Pay a Visit

No Excuse for Boredom in New York

2012-02-10T07:00:00.018-05:00

"Only in New York" is way overused, but that's only because it's true.

So while I may hibernate and hide away in my (mostly) warm apartment, there's still plenty of only-in-New-York experiences going on around the city. Although I don't attend most of them -- no one can -- I often read about them in an email newsletter I subscribe to.

The Skint lists "free and cheap" things to do in New York every single day. I live vicariously through the listings and occasionally find a real gem. Paul's also indebted to the Skint, although he may not realize it. I first heard about the homebrew club he belongs to through a Skint listing for one of its beer competitions.

Many of the listings are the typical things you'll find in any large city -- author readings, bar crawls, festivals. But there's always a handful of unique events among the dozen or two listings in each issue.

I've picked through Skint listings from the past few weeks and included some of the most interesting below -- maintaining the Skint's trademark lowercase letters (which drives me a little nuts but must be super easy to edit) -- to give you an idea of the variety of things offered. Only in New York.

11pm: nerds + burlesque = nerdlesque. followed by strip operation! the brick, $10.

8pm (+ 2/3): buried alive! = deborah kaufman's intimate performance staged on a tabletop with sets constructed entirely of matchboxes. observatory, $12.

10pm-4am: bangon!nyc’s 'uniform party' takes over a 2-level secret location for an all-night dance party filled with folks in various takes on professional attire. time to pick up my birthday suit from the cleaners! grand street l train stop area location tba, $10.

8pm (+ 2/6-11): ars nova shows you how to rickmanssage a spexy milf in the urban dictionary plays, short works based on the crowd-sourced entries in urbandictionary.com, $15

7pm: a former grocery store condiment demonstrator tells all at confessions of a condiment hustler. magnet theater, $7.

8pm: morbid anatomy presents 'the search for granny-dump mountain,' an illustrated lecture by justin nobel about a japanese mountain where villagers leave their elders to die of exposure and starvation. observatory, $5.

7:30, 9:30pm: puppets act out works inspired by the music of the beach boys at tonight's puppet playlist. the kraine theater, $8 adv, $10 door.

2-4pm: build your own wheeled jalopy to race at the ice box derby in central park. 105th @ 5th ave, free

4pm: sample pimento cheese and watch a screening of short doc. pimento cheese, please with director nicole lang at brooklyn kitchen. $5.

5:30pm: tappy hour = tap dance class in a bar! jimmy's no. 43. $20 admission ($3 off if you menton the skint) includes a drink.

9pm: celebrate friday the 13th with the undead at an 80s-themed zombie formal dance at the bell house. $12 adv, $15 door (admission includes a drink ticket).

3-11pm: dozens of musicians play every single beatles song... on ukulele (!) at the 4rd (stet) annual beatles complete on ukulele festival. feat. leah siegel, alyson greenfield, the jingle punks orchestra, more. brooklyn bowl, $10 (bring a uke to play at show start, get in free).

Working in a Ticker-Tape Parade Zone

2012-02-08T07:00:00.005-05:00

The New York Giants' Super Bowl win on Sunday meant a ticker-tape parade on Tuesday. Since this is at least the third ticker-tape parade in the four years I've worked in Lower Manhattan, it's old hat. But that doesn't mean my coworkers and I like it.

Obviously I have many colleagues who were extremely happy at the win, and a few went out to see the parade on Broadway, just a half-block away. But Giants fan or not, a ticker-tape parade results in many hassles for workers in the area.

It wasn't that bad for me. I normally take a single train to work, without transferring. However, that train deposits me on the west side of Broadway, and my work is on the east side. Crossing Broadway is nearly impossible on parade days, so I transferred to another line that goes on the east side. So far, no problem.

But the Broadway exit that I would typically use that deposits me a half-block from work was closed by the police because of the crowds, and all commuters at the station -- where something like eight subway lines converge -- were being herded to a single exit a couple of blocks from Broadway. I finally made it outside and fought my way south, when most parade-goers were heading north. Both street blocks that have entrances to my building were closed, but a kind officer let me through when I explained that I worked there. All in all, I got to work about 10 minutes later than I normally would have.

Crowds one block from Broadway, one hour before the parade.
Freedom Tower in background.

A co-worker was not so lucky. He had no choice but to start his journey to work on the west side of Broadway. Innumerable officers pointed him this way and that, and for a time he couldn't even cross Broadway. There was a clear divide, he said: Giants fans in blue, others trying to get to work in black. An hour and 15 minutes later, he made it.

When I left work at 6:30, there were still some stray bits of confetti (shredded paper, really), but the crowds had long since dissipated. At the bars, I suspect, or at home sleeping it off.

New York Giants Win the Super Bowl

2012-02-06T07:00:00.048-05:00

The streets were filled with screams of joy, cheers and honking horns when the New York Giants beat the New England Patriots in last night's Super Bowl, 21-17.

It's fun to live somewhere pro sports teams actually stand a chance of winning a championship.

Sure, Ohio State is generally a contender in men's basketball and football, this football season notwithstanding. But a BCS championship isn't the same as the Super Bowl, and I've never been under the illusion that the Bengals or Browns would ever be in one.

Luckily, I don't really care. Still, it was fun to watch the Giants take on the Patriots last night, knowing that pretty much every TV in the tri-state area was tuned to the same thing. And even though I'd rather see an Ohio or Pittsburgh team in the Super Bowl (see last year's post on my sports allegiances), this was the next best thing.

In all honesty I wasn't going to lose any sleep if the Giants had lost. But I like having someone to root for, and I would much rather have the result be something that's going to put my coworkers and fellow commuters in a good mood the next day.

An Evening Bottling Beer with Paul

2012-02-03T07:00:00.009-05:00

Every month or so our kitchen turns into a brewery. First, when Paul actually brews a beer, and then, a few weeks later, when he bottles it.

Last week Paul bottled his latest homebrew, a saison. It's a French-style ale that gets its slightly sour flavor from the specific type of yeast used, he explained. It's his first time making this type of beer, which he chose for our French-themed dinner party later this month.

Homebrew nights take up the entire evening and the entire kitchen. First Paul washes all of the equipment -- bottles, bottlecaps, bucket, hose, bottling wand, stirring spoon, etc. -- with a special sanitizer specifically for beer bottling.

Then Paul racks the beer, transferring the beer with a hose from a fermenter into a giant stockpot. Then he connects the hose to a bottling wand and individually fills each of the sanitized bottles.

Transferring the homebrew.

Bottling the homebrew.

After all of the bottles are filled -- usually about 52 bottles from a 5-gallon batch -- he hand-caps the bottles with a special contraption, boxes them and puts them somewhere dark (often the bottom of my closet).

Capping the bottles.

The homebrew is ready to drink a week or two after it's bottled, although Paul usually takes an uncarbonated sip when he's bottling for a sneak peak. He's rarely disappointed.

Opossum on the D Train

2012-02-01T07:00:00.011-05:00

An opossum, I read, was recently found lounging underneath the seats of a subway car.

According to the New York Times (which is worth a look if only for the picture of the commuter opossum), the animal boarded a D train and caused a long early-morning delay while the train was evacuated and the opossum caught.

But it wasn't so easy. Police officers boarded the train "armed with heavy-duty gloves and a canvas bag" but reversed course when the opossum "bared its teeth and snarled."

City folk, obviously. I remember a time a few years back when my sister's husband grabbed an opossum by the tail in my parents' front yard. I think it was under a car. In any case, I have no doubt he could have gotten that opossum out of the train, and probably without the heavy-duty gloves and canvas bag.

I've seen many things on the subway and the platforms that I'd rather forget. A sewage backup. Guys taking a leak. Rats between the tracks, on the platform and, worst of all, on a step leading down to a station. Not once, however, have I seen a wild animal.

I take 10 to 15 trips on the subway every week, and mostly my commutes are filled only with people sleeping, reading and playing games on their phones. Feces, vomit and wild animals are the exception to the rule. Except rats. There are always rats.

Celebrating Chinese New Year in Brooklyn

2012-01-30T07:00:00.005-05:00

The Chinese Lunar New Year was technically last Monday, Jan. 23, but most celebrations in New York marking the Year of the Dragon seemed to take place this past weekend.

That includes the Chinese New Year party we held at work on Thursday -- a couple of coworkers collected donations from us all and brought back a feast from Chinatown: all kinds of candies, pastries and pretty much every dessert that incorporates sesame seeds. The mother of one of my coworkers even made turnip cake and a kind of sticky rice pudding. Signs on the wall helped us determine where our birthday falls in the Chinese zodiac, along with our elemental sign (water, wood, fire, etc.). I'm a metal rooster, which I take to mean that I'm basically a weathervane.

Of course, New York City's various Chinatowns held their own, more official celebrations, and we went to one of them on Saturday. Paul frequently works with bank branches and businesses in Brooklyn's Chinatown, and he heard about a Chinese New Year festival going on at the recreation center in Sunset Park, the neighborhood just north of Bay Ridge and also the neighborhood where the Brooklyn Chinatown is located. A few of his colleagues were going to be there, and we decided to check it out.

We arrived a few hours after the festival began, and hundreds of Chinese families were already there. We didn't even peek into the children's area to the right of the main entrance, instead making a beeline for the performances in a gymnasium on the left.

The stage and performance areas were alternately filled with presentations both traditional and modern. We saw Chinese calligraphy and dancing, as well as your typical school recital fare, like performances from a ballet class and band. The festival also felt a little like Halloween -- snack-size chocolates were readily passed around to everyone in attendance.

Yep, that's a dog on the man's head

The festival was free and open to the public, but Paul and I were one of the few people there who weren't first-, second- or some-generation Chinese. By now I'm used to being surrounded by multiple languages and ethnicities, but it was still one of the few times I've ever been so clearly in the minority without leaving the country. (Just the fact that I noticed this probably proves this is so.) But of course, we never felt anything other than welcome, and I'm very glad we went.

It still amazes me that events like this can happen two miles from home, and I usually don't have even the slightest inkling that anything is going on. Who knows what else I am missing?

In New York for Half of Our Marriage

2012-01-27T07:00:00.009-05:00

Paul and I have now lived in New York for more than half of our marriage.

It's a milestone for no one but me, but it seems like I should mark the occasion somehow. It's not quite worthy of a glass of wine or a piece of cake, so a short blog post will have to do.

I'm not sure which is harder to believe: that Paul and I have been married for more than eight years, or that we've lived in this Brooklyn apartment for more than four.

When we stowed away boxes of books, knick-knacks and who-knows-what-I-can't-remember in my parents' attic in preparation of downsizing from a bi-level house to a small apartment, we thought we'd be reopening their dusty covers in two years, tops.

Time flies, and I'm still having fun.

Living Above a New York City Restaurant

2012-01-25T07:00:00.001-05:00

A recent article in the Real Estate section of the New York Times hit a little close to home (insert a "har, har," "lol," or your favorite smiley emoticon here).

"Living Above the Stove" was all about residing above one of New York's 23,000+ restaurants -- the good, the bad, the smells and the sounds.

As the reporter explained, there's no one thing you can expect from living above a restaurant. Take it from one who knows. The first restaurant/bar below us was horrible -- thumping music with a heavy bass shook our floor and kept us awake many nights. Drunk customers would pile into the streets fighting, surely not caring that the people upstairs were now aware of their painfully loud break-up. When the place closed at 4 a.m., more often than I care to remember someone would go warm up their car's engine -- or was it a jet engine? It thundered so horrifically that it was difficult to tell.

I preemptively apologized to overnight guests, sure that they would be awoken in the middle of the night by something loud and embarrassing.

Now, however, there's a nice seafood restaurant that we've never had a lick of trouble with. It too has a bar in the front, but it seems to attract sports fans and even families. I've heard music once or twice -- certainly the exception more than the rule. When we get home after midnight on the weekends, the place is generally closed or in the process of shutting down for the night. The restaurant's summertime outdoor seating abuts the entrance to our building, but no matter. I enjoy the liveliness that comes with being surrounded by people having a good time -- quietly.

Thankfully, with neither restaurant have we had to deal with smells, good or bad. You'd think this would be especially worrisome with a seafood restaurant, but I haven't had even the faintest whiff of fish. As for the offer of free food that the article says sometimes accompanies living above a restaurant -- well, we've had none of that, although our landlord (also the restaurant's owner) has covered a beer or two for Paul when he's been there with friends. That's generous enough and already more than I would expect.

When we first moved to New York, a bitter real estate broker -- whom I told over the phone that we chose this apartment and not the one she showed us the day before -- berated me by claiming that we'd certainly have problems with cockroaches. No such thing. And we had troublesome vermin issues only when some upstairs neighbors moved out, leaving a trail of problems behind that surely weren't helped by the simultaneous construction on the building before the new restaurant opened..

A few years ago I would have warned anyone and everyone to stay away from apartments above restaurants. Now I have a much better view and might even recommend it, depending on the location and the restaurant. I certainly have a list of things I don't like about New York City apartment living (space, no washer and dryer ...), but living above a restaurant isn't one of them.

NYC's First Snow of Winter 2011-2012

2012-01-23T07:00:00.032-05:00

New York City got its first real snowfall of the season on Saturday, but as far as I was concerned we could have kept on waiting.

I was beginning to think (read: hope) that we just might escape winter without the sounds of shovels scraping the sidewalk. It's been an odd season. After all, the first Saturday of January was so warm that some people were walking around Bay Ridge without even wearing a coat. The only real winter-like weather was way back in October, when a freak snowstorm dropped big, wet flakes that made a slushy mess on the sidewalks and roads.

But when I awoke Saturday morning, there was a thick layer of white on the cars and streets. When all was said and done, about 4 inches had fallen. But I won't complain too loudly -- today we're supposed to return to unseasonably warm weather in the 50s.

January is typically my least favorite month -- the holidays are over, the decorations come down and the weather is frigid. If every January were like this, however ... well, I could get used to that.

Updating Blog Posts from the Last Few Years

2012-01-20T07:00:00.004-05:00

What's new? Nothing and everything.

Everything big has stayed the same -- same job, same apartment, same husband -- but there are a few changes here and there. Release your bated breath. Here are some updates to a few of the events I've written about over the last few years.

