3.30.2006

Ask the Comish

Do you have any burning questions to ask the New York City Sports Commissioner? If so, send 'em my way! I'll be meeting with the Comish (no, not Ray Wy-wersh, hah hah) this afternoon to drill him about the upcoming New York City Half-Marathon.

3.29.2006

Phone-y Business

In my dreams, I am a famous, globetrotting writer, zipping to different corners of the globe on a bottomless expense account as I cover the hottest topics.

In reality, however, I am a merely a pseudo freelancer with nary an expense account. The extent of my “world” travel reaches no farther than the Upper East Side. And with a not-so-glamorous full-time job, I’m chained to my desk all day. So, instead of flying to England for an in-person meeting with an expert on the subject of my next National Geographic KIDS piece, I must resort to a boring ol’ phone interview.

No big deal. 90% of my interviews are done over the phone. But this time it’s different: I’ve yet to interview anyone overseas since I left Geographic. Before, I could just close my office door, dial up any number in the world, and boom. Interview’s over and done with. Now, I have no simple method of making an international phone call. No office. No door to close. (My co-workers will just have to deal.) No land line at home. No access code at work. No way can I call England on my crappy cell phone. So what do I do when the interview is just 24 hours away?

Heeding Karl’s advice, I ventured out to some of Lexington Avenue’s finest newsstands in search of an international calling card. The journey reminded me of my frequent visits to a particularly swarthy Checks Cashed joint on 14th Street during one summer in college. Every two weeks, I waited “on line” with the other sad sacks to trade in my internship paycheck for cold, hard cash. Back then, I didn’t have access to my Fred-Neck bank. And now, I can’t make a long distance call. I’d like to think I’ve made great strides, responsibility-wise, since college, but now I’m not so sure!

Anyway, I wound up at a tiny newsstand amidst a steady stream of folks laying $1 bills on the counter and receiving Lottery Tickets in return. As I perused the various calling cards hung up on one wall, they stood next to me, clutching their pink tickets with one hand and feverishly scratching off thick layers of silver ink to disappointing results: No winners today.

After plugging the guy behind the counter with a battery of questions about the calling cards (to which he repeatedly answered, “They all good. Very, very good.”), I selected a $5 version. Apparently, it has 500 minutes on it. My interview should only last about 20. But the last thing I need as I try to be a “professional writer” is to be interrupted by an automated voice telling me my minutes are dwindling. 500 will do.

So I bought the card, and I’m hopeful that this thing actually works. And maybe, the next time I have to interview someone out of the country, I’ll get to do it in person.

3.28.2006

Does This Look Like a Terrorist To You?

(Yeah, that's what the folks at Laguardia thought, too. Read below for yet another tale of Mark's run-ins with the terrorist watch list.)
----------------------------------------------------------
I got on the 6 a.m. shuttle this morning from Laguardia to Boston, but not before I got the pre-requisite funny look and "Did you know you're on the Federal 'Do-Not-Fly/Undesirables' list?" from the person checking me in at the counter (before he/she has to call someone to get authorization and allow me to get on board the plane.)

Luckily, I didn't have to get the body-cavity search this time....that's just not pleasant.....and no, I don't want to talk about it... What kind of terrorist would use my name?? Is it some cruel joke? Is he even Irish? Can I blame "Dubya" for this??(Yes). I don't see anything bad pop-up while I'm self-googling!! (It's always a good time when you can drop the term "self-googling", isn't it?) I'm thinking of using my new alias, courtesy of the Time Warner cable bill, Mark Slynn. No one suspects Mark Slynn!!!! Or possibly combining my last name with Sarah's and becoming Mark Flassner, oddly enough, that last name already exists...but they don't appear to have a Mark yet, I'm sure they'd welcome me with open arms.

But then, If I change my name, the terrorists have already won. I need to start a petition with all the other Mark Flynns of the world to clear our good name, but not before we find the bad apple and force a name change, and then tattoo his new title on his forehead. (I might be a little too bitter about this subject, but I need to defend my good name!!)

