. If there aren’t enough seats, allow someone to sit down next to you. If someone was on the platform before you, allow them to enter the train first. Speak softly on your cell phone. Don’t bug to the commuter next to you if he’s sleeping. Don’t eat smelly food or wear heavy perfume. For the most part, this ends in a peaceful ride home (at least when there aren’t service delays).

But not on Summer Fridays.

The beachgoers arrive in one big swoop, acting like they own the railroad for $46 round trip. You wouldn’t believe the rudeness I’ve encountered. One man sat in the middle seat of a three-seater and refused to move when two people asked him to scoot over so they could sit together. More than once I’ve been woken up by a loud cell phone argument or having beer spilled on me. And in 2006, a beachgoer had her poodle in the seat next to her, while I had a long day at work and just wanted to sit down. She told me, “No, my poodle is sitting here.” Well, Mr. Poodle was not in a carrier, which is against LIRR rules, so I summoned a conductor. The conductor asked her if the dog had a ticket (of course not) and forced her to move to the vestibule – success!

Oh, those poor conductors. I know they have to deal with much more than us regular commuters fighting for a seat. You can hear a certain testiness in their voices some Fridays. “Move your bags! Your dogs must be contained! No, you have to switch at Babylon, not Jamaica! Get your feet off the seats, I told you twice already!”

I’m not saying that all beachgoers are rude, but the more-than-few are enough to make me work remotely on Fridays. On those rare Fridays I don’t work from home, I always leave from Long Island City to avoid the Penn Station logjam. I’m not asking that the beachgoers take the Hampton Jitney every week – only that they follow the unspoken rules that us monthly commuters already have in place. It will make the ride much more pleasant for everyone.

Recommended Reading:

The Rude Hamptons

In 2005, I was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma at the age of 22 (see: Living With Lymphoma). I had just graduated college, and received my first job offer and cancer diagnosis on the same day. Even though I couldn’t take the job, I was determined not to let it ruin my summer. I slyly asked my oncologist if I could attend a Journey concert (not mentioning that it would be two concerts, two days, two cities, and that I would be working on the band’s street team). He said yes, likely assuming that I’d be sitting down and nodding to the music. Yeah, right.

The first show, in Holmdel, NJ went off without a hitch (except for my funky dance moves, which really was spazzing from my post-Neulasta injection bone pain). Two nights later at Jones Beach, Long Island, I was determined to have even more fun. I danced wildly to “Don’t Stop Believin,’” ran to the stage to catch a flying drum stick, and even went backstage to meet the band. In the midst of all the excitement, the temporary port that was put in my arm for chemotherapy fell out. Oops.

Me and Journey lead singer Steve Augeri, the night my port fell out

The next day, I marched into the oncologist’s office with the snaking port in a gallon-sized Ziploc bag. The RN looked at me incredulously, and said, “Don’t you know that you are sick?”

I replied, “I’m not sick, I just have cancer.”

I wasn’t sick. Perhaps minorly inconvenienced. Cancer wasn’t, isn’t, and will never rule my life, and yesterday, I had the pleasure of meeting hundreds of young adult cancer survivors with the same kick-ass attitude at I’m Too Young For This! Cancer Foundation‘s third annual OMG! Cancer Summit for Young Adults at Pace University in New York City.

When I was originally diagnosed, I admit that I was scared. I had a somewhat rare form of lymphoma that mostly hits adults in their 50s and 60s, and didn’t know much about fighting cancer. I went to church the week after the diagnosis, where a woman came up to me and said, “I want you to meet my friend. She had cancer, and can tell you all about it.”

She walked me over to her friend, and introduced me. Apparently, her friend was not warned that she’d be talking to me. She put her nose up and said, “We don’t talk about that. It never happened.” Then she walked away. Walked away. She had a chance to do something good, but instead shunned me.

That was only the beginning of the isolation I felt as a young adult with cancer. Sure, I had family and friends to support me, but most didn’t understand what I was going through, except my friends Sheena and Tanya, who were also young. Most cancer survivors I met were much older, and didn’t have the prospects of a post-college life ahead of them. I sat down once with a social worker, who suggested I go on anti-depressants and see a psychiatrist even before I opened my mouth (and not realizing how okay I was with having cancer). And I was the only person under the age of 45 who attended my local  Look Good… Feel Better program. There weren’t many resources for cancer patients my age.

What I learned yesterday: there are over a million young adult survivors out there like me. Seventy thousand young adults aged 15-40 are diagnosed with cancer each year, yet our survival rates and quality of life has not increased in the past 30 years – 10,000 die each year, which according to i[2]y’s website is seven times greater than those who die of childhood cancer (check out i[2]y’s sizzle video for more stats). Not cool.

Despite the odds stacked against many of us, I did not meet one Debbie Downer in that room. We’re not sick, we just have cancer. Even a thirtysomething woman who is scheduled for a radical double mastectomy in two weeks had one of the biggest smiles in the room. Lymphoma, leukemia, cervical cancer, brain cancer, testicular cancer, uterine cancer, sarcoma, melanoma, nasopharyngeal carcinoma – those weren’t even half of the cancers I encountered. We shared similar stories of being misdiagnosed, the fun side effects, our uncertainties, and our hopes. Regardless of our different diagnoses, we were all there for a common cause: to collaborate, communicate, and get the message out there that the young adult cancer community will no longer be ignored.

The summit included panel discussions on oncofertility, employment and insurance, social media advocacy (neat video they showed), sex and relationships, and survivorship. There were also keynotes by Stand Up 2 Cancer‘s Diane Balma and Survivor: Africa winner Ethan Zohn (check out his video on cancer filmed for People magazine). One of my favorite quotes came from testicular cancer survivor Matthew Imerman, who said we should be called cancer crushers rather than survivors.

After I went back to work in 2006, I lost touch with my cancer self and a lot of what I promised to do for others undergoing treatment, including volunteering. Yesterday inspired me to return to the cause and not become the person who shunned me when I needed help. When I got home, I signed up for Imerman Angels as a survivior. I’m also walking in the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society’s Light the Night Walk for the fourth year ( join me October 23 at Citibank Park on Long Island, or donate).

If you couldn’t attend the summit, it was taped – you can view the video here.

Other Recommended Links:

• i[2]y: Website | Twitter | Facebook | The Stupid Cancer Show
• Oncofertility: My Oncofertililty | Fertile Hope
• Employment and Insurance: Cancer Legal Resource Center | CancerCare | Cancer and Careers
• Social Media: Mashable
• Support: Tamika & Friends | Life With Cancer | Imerman Angels | The Yellow Umbrella | First Descent
• Times Square’s Naked Cowboy gives cancer the finger (via i[2]y founder Matthew Zachary)

I feel like one of the people in the Halls Get Through The Season ads that have permeated NYC subway cars. Haven’t been able to get to the doctor or acupuncturist, and would prefer to go to the latter as I don’t want antibiotics. Hopefully I’ll get over what I think is a sinus infection by the time I leave for Taiwan.

Those Halls ads always make me feel uncomfortable. One of the comments on Ads of the World pinpointed it – you feel like you’re going to catch a cold just from looking at them. I’d probably be less bothered had they been painted caricatures, but they’re disturbing digitally warped photos.