February 2009: Yep, Paul and I are still reading presidential biographies, although at a significantly slower pace. We're finally in the 20th century, at William Howard Taft. In addition, Paul continues to update his blog chronicling the project, Presidents by the Book. My favorite president so far? John Quincy Adams.

May 2010: When the bar below our apartment suddenly closed, we unexpectedly get some restful nights of sleep all summer long. I was nervous when a new seafood restaurant moved into the space in 2011, but it's been a good neighbor. It's become a popular neighborhood joint, and the bar neither stays open too late nor attracts the same kind of loudmouth clientele that the old bar did. I wasn't sure how I'd like walking by the diners enjoying the outdoor seating every nice day, but it's not bad at all. In fact, I like it. It makes our block pleasantly lively. I haven't tried the place yet, but Paul's had a drink or two there with a friend. Not bad at all.

January 2011: I was sooooo excited when I found the one and only restaurant in New York City that served Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki. It was cheap and delicious, and I was craving it only a few months later. And thus I was sooooo disappointed to find out that that Go Japanese Restaurant closed its doors. Other restaurants in town serve the inferior (my opinion only) Osaka-style okonomiyaki, which is more like a pizza or omelet to Hiroshima's layered version. The search continues. Paul says he's going to try making it at home.

April 2011: When we visited St. Patrick's Old Cathedral one snowy Saturday last year, I had to keep my gloves on throughout the entire mass because it was so cold. When we repeated our visit one hot and humid afternoon last summer, we found out that it doesn't have air conditioning either. If there was an award for buildings that are the least comfortable at all times of year and in all forms of weather, it would be a top contender. I think I've blocked from my mind that I lived without air conditioning until I went to college.

October 2011: Occupy Wall Street protesters were officially evicted from Zuccotti Park, a short walk away from where I work, in mid-November, about two months after they took over. When I visited the camp last fall, the weather was still fairly mild. But when Paul and I walked by a month later, the park was a canopy of tents. Not long after the protesters were given the boot, Christmas lights decorated the park's trees as they seem to every winter, and everything went back to normal. Almost. You'll still occasionally hear of protesters trying to re-occupy the park, but nothing seems to last.

Present: We still own our house in Galloway, and we once again have some people there who will actually pay rent. That's a big improvement over the last tenant, who shorted us several months of rent. This is the third family there since we moved to New York more than four years ago.

"All" of Maurizio Cattelan at the Guggenheim

2012-01-18T07:00:00.024-05:00

The Guggenheim typically has at least as many people peering over the edge of the dramatic giant ramp encircling the main exhibit space as looking at the art on the walls.

When we were at the Guggenheim last weekend, however, all eyes were looking over the edge -- because that's where the art was. The walls were empty. Instead, the art was hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the building.

"Maurizio Cattelan: All" is a retrospective of more than 130 of the Italian artists' works, all suspended with strong ropes and ingenuity. The Guggenheim has a tantalizing time-lapse video showing a little about how it was created.

I knew very little of Cattelan's creations before visiting; I had heard only of the most notorious -- a sculpture of Pope John Paul II hit by a meteorite (seen below in the top photo, on the bottom left) and another of a kneeling Adolf Hitler. So I knew we weren't in for watercolors and rainbows. But I didn't enter the exhibit intending to dissect it with an art historian's eye. Paul and I simply made our way up the ramp slowly, stopping every 60 degrees or so to see the sculptures at every angle -- above, below, behind, to the right and to the left.

"Maurizio Cattelan: All" runs through this Sunday, January 22.

Bleecker Street Pizza, in the Heart of the Village

2012-01-16T07:00:00.002-05:00

Anyone making a tour of New York City's must-eat pizza parlors would sooner or later stop at Bleecker Street Pizza.

Not only does it get accolades from the New York Times and the Food Network, but its location at Bleecker Street and 7th Avenue puts it in the heart of the West Village. If you've spent a week in New York and haven't passed within a few blocks of it, I'd be shocked.

Paul got a gift certificate to Bleecker Street Pizza last year, but we hadn't been both in the neighborhood and without dinner plans on any weekend since. But when we planned to see "Norwegian Wood" at the IFC earlier this month, we were going to be just a few blocks away. So our dinner and a movie was really pizza and a movie.

And the pizza is good. I detest folding my pizza in half like so many New Yorkers do, and Bleecker Street's sturdy thin crust gave me no reason to. But the mozzarella sticks stole the show. They were firm and crispy and almost delicious enough I could have forgotten the pizza for another order of sticks.

The location couldn't be any better, but inside it's much closer to your typical hole-in-the-wall restaurant: cramped tables, bad lighting and no space. But none of those things affect the food. While you eat off of paper plates and aluminum containers, you can gaze at the line of photos of celebrities who have given Bleecker Street Pizza a try: Anderson Cooper, Edward Norton and many, many more I barely recognized.

Overall, Bleecker Street Pizza was a quick and cheap stop, with slices much superior to the typical pizza-by-the-slice joints around town. Try the mozzarella sticks.

"Norwegian Wood" Finally in New York

2012-01-13T07:00:00.003-05:00

"Norwegian Wood" took me out of my movie theater hibernation.

Before Paul and I saw this Japanese film last weekend, the last time I had been out to a movie was more than two years ago, when I was visiting my family in Defiance over Christmas and we sent to see "Avatar" during a Tuesday buy-one-get-one free matinee that made each seat $1.50 apiece.

Before "Avatar" -- and the only movie I'd ever seen at a theater in New York -- was "Sex and the City." That was an ill-advised expedition to the theater, and after the movie was done, I wished I had followed Paul into the latest Indiana Jones flick.

We occasionally saw movies in Columbus, but the last one we could definitively remember seeing alone together, without any friends or family, was "The Painted Veil." Five years ago.

While the skinflint side of me balked at the $13 ticket price to "Norwegian Wood," it was the sentimental side of me that finally won out.

Seeing limited-release films is one of the perks of living in New York. "Norwegian Wood" opened last weekend in the U.S. only in New York and Washington, D.C. -- and only in one theater in New York at that. Not having access to foreign language and limited release films growing up in northwest Ohio was a matter of some regret when I was in high school. I can still remember how excited I was when Dad took me to see the Italian film "Life Is Beautiful" -- when we were on vacation in Orlando. And just a few weeks into my freshman year of college I got two of my roommates to trek across Columbus to a tiny theater showing the German "Run Lola Run."

Besides, by seeing "Norwegian Wood" Paul and I could have a true and traditional date night: dinner and a movie.

"Norwegian Wood" was playing at the IFC Center, a 5-screen theater near New York University that I've passed a million times. When we got there at 5:15 p.m. Saturday, the 7 p.m. showing was already sold out. As we filed into the 9:45 p.m. (also sold out), I could see why -- there were only about 50 seats in the theater.

I was excited to see one of my favorite books being translated into a movie. "Norwegian Wood" was released in Japan at the end of 2010, and I'd been keeping an eye out for a U.S. release date nearly as long. I hadn't checked since before the holidays, however, so I did a quick Google search a few days after returning to New York. It didn't take long to learn that it was to be at the IFC in just a couple of days, on January 6.

The cinematography was beautiful, and the movie was fairly faithful to Haruki Murakami's book (although a large non-essential chunk was, in fact, eliminated in the movie). Still, somehow the movie didn't evoke the same feeling of wonderment, and was at times a bit clunky. So while my first trip to the theater in such a long time wasn't a total success, "Norwegian Wood" was still a must-see for me both as a Murakami fan and as someone with a childhood dream of being able to see foreign films in my own backyard.

Brunch in Bay Ridge: Pegasus Pancakes

2012-01-11T07:00:00.000-05:00

Bay Ridge has a lot of diners.

Although I've only been inside three or four, most of them look exactly the same from the outside. -- no-nonsense vinyl seats, a few old-timers on the stools in front of the counter, and even more behind the counter, serving up grub from a 12-page menu that includes everything from bacon and eggs to spanakopita.One neighborhood outlier has men in tuxedos serve drab food in a large dining room straight out of the '60s. We went there only once.

But one diner worth a repeat visit, however, is the Pegasus. First of all, who can resist a name like that? And second, there's the food. You know it's good when there seems to be a line every weekend for lunch (and forget about supper -- it closes in the middle of the afternoon).

What I really love is what I call the fried delight -- fried chicken fingers, curly fries, onion rings and mozzarella sticks, all on one plate.But I'm getting old and responsible, so the last time we went I ordered blueberry pancakes and a glass of carrot juice.

Blueberry pancakes and carrot juice.

The carrot juice was nothing special. It literally tasted like a liquefied carrot. (Paul had me excited about a delicious carrot drink he had at a different neighborhood restaurant, so I haven't give up hope on the beverage yet.) The pancakes, though, were delicious, something I can barely match even on my best pancake-making mornings. Light and fluffy and filled with a smattering of big, juicy blueberries.

Pegasus isn't particularly atmospheric, although I am fond of the chalkboard signs. But it's the bustling crowd as much as the food that's this Bay Ridge diner's real draw.

Big Gay Ice Cream Shop: Not Your Average Dessert

2012-01-09T07:00:00.002-05:00

Bea Arthur and Salty Pimp cones

New Yorkers love their food trucks, and one of the city's most beloved is the Big Gay Ice Cream Truck.

Sure, it looks like your normal ice cream truck, but if the image of the cone beside the order window has rainbow stripes where the soft serve should be, you're in for a treat. Your options are no longer merely sprinkles and dips. No, indeed. You've entered the Big Gay Ice Cream world of sea salt and wasabi pea dust, dulce de leche and olive oil.

And so it is that the name grabs your attention, but the menu convinces you to grab your wallet. And while Paul and I haven't yet ordered ice cream from the coolest truck in town, we did recently shed our Big Gay Ice Cream virgin status with a trip to the Big Gay Ice Cream Shop, which just opened in the East Village in September.

Follow the unicorn to place your order.

Paul ordered the popular Salty Pimp -- vanilla soft serve, with dulce de leche and sea salt, covered in a chocolate dip. I got the Bea Arthur -- vanilla soft serve covered in a layer of dulce de leche and crushed Nilla Wafers.

Truly this was ice cream heaven, not fit for mere mortals. Smooth and creamy and delicious. We barely even minded the bite in the air as we took our cones to go. The chill was worth the treat.

Getting Back to Normal

2012-01-06T07:00:00.002-05:00

Christmas, photo by Jason K.

OK, so Wednesday's blog post was sappy. But I'm always sappy and depressed when I have such a lovely time in Ohio with my family and friends. After about a week I'm back to normal.

It doesn't come as a shock. Every year it's the same. I eagerly await seeing my family for the first time in months. I stuff myself with delicious homemade food and go to my favorite restaurants. I make plans with good friends. I dig my toes into the carpet and put up my feet, cursing my hardwood floors and old couch. I dawdle in Meijer and Kroger, newly shocked at the space and selection.

And because it's Christmas, everyone and everything is at their best. The sadness at returning to New York after the holidays isn't quite like coming back at any other time. If the highs aren't as high, the lows aren't as low.

This year, of course, was no different. Nevertheless, we were back in Brooklyn on Monday night, and Tuesday was just a normal day at work, except with more emails. But I had a good book to read on the subway, and a cheery snowman doormat from my sister greeting me when I got home. Almost back to normal.

Where I Went on Vacation: Ohio

2012-01-04T07:00:00.006-05:00

I miss the land of carpet and recliners, where the fridge is full of food I didn't make and tubs are full of cookies I didn't bake.

Where cookies are as close at hand as fleece blankets, and responsibilities are as far away as disappointments.

Where in-person silence is as good as animated phone conversations with my parents.

Where I can see four grandparents, 10 aunts and uncles and more than a dozen first and second cousins in a three-day span.

Where my sister and her husband are putting the final touches on the second floor of their home, but the first floor is warm and cozy enough as it is.

Where a crackling fire at my brother- and sister-in-laws' extends the holiday cheer into the new year.

Where things change fast -- not only the height of my 11- and 6-year-old nephews, but also Ohio State's so-called Ghetto Kroger, ghetto no longer, but rebuilt into a yuppie's dream grocery store.

Where I spend the week watching the entire first season of "Arrested Development" with my parents, in between eating, sleeping and reading.

Where I hear country music at home and alternative and '80s songs on the radio.

Where inside shiny boxes are presents I wanted and those I didn't even know I wanted.

Where I arrive and never want to leave, and leave when I've barely arrived.

Happy Holidays: Always the Right Thing to Say

2011-12-23T07:00:00.012-05:00

Soho shop window

Plenty of people hate the phrase "happy holidays," but after four years of living in New York, I've learned it's by far the best and most accurate thing to say unless you know someone well. There's simply too many people who don't recognize December 25 the way I do.

Perhaps they celebrate Hanukkah. Or perhaps the Orthodox Christmas in early January. Or maybe they celebrate nothing at all. But everyone -- even those in the latter group -- recognized New Year's Eve. "Happy holidays" is always correct.

Is using "happy holidays" one tool in a "war on Christmas"? I don't think so. There's still plenty of lights twinkling throughout the city, and it's difficult to walk half a mile without encountering a vendor selling trees on the sidewalk. There's no doubt it's Christmas in the city, no matter what you do -- or don't -- celebrate.

Pay a Visit will return Wednesday, January 4. Merry Christmas. Happy New Year. Or happy holidays.

Rockefeller Center tree, 2010

Diane's Top Books of 2011

2011-12-21T07:00:00.022-05:00

After a few nights of endless typing, I finally had my spreadsheet.

Since mid-June 2004 I've kept several sheets of loose-leaf paper on a clipboard, neatly recording each book I've read, plus the author and the month I finished it. For nearly the last five years, I've read exactly eight books per month. Before then, it was sometimes more, sometimes, less.

Even with the handwritten list, it was difficult to keep track of what I had and hadn't read. I once reserved Washington Irving's "A History of New York" from the library, only to discover when I picked it up that the cover looked extremely familiar. Sure enough, when I took a closer look at my list, I realized I already read it -- less than two years before, in 2009.