But for now, I'll just have to stay careful when packing my luggage, to make sure I don't leave any bomb residue or hand guns in my carry-on.

Until the next time that I get to guest rant,

Mark Flassner

3.26.2006

Sighting...

The Sopranos may not be on until tonight, but I got a sneak preview of the show this morning in Central Park. While freezing my tuckus off as I covered the More Marathon, I spotted Bobby "Bacala" Baccalieri from the Sopranos (actual name: Steve R. Schirripa...yeah, I had to look that up). As tempted as I was to run over to him and ask him what is up with this season so far--is Tony experiencing some kind of flashback or is he in some strange, alternate reality? What's gonna happen to Uncle Junior?--I didn't want to intrude upon what was obviously a family moment. Turns out his wife was running the half-marathon, and the well-fed actor was cheering her on with his two teenage daughters. Guess he's as much of a softy in real life as he is on the show!

Speaking of which, it's time to watch Sopranos now. Nite!

3.24.2006

We say our goodbyes yet again...
"Life changes fast.
Life changes in the instant.
You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends.
The question of self-pity.

Those were the first words I wrote after it happened. The computer dating on the Microsoft Word file ("Notes on change.doc") reads "May 20, 2004, 11:11 p.m.," but that would have been a case of my opening the file and reflexively pressing save when I closed it. I had made no changes to that file in May. I had made no changes to that file since I wrote the words, in January 2004, a day or two or three after the fact.

For a long time I wrote nothing else.


Life changes in the instant.
The ordinary instant.

At some point, in the interest of remembering what seemed most striking about what had happened, I considered adding those words, "the ordinary instant." I saw immediately that there would be no need to add the word "ordinary," because there would be no forgetting it: the word never left my mind. It was in fact the ordinary nature of everything preceding the event that prevented me from truly believing it had happened, absorbing it, incorporating it, getting past it. I recognize now that there was nothing unusual in this: confronted with sudden disaster we all focus on how unremarkable the circumstances were in which the unthinkable occurred, the clear blue sky from which the plane fell, the routine errand that ended on the shoulder with the car in flames, the swings where the children were playing as usual when the rattlesnake struck from the ivy..."
---"The Year of Magical Thinking," Joan Didion

3.23.2006

He's Gone (I think)

Nightfall. 10 hours have passed since my mouse trauma and there's no sign of the little bugger anywhere. Guess that means he's wreaking havoc elsewhere in the city. I will sleep soundly tonight.

...And in other news from our very own Animal Planet, all of our fish (we have 14 of them now) are alive and accounted for. Hooray!

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK

I am sitting at my usual early morning perch on the couch, applying my make up in front of the TV, listening to Katie Couric prattle on about Prom Looks For Pennies. As I raise my compact in front of my face and pull my mascara wand out of its tube, I hear a faint rustling from the kitchen. My ears perk and I lower my compact, eyes darting towards the kitchen. On the counter--my counter--I see it. A dark, rounded, gyrating creature with a narrow tail snaking around its body. We lock gazes as a blood-curdling, high-pitched scream releases from my lungs. The creature scurries away. I scream again. My gut recoils and my heart races like a thoroughbred. I become paralyzed on the couch; a whimpering, helpless giant desperately afraid of that tiny creature, that disgusting thing in my kitchen on my counter.

I pick up my phone and speed-dial Mark. He just left for work, maybe he can come back and save me from this monster. He doesn't answer. I leave him a message: Mark there's a mouse in our kitchen and I'm scared and I don't know what to do about it. I say in one breath before letting out a wail. Please call me if you get this or come back right away!

I put down the phone and slowly unglue myself from the couch. Maybe I didn't see anything. I'm sleepy, and my vision isn't that strong to begin with. Maybe it was just the salt shaker or a piece of silverware I saw on the counter. I get up, do some yoga breaths, and move into the bedroom. I pull a sweater over my head walk to the bathroom. The reflection I see in the mirror is a frazzled, shaken, and ghost-white face. I scold it. What's wrong with you? Calm down! that there is absolutely nothing in the kitchen but pots and pans and dishes!

