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Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
BONANZA
So I thought I would buy a lottery ticket today. It is up to $150 million. Just think of all the things I could do?
First, I would buy my mother and father a beautiful beach-front house at the Jersey Shore. The house would have a deck with a view of the ocean just off a kitchen with a large window. I would let mom pick it out, of course, but flex some of my influence to get a jacuzzi outside for nighttime soaking. My dad wouldn't be crazy about it because it would probably be too far from the airport where he skydives, but I would make sure he had the best toys.
I would immediately give my two-weeks notice at work. I like my job and all but come on. Then I would rent a house in the islands for an unspecified amount of time, hunker down, tan and decide what to do next. I would read a lot at first and deal with the financial planning side of the bonanza. I would make sure my friends had what they needed but keep them at arms length.
I would plan a trip around the globe. Now that I am nice and tan I would head to Monte Carlo, Casablanca, Paris and other glamorous sites to waste some money in posh hotels and hobnob with millionaires at exotic beaches and European Chalets. I would drink the finest wines and start my days with champagne.
By this point, I would probably need rehab or at least a place to dry out. So I would look for an Italian villa in Tuscany or a chalet in some cute French town to lie low for a while. I would invite friends and family to come visit me here. Many wouldn't be able to come because of jobs and families.
All the wine and fine dining is probably going to my hips by now so I would schedule an appointment with a pricey plastic surgeon in Beverly Hills. By now my mother is probably getting pretty mad at me for my jet-setting so I think I need to head back to Jersey for a visit.
In Jersey, I find my mom and dad have split because they are so bored. Nobody needs to work anymore so my dad has driven my mother mad. They sold the house I bought them and went their separate ways. The Jersey shore pales in comparison to the places I've seen.
I try to get in touch with my friends, but they've all moved on. Turns out I was gone for a while and their children have had major milestones _ all of which I've missed.
So I head back to Manhattan for a dose of familiarity.
In the end, I'm back in an apartment in Manhattan sitting in front of my computer, alone. ... Maybe I'll forego buying the lottery ticket after all.
Peace,
Tina
First, I would buy my mother and father a beautiful beach-front house at the Jersey Shore. The house would have a deck with a view of the ocean just off a kitchen with a large window. I would let mom pick it out, of course, but flex some of my influence to get a jacuzzi outside for nighttime soaking. My dad wouldn't be crazy about it because it would probably be too far from the airport where he skydives, but I would make sure he had the best toys.
I would immediately give my two-weeks notice at work. I like my job and all but come on. Then I would rent a house in the islands for an unspecified amount of time, hunker down, tan and decide what to do next. I would read a lot at first and deal with the financial planning side of the bonanza. I would make sure my friends had what they needed but keep them at arms length.
I would plan a trip around the globe. Now that I am nice and tan I would head to Monte Carlo, Casablanca, Paris and other glamorous sites to waste some money in posh hotels and hobnob with millionaires at exotic beaches and European Chalets. I would drink the finest wines and start my days with champagne.
By this point, I would probably need rehab or at least a place to dry out. So I would look for an Italian villa in Tuscany or a chalet in some cute French town to lie low for a while. I would invite friends and family to come visit me here. Many wouldn't be able to come because of jobs and families.
All the wine and fine dining is probably going to my hips by now so I would schedule an appointment with a pricey plastic surgeon in Beverly Hills. By now my mother is probably getting pretty mad at me for my jet-setting so I think I need to head back to Jersey for a visit.
In Jersey, I find my mom and dad have split because they are so bored. Nobody needs to work anymore so my dad has driven my mother mad. They sold the house I bought them and went their separate ways. The Jersey shore pales in comparison to the places I've seen.
I try to get in touch with my friends, but they've all moved on. Turns out I was gone for a while and their children have had major milestones _ all of which I've missed.
So I head back to Manhattan for a dose of familiarity.
In the end, I'm back in an apartment in Manhattan sitting in front of my computer, alone. ... Maybe I'll forego buying the lottery ticket after all.
Peace,
Tina
Thursday, January 17, 2008
:Running
The cold gets into my bones before I even leave the house.
I'm snuggled tight in my heavy running tights, bright pink fleece jacket and layers underneath that promise to wick away my sweat, a headband to protect my ears from the wind, black gloves that I know will come off sometime around the third hill with a new lavender stop watch strapped around my wrist.
I stretch in the house before heading down three flights of stairs to the front door. I do it again on the landing and head down the steep staircase in front of my house on 118th Street.
The construction guys on the corner leer, even though I feel gross and half asleep _ thanks _ and I think briefly about turning back and getting under the covers. I shake it away and start running down Adam Clayton Powell toward Central Park.
I dance around one of those nylon bands they use to tie stacks of newspapers and pick up my pace to make it through a stoplight in front of a bus filled with school-children.
I hear a man or woman on the other side of the street howling to the long-receded moon about Jesus even though its well past 7.
I see a group of African men wearing green and yellow dresses and cross to the other side of the wide boulevard to avoid collison. Somewhere in the back of my mind I'm thinking about skipping Central Park and running around the block. Instead, I head to the park.
I can see the start of the first and steepest hill. It is daunting to face such a steep hill at the start of a run but I am already joining a trikle of other runners. I look down so that I don't have to wrestle with the thought of the distance ahead.
My muscles are sore from a workout at the gym the day before but I hear footsteps behind me and I know that it is too late to turn back.
The sounds of traffic start to fade away as I near the first water fountain just as the hill begins to crest and stretch out into a steadier slope. A large, brown dog runs gracefully across the road before me from a path that peeks out of the trees. I crane my neck and look to my right as I run past the path but see no owner. Everything is quiet.