So I now have a neatly organized spreadsheet, searchable by title, author and month. I still have my clipboard because, honestly, that's often easier to scan. And that's what I used to look over the 96 books I'll have read by the end of the year.

I noticed a theme this year: new books. In the past year or two I've made a concentrated effort to read new bestsellers and critically acclaimed books, ones that might be the classics of tomorrow. In 2011 I still fit in classic authors like Charlotte Bronte, Graham Greene and Evelyn Waugh, but my fastest reads and favorite books were from living authors:

Haruki Murakami: "1Q84"
Jeffrey Eugenides: "The Marriage Plot"
Paul Auster: "The Brooklyn Follies" -- my introduction to Auster and the only book I needed to read to tell me that I'll be reading many more
And even Steve Martin: "An Object of Beauty"

You may also remember that in July I read what I then considered my eight favorite books. While the entire list didn't live up to my expectations, it did convince me that I should be rereading many of the books I checked out 10 or 15 years ago. To start with, I reread "1984" in October, and I have "Brave New World" waiting for me on the shelf. I also want to dig up some Edith Wharton next year.

Do you have suggestions on what I should read in 2012? Please let me know in the comments!

Or are you looking for more books to read? Check out my favorites from 2010 and 2009. Or ask me for tips. After all, I now have a spreadsheet of 700+ suggestions.

Origami Tree at the Natural History Museum

2011-12-19T07:00:00.009-05:00

Everyone knows about the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center, but you can escape the crowds and see a much more unconventional tree by visiting the American Museum of Natural History's origami tree.

About 500 origami objects decorate the tree. Look closely and you'll find insects and dinosaurs, as well as animals from the zoo and under the sea. Personally, I like the sparkly silver stars that seem to float around the branches.

The tree is on display this season through Jan. 2, 2012 in the museum's Grand Gallery.

My First "Nutcracker," My First Ballet

2011-12-16T07:00:00.001-05:00

How any little girl goes to the ballet and doesn't leave wanting to be a famous ballerina herself, I'll never know. I left my first ballet Saturday with dreams of pirouettes and plies, and I'm 30.

And starting out with "The Nutcracker," as I did, would make it even tougher on a girl. After all, a good quarter of the dancers on stage are young enough that they may still believe in Santa. It all looks so accessible. That is, until you see the grace and discipline behind the art, and then see the world-class adult ballerinas on stage with them, with the same qualities amplified.

New York City Ballet's performance of "The Nutcracker" was amazing. Tchaikovsky's score was magical, Balanchine's choreography beautiful and the costumes sublime. I left Lincoln Center convinced that I've simply wasted the last four years in New York -- not to mention the previous eight years in Columbus -- never having been to the ballet.

"The Nutcracker" was a perfect ballet for a newbie like me, there more for the pixie dust than the technique (although plenty of the latter was on display as well). Paul had seen the show as a boy and remembered bits and pieces, but we were both surprised by how much of the music we recognized --more from mayonnaise commercials and the like in my case than anything more than a passing familiarity with classical music.

Needless to say, I enjoyed myself thoroughly. I'm not ready to get season tickets, but I am ready to return to the ballet, and soon.

Paul's Blue Ribbon Birthday

2011-12-14T07:00:00.004-05:00

Blue Ribbon is one of a long list of restaurants that we'd always sort of been meaning to try but never quite got around to.

Paul has friends who rave about the restaurant, and he was more eager that I to see what all the fuss was about. That made Blue Ribbon his obvious choice for the birthday-meal-he-gets-to-choose-without-any-complaints-from-me.

And so on a recent Saturday night we found ourselves at the door to the original Blue Ribbon restaurant in Soho. (The restaurant has several spin-offs in both Manhattan and Brooklyn, some specializing in sushi and baked goods.) The space was small -- there couldn't have been room for many more than 50 diners -- and every table was occupied when we arrived at 9 p.m., and the bar/waiting area was packed. Two hour wait, we were told. We could go to a nearby bar for an hour and then check back in. Maybe something would open up.

We did as we were told, but we still had an hour wait when we returned. We were seated just a few minutes before 11. This is the second year in a row that Paul chose a restaurant for his birthday that doesn't accept reservations for parties of two. I sincerely hope this doesn't become an annual tradition.

The birthday boy chose the appetizer -- beef marrow and oxtail marmalade. It started the evening's trend: fatty, rich foods. A white glob of marrow the size of a pencil eraser went a long way paired with the meaty richness of the marmalade, sprinkled with sea salt and layered on toast. (Apologies -- the restaurant was dim, so the photo quality is low.)

Paul ordered the fried chicken. It was good, he said, but the accompanying collard greens stood out for their almost crunchy texture. I got the roasted duck club sandwich. It was too fatty for my taste, but the raisin nut bread the sandwich was made with was delicious, and the side of crispy sweet potato fries was amazing.

So while Blue Ribbon isn't my type of restaurant, I can understand what makes it a favorite -- decadent comfort foods that make you feel warm and sleepy, just like on Thanksgiving afternoon. Unfortunately, we were eating this meal at midnight, a time when I normally already feel warm and sleepy. We left at 1 a.m., full and thirsty.

Home vs. Apartment: Cold Weather Edition

2011-12-12T07:00:00.017-05:00

Sometimes I love living in an apartment. Earlier this fall was one of those times.

That's when water started seeping into the bathroom, just in front of the toilet where the wall meets the floor. FYI: That's not the part of apartment living that I love. Please continue.

After the bathroom rug got soaked once, I replaced it with sections of the newspaper to try to track where the water was coming from. For a few days the bathroom felt (and looked) a little like the bottom of a birdcage.

The water definitely wasn't coming from the ceiling, and the toilet didn't seem to be leaking either. We thought maybe it was caused by the sink or the dishwasher in the kitchen, on just the other side of the wall. However, sometimes the floor would be completely dry even after we washed the dishes.

We couldn't figure it out. But then, we didn't have to. We called our landlord, who called a plumber, and voila. Problem solved. (And if you're curious, it wasn't the toilet, sink or dishwasher causing it. It stemmed from a problem elsewhere in the building.)

But sometimes I definitely miss having a home of my own. More particularly, I miss having control of a thermostat.

In this apartment, we're at the whim of the landlord and the outside temperature -- he's programmed the heat to come on when it reaches a certain degree outside. I don't know what that degree is, but I do know it's too cold. And the heat's sporadic. Sometimes it'll kick on just before I get up in the morning, raising the indoor temperature to a lovely 73 degrees before I leave for work. But when I get home, it'll be 66 degrees, with no sign that the radiators have been on for a long time.

So there's pros and cons. I sometimes wish again for the control that homeownership provides, but it's nice not having to worry about repairs and home values, too. But then again, since we still own our house in central Ohio, it often seems we have the worst of both worlds.

Paul's Oatmeal Stout vs. The World

2011-12-09T07:00:00.001-05:00

Remember in June when I wrote about Paul entering his first Knights of Bruklyn homebrew competition? He didn't win that one, but I failed to note on this blog that he won second prize at a subsequent contest in October. That meant he was permitted to enter the Knights' annual competition open only to the winners and people's choice awardees of the previous three contests. Wednesday, Paul's birthday, was the big night. He takes it from here ...

My entry into the Knights of Bruklyn's annual finals at Union Hall in Park Slope was an oatmeal stout, and I think that it turned out pretty well. I might have spent longer making the label, however, than actually brewing the beer. This was the first time I made a custom label for one of my beers, so I feel like I passed some kind of important milestone in a homebrewer's life.

Paul's label: Obama drinking a stout

I was very proud of my label and used three different photo editing programs over the span of many, many hours (ask Diane) to create it. I wish I had called the beer "Oatbama" since that would have been the obvious choice with the label's blue and red color scheme from Obama's famous "Hope" poster. When my friend Boris suggested this after I entered it under the name "Stalwart Oatmeal Stout," it was a real forehead-slapping moment.

I've always wondered what it's like when regular bar patrons happen upon our homebrew tastings. It must feel like walking into a meeting of a secret society with our "Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade"-style fezes. (I think that's the plural for fez, or maybe it's fezei or something like that.)

The beer didn't win, but I really appreciate that so many people came out to cheer me on and try some beer. I am happy to announce that my brewing and running friend from the neighborhood, Mike, won the people's choice award, which scored him a free bike. The people's choice is an informal vote by anyone who attends, though, so I think that he may have used some Russian-style democracy techniques ....

Paul and friends

Sadly, neither Mike nor myself won the grand prize, which was a private dinner for 30 friends at Union Hall featuring your beer as brewed by Sixpoint Brewery in Brooklyn. I have to hand it to the club -- they recruit actual brewers from local breweries to decide the winners (they were from Sixpoint and Kelso Brewing this time), so there's no concern of ballot stuffing for the top prize.

I'm looking forward to the contests next year and will continue to invite everyone out for free beer, beef jerky and local cheese. Thank you to those who came out to cheer me on. And to those who didn't, if free beer, cheese and beef jerky don't entice you to come to Brooklyn, I'm not sure anything will.

Yes, Paul spent waaaaaaaaaay too long making the label for his beer. Read his own blog at Presidents by the Book.

Paul's Birthday + Making Friends

2011-12-07T07:00:00.016-05:00

Happy birthday to my husband, Paul, who turns 33 today. (Yup, born on Pearl Harbor Day. I've frequently wondered whether a couple of generations ago that was the equivalent of having a 9/11 birthday nowadays.)

This is his fifth birthday we've celebrated in New York, and it's interesting to see how things have changed. I don't remember what we did for his first birthday here, but it must have been just the two of us. We'd only been in Brooklyn two months at that point and knew barely a soul. Even the next year, his 30th, we went on our own private birthday pub crawl. We were friendly with people by this point, but not necessarily friends.

Making friends has always been tough for me, and I suspect the same thing of Paul. I have a handful of good friends, mostly from college and the newspaper where I used to work, and it took a while to add any New Yorkers to that list. I considered it a big accomplishment when we could fill our apartment for our first (and now annual) winter party.

Gradually, however, we've picked up friends here and there -- mostly my coworkers and his, friends of friends and Paul's running buddies. Now we have a nice circle that leaves me just as busy as I want -- certainly not out every night (or every week), but with options. And those options include a happy hour drink or even just some witty banter on Twitter.

But back to Paul's birthday. We'll be spending this evening in a way that's completely different than in birthdays past -- cheering Paul's homebrew on to a victory in the finals of the Knights of Bruklyn competition. He won second place in a preliminary competition a couple of months ago and will be duking it out tonight, surrounded by a whole new set of friends.

A Visit to Central Park's Belvedere Castle

2011-12-05T07:00:00.000-05:00

Central Park is easy to get lost in, and never more so than if you're new to New York or just here for a visit. Even after four years in New York, there are still nooks and crannies that I haven't explored.

Now, however, I have my favorite Central Park spots. Toward the top of that list is Belvedere Castle.

We came across Belvedere Castle our first spring in New York. Then (as we often still do now) we explored Central Park almost at random, finding the closest park entrance to whatever subway line we happened to be on, then choosing a winding path and turning right or left whenever the mood struck. And that's how we found Belvedere Castle.

From one angle, the castle rises majestically on a cliff above a body of water. From the opposite way -- the way we first came upon it -- it's more abrupt. Path, then pow -- a castle.

It's not a castle in the traditional sense, unless all you need for a castle is a turret. It's certainly not fit for a king -- although it is bigger than many New York City apartments. The most appealing part of Belvedere Castle, however, is the view from the top. Two spiral staircases drop you off on the first and second floors, providing lovely views of the park and the city skyline.

Fun fact: Belvedere Castle is also the location where Central Park's thermometer is read for the National Weather Service.

It might be more fun to come across Belvedere Castle as a surprise, but it's pretty easy to get to as a Central Park destination, too. It's in the middle of the park at 79th Street, easily and equally accessible from both the Upper West Side and Upper East Side.

View from second floor, looking onto first floor balcony and just outside the entrance

The Freedom Trail: Bunker Hill and Old Ironsides

2011-12-02T07:00:00.002-05:00

Boston's Freedom Trail ends with a walk across the Charlestown Bridge and visits to two of its most dramatic sites: the USS Constitution and the obelisk commemorating the Battle of Bunker Hill.

Tours of the frigate -- probably better known as Old Ironsides -- are free, although you do need to show a form of identification, go through security and get your hand stamped. Tourists are allowed onto the boat in large groups and can wander the deck at will. Tours are also conducted below deck, but we headed off to Bunker Hill instead.

The 221-foot-tall Bunker Hill obeslisk looks exactly like a miniature Washington Monument. When we arrived, we realized you can go to the top. The catch: there's no elevator, only 294 steps. I was breathless by the time we reached the top but was rewarded with views in four directions. The space, however, was little larger than a hot tub. I won't be making that climb again anytime soon.

The red line of the Freedom Trail leading to Bunker Hill

Walking the Freedom Trail's 2.5 miles took us about 5 hours, but that included long stops for lunch and shopping along the way. We took our time, leisurely falling into place behind the hundreds, if not thousands, of other tourists making the pilgrimage on this Thanksgiving weekend. It was a lovely way to spend the day. We saw parts of Boston we never would have wandered into if it wasn't for the red line winding along the sidewalk telling us where to go.

Walking Boston's Freedom Trail

2011-11-30T07:00:00.003-05:00

Old North Church

Boston is by far the most historic U.S. city I have every visited, and I wonder if it's the most historic U.S. city, period. Sure, there's Jamestown and Richmond and Gettysburg, and perhaps you could make a case for Savannah or St. Augustine. But visiting Boston was like walking into my elementary school social studies textbooks. Never have I seen so many historic buildings and sites in a single afternoon.

And it was so easy! The major stops are all along the Freedom Trail, a 2.5 mile path marked by a thick red line along the sidewalks and crosswalks. It starts at Boston Common (conveniently just a few blocks from the hotel where we stayed) and ends across a bridge in Charlestown, with a visit to the USS Constitution and Bunker Hill.

I had a map of the Freedom Trail in my pocket, and we even downloaded a Freedom Trail app onto our phones, but neither was absolutely necessary, and both were rarely used. The red marker on the ground was easy to see and follow, and the sites had clear markers explaining their historical significance. The trail does, however have a nice website if you want to learn about the sites before you visit. I'll cover some of the highlights below.

