About Amanda
I’m a disgruntled LIRR commuter by morning, real estate journalist by day, insomniac by night, and cancer butt-kicker for life.
Where To Find Me
The Christmas Creep
Published November 5, 2010 | 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. Continue reading
Smiling At Strangers
Published October 6, 2010 | 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.
Unspoken Rules
Published June 5, 2010 | 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. Continue reading
We’re All Too Young For This
Published May 24, 2010 | 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. Continue reading
Carry On, Good Lady
Published January 16, 2010 | 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.