Does it count that I do have Issae Miyake arms?
I noticed my new “designer” upper arms one hot summer morning after donning a sleeveless T Shirt and casually glancing in the mirror on my way out the door. WAIT, STOP, I shrieked to myself, when and how did those strange body parts get there? I wasn’t reacting to my face or my neck, (those changes, although perhaps even more alarming, have been alot more subtle). Where did those accordion pleats come from? How could yesterday’s sculpted triceps possibly have folded into origami patterns overnight and how do I iron them out before I leave for the day? Heating up the iron was, of course, out of the question so I changed into a long-sleeved shirt and sweltered as I went about my busy schedule.
Every so often during the day the thought of those pleated upper arms crossed my mind. I was sure they would be gone by the time I got home, probably due to a one-time contortionist sleeping position and while I do love my two vintage Issae Miyake outfits and my stunning red Issae Myake purse I didn’t want to be wearing them as permanent body parts.
That was two years ago. After trying every cream, lotion and miles of expensive tape advertised to do the job but impossible to apply, I discovered a very simple and effective solution, wear whatever the weather calls for but, if it involves short sleeves avoid any shiny surface that might possibly reflect my image!
endorsed by me, my friend Jeanne, and Gloria Steinham!
“I want any young man who buy a gun to be treated like young women who seek an abortion,” the quote reads. “Think about it: a mandatory 48-hours waiting period, written permission from a parent or a judge, a note from a doctor proving that he understands what he is about to do, time spent watching a video on individual and mass murders, traveling hundreds of miles at his own expense to the nearest gun shop, and walking through protesters holding photos of loved ones killed by guns, protester who call him a murderer. After all, it makes more sense to do this for young men seeking guns than for young women seeking an abortion. No young woman needing reproductive freedom has ever murdered a roomful of strangers.”
“Are you the first to arrive” she asked? What may seem like a simple question actually falls into the category of “ARE YOU REALLY SERIOUS?”!!
For those of you not familiar with NYC apartment security, if a concierge is on duty you are required to provide an apartment number in order to gain access to the building. The concierge then calls and announces your arrival.
Last evening I was invited to attend a small dinner party in my friend’s beautiful apartment in Chelsea. After walking what seemed like miles from the subway in the heat and humidity (actually only one Avenue and 2 blocks !) I entered the cool oasis of her upscale lobby. Sounds great so far, right?
However (and there is a however)…. the concierge on duty was so completely distracted by her cell phone and a bag of Cheetos she didn’t notice my arrival. Much to her obvious annoyance I finally got her attention and provided my friend’s apartment number. Her reply, as noted in my opening sentence, totally confused me. After I asked her to repeat the question I realized she wasn’t kidding! I took a deep breath, gathered as much patience as possible, and sweetly replied that I had just walked in the door so how could I possibly know who had come in ahead of me (or for that matter where they were going!) and that perhaps if she had been paying attention to her job rather than her cell phone and bag of Cheetos she would have realized the stupidity of her question (actually I only said the first part out loud, the second part was a thought bubble :-). After calling the wrong apartment twice she finally got it right and “voila” I was granted access and provided with some amusing dinner table conversation!
Just Another Boring Wednesday Afternoon in NYCFelipe Pavani Band playing on the corner Continue reading “Just Another Boring Wednesday Afternoon in NYC”
When you hug your children and/or grandchildren tonight please remember the tragic story of Oscar and Valeria Ramirez, the father and his tiny daughter who drowned after being tuned away when they tried to cross the U.S border legally. This is what happens when the President of the United States and his administration use human beings as political pawns.
Last Monday I unavoidably found myself heading west on W. 66th St between Broadway & Amsterdam at 4:00 PM, the same time two area high schools were in the process of dismissal. As I was dodging in and out of the throngs of boisterous students one of the kids suddenly picked up a signboard advertising weekly chamber music concerts held at the church next to my apartment building. He lifted it over his head pretending to throw it at a group of approaching kids. After a brief hesitation he instead hurled it violently to the sidewalk scattering signboard pieces, leaflets and frightened kids all over the street.
I hadn’t noticed the man walking behind me until I jumped aside to avoid the crashing signboard & debris. We came to a stop inches from each other and turned in unison to watch the perpetrator saunter away laughing uproariously at the havoc he had caused. As our eyes met (he looking down and me straining up to see his face) I said “should we go after him” (easy for me to act brave when my potential partner was at least 6’3, built like an iron man and, not to mention,drop dead handsome)? He paused for a second, smiled and said “then I’d have to deck him and then I’d probably have to do the same to all the kids who would be joining in, then it would become a free for all, then the police would be called, then everyone would recognize me and I would wind up signing autographs for the rest of the day”! By the time he finished his commentary, instead of being angry I was laughing and thoroughly charmed as we bent down to clean up the mess together. Who was he you ask? I‘m sorry to report I have no idea but he definitely had a presence and a great sense of humor.
With a nod to Dr Seuss, I walked away thinking to myself “and to think that I saw it on Mulberry Street”
I strongly recommend using your subway commute to practice patience and learning to rise above the occasional temptation to be a hater. I almost always find ways to practice one or both of these character-building traits on my daily subway rides.
As an object lesson and with brutal honesty I will share my most recent failed attempt. The morning after Mr. Trump’s State of the Union Speech as I was headed crosstown on the N train, I overheard two people engaged in an animated conversation about how great the speech was the night before and what a wonderful job our underappreciated president is doing. Ironically, as I inwardly rolled my eyes and silently repeated “practice patience” & “don’t be a hater” I noticed the sign posted over their heads, “If You See Something, Say something”. Any thoughts about practicing self-improvement were instantly erased as I wondered if these people and their annoyingly misguided conversation qualified as reportable offenses?!
Like I said, I recommend using your subway time to practice positive thinking and trying not to be a hater. This can be character building in so many ways… or not!