The Massachusetts State House was difficult to miss with its gleaming gold dome. Unfortunately it seemed to be closed for the long holiday weekend, so we didn't get to go inside.

The nearby Granary Burying Ground was beautiful in the morning sun. The cemetery was small, but lots of tourists wandered the trails, stopping especially to see the stones for Paul Revere and Samuel Adams.

Paul Revere's stones

Faneuil Hall was the site of many important meetings (Sugar Act and Stamp Act protests, for example), but now the area seems to draw crowds for the nearby Quincy Market restaurants and stores. The crowds certainly were thick on Black Friday, but I managed to find a Christmas ornament and try a cup of Boston clam chowder.

Also, statues.

We also saw Paul Revere's house, but more interesting was the Old North Church and its famous (though rebuilt) steeple. "One if by land, two if by sea," anyone? The inside of the Episcopal church was nearly as interesting. The pews were arranged in boxes surrounded by shoulder-high white walls to keep out the drafts.

Paul and I both agreed that the Old North Church was our favorite stop of the trip. The Charlestown section of the Freedom Trail was a close second for me. More about that on Friday.

Boston for Thanksgiving

2011-11-28T07:00:00.003-05:00

Boston Common

Instead of stuffing myself with turkey and cranberry sauce, my Thanksgiving platter consisted of Malaysian pad thai and a lychee drink. No, Paul and I weren't in Asia, but we also weren't in New York. Instead, we spent the holiday weekend in Boston.

In particular, we spent the evening of Thanksgiving in Boston's Chinatown, one of the few places we knew would have a nice selection of restaurants open when the rest of the city had shut down. After the sun had set, we stumbled out of the cold and into a lovely Malaysian restaurant. We had already had a full day. We left our apartment at 10 a.m. (so I even got to watch the first hour of the Macy's parade at home!) and headed straight for Cambridge, arriving at 2:30 p.m.

There weren't many restaurants open, and even fewer stores (none that I could see), but there were plenty of people on the sidewalk taking in the Harvard views and filling up the few food establishments that were open. We took a look around and grabbed lunch, heading back to our car and finally to Boston proper when the cold got to be too much.

The main thing I wanted to do in Boston was walk the Freedom Trail, but it was far too dark and deserted to do that by the time we checked in Thursday afternoon. (I'll be writing more about the Freedom Trail on this blog on Wednesday and Friday.) In fact, the only other thing we managed to see Thursday was Chinatown. But on Friday and Saturday we fit in a few sites aside from the historical.

Friday evening we went to the Bull & Finch Pub, the model for "Cheers," which then remodeled parts of its own building to better resemble the TV show. We ordered drinks and a big plate of cheesy fries at the upstairs replica bar. Paul got Frasier's corner stool.

The next morning we started the day with a Samuel Adams Brewery Tour. It was 10 a.m., but the tour still had a good 30 people on it -- it's 5 o'clock somewhere, and the free drinks at the end were cheerily sampled.

A "party trolley" runs every 15 minutes between the brewery and Doyle's, a local bar that was the first to sell Sam Adams. The inside of the trolley had benches along the windows, two poles, lights and a fog machine (neither in use) and a small deck in the back. Since we watched Ohio State get beaten up by Michigan at the bar, the trolley was the last jolly thing we experienced for a while.

Traveling anywhere in the Northeast in November is a gamble -- it could be snowy or sunny or both. It was cold on Thanksgiving itself, but the skies were bright and warm, near 60, on both Friday and Saturday. We got the best of both worlds: warm weather and holiday decorations.

Boston

Cambridge

Happy Thanksgiving!

2011-11-23T07:00:00.002-05:00

Bay Ridge, along New York Harbor

Since Pay a Visit won't resume until Monday, you have extra time to add a comment to this post. And in keeping with the spirit of the Thanksgiving holiday, why not make it about what you're thankful for?

I'll start.

I'm thankful for small-town scenes in a big-city setting, things that remind me of home even with big bridges and bodies of water in the background.

Near the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge

Canstruction Constructions in Lower Manhattan

2011-11-21T07:00:00.035-05:00

It's practically an everyday occurrence to hear about some exhibit opening somewhere in town.

There's the museums, of course. But then there are the out-of-the-ordinary exhibits that pop up and take you by surprise, like those revolving around peanut butter or giant balloons.

Canstruction falls into the latter category. It shouldn't have really come out of the blue, however -- this is New York's 19th annual competition to design and create something, anything out of cans. Afterword, nearly 60,000 New Yorkers will be fed by the art supplies.

The 25 creations are deconstructed today, but Paul and I went to the World Financial Center (basically a shopping mall-lite) in Lower Manhattan to take a peek a couple of weekends ago. Here are a few of my favorites.

One World Trade Center Takes Shape

2011-11-18T07:00:00.019-05:00

As I exit the subway station a couple of blocks from work, it's extremely common to see a camera or two pointed in my direction. They're not aimed at me, but rather what's over my shoulder: One World Trade Center.

Nowadays it seems that the Ground Zero site is changing on an almost daily basis. It probably always was, except now those changes are easy to see. The glass panels are higher, the footprint is bigger. According to Wikipedia (not my favorite source, but it's hard to beat for up-to-the-minute information), One World Trade Center's "steel has risen to the 90th floor (1,118 ft), with glass panels reaching the 62nd floor, and concrete flooring rising to the 80th floor" as of Sunday. When it's supposedly done in 2013, Wikipedia says it will be the tallest building in the U.S. at 1,776 feet (get it?).

With stats like those, it's hard to miss. And, with Century 21 practically across the street, the Occupy Wall Street gang just a few blocks away and, of course, the new 9/11 Memorial nearby, both New York City tourists and residents have more reasons than ever to visit Lower Manhattan ... and they do.

An Afternoon at the Peck Slip Pickle Fest

2011-11-16T07:00:00.005-05:00

A Sunday afternoon spent in the company of pickles was a highlight of last fall. So when the days began to get shorter, my mind once again turned toward cucumbers and I found out when the next pickling festival was to be held. That's how we ended up at the New Amsterdam Market on Sunday for the Peck Slip Pickle Fest.

Last year's pickle festival was on the Lower East Side, in the heart of the city's pickle district. This year it was incorporated into the aforementioned New Amsterdam Market, a farmer's market near the South Street Seaport in Lower Manhattan, in the shadow of the old Fulton Fish Market.

The pros: In addition to all the pickled goodies, there was the typical farmer's market fare of vegetables, meats and other treats.

The cons: There was less space for the pickle purveyors, or else they were cramped so closely together it just felt smaller. Some of our favorites from last year didn't seem to be there -- was this because of space constraints, lack of interest or the distance from their brick-and-mortar stores?

Still, we managed to sample enough pickled cucumbers, beets and even carrots to keep me satisfied for at least another year. Not so for Paul. He walked away with his own jar of pickles.

Paul's lunch of a hot dog topped with relish and spicy mustard kept with the pickling theme, but I went to the other side of the market and picked out a cheese-and-onion bialy. Turns out a bialy is just a bagel that's not boiled, topped with condiments where the hole in the middle normally would be. It kind of looked like a cheese danish.

The most interesting item I ate, however, was this: a whole pickled green tomato. You eat it just like an apple, except not even a core remains. It wasn't my favorite thing in the world -- a little too sour for my taste -- but I did feel thoroughly brined after my last bite.

Looking Back at Our Two Weeks in Europe

2011-11-14T07:00:00.015-05:00

View from the Pantheon, Paris

It took two months to cover a two-week vacation to Europe in this blog. Or, to put it another way, 19 posts to cover a 15-day trip.

OK, so it took a while to spit everything out. And with more than 1,100 photos, I had a lot to share. But you've finally seen the highlights and read about the lowlights, and I have only a few parting thoughts.

As the time for the trip got ever closer, I frequently speculated that I had gotten in over my head. The trip was a lot of work -- by far the toughest vacation I'd ever planned. Coordinating five flights, places to stay in four cities, and doing at least a modicum of research (and much, much more for Paris and Rome) takes time. I can't even guess how many hours I put into it since our itinerary first began to take shape in February.

For each city we were to visit, I prepared a list of the sights I wanted to see, along with their hours and prices. I determined the best and cheapest ways to get to and from each airport -- and we were in seven airports in all -- and kept track of the exchange rates for four different units of currency. We booked ahead what needed to be booked ahead (tours in Iceland, a visit to the Vatican Museum) and planned day trips we weren't sure we'd ever take (yes to Versailles, no to the Appian Way in Rome).

There were certainly times when I was frustrated, and almost every day I was tired. There were days that were strange. (Sitting in Rome, watching TV programs cover the tenth anniversary of 9/11 in a language we couldn't understand ranks right up there.) But I never thought I was in over my head. It was a priceless experience, and knowing that we pieced together the trip ourselves made it even more memorable.

My regrets were few and revolved mostly around food -- couldn't I have had one more croque monsieur? One more chocolate pastry? My biggest regret, however, is that I barely had time to digest a city before darting off to the next one. But that's hardly a real problem. Really, it's a problem I was lucky to have had at all.

In case you missed any of them, below is a complete list of the blog posts about our trip. Thanks for playing along.

The Overview
Two Wonderful Weeks Exploring Europe

Paris, Sept. 4-8
View of Paris from the Top ... of Everything
Museum Hopping in Paris
Adventures at the Eiffel Tower
A Day Trip to Versailles
A Look Back on Paris

Rome, Sept. 8-12
Uncovering Ancient Rome: The Colosseum & Forum
The Religious Must-Sees of Vatican City & Rome
Piazzas and People-Watching in Rome
Reflections on Rome

Copenhagen & Malmö, Sweden, Sept. 12-14
Morning in Denmark; Evening in Sweden
Copenhagen: Tivoli & Other First Impressions

Reykjavik, Sept. 14-17
A Day at Iceland's Blue Lagoon
Iceland's Golden Circle: Sites & Scenery
Roaming 'Round Reykjavik, Iceland

Food & Fun
Eating Our Way Through Europe
The Hot Dogs of Scandinavia
Paul Presents Our Vacation

The Hot Dogs of Scandinavia

2011-11-11T07:00:00.002-05:00

By the end of our two week trip to Europe, we were tired of eating what we were "supposed" to eat -- those regional specialties that just aren't the same anywhere else -- and just wanted to eat whatever we wanted to eat. Luckily, hot dogs fit under both categories in Scandinavia.

As I was sorting my photos, I realized I had an awful lot of pictures of hot dog. Here's a few, with Paul's reviews.

Hot Dog #1: Copenhagen, Cart

Copenhagen seems to rival New York for the highest number of hot dog stands, and a French-style hot dog from just one of these carts was our first meal in Denmark. The person behind the counter took a tube-shaped bun, open on one end, and squirted mayonnaise into the bottom. When the hot dog was inserted into the bun, the mayonnaise squirted up clear to the top.

Paul's review: Good, but a little less mayo would've made it even better.

Hot Dog #2: Copenhagen, Tivoli

A few days later at Tivoli, Paul tried what we were told was a Swedish-style hot dog, recognizable by its bright red color. It was served with a much shorter bun on the side, mustard and what our friends in Sweden had told us is generally called American sauce. Paul said it tasted like ketchup mixed with marinara sauce

Paul's review: And I quote, "It was the plainest thing I ever ate. The only way I knew I was eating anything was because I could feel something in my mouth."

Hot Dog #3: Reykjavik

In Iceland, we actually stopped at a tourist desk on our last day in Reykjavik so Paul could ask where the famous hot dogs were located. The woman pointed us in the right direction, and a few turns later we were in line at the same place Bill Clinton sampled a hot dog during a visit to Iceland. It was served with mustard, mayonnaise and dried onions.

Paul's review: Tasty. The added crunchiness of the onions was a bonus.

Paul said the hot dog in Iceland was his favorite, followed by the French-style dog in Copenhagen. But even the red Swedish hot dog, he said, was better than any you'll find on New York's streets.

Eating Our Way Through Europe

2011-11-09T07:00:00.036-05:00

My biggest regret during our European vacation is that I didn't eat enough desserts. Paul's was probably that we simply didn't eat enough.

We both make fair points. I was surprisingly lax in my French pastry intake, and we did tend to eat small, late lunches so we (read: I) could cram in all of the sights that we (read: I) wanted to see. But all in all, we tried some delicious food and some interesting food, although they weren't always one and the same.

In Paris, our fall back was either cold meats in crusty breads if we were out and about and near a park, or crepes if we were in the neighborhood where we stayed. I managed to squeeze in a chocolate croissant (which tastes surprisingly like the ones at Panera!), a chocolate tart (smooth, rich and creamy) and a macaron (not my favorite dessert, but can you really go to Paris without trying one?).

My absolute favorite meal was a croque monsieur -- think of a grilled cheese sandwich, only the cheese is on top and there's ham between the two slices of bread. When we looked up recipes at home, we realized there's also a layer of bechamel sauce between the top slice of bread and the cheese. Forget meatloaf -- this is the perfect comfort food.

Paul ordered his most interesting meal on our last night in Paris -- escargot as an appetizer, followed by beef tartare. I think even the waitress was surprised he ordered it, and his stomach was none too pleased with the raw meat either. He finished the dish, although I declined a taste.

In Rome, the highlight for me was by far the gelato. We stumbled across a gelateria near Piazza Navona that served a chocolate fondant gelato that was so good that I dragged Paul there a second time during our short stay in the city. It was like a cold, smooth, fudgy brownie. Everyone gets at least two scoops of gelato in their cones, so one of fondant combined with a dark, dark purple scoop of a flavor I believe was blackberry was not only delicious, but pretty. Paul wasn't as lucky with one of his combinations at a different gelateria: banana and licorice.

Maybe the most delicious thing I've ever eaten.

As for the food and drink, we tried to choose Italian classics. Wine, lots of house wine. A couple of pizzas we had on our last night stand out -- my marinara, and Paul's topped with asparagus and squash blossoms. On our first night, my gnocci was good, but the location was even better -- right in the shadow of a lit-up church.

We ate on the left, nearest the church.