But I don't believe those words. That thing I saw on the counter--my counter--is there and I can't leave for work without doing something, anything, about it. My heart racing like a thoroughbred, I march back to the kitchen. I look at the counter and see two tiny grayish brown velvety ears poking over the lip of my favorite Le Creuset pan containing a batch of double fudge brownies. I crane my neck and see the narrow tail snaking around his plump, body, tiny paws stuffing wads of spongy chocolate into his cheeks like a squirrel gathering nuts for the winter. My gut recoils and another scream tries to escape my lungs but I halt it before it reaches my mouth. He's just a cute little thing, I say aloud between labored breaths. Harmless. Just wants some brownies. Let him be.

But the image of an army of rodents infiltrating my kitchen, my counter, my pantries, my home creeps into my head. I can't let him be. He'll bring back his friends. I have to get rid of him. Now. I seek a weapon within reach. Behind me are two Lenox candlesticks. I can hit him over the head with one, just to stun him. But what are the chances that I'll actually make contact? Most likely I'll crack the ivory porcelain instead of his head. In front of me is a set of knives. Smooth, shiny, razor sharp. With one swipe, the big butcher knife would take off this creature's twitching head. Or I can spear him in the stomach with a slicer. Ugh. There's no way I can deal with the clean-up, the blood and the gore. So I stand still and watch him, still brazenly stuffing his cheeks with wads of double fudge brownies. I take a step closer. He senses my movement and jumps up, slipping beneath the layer of foil (loosely) covering my favorite Le Creuset pan, immersing his tiny but plump body into a luxury suite where the walls and floors are made of double fudge chocolate.

Without hesitation, I grab three dishtowels and throw them on top of the pan and the loose foil. Gotcha. I grab the pan and I hold it at arm's length. I walk out the door and down the steps and down the hallway and feel the chilled air that guides me to an open door. I stealthily move toward the door, knowing I'm just feet away from releasing this city mouse back to the streets where he can forage on somebody's else's brownies and perch on top of somebody else's counter. I reach the mail room. I hear a rustle. I feel movement beneath my fingers grasping the pan and the towels. I scream, a blood-curdling, high-pitched scream. I stop and say to no one in particular, THERE'S A MOUSE IN HERE!

A blonde woman, short and stout and bundled in a cream-colored coat appears behind me. She laughs. "Nope, there WAS a mouse in there. But you just lost him. He's gone."

Or was he?

3.21.2006

The Anatomy of a Meal

Here is the recipe I went with for last night's meal. Given that it is a recipe supposedly sprung from the heartland, I thought it was especially appropriate for my favorite midwesterner (and my favorite wife of a midwesterner). But do they use Cheeze-Its in Quincy, too? We weren't so lucky in G-burg.

The broccoli, pre-blanched, pre-shocked, and pre-cooked.

Campbell's pyramid (no, I didn't use all of these cans...just props for the shoot...)

Karl shredding the chicken

The finished products
Tonight, I will be attempting to cook chicken divan for Leezie and Speed. It’s the comfiest comfort food I can think of, plus I think Leezie is still a big fan of the dish, as we all are. Just the thought of it brings back many happy memories…

She would come home and open the refrigerator and pull out the chicken, the broccoli, the cans of creamed soup, all bought the Sunday before on our dad’s weekly trip to the A&P. In that kitchen with the mustard-hued appliances and dark wooden cabinets, she would cook—“her uniform still on”—while sipping a glass of wine, or chatting with our dad or maybe one of us if we were unselfish enough to remove ourselves from our bedrooms and our homework (or in my case, the TV). She’d drench the chicken and broccoli with the cream, before smothering it all with bright orange flecks of cheese and a sprinkling of breadcrumbs. The dish was then placed in the oven behind that mustard-hued door to bake.

Soon, the scent of melted cheese—not pungent but hearty and rich—wafted throughout the house, creeping into my room where I sat “studying” on my twin bed watching
Full House on a tiny black and white TV or listening to WAVA (back when it was top 40, not Christian Contemporary) with a pen in my hand and a purple 3-ring binder on my lap.