I am concerned for the dog, but my legs are tired. I can't see the end of the hill but continue because I hear the pit-pat-pit-pat-pit-pat of anohter runner close behind. I speed up because it is in my nature.
I can hear the cawing of hawks above me but I cannot see them yet. A squirrel scurries across my path, close, but doesn't seem to care that I am here. I am finally at the top of the first hill when I pass the tennis courts. All I can hear is a hypnotic clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop.
I start to think about the yin and yang of this city and my love, hate relationship with it.
This park is beautiful, especially with the sun hanging low and orange in the sky early in the morning.
Around me, I see only an occassional runner or biker. I feel alone, which is incredible in a city this large. I see a hawk with a red tail soaring above me. I'm probably at about 95th Street by now, but it's hard to tell up here because the woods are too thick to see the street.
I begin climbing a gradual hill and am starting to feel warmed up and more confident when the runner who has been behind me passes. Jerk.
On my left, I see the Jackie O. Resevoir. I ran around it many times after work when I lived at 80th and 1st on the Upper East Side. The resevoir is beautiful in the evening. As the sun sets, you can see the light of New York flicker on _ and it is very flat.
I am almost at the museum and I notice flashing police lights to my right and cluthes of people have stopped to gaze down from the raised park at the avenue below. I have no choice but to run over and see what is happening.
I see about a dozen cops with their guns drawn crouching beside police cars and I start searching for my cell phone quickly remembering that i don't have it with me. A couple next to me was also running and stopped to watch the fracus. The cops being to head into the museum with their guns pointed. I realize that I'm standing on a hill and that somebody might begin shooting at any time so start crouching down.
When i notice that the couple next to me isn't following suit, I gesture them to back up. They laugh. Then I hear a man yelling "Cut! Cut!" over a loudspeaker. I crane to see through the trees and see the movie cameras and stage-hands. I look at the couple and laugh at myself. They smile kindly in return.
I continue running on and remember again what I love about this city: It's always suprising, never boring, sometimes mean but often beautiful.
Peace,
Tina
I'm snuggled tight in my heavy running tights, bright pink fleece jacket and layers underneath that promise to wick away my sweat, a headband to protect my ears from the wind, black gloves that I know will come off sometime around the third hill with a new lavender stop watch strapped around my wrist.
I stretch in the house before heading down three flights of stairs to the front door. I do it again on the landing and head down the steep staircase in front of my house on 118th Street.
The construction guys on the corner leer, even though I feel gross and half asleep _ thanks _ and I think briefly about turning back and getting under the covers. I shake it away and start running down Adam Clayton Powell toward Central Park.
I dance around one of those nylon bands they use to tie stacks of newspapers and pick up my pace to make it through a stoplight in front of a bus filled with school-children.
I hear a man or woman on the other side of the street howling to the long-receded moon about Jesus even though its well past 7.
I see a group of African men wearing green and yellow dresses and cross to the other side of the wide boulevard to avoid collison. Somewhere in the back of my mind I'm thinking about skipping Central Park and running around the block. Instead, I head to the park.
I can see the start of the first and steepest hill. It is daunting to face such a steep hill at the start of a run but I am already joining a trikle of other runners. I look down so that I don't have to wrestle with the thought of the distance ahead.
My muscles are sore from a workout at the gym the day before but I hear footsteps behind me and I know that it is too late to turn back.
The sounds of traffic start to fade away as I near the first water fountain just as the hill begins to crest and stretch out into a steadier slope. A large, brown dog runs gracefully across the road before me from a path that peeks out of the trees. I crane my neck and look to my right as I run past the path but see no owner. Everything is quiet.
I am concerned for the dog, but my legs are tired. I can't see the end of the hill but continue because I hear the pit-pat-pit-pat-pit-pat of anohter runner close behind. I speed up because it is in my nature.
I can hear the cawing of hawks above me but I cannot see them yet. A squirrel scurries across my path, close, but doesn't seem to care that I am here. I am finally at the top of the first hill when I pass the tennis courts. All I can hear is a hypnotic clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop.
I start to think about the yin and yang of this city and my love, hate relationship with it.
This park is beautiful, especially with the sun hanging low and orange in the sky early in the morning.
Around me, I see only an occassional runner or biker. I feel alone, which is incredible in a city this large. I see a hawk with a red tail soaring above me. I'm probably at about 95th Street by now, but it's hard to tell up here because the woods are too thick to see the street.
I begin climbing a gradual hill and am starting to feel warmed up and more confident when the runner who has been behind me passes. Jerk.
On my left, I see the Jackie O. Resevoir. I ran around it many times after work when I lived at 80th and 1st on the Upper East Side. The resevoir is beautiful in the evening. As the sun sets, you can see the light of New York flicker on _ and it is very flat.
I am almost at the museum and I notice flashing police lights to my right and cluthes of people have stopped to gaze down from the raised park at the avenue below. I have no choice but to run over and see what is happening.
I see about a dozen cops with their guns drawn crouching beside police cars and I start searching for my cell phone quickly remembering that i don't have it with me. A couple next to me was also running and stopped to watch the fracus. The cops being to head into the museum with their guns pointed. I realize that I'm standing on a hill and that somebody might begin shooting at any time so start crouching down.
When i notice that the couple next to me isn't following suit, I gesture them to back up. They laugh. Then I hear a man yelling "Cut! Cut!" over a loudspeaker. I crane to see through the trees and see the movie cameras and stage-hands. I look at the couple and laugh at myself. They smile kindly in return.
I continue running on and remember again what I love about this city: It's always suprising, never boring, sometimes mean but often beautiful.
Peace,
Tina
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