Our culinary experience in Copenhagen mostly revolved around beer with friends. I tried an unexciting Danish meatball open-face sandwich. Paul's Danish food highlights centered on hot dogs (more about that on Friday). I did manage to sneak in a dessert or two -- not a danish, but this chokoladeschnitte, which was a combination of a chocolate cake, a ganache or mousse, marzipan, and some kind of clear jelly that I've read was apple jam, all covered in a chocolate shell. Rich and delicious.

I didn't have my favorite food in Iceland, but I had the most exciting. When we returned to Reykjavik from the Blue Lagoon, we chose a restaurant that served a sampler platter of classic Icelandic foods -- herring marinated in beet root juice, fish jerky (more like fishy pieces of paper), lamb terrine, smoked lamb and, finally, a couple of small squares of fermented shark with a shot of the aptly-named Black Death. We also ordered a small jar of puffin (alive, they look very similar to penguins), langoustine (a type of lobster, which I didn't know) and raisins on mashed potatoes. It was seasoned so robustly that I immediately said it tasted like Christmas.

Sampler platter.

Fermented shark with a shot of Black Death

Puffin 'n' stuff

A pleasant surprise was how much I loved an Icelandic yogurt called Skyr. It's creamier than your typical Yoplait -- almost mousse-like. And it comes with an adorable little foldable spoon in the lid, which makes it a very convenient snack for a traveler without eating utensils. I recently found out that it's sold at many Whole Foods stores (in New York, but not in Ohio!), so I'll definitely be checking that out.

Skyr and a kleina, an Icelandic donut

We had a few bad meals -- a pizza in Vatican City comes particularly to mind -- but even the worst meal in the world is made average in such surroundings.

Venezuelan in NY: Caracas Arepa Bar

2011-11-07T07:00:00.011-05:00

Paul and I have gotten into a food rut.

When we first moved to New York, I made it a point to try a different restaurant almost every weekend. And not just a different restaurant, but a different country's food. We made the rounds, quickly sampling the best of Thailand, Korea, Afghanistan, Mongolia and more.

But now we have our favorites, our go-to spots that we often get in the mood for: East Japanese for sushi. Woorijip for Korean. Grand Sichuan for Chinese. My Thai for Thai. The list goes on and on.

But what we haven't tried too much of in New York is South American food. So last month it was time to check off a Venezuelan restaurant that's been on my list almost as long as we've been here: Caracas Arepa Bar in the East Village.

I'll be honest -- I didn't have a very good understanding of what arepas even were. Turns out they're corn cakes stuffed with tasty fillings. We ordered a sampler platter with three traditional areaps -- split open, they resembled crammed pitas.

Our favorite was La de Pabellón, a mixture of shredded beef, black beans and cheese, along with plantains, which gave the whole thing a sweet kick. La Reina Pepiada -- an arepa with a chicken and avocado stuffing -- was surprisingly bland, but La Mulata was a delicious and slightly spicy arepa of cheese, jalepeños, red peppers, black beans and those yummy plantains.

Caracas is in an area of town we visit pretty regularly, so we've often walked by and have seen the huge crowds outdoors waiting for a table inside. It's easy to see why -- the food is as tasty as the dining room is tiny. The whole space couldn't have fit more than about 30 people, all sitting elbow to elbow. Caracas also has a takeout-only location a couple of doors down. On a nice summer evening, I can see getting a De Pabellón to eat in nearby Tompkins Square Park.

So anyway: Venezuelan, check. Only about 10 more South American countries to go.

Paul Presents Our Vacation

2011-11-04T07:00:00.003-04:00

Today, photos of Paul doing his best impression of Barker's beauties.

It was hard not to think of "The Price is Right" or "Wheel of Fortune" as Paul's outstretched hands presented ...

VERSAILLES!

A FOUNTAIN IN ROME!

TIVOLI!

GULLFOSS WATERFALL!

A STATUE IN REYKJAVIK!

AN ICELANDIC NATIONAL PARK!

I have only these six photos of Paul presenting our vacation, but I'm sure he did it at least three times as often. Most of the photos come toward the end of our trip, when our to-do list wasn't as long, we were more relaxed and I was in more of a humor to humor him. Now I wish I would've gotten more photos. Paul could've been my very own version of Travelocity's Roaming Gnome.

Roaming 'Round Reykjavik, Iceland

2011-11-02T07:00:00.011-04:00

We had only two short evening and one long morning to explore Reykjavik, but that was plenty of time. It's a small city -- only 120,000 people live there -- and most things to see and do are concentrated along two streets: Laugavegur and Skólavörðustígur. Luckily, our hotel was only one block from the former.

The streets aren't that long, but there are plenty of stores, galleries, bars and restaurants to explore. Once you're tired of that, you can visit Hallgrímskirkja (church of Hallgrímur) standing proudly at the end of Skólavörðustígur. Or walk a few minutes in the opposite direction and wander along a pleasant path abutting the Atlantic Ocean.

Hallgrímskirkja

Yes, we shopped. Yes, we ate. Yes, we even went into the church, although we were all but churched out at this point in the vacation. But mostly we just spent our time in Reykjavik meandering about. We walked along the waterfront, taking a closer look at the Sun Voyager sculpture and the ultra-modern Harpa convention center and music hall. I took photos down streets and around corners.

Along the waterfront

Sun Voyager sculpture

Looking out from inside Harpa

Iceland was both beautiful and relaxing. It seems that this is where all of nature converges -- ocean, mountain, greenery and even fire in the form of the lava rocks we so often saw. One could easily spend more time in Iceland, exploring the other corners of the country. Maybe even one more day in Reykjavik if you wanted to go whale watching, go puffin watching (we were too late in the season) or take a Northern Lights tour.

Overall, however, I was pleased and pleasantly surprised with this last stop of our trip. It was the perfect way to wind down from the big cities, long lines and aching feet we'd become accustomed to over the previous two weeks.

Halloween in Bay Ridge

2011-10-31T07:00:00.006-04:00

My area of Bay Ridge has a lot of single-family homes, and they sure like to doll themselves up for the holidays. Christmas lights are just the tip of the iceberg -- I've seen one house with a Mother's Day flag perched off the front door.

But few holidays compare with Halloween in this neighborhood. Not only does Third Avenue hold a special parade in early October just to let the kiddies show off their costumes, but several houses deck their porches with orange lights and their windows with glowing pumpkins.

My favorite house -- the one I try to walk by each night when the sun is down and the moon is out as I exit the subway on my way home from work -- is on 79th Street. A pair of gigantic glaring eyes following you on your commute home? That's better than any haunted house.

Iceland's Golden Circle: Sites & Scenery

2011-10-28T07:00:00.015-04:00

Iceland was by far the easiest leg of the trip to plan. We had only two full days there, and we knew exactly what we wanted to do with them: the Blue Lagoon one day, and the Golden Circle tour the next.

The Golden Circle tour is a popular route through southern Iceland that often includes (at the very least) Gullfoss waterfall, the Geysir hot spring area and the Thingvellir historical site. It's possible to make the circle on your own with a rental car, but we took the easy way out and booked an 8-hour bus trip with Reykjavik Excursions.

Gullfoss, or "Golden Falls," was my favorite stop. Think Niagara Falls, only more dramatic since the waters drop down several layers and you can stand on rocks so close you can practically touch the cascades.

As its name suggests, Geysir was the first geyser discovered and lent its name to all others. One of them in the area still blows its lid every 10 minutes or so. Although we saw it pop its top about five times, I feel like I actually only really saw it a couple of times -- so much of the time I was trying (mostly unsuccessfully) to catch it on film. Paul evidently has better reflexes since his was the best photo.

Paul's photo -- the best!

Waiting for the perfect shot.

Thingvellir is a national park where Iceland's parliament was established in 930. It's also a meeting spot of the North American and Eurasian tectonic plates, so geographically we were on two continents.

Each stop and all of the landscape we saw from the bus confirmed that the best word to describe Iceland's scenery is dramatic. There was plenty of greenery, but it was combined with mountains, fog, alternating sunny and dark gray skies, and some of the clearest water I've ever seen. Dramatic really is the only word.

A Day at Iceland's Blue Lagoon

2011-10-26T07:00:00.003-04:00

Many visitors to Iceland go to the Blue Lagoon either directly after arriving at Keflavik International Airport or on their way to the airport before leaving the country. The geothermal spa is actually closer to the airport than Reykjavik, and you can even store your luggage while you take in the warm waters.

Paul and I, however, arrived at Iceland at night. We could have visited before our afternoon flight back to the U.S., but we opted for a more leisurely experience. So we booked seats on a bus to the Blue Lagoon on a Thursday morning, our first full day in Iceland.

I was looking forward to the visit, but I wasn't sure what to expect. First off, I knew that before entering a spa or public pool in Iceland, you must first shower unclothed -- no swimsuit -- in the locker room. I was never an athlete, and I'm a little bashful in that respect. However, it wasn't a big deal. The Blue Lagoon was sparse when we arrived at 11 a.m., and I found a semi-private shower with a door that mostly shut. Then it was off to the creamy blue waters.

The waters are heated by a nearby geothermal power plant to 98 to 102 degrees, but there are certainly some pockets that are hotter than others. The floor is covered with black sand and smooth, jagged rocks, but you can see neither. Forms become vague two inches below the surface and completely disappear another three inches below that.

Paul.

The pool has no right angles and is surrounded by large piles of black lava rocks. Out of the pool, the temperature must have been in the high 40s to 50s, and there was an ever-present fog over the water. A breeze created ripples in the water and made my ears cold.

The Blue Lagoon also has saunas, as well as several tubs of silica strategically placed throughout the pool and generously used by visitors to create facemasks. We tried it three times. But mostly we did nothing at all -- just explored the lagoon and sought out the hottest spots of water.

The place got much busier around 5 p.m. -- Icelanders off work? Tourists arriving from the airport? Either way, the lagoon's bar area was lively and the place got much louder. We left shortly after, spending a good 7 hours at the lagoon.

Bar.

Interestingly, every visitor receives a rubber wristband to wear for the duration of the visit that locks and unlocks your locker and which you can use to charge food, drinks and towel rentals. When we arrived in Iceland we still had some Danish currency, and Paul asked a Blue Lagoon employee if it would be accepted. Yes, the man said. The lagoon basically takes all currency, he went on, and they'd probably even accept jewelry -- they'll get paid somehow. So obviously they see a lot of tourists -- not a surprise since even the New York City subways have advertisements for the Blue Lagoon.

I expected to enjoy the Blue Lagoon, but it was even better than I thought. In fact, I would try to arrange a long layover in Iceland in the future just for a quick return visit -- not so difficult to arrange since it's so close to the airport. It was a relaxing day, and one I hope I'll one day get to repeat.

Bay Ridge Harvest Festival Welcomes Autumn

2011-10-24T07:00:00.000-04:00

What better day to ring in fall than one that feels like spring?

It was a warm and sunny Sunday afternoon that Paul and I walked to Narrows Botanical Gardens for Bay Ridge's 16th annual Harvest Festival. We'd never been to the festival and, in fact, I'd never even been to the botanical gardens although Paul has jogged through it.

Narrows Botanical Garden is just a sliver of land between Shore Road and New York Bay -- actually, it's between Shore Road and Bay Parkway, but it's much nicer to overlook the freeway traffic and instead concentrate on the blue water just beyond.

In any case, we weren't there for the views. In fact, we really weren't there for any reason at all. Since we had no expectations, it was hard to be disappointed. And we weren't.

We spent a lazy hour drifting from craft booth to food stall, stopping to watch some square dancing. I didn't know it before, but there is something inherently autumnal in square dancing. Paul sampled some rooibos tea; I opted for cheesecake on a stick -- a round slab of cheesecake the size of a baseball, dipped in milk chocolate. We left midway through the canine costume contest, which the kids seemed to find just as fun as painting pumpkins.

Dog dressed as jockey

It wasn't much, but it was about as close to the country as Bay Ridge is ever going to come. Welcome, fall. Welcome, Halloween.

Copenhagen: Tivoli & Other First Impressions

2011-10-21T07:00:00.001-04:00

I think it was in a social studies textbook in elementary school. Maybe junior high.

It sticks out because Denmark wasn't a place we normally talked about in class. There was England, Germany, Spain. Ohio history in the seventh grade. But Denmark was a mystery. I think that's why the short section on the Scandinavian country holds a place in my mind yet today.

I don't remember the text, or even the gist. I seem to recall a photo of Tivoli. What I know for sure, however, is that for many years I basically knew of only two things in Denmark: the aforementioned Tivoli Gardens amusement park and Lego Land.

Lego Land has since lost its appeal, but Tivoli never did. (Blame it on all of those summer trips to Cedar Point.) As the years passed, I gradually picked up a few more tidbits on the country and Copenhagen: names, words and phrases. Hans Christian Andersen. Bicycles. Quaint. Put together it created more of a state of mind than a vivid picture.

By the time we got to Copenhagen, it was day 10 of our 15-day vacation, and we were ready for a change of pace. Paris and Rome were exciting, but now I wanted to kick back and give my feet a rest. But it wasn't only my aching legs -- I had somehow picked up a cold in the Roman heat. The skies were gray when we arrived in Copenhagen, but we had scheduled only a little more than 48 hours in the city. Cold or no cold, we dropped off our bags and immediately began to explore.

Copenhagen is like a storybook -- it looks just like how Hans Christian Andersen's fairy tales feel. In fact, one of our few destinations in Copenhagen was the statue of the Little Mermaid of his famous tale.

We were almost to the statue when the sky opened and it began to pour. We hid out under a bridge and escaped when the drizzles slowed down, but it was hopeless. I took some photos and we made our way to a brewery Paul wanted to try. By the time we got there, we were soaked.

When the rain finally let up, we decided to find a grocery store and have a picnic in our room. Salami, pita bread, hummus, yogurt and the BBC -- our first interaction with what was going on in the world aside from a short internet session a few days before in Rome.

Our only full day there was spent with our friends Chris and Meghan, braving a windy Copenhagen and then taking the train a half-hour into Malmö, Sweden, where they live. We had planned to meet up the next day, our last in Copenhagen, but the so-so weather continued and it was raining by the time we checked out. Paul called Chris and we said our goodbyes by telephone.