The smell soon summoned me down the staircase and into the dining room, where the six of us would gather around a long oak table in a room with carpeting the color of pea soup. In the center of the table was the meal, bubbling and steaming and releasing that scent that was not pungent but hearty and rich.

We’d serve ourselves big, heaping spoonfuls of chicken and broccoli with a crust of melted cheese atop a bed of steaming white rice. Four tiny girls nourished by this delectable meal, with food bought by our dad at the A&P and prepared by our mom who cooked with her uniform still on.

3.20.2006

"I learned a long time ago life isn't fair...you just forge ahead."
~Dana Reeve


I came across this startlingly relevant quote this morning, as I was thumbing through the latest issue of People. I was reading and walking as I usually do on my way into work when I opened the page and saw these words. My feet ceased to move. There I was, stalled on a crosswalk at 88th and Madison, with the haunting words of Superman's wife ringing in my ears.

Maybe what Dana Reeve learned a long time ago, I'm just beginning to realize. Life isn't fair. We may cling desperately to this delicate bundle of hopes and dreams and plans for ourselves, but yet our grip still slips. The bundle crashes to the ground, shattering and splintering into shards of broken glass at our feet. If we stop to pick up the shards, they'll pierce our skin, they'll cut us so deep that we'll writhe in pain and cry out for help. But how can we leave the pieces behind? What will we cling to if not that delicate bundle of hopes and dreams? So we stop and gather the shards of glass. Slowly, we piece them back together. Our skin is pierced. We writhe in pain and cry for help, but we continue to gather up that fractured bundle until it's whole again.


We forge ahead. We must.

3.17.2006

Return of Mark

After two long weeks away, Mark is coming home tonight! I'm looking forward to feeling whole again, and I think his presense will help soothe this nagging ache in my heart and stomach. Maybe he'll bring some much-needed luck of the Irish with him, too. God knows we need it.

3.12.2006

Another One Bites The Dust

In case anyone's keeping track (I'm trying not to), another fish has floated it's way to the big pond in the sky. Okay, I'm counting: I've now flushed four fish into the NYC Sewage System. At this point, I'm thinking something's wrong with our tank, or Petco sold us some sickly swimmers. Either way, it's never good for one's caretaking confidence when nearly all of your pets die in a span of eight days. I just hope the remaining three can hold on until Mark gets back on Friday...

Bump Watch!

Leezie--and her bump--are back in town! And to everyone's delight, Speed Junior has grown exponentially. Today we met the parents-to-be at August on Bleecker Street for brunch. Leezie looked beautiful in a flowy, flowery maternity top and Citizen jeans; the perfect pregant woman. It was a lovely brunch and I gorged on Augusts' delectable pain pardu--or, in plain english, French Toast with warm blueberry compote. I felt as though I deserved to feast as I had a busy morning involving a 4-mile race and a little bit of job-related reporting--all before 10:00 a.m.

After brunch, we headed back to 'Boken to move a few more things and do more essential shopping at Linens & Things. Liz then drove back to DC, while Karl and I eventually got back to Ramsey to take the X back the garage. There, we met John (on his way back from Newburgh) who was nice enough to treat us us to a yum greasy-spoon lunch at a Jersey diner plus door-to-door service. Thanks, John!

Pics of Leezie et al. are below.

Speed and Leezie--check out the bump!

Karl and Leezie at August.

Jersey Girl

As she traded her bedroom in Brooklyn for a spacious third-floor Hoboken walkup, Karl officially became the first-ever New Jersey resident in the O'Connell/Wassner clan. She has embraced the Garden State--and a charming 2-bedroom on bustling Washington Street--with open (and toned, thanks to carrying armloads of boxes) arms. This weekend was dedicated to her move, which included a trip out to Ramsey Route 17 train station parking garage to pickup the X in its new home. The garage is conveniently located next to a Marshalls--a dangerous thing for the two of us who were extremely deprived from discount shopping (even when there are sales here in NYC, it's just not the same as my favorite bargain basements!). After spending two hours and many dollars in Marshalls, we departed for Brookyln with a carload of home goods (plus shoes for me!) for our respective apartments. We met Bubba and Daniel, down from Connecticut, and in the gorgeous afternoon sunlight proceeded to pack up our cars with Karl's stuff, before driving back to Hoboken. We were then met by Liz, who drove up from DC, and Patty, herslef a Hoboken resident, who came to pitch in.