Lego Land wasn't in the books -- it's something like 150 miles from Copenhagen -- but as the sky cleared and the sun finally appeared, Tivoli was finally looking like fun.The entrance was somewhere between $15 and $20, and rides were almost $5 for the crappy ones and $13 for the fun ones. We rode no rides. Still, we easily dawdled away a few hours eating open-faced sandwiches, wandering around the lake and greenery (it's not called Tivoli Gardens for nothing), and generally just fulfilling a childhood dream. It was cute and fun, but I suspect it would have been even more so at night, when Tivoli is lit up and probably more crowded. Still, I'm certainly glad we were able to fit in a visit during the trip.

Setting aside that textbook from long ago, my first and last impressions of Copenhagen remained the same: the city and its surrounding areas seem like lovable, livable cities. They seem very pleasant, aside, perhaps from the long, dark winters. When the sun is shining, however, the buildings are beautiful. And -- bonus -- English speakers have no trouble getting around at all. Everyone we had even the remotest contact with spoke impeccable English, and the guilt I felt at not even learning the Danish (or Swedish) words for "please" and "thank you" was only in my mind.

Morning in Denmark; Evening in Sweden

2011-10-19T07:00:00.011-04:00

Malmö, Sweden

The kernel that turned into this trip to Europe sprouted when two friends and coworkers, Chris and Meghan, moved to Sweden last spring. We had good luck when we planned a trip to Japan around two other friends who lived in Hiroshima -- why not try it again? (The lesson to all of my friends: if you move to another country, I will be visiting you.)

As we added more cities to the trip, plane tickets -- at least reasonably priced plane tickets -- became harder to find. The trip planned itself based on the days airfare was cheapest. Unfortunately, that meant only a little more than 48 hours in Copenhagen.

Even though Meghan and Chris live in Sweden, Copenhagen is the nearest big city. In fact, Malmö -- the third largest city in Sweden -- is only a half hour train ride outside of the city. That made it easy for them to meet us in Copenhagen the morning of our only full day in the city, and then for the four of us to take the train back to Sweden to spend the afternoon and evening in Malmö. Bonus: Chris grew up in Sweden and could act as interpreter, even though pretty much everyone speaks perfect English.

We wandered around Copenhagen for awhile, stopping in Nyhavn for coffee and juice, although we didn't brave the windy outdoor seating long and moved indoors. I did, however, learn that Scandinavians are dedicated to eating al fresco -- restaurants drape blankets over the chairs for the chilly.

Nyhavn

Blankets at a restaurant in Malmö

Then we wandered through Christiania, a neighborhood where the barbecue smoke covers up the pot smoke, graffiti art covers the walls and photos are discouraged with "No camera" paintings. We stopped for a beer at noon and continued to catch up.

I can say without a doubt that this was the one day of the entire trip in which I did the least amount of sightseeing. Chris and Meghan might disagree -- we did do a lot of walking, and we saw a lot of sights. I, however, was doing much more talking than looking around. That accounts for the fact that I have only 10 photos from that entire day -- and none at all of the four of us together.

One of my very few photos of Sweden

That afternoon we went to Malmö and basically just hung out. Ate some falafel, had a few drinks, met their friends and roommates and talked, talked, talked. When the sun went down, the scene shifted to a couple of bars a block or two away. The night quickly flew by, and before I knew it the combination of beer, conversation and my cold resulted in a lost voice. By the time Paul and I caught the 12:37 a.m. train back to Copenhagen, I could barely keep my head upright. Vacation had caught up with me.

Some of my greatest regrets stem from this part of the trip -- I wish we would've gotten to spend more time with Meghan and Chris, I wish we would've spent at least one night in Malmö, and I wish I would've taken more photos of the day. In any case, I have great memories, and a few photos or a relocated hotel room couldn't have changed the day at its core.

Occupy Wall Street, Just Down the Street

2011-10-17T07:00:00.011-04:00

Zuccotti Park used to be just the place where I'd occasionally get a chocolate chip muffin at the weekly farmer's market.

Now, according, to one New York Times columnist earlier this month, it's "the city's newest tourist attraction."

And it's all just a little more than a block from where I work.

The Occupy Wall Street gang is just down the street, but I've had surprisingly little contact with it. Occasionally I'll see a few of my coworkers huddled around a window, stretching their necks to see a group of straggling protesters down the street. Once or twice, as I've walked from the subway to the office, I've seen men putting up metal gates along Broadway, a sure sign of a march that sure enough took place when I left work that night.

The protesters had been at the park nearly a month -- in fact, it's one month today -- but mostly I'd just seen them on the "Daily Show." (I amuse myself by figuring out what angle the cameramen are shooting based on the stores and restaurants I clearly see in the background.) It was time to pay a visit for myself, so during one lunch break last week, I did.

It took exactly five minutes to get there, and I think most of that time I spent waiting for the elevator in my building. It was a gray, rainy day, so I wasn't sure how many people would be out. I needn't have worried. Hundreds of people crowded Zuccotti Park, some holding signs, some meditating, but everyone mostly just talking. There was a constant buzz, interrupted only by a steady rhythm of chanting as a mini-march passed by.

Occupy Wall Street seems sort of like a small neighborhood. According to a friend and coworker, they have a library, wifi, a kitchen area and even a small medical center. What they don't have much of is food, although they do accept deliveries and donations.

I'm still not exactly sure what Occupy Wall Street stands for, but maybe that's OK. We're so used to hearing talking points and politicians staying exactly on-message. It's refreshing to see people stand up because they know something has to change, even if they can't all precisely articulate what that something actually is.

I left with a greater respect for Occupy Wall Street. And also, based on the number of cops surrounding the peaceful gathering, with the suspicion that a lot of people are getting some easy overtime.

Reflections on Rome

2011-10-14T07:00:00.014-04:00

Rome was exhausting.

This was especially due to the heat, but also the hills and stairs, the winding streets so easy to get lost in, the constant fear of pickpockets and the sheer number of people in such a concentrated area. Even the traffic was stressful -- I'm used to ignoring traffic signals in New York, but Rome has not only barely any signals, but also barely any crosswalks. You just dart in front of traffic and assume it will stop for you.

View from the Gianicolo

Visiting Rome was a little like visiting Disney World -- lots of tourists, lots of maps and lots of must-see attractions.

This was definitely the most jam-packed leg of the trip. If you can name a museum or church in Rome, we probably saw it. But my favorite hours were the few we puttered around a piazza or lingered over a liter of wine. We saw Rome, but I suspect that it was generally just what the tourists see -- not what true Romans experience.

Pantheon

I made a list of everything I wanted to see and do in Rome, and most of those items were checked off. But if we visit again, I will certainly "schedule" more time to do absolutely nothing.

Baths of Diocletian

Vittoriano

Piazzas and People-Watching in Rome

2011-10-12T07:00:00.004-04:00

If visiting churches in Rome was obligatory, then visiting the piazzas was unavoidable.

Not that you'd want to avoid them even if you could. Piazzas in Rome are basically public squares, generally centered around a fountain, monument or church. They come in all shapes and sizes and often have a restaurant or two (and many, many more at the largest piazzas) along the edges, with lots of outdoor seating and menus in about a dozen languages.

Campo de' Fiori

Rome certainly doesn't have a monopoly on large city squares -- Marienplatz in Munich, Germany, comes to mind, let alone New York's own Times Square -- but Rome takes it to a whole new level. This is true not only in sheer numbers, but also in their atmosphere.

During the daytime they're lively and crowded. At night the number of people only seems to grow, but that just adds to the energy, the spark of the city. No need to sit down at one of the touristy restaurants -- just grab a seat on the pedestal of a statue, preferably with a 2 euro scoop of gelato in your hand, and people-watch the night away.

Piazza Navona

Piazza del Popolo

Night really was when the city came alive. I suspect this is because of the high daytime temperatures, but having visited the city for only four days, I'm hardly in a position to say for sure. In any case, the evenings were pleasant and definitely when sightseeing was most enjoyable. In fact, we saw Trevi Fountain and the Spanish Steps only at night, unless you count a distant view of the latter in the late afternoon of our final full day there.

And before you ask, yes, of course we each threw a coin into Trevi Fountain. We will return.

Crowds at Trevi Fountain

Trevi Fountain

Spanish Steps

The Religious Must-Sees of Vatican City & Rome

2011-10-10T07:00:00.001-04:00

Sunset over the Tiber River, with St. Peter's in the background

It was roundabout 4 p.m., about a bazillion degrees, and Paul was accusing me of skipping lunch on purpose.

We were hot and irritable and hardly in the right state of mind as we walked along the Tiber River toward Vatican City and St. Peter's Basilica.

I wasn't skipping lunch on purpose, but he had a point. Throughout vacation I had a habit of putting a much higher priority on sightseeing than, well, eating. This didn't go over well with Paul, whose vacation highlights generally revolve around meals. Good thing, too -- I probably wouldn't have gotten the few veggies I did during those two weeks without his prompting.

In any case, we actually did have a schedule to keep. We had tickets for the Vatican Museum that night, and it was imperative that we see St. Peter's beforehand. I wasn't going to walk there again, but I also wasn't going to miss seeing what's only the most important church in Catholicism.

St. Peter's Square

St. Peter's Basilica

We got to Vatican City in plenty of time and were in more godly states of mind after a piece of pizza. Surprisingly, however, I was more impressed standing outside in St. Peter's Square than wandering around inside the basilica.After all, a picture of the square was the image that's been in my head for the last 30 years.

Inside St. Peter's Basilica

Swiss Guards outside St. Peter's Basilica

I hate to say this, but I think I was also on church overload. It was literally impossible to walk more than two or three blocks without passing a church, and a good number of them had at least one noteworthy piece of artwork in it. We traipsed from church to church, checking off this Caravaggio or that Michelangelo. It sounds cool in writing; it's less cool when you see so much in such a short amount of time that 12 hours later you can't remember what you actually saw.

Luckily, a few things did stick out. St. Peter's, of course, and the Vatican Museum, which ended up being one of our favorite stops in Rome. The Sistine Chapel is, in fact, unforgettable.Santa Maria in Trastevere had perhaps the most beautiful interior of any church I've ever seen. And Scala Santa holds what supposedly are the steps Jesus climbed during the Passion, transported to Rome some 1,700 years ago and now covered in wood. Pilgrims climb the steps on their knees.

Vatican Museums

Spiral ramp at the Vatican Museums

Santa Maria in Trastevere

Scala Santa

No matter your religion or lack thereof, you can't leave Rome without imbibing the importance that the church plays in the city. We didn't attend one mass that entire weekend we were in Rome, but we spent more time in churches than we ever have in our entire lives.

Four Years in New York

2011-10-07T07:00:00.001-04:00

Tomorrow is the fourth anniversary of our move to New York. In the same amount of time that we've lived in Brooklyn, I could have gone to college all over again, and in some ways it feels like I have.

I learned more about reading, writing and 'rithmentic as I studied for a bachelor's degree in Ohio, but I seem to have taken upper-level classes in life the last four years without realizing it. If living in New York had its own curriculum, these would be the required classes and course descriptions.

Jaywalking 101: Successfully ignore traffic signals and find the exact appropriate distance to step into crosswalks to both avoid getting your toes run over and yet be able to dart across the street in between oncoming traffic.

Subway Navigation 101: Learn the difference between local and express trains and what direction you're actually traveling when the signs say Brooklyn- Queens- Bronx- or Manhattan-bound.

Subway Navigation 201: Final exam consists of charting three routes from home to work (one that includes at least three transfers), each time entering the subway car that deposits you directly in front of the stairs at your destination.

The Art of Not Making Eye Contact 101: Walk miles without actually seeing anyone's face, preferably by staring at the sidewalk. Bonus points awarded for the ability to type out tweets on your iPhone without bumping into fire hydrants, vehicles or other people.

Multiculturalism 101: Practice not being amazed that you live in a Greek-Italian-Arab neighborhood with Scandinavian roots within walking distance of New York City's second-largest Chinatown.

Nightlife 101: Once a month visit a (preferably under-the-radar) restaurant, bar, event or art exhibit and then post a comment on your chosen social media outlet, proving that you don't immediately come home from work and put on your pajamas. At least not every night.

I've passed the courses above with flying colors, but I still don't have enough credits to graduate. I'm not sure anyone ever does. I have, however, taken enough prerequisites to move on to the next level of city residency; instead of planning a new adventure every weekend, taking in a new museum or trying a new restaurant, I often just want to stick around the neighborhood, making return visits to our old standbys.

Maybe I'm just getting older, or maybe I'm just getting used to my surroundings. Probably both

Uncovering Ancient Rome: The Colosseum & Forum

2011-10-05T07:00:00.049-04:00

The Roman sun only got hotter as the afternoon progressed. Visiting the Colosseum was what Paul was most looking forward to throughout our entire trip, and we weren't rushing things. That didn't mean it wasn't uncomfortable at times. Sure, it was amazing standing inside something so amazing, so historic, but the present kept interfering. The heat was practically unbearable, and the crowds weren't helping. I dragged Paul into the Colosseum's gift shop more for the air conditioning than the souvenirs.

Paul was flipping through some books and I was standing nearby. Suddenly, a man's voice called out his name.

Paul turned around to find his former work manager, the first one he had when we moved to New York. They hadn't spoken for months, and neither knew the other was even planning a trip to Italy. Small world.

Yes, small world, and a visit to Rome makes it even smaller. All the world converges on its narrow cobblestone streets. The city center is small and the main attractions are generally easy to walk to ... if you can find them. Rome was definitely not laid out on a grid. Pretty much everyone I saw was carrying either a guide book or map. Even I, who spurns looking like a tourist, couldn't walk half a kilometer (we are in Europe, after all) without checking the map to make sure we hadn't missed our turn. Of course, getting lost in the streets is charming in and of itself, but not when you're hungry and trying to make it to St. Peter's before it closes.

Rome also taught me the meaning of dry heat. We burned up in the sun, but it was downright comfortable in the shade. But shady doesn't exactly describe the Colosseum or (especially) Palatine Hill or the Roman Forum. While I was looking forward to seeing them, however, it was Paul who was truly excited. He's long been fascinated with Roman history and, in fact, is making his way through "The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire."

Roman Forum & Palatine Hill

Trajan's Column

It was impossible not to be in awe of such sites. But the true lesson of the day involved Rome's constantly flowing "drinking" fountains. In such heat, the fountains aren't just a quaint artifact of daily life -- they're a necessity.

A Look Back on Paris

2011-10-03T07:00:00.000-04:00

Sainte-Chapelle

I'm sad at the end of every vacation, sad enough to cry. What I didn't foresee before this four-city vacation is that I would be sad at the end of each leg.

But no city was I sadder to leave than Paris. I was sad to say goodbye to Rome's gelato and our friends in Copenhagen, and I was sad that the entire trip was winding down even when we landed in Iceland. But as Paul and I found an empty bench along the banks of the Seine River on our last afternoon in Paris, I could feel my eyes start to well up.

On the banks of the Seine

Even I knew at the time how ridiculous this was. But the truth is that Paris exceeded my expectations. It's impossible to visit the city without some kind of picture in your mind: from books, from movies, from old postcards. I had prepared myself for a watered-down version of the Paris of my imagination. What I found, however, was that there are no Paris cliches. Cafes are meant to be lingered in, baguettes are meant to be freshly purchased each morning and winding streets are meant to be explored. And the fashion? I saw five-year-old kids who put my wardrobe to shame.

I suspect that another reason I preferred Paris above all of the cities we visited on this trip was simply because it was the first. We were finally on vacation, and it seemed like it would never end. After all, Paris wasn't all peaches and cream. It was rainy and chilly every day we were there, with only sporadic sightings of the sun. We climbed so many spiral staircases that not only my feet, but also my legs ached. We saw more churches and museums that I'll ever be able -- or care -- to remember.

But when it comes right down to it, my worst day in Paris was still better than my best day almost anywhere else.

Notre Dame

Inside Notre Dame

From the towers of Notre Dame

Inside the Conciergerie

Sainte-Chapelle

Paul in line at Paul, at the Tuileries Garden

Pantheon

Sacre-Coeur

A Day Trip to Versailles

2011-09-30T07:00:00.048-04:00

Versailles was beautiful and an easy day trip from Paris, but it obviously didn't make much of an impression. In the 38-page journal I wrote during the two-week trip, I dedicated exactly one paragraph -- 6 lines -- to Versailles.

The visit to the palace itself was so-so -- gigantic and lavish to be sure, but so crowded as to make us feel like heads of cattle on our way to the slaughterhouse.

The grounds, however, were immense and, in some places, completely empty. We wore out our feet getting lost in the garden paths (literally getting lost -- it took as a while to find civilization again) and finally finding Marie Antoinette's estate and the Petit Trianon.

Marie Antoinette's estate was my favorite part of the visit. From what I understand, the estate was Marie Antoinette's escape from palace life, and today it seems like an overgrown dollhouse, a little dreamy and a little unreal. This part of Versailles seemed worlds away from the palace -- no sheep or batches of bunnies there.

Versailles, only 40 minutes from Paris, was a cinch to get to. I'm glad we went, but I'm sure I would have enjoyed it more with some French history in my background. Until I get that, I'm not sure I would return.

The Sweet Scent of NYC Flowers

2011-09-28T07:00:00.000-04:00

New York City stinks, and I mean that in only the most literal sense.

Garbage. Grease. Exhaust fumes. It's always a great treat the one or two times a year I just happen to walk by a Bay Ridge home with a yard the size of a postage stamp at the exact right time -- just after the grass is mowed and I get a whiff of the closest thing we've got to country air.

New Yorkers do, however, have another more common respite from the assaults on their noses. Many bodegas and corner stores line bouquets of flowers for sale along the sidewalk, tempting passersby with their bright colors and sweet smells. I've gotten only one -- as a gift from one of Paul's friends when he came to our Midwestern-themed party in February -- and it lasted a surprisingly long time. By carefully trimming the stems, changing the water and throwing out the wilted blooms, the bouquet lasted at least a week.

No one's going to mistake New York for a greenhouse, unless, that is, you're referring to the sweltering summertime heat. But a quick whiff of something nice on the streets of Manhattan is rare to come by and much appreciated.

Adventures at the Eiffel Tower

2011-09-26T07:00:00.072-04:00

After a long day of sightseeing in Paris, my camera battery was fading fast. When we reached the peak of the Eiffel Tower, I eeked out two or three photos and thought I was home free.

Feeling my luck, I gratefully handed my camera to a woman who offered to take a photo of Paul and me. We were posed and ready, and that's when the battery decided to die.

Without hesitating, the lady kindly offered to take a photo with her own camera and email it to us. Paul handed over one of his business cards -- we knew there was a reason to pack them! -- and she introduced herself as Kelly. When we got home, the photos were waiting for us. And that's how Kelly saved the day and gave me my fondest memory of the Eiffel Tower.

Thanks, Kelly!

Yes, my fondest memory, but certainly not my only one. We had seen the tower from afar on our first day, but we didn't get up close and personal until the end of our second. We got there sometime around 8 p.m. as the sun was setting. The line was long and I was already cold in my hooded, zippered sweater; Paul was even colder in his short-sleeved collared shirt. Two hours later we had made it to the second floor, and shortly afterward the very top. The wind at the summit felt like it could blow you over the edge.

A funicular-like elevator takes you to the first and second levels.

But we were rewarded with terrific night views. The views from both the second and top levels weren't that different -- we were already higher than most of Paris at the lower level, and the light shimmered throughout the city and along the Seine wherever you were.

And a surprise: every hour on the hour at night, white lights strategically placed on the Eiffel Tower alternately blink, making the tower sparkle like a diamond for about five minutes. The oohs and aahs that inevitably went up as soon as the show started didn't do it justice, and neither does a camera. No matter. My camera had no shortage of Eiffel Tower views -- from that night and the next, when we were also in the area -- anyway.

Museum Hopping in Paris

2011-09-23T07:00:00.003-04:00

If we ever went to as many museums in New York in four days as we did in Paris, I don't know what I would do. I literally don't know, because it would never happen. I like museums, but a dozen in 96 hours? Umm, no.

But this was Paris, and I wasn't about to let a little fatigue or giant crowds stop me from seeing the Mona Lisa or Monet's Water Lillies. And besides, unlike in New York, there would be no next week. If I didn't see them then, who knows when my next chance would be?

Water Lillies at the Orangerie

So I threw my frugal ways to the wind and sprung for a 4-day Paris Museum Pass. At 50 euro (about $70 USD) per pass, it's not cheap, but it was well worth the cost. The pass allowed free entrance into a few dozen museums -- far more than you could ever see in such a short amount of time -- plus a few church add-ons, like the towers of Notre Dame and Sainte-Chapelle. Plus, in most museums the pass allowed you to skip to the front of the line. That was worth more than a few bucks right there.

Above and three photos below: Louvre

In any case, we used the pass so much in the first day alone that our admissions would have cost 23 euro separately just that one day, and that didn't even count the Louvre (10 euro) and Versailles (something like 18 euro). I'm really glad we got the pass, but if we ever return to Paris I would probably now opt for the 2-day pass and skip a lot of the museums, concentrating on the few that I really, truly enjoyed. After all, I probably don't need to see Napoleon's tomb again.

Paul visited Paris for about 48 hours some 10 years ago, and one of the few things he did then that he absolutely wanted to do again was visit the Louvre. Of course, that was at the top of list, whether Paul put it there or not! He lingered through the exhibits of Greek and Roman statues, and I was happy to follow along without a specific goal in mind. Except for one. I conquered the thick crowds and got a good glimpse of the "Mona Lisa."

Crowds in front of the Mona Lisa

One thing the visit to the Louvre and nearly every other museum in Paris taught me is that cameras should be banned -- or allowed only on certain days or hours -- from all museums. I'm the first to admit that I'm as bad as the rest. I had to snap a photo of at least the most famous of the works, if only to prove to myself 10 years down the road that one day long ago I actually saw things of artistic and historic significance.

But I think I would have a much more meaningful experience if I was forced to put away the camera and see things with my eyes instead of through the camera lens. Perhaps more importantly, it might keep the large crowds around the most famous works under control -- and I wouldn't have had to continually worry about where I was stepping and whether I was ruining someone's shot.

Athena of Velletri at the Louvre

Venus de Milo at the Louvre

One museum that did ban cameras was one of my favorite stops in Paris -- the Orsay Museum. The works from 1848 to 1914 are exhibited in the old Orsay railway station on the banks of the Seine.We visited on our last full day in Paris, tired and museumed-out. We got there just a couple of hours before it closed, and it wasn't enough time. It's one of the few museums I definitely want to return to, just to take a closer look at the Impressionist paintings.

The truth is that I like museums, but I'm far from an art scholar. In fact, visiting so many museums in such a short amount of time (not to mention having access to so many here in New York) makes me wish I would have taken at least a beginner's art history course in college. In both Paris and Rome I would occasionally overhear a guide give a tour group some complex explanation of the deep meaning of a painting. Me? I just think it's pretty. My goals in a museum aren't complex: I want to see the famous stuff, and the rest is just icing on the cake. I think that's why the Orsay was such a pleasant surprise. I saw paintings there that I didn't recognize, yet they still made me stop, take a closer look and consider.

Another site on our must-see list was the Rodin Museum. This museum is mostly known for its gardens and one sculpture in particular: The Thinker. Paul practically had to wait in line for his turn, but we finally got our shot.

Views of Paris from the Top ... of Everything

2011-09-21T07:00:00.001-04:00

View from Notre Dame

My introduction to Paris was bleak.

Don't get me wrong -- I was ridiculously excited to see the Paris of my books, movies and dreams. That Paris, however, didn't appear until later, many hours after we had landed at Charles de Gaulle Airport at 6:30 a.m. on a gray and drizzly Sunday morning.

We rented an apartment in the Oberkampf neighborhood, slightly outside of the city center, but we couldn't check-in until 11:30 a.m. We found a cafe near the apartment and leisurely ate a breakfast of croissants and bread under a canopy outside, watching Parisians carry their baguettes home.

Paul fell asleep literally within minutes of collecting our apartment keys, but I was too excited to shut my eyes. I gave him an hour before gently nudging him awake. We were in Paris! Who wants to sleep?

We immediately visited the towers of Notre Dame, which ended up being not only be favorite stop in Paris, but maybe of the entire trip. After climbing a neverending spiral staircase, I was rewarded with amazing views over all of Paris, including my first sight of the Eiffel Tower. Here was the Paris I dreamed of seeing, gray skies or not.

From Notre Dame

The view was breathtaking, but it was only the first of many we saw throughout our four-day visit. Notre Dame, Arc de Triomphe, the Pantheon, Sacre Coeur ... the number of incredible views became something of a joke. Do we really need to see the Eiffel Tower or the hill of Montmartre again? Ahh, the terrible troubles we faced.

Ironically, the worst of the wonderful views were from the Eiffel Tower. It's easy to understand why. Who wants a view of Paris that doesn't include the Eiffel Tower?

By day three, we were weighing the merits of yet another excellent view with the wear and tear of yet another spiral staircase on our aching feet. But the views were always worth it. Always.

Champs-Elysees, from the Arc de Triomphe

From the Arc de Triomphe

Sacre Coeur, from the Arc de Triomphe

From Sacre Coeur

From the Pantheon

Two Wonderful Weeks Exploring Europe

2011-09-19T07:00:00.059-04:00

Paris, Eiffel Tower

Every trip teaches you something.

In the last two weeks, I've learned that Romans actually use their window shutters, and not just for decoration. Quality gelato really is as good as they say. I should learn to make croque monsieurs. Fermented shark isn't as bad as it sounds, and penguin has the consistency of steak.

I've learned that everywhere in Paris has a view. Every corner in Rome has a church. Everyone in Copenhagen rides a bike. Every view in Iceland is a marvel.

Six countries, more than a dozen museums, too many churches to count, 1,139 photos, one mild allergic reaction and two weeks later, Paul and I have returned from our European getaway.

Our trip took us to Paris, Rome, Vatican City, Copenhagen and a Swedish suburb, and Reykjavik.

Rome, Colosseum

Here's how the trip came about:

We very nearly used some plane vouchers that were about to expire to go to Iceland last summer, but the tickets were still a little too expensive for just a long weekend. Plus, last spring two of my coworkers moved to Sweden, to a city just outside of Copenhagen. So Paul and I initially thought we would take a week's vacation and go to Reykjavik and Copenhagen.

Then I got to thinking. I sure would like to visit Paris. So then the trip became Copenhagen and Paris. And what about Rome? Why don't we take two weeks and go to Copenhagen, Paris and Rome? At this point Reykjavik was completely out of the picture.

But as I obsessively poured over plane schedules and prices, I realized that adding a stopover in Reykjavik actually made the plane tickets cheaper. Sign me up.

Copenhagen, Nyhavn

So that's how we ended up spending four days each in Paris and Rome, and three days each in Copenhagen and Reykjavik.I fully expected it to be a whirlwind trip, a sort of modern-day grand tour. What I didn't expect is that we would experience all four seasons in two weeks and that I would learn to convert four different currencies in my head

I have lots to write about and lots of photos to share. Over the next few weeks I'll be posting them here, interspersing them with the typical New York-based blog posts you usually find on this blog. I hope you enjoy them.

Iceland, Gullfoss

Hidden Art in Plain Sight

2011-09-02T07:00:00.015-04:00

New York has some of the best museums in the world, but sometimes the best works of art -- the pieces that make you smile -- are hidden where you least expect it.

I'm not sure if the painting of the cat above, seen from the High Line park, is public art or graffiti, but I don't care when it produces a grin as big as that of the feline itself.

And speaking of grins, tomorrow begins my two-week (!) vacation. As always, my blog takes a break when I do. Posts resume on Monday, Sept. 19.

Thank You for Reading 500 Posts!