Following the move, we all walked to Margherita's, a fabulous Italian restaurant on Washington Street. Then Karl and Liz came back to Christopher Street for a sleepover (I'm lonely without Mark!). We were all passed out by 11:30. Moving is exhausting--and I had to race in the morning.

Pics of the day are below.

Patty, Bubba, and Daniel at dinner

Karl and Liz at Mergherita's

Patty in the window sill

Bubba and Karl take a breather

Karl in her new digs.

Patty and Liz checking out the apartment.

The view of Washington Street from the living room.

Sussing out the dining room/gallery/pilates studio

Bubba and Karl checking out the place as Daniel chills on the couch.

3.10.2006

BREAKING NEWS

NEW YORK, NY—In a tragic turn of events, yet another Tiger Barb fish residing at 165 Christopher Street has died. This is the second time death has struck the tank in as many days.

The fish’s 27-year-old female caretaker discovered the remains at approximately 6:15 a.m. this morning. She claims nothing appeared in disarray in the tank and that the fish was happy and lively before she went to bed last night. Unlike yesterday’s discovery, this fish was not found near the filter but floating along the right wall of the tank he had called home for just one week.

The co-caretaker of the fish, a 27-year-old male who sometimes operates under the alias of FlynnDigi, has been traveling for the past six days and has had no contact with his pets in that time. Sources close to the fish believe that the heartbreak of being apart from Mr. FlynnDigi may have caused the two lonely tiny Barbs to go belly up.

The Barb's five tankmates will remain at the Christopher Street apartment as the investigation continues.

3.09.2006

Dead in the Water

NEW YORK, NY—One fish is dead and six others are traumatized after tragedy struck their home on the 165th block of Christopher Street in the West Village yesterday. Authorities have confirmed that a tiny Tiger Barb became entangled in the 20-gallon tank’s filter tube and died between 8:00 a.m. and 9:00 p.m. yesterday. An investigation is underway to determine the exact cause of death.

The fish’s 27-year-old female caretaker appeared distraught last night after discovering her new pet belly up and bloated. Sources say she did give the unnamed fish a proper burial at sea and is not a suspect in the case.

A native of Borneo, the fish was residing in the Union Square Petco until March 3, when he relocated to the Christopher Street apartment.

Sightings

Maybe because they're still out in LA post-Oscars, or maybe I'm just not walking down the right streets, but the celebrity sightings have been fairly minimal lately. However, they have not been non-existent. Here are a couple of my recent sightings:

  • Keenyah from Cycle 4 of America's Next Top Model shopping at Zara in Soho on Saturday. Despite the fact that it was the end of a fairly cloudy day, she still wore huge glamour-girl sunglasses as though she was trying to hide her celeb status from throngs of fans and papparazzi. Because fans and papparazzi always follow the third runner-up of a sub-par UPN reality show, right? (But yet, I still watch it...)

  • Sam Waterson, known best as the curmudgeony but lovable attorney on Law & Order, exiting the set of his show in a chauffeured black town car last night. (The set happens to be in the same location as my gym). Although he was sitting, he seemed pretty short to me, but otherwise looked "As Seen on TV."

3.08.2006

The World is Getting Smaller

When I moved to New York, I knew I'd meet tons of new people. But little did I know that I'd be randomly reaccquainted with friends from the past who I haven't seen (or spoken to) in years!

This city has brought me a new friend and training partner in a girl who I first met in 2nd grade. My homecoming date from 10th grade was in my living room on Saturday night. And on Monday, a superstar swimmer and runner from the Y and Whetstone and Watkins Mill started work as an NYRR account manager, and her office is just steps away from mine.

Many people come to New York to escape their past. But apparently, I'm here to embrace mine!

3.07.2006

My cousin, Andy, has written an incredible account about the week of Philip's death. That he was able to write with such clarity despite being less than one month removed from this devastating tragedy is truly remarkable. As I continue to stumble over all of the events and news and shocks that occured between February 10 and March 2, Andy's words provide signposts for a span of time that remains blurred in my mind.

(Mini) Milestones

A couple milestones were reached this weekend.# 1: Mark and I bought our first pets! We are now the proud owners of four blood-fin tetras, three tiger barbs, and one algae-eater. Yep, after a couple of trips to Petco, we have a fully functioning fish tank! We only named one fish--the algae-eater--because the other 7 can't really be distinguished from one another. So we have Stanley, who might be a bit depressed (he doesn't do much besides hide out in the rocks or stick to the sides of the tank), and seven other tiny, but spirited fish.

Milestone #2: We hosted our first official party! Well, not sure if nine people makes a party, but let's just call it for the heck of it. Unfortunately, Mark had already left for New Orleans by the time people started to arrive, but he was very helpful in getting the apartment ship-shape for the big event. It was the most people ever in our place at one time, and we had plenty of food to munch on and drinks to down while we watched the Oscars. Special guests included Corinne and Adam, who stayed until (almost) the bitter end of the show before traveling back to D.C.


Pictures of the fish and the weekend--including some of Lonnie who was also in town for a visit--are below.

Another view of the tank. A proper stand is coming soon...hopefully...

The fish! (Stanley is hiding in the rock on the left)

Hanging out

Corinne and Ange pay astute attention to the show...note the yummy guac (provided by Danny, Ange, and Adam) in the foreground

Nandita, Keren, and Adam

The guests arrive...

Oscar Party Spread

Lonnie and Corinne

Adam and Lonnie

Laughing at Dublin 6

Me and Lonnie

Mark, me, and Lonnie at Pennyfeathers

Danny, Adam, and Corinne at Pennyfeathers

3.03.2006

Proud Sis

Congrats to Bec on her trimphant return to racing! Regardless of any race results, the pure fact that she put herself on that starting line makes her a champion. Listening to the audio cast of the race (streaming live all the way from Qatar!) was incredibly nerve-wracking---next time, to spare myself from the inevitable panic attacks, I might just wait to hear all of the details after everything is over!

3.01.2006

The photos I posted the other day from Sissy's wedding were screwing up the format of the page, so I've removed them. They're still at Bec's blog if you haven't seen them yet.

Recap

Here's my recap for the past few days: I spent the entire weekend hammering out two 1200-word profiles on two local runners (who will be named Runners of the Year tomorrow night at Club Night aka Runners’ Prom) which actually turned out to be decent: got a thumb’s up from my editor who requested just a few small revisions—a big relief since I automatically expect the worse when turning in anything I write. I also spent about five hours digging up weird but true facts about carrots, cookies, and other miscellany for my revisions on the “What Your Favorite Snack Says About You” piece I wrote for KIDS. I might wind up posting that piece because it’s pretty fun, although—if I dare say—completely made up. But don’t tell the kiddies that.

Training update: I’ve logged about 14 miles on the CP track since Monday, including a 8x400 workout on Monday, a 3-mile fartlek—3 sets of 30 seconds, 60 seconds, 90 seconds hard with jog recovery in between—(with Mark!) on Tuesday, and 6 miles this morning. Will probably swim later on this week, but I’m actually enjoying the running thing lately.

Sister update: Bec is in Qatar, Karl might move to Hoboken, Leezie has officially grown into maternity wear and is coming back to NYC soon (Speed is already back!). Only 3 more months ‘til the arrival of Speed Junior!

Misc. Sad news: Mark is leaving me—for three weeks! On Sunday he jets off to New Orleans for 2 weeks and then afterwards he’ll be in Boston for another. We're going to get some pet fish to keep me company while he's away. Happy news: Corinne and Lonnie will be here this weekend. And the Oscars are on Sunday!