2011-08-31T07:00:00.005-04:00

When I started this blog 12 days after moving to New York City in October 2007, I didn't have a clear plan or vision. Heck, I didn't even have a job. In fact, I think it was my unemployment that was the impetus for Pay a Visit. After more than four years as a full-time journalist, I couldn't give up writing at the drop of a hat. What I could do, however, was write what and when I wanted to. And that's what I've been doing for 500 posts.

Yep, this is post #500. Thank you to all of my loyal readers (that's you, Mom and Dad!) and everyone else who pokes and prods around the site every once in a while (that's you, Paul!). Mostly, thank you for giving me the illusion that I'm not just writing for myself. Yes, I would write anyway, even if it were only for myself. But it's nice nonetheless to think that others have an interest in it too.

To use a very New York expression, my blog is what it is. But I am proud of how it's grown over the last four years. Pay a Visit has received more than 17,700 visits as of last weekend, with an average of about 40 per day. Granted, a lot of those people aren't sticking around too long, but it's a nice number to think about all the same.

Most visitors come from the United States (surprise, surprise), but over the last couple of years the site has received several hundred visitors from Canada, the United Kingdom, Hungary, Germany and Argentina. About 300 people have even wandered in from Vietnam and South Korea.

My proudest moment as a blogger came just last month, courtesy of a story told to me by a coworker. This coworker was planning to bring cupcakes to work for my birthday, and he Googled the name of the bakery where he wanted to get them. What popped up? My blog post on Carlo's Bakery, of course! That story makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Weathering Hurricane Irene in Brooklyn

2011-08-29T07:00:00.037-04:00

Hurricane Irene had more bark than bite in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.

Between the TV commentators and grocery store lines, you'd think we would have just experienced the storm of the century. Instead, it seemed like we received just slightly more rain with slightly stronger winds than usual. Paul and I slept through the worst of it.

Yes, we were lucky. Other areas of New York lost power and experienced flooding and broken branches.Our biggest inconvenience: our Dish Network went out and a technician is coming this week to repair it.

With our location about a mile from the shore -- not to mention three stories up -- we weren't worried at all about flooding. (That wasn't the case in other areas of New York City -- places like Coney Island, the Rockaways, Battery Park City and much of coastal Staten Island were evacuated.) We were more concerned about losing electricity and the possibility of shattered windows. There wasn't much we could do, however, but make sure we had a working flashlight (we did) and enough food to last through the weekend.

Many were preparing for the worst. Near a Rite Aid on Friday evening I saw two people walking away with the essentials -- one had a carton of bottled water, and the other a 12-pack of beer. Grocery stores were crowded and shelves quickly emptied. It took two tries to get a loaf of bread -- the grocery store nearest our place Friday night had only a few packages of hot dog buns and a lonely garlic baguette. I had better luck at a larger grocery store the next day.

Saturday was gray and humid with periodic drizzles throughout the afternoon. The subway shut down at noon with rumors that it might not reopen until Monday afternoon. Several neighborhood businesses plastered long strips of tape on their windows, hoping, I'm sure, that they wouldn't be needed.

We stayed up until about 5 a.m., tracking the storm online and watching CNN until we lost our signal. The seals around a few of our windows our bad; by this time we had to carefully place some buckets and towels on the sills and sop up some water. I awoke at 7 a.m. and put out another bowl. When I got up again three hours later, all was calm and the worst had passed. By the time Irene arrived, she wasn't a hurricane, but instead a tropical storm.

As I write this on Sunday afternoon, the subway system is still shut down. It isn't expected to be running again for the morning commute.

A week or two ago I thought the theme of today's blog post would be about marriage -- it's our eighth wedding anniversary tomorrow. And so I'll end this post with a bad joke. If I've learned anything in eight years, it's that sometimes you just have to weather the storm.

Madison Square Park's Clock Tower

2011-08-26T07:00:00.000-04:00

The Flatiron Building, the Shake Shack, the park itself ... there's a lot competing for your attention at Madison Square Park.

One sight that takes you by surprise, however, is the clock tower on the former Met Life Building on Madison Avenue.

I took the picture above earlier this summer, about a block west of the park. Once you actually enter Madison Square Park, however, the clock tower is often hidden from view by the tall trees.

When we celebrated my birthday at the Shake Shack in July, we sat underneath one of those trees as daylight turned to dusk turned to moonlight. Each time I looked up, the clock was there, ticking away the minutes of my 30th birthday.

Don't get me wrong -- the sight of the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building still sets my heart aflutter, but it's these smaller gems -- if anything 700 feet tall can be called small -- that I've come to appreciate more and more.

My Very First Earthquake

2011-08-24T07:00:00.028-04:00

Post-earthquake evacuation

I was sitting at my desk at work when my chair started to tremble.

At first I didn't think much of it. There's been a lot of construction on the building next door, and the drilling has become so commonplace that I've tuned it out. But this time I didn't hear anything.

Then the trembling started again. Almost simultaneously a coworker and I confirmed with each other that, indeed, we were not crazy. Other departments in the company seemed to be doing the same thing. Just as we were about to head for the door, our receptionist made an announcement over the intercom to evacuate the building.

At this point we were fairly certain it was an earthquake. That wasn't the case at first. Some, flashing back to 9/11, immediately imagined another attack. As we gathered outside of the building, however, the receptionist told us she had just received a call at the front desk from our Washington, DC, office, informing her that they were evacuating because of an earthquake. Seconds later, just before 2 p.m., the tremors started in New York.

Cellphone calls were impossible to make, but Twitter and Facebook were working. Between them and my coworkers, I learned that the quake was felt even in Ohio.

Just as we were all feeling pretty safe, a few women from half a block away started dashing toward us and then the other end of the block, and crowds more followed her. Not sure what was going on, we ran in that direction, too. One of the women told us someone had seen a building swaying. I suspect someone was letting their imagination get the best of them. In any case, no buildings collapsed.

We returned to our floor about an hour after the quake hit, but that didn't mean the day's events were out of our minds. What's more, some companies were using the earthquake as a marketing tool within hours, offering special earthquake discounts just for the day.

Except for the 30 seconds of minor shaking, it was a normal day. The subway wasn't even delayed. And so ends my first brush with a natural disaster. Although in this case -- when some people couldn't even feel the tremors -- I'm not sure "disaster" is the appropriate word.

Nighttime Comes to Brooklyn Bridge Park

2011-08-22T07:00:00.002-04:00

I walk across the Brooklyn Bridge a few times a year, either with guests or with Paul. Over the years, I've watched the land under the bridge on the Brooklyn side turn slowly from gray to green as the Brooklyn Bridge Park came to life.

But while we watched the park take shape, neither Paul nor I had ever visited until Saturday night.

Only a few sections of the park are open, but that obviously hasn't stopped a mixture of locals and tourists from taking advantage of the wide yards and expansive views. Benches line the waterfront and small groups on blankets dot the lawns. It was practically impossible to snap a photo without a stranger stepping into view unless you pressed yourself against the railing.

I fully expected the amazing views. The park abuts the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, and I've absolutely loved being in the passenger seat the few times we've driven home from Queens or northern Brooklyn late at night. My nose is pressed against the window taking in the view while Paul keeps his eyes on the road.

So while I was busy snapping photos Saturday night, Paul got to enjoy the brightly lit bridges and skyscrapers. A nice change for him, I'm sure.

Pier 1 of the park is right next door to the River Cafe, a restaurant known as much for its view as its food, as well as the correspondingly high prices. For my money, I'd rather grab a taco at one of the pier's food carts and then snag a bench or a coveted table and chairs right next to the water. The food, no matter how top-notch, is always going to be a mere appetizer when you have a view like this for an entree.

A Weeknight at Coney Island, in Photos

2011-08-19T07:00:00.004-04:00

Coney Island's Wonder Wheel

2011-08-17T07:00:00.013-04:00

Sometimes the best few minutes on "Saturday Night Live" are the opening sequence shots of Coney Island lit up at night, and I always watch for the Wonder Wheel.

It's my favorite single thing at Coney Island, and I haven't even taken a ride yet.

Ferris wheels are among the scariest things at amusement parks to me. Give me a 300-foot-tall roller coaster any day. At least there I'm securely strapped in. On a ferris wheel, I'm slowly swinging to my apparent death, secured only by something that barely passes for a seat belt.

But the Wonder Wheel is more of a thrill ride, which, oddly enough, I suspect would make me less scared simply because I'll be expecting the fear. The red and blue cars follow a track within the wheel, rushing to the inside and then the outside as the wheel turns.

I don't know if there are seat belts.

An Evening at the Coney Island Brewing Company

2011-08-15T07:00:00.015-04:00

I think Paul was surprised when I decided to tag along.

His brewing buddy from the neighborhood heard of a new brewery in Coney Island that was holding its grand opening celebration last Wednesday, so he and two friends decided to check it out. Although I nearly always stay home when Paul's hanging out with the guys, this time I decided to see what it was all about.

I'll admit, however, that I was there mostly for Coney Island and not for the beer. This week's blog posts are dedicated to Coney Island and what it looks like as the sun sets on a weeknight in this coastal neighborhood.

Today, the brewery. Coney Island Brewing Company bills itself as the world's smallest brewery, and it's difficult to believe that's not the case. The gimmick is that it brews only a gallon at a time and has only a tasting room and gift shop -- all in a space about the size of a typical walk-in closet, just off Surf Avenue literally next door to the freak show.

The entire brewery

Brewery to the left of the balloons, freak show to the right

However, the brewing company is affiliated with Shmaltz Brewing Company, the craft brewery behind the Coney Island lagers and He'brew beers. Some of those fine beverages also seem to be sold in the tasting room.

I stuck around long enough to catch up with an old work friend who also happened to be at the opening, grab a sample of some bourbon-like beer and to hear how Paul and his friend may end up concocting a gallon of their own beer for the brewery. This may not be the last you hear of the Coney Island Brewing Company.

The Verrazano-Narrows Bridge at Night

2011-08-12T07:00:00.001-04:00

We bought a new camera that's just slightly out of my league.

It has so many functions that our former six-year-old camera didn't have that I am determined to spend some quality time with it before we go on vacation.

With that in mind, Paul and I took a walk last Friday evening along the Shore Road Promenade. The sun was setting when we arrived, and it was dark by the time we arrived at the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, about a mile south. Perfect for trying the night and low-light settings on the new camera!

Manhattan at twilight

Not only that, but it was the first time I'd been so near the bridge at night outside of a car. There's a scenic pull-off along Shore Parkway as you near the bridge; even at 9 p.m there were about two dozen cars in the lot, and the benches along the water facing the bridge were full. It felt very "Saturday Night Fever."

New York Kisses = Midwestern Handshakes

2011-08-10T07:00:00.029-04:00

I don't come from a very lovey-dovey family. Growing up, I never had any doubt that my parents loved me, or vice versa, but we rarely showed it in any outward form. I can't remember the last time I hugged my sister. A psychologist might say that this is because Mom used to punish us as kids by sitting us down on the front porch and making us hold hands. I, however, think it's just in our genes.

Through Paul's family and numerous friends in Columbus, however, I gradually got used to hugging. That's especially true now that arrivals and departures happen only two or three times a year. There's no avoiding a hug when you haven't seen someone for 9 months, and hugs don't even make me uncomfortable anymore. I've even been known to -- gasp! -- initiate a hug.

But in New York I've been initiated into something entirely new: kisses, European-style.

I've experienced this enough in New York (and not at all in Ohio) to learn a few rules, draw a few conclusions and yet still have multiple questions.

Kisses are performed upon first meeting for the night and then again upon leaving. Kisses are between one man and one woman -- no same-sex smooches here, unlike in some countries. They're not absolutely mandatory, but they seem to be a replacement to a handshake. A courtesy.

I've exchanged kisses with people I've known for a few years and people I've met only once or twice. Depth of friendship seems to be irrelevant.

Looking back on what I've just written, I feel a little like Jane Goodall. Instead of observing chimpanzees, however, I'm closely watching the behavior of an even more foreign species: the native New Yorker.

A recent occurrence confirmed my growing suspicions about the difference between New Yorkers and Midwesterners in this regard. I was at a bar and saying goodbye to two of Paul's male friends. One moved to New York City as a child, the other is a Midwesterner who's lived in New York about a year. I got a kiss from the New Yorker followed by a firm handshake from the Midwesterner.

I'm still slightly uncomfortable with the kissing, although I've done it enough now that I'm sure it will be as commonplace as the hug with time. Although, since it took me roughly 25 years to be comfortable with hugging, I'm not sure how much time I will need.

An Austrian Birthday at Blaue Gans

2011-08-08T07:00:00.004-04:00

This year I had more trouble than usual choosing where to drag Paul for my birthday dinner.

Since turning 30 is, after all, something of a milestone, the place I chose had to be worthy of marking such an occasion. That basically meant it had to meet three criteria:

The food had to be good.
The restaurant had to be a place where we wouldn't go on a typical Saturday night.
The bill had to be more than I would prefer to pay on a normal night out.

And that latter is coming from me, the world's biggest cheapskate. Nevertheless, if you can't treat yourself on your 30th birthday, when can you? Your funeral?

A day or two before my birthday I finally made my choice: Blaue Gans, an Austrian restaurant in Tribeca. I had originally expected to chow down on the Saturday after my birthday, but that plan stalled when Paul presented me with birthday tickets to "Anything Goes." We already had plans for the following Saturday, so my birthday dinner was postponed until July 30. That's OK -- there's nothing I like better than making my birthday last as long as possible.

I had chosen Blaue Gans ("Blue Goose" in English) specifically for two reasons. One: I was in the mood for schnitzel. What can I say? Some girls want diamonds for their birthday, others want fried pounded pork. The schnitzel with lingonberries and a side of cucumber-potato salad fit the bill. The schnitzel was crisp and just as good as I imagined. The potato salad was the real surprise, cool with thin slices of cucumber and celery seeds. Delicious on a hot night.

And the second reason I chose this restaurant: the dessert menu. I had looked up the menu beforehand and seen "Salzburger Nockerl." Intrigued, I Googled it. It's basically a meringue shaped to represent the hills surrounding Salzburg. How did I not hear about this in Austria?

The nockerl was served on a blueberry compote, and if I have to be honest, it wasn't all that great. Still, it was worth it to get a dessert that looks like the Austrian countryside. That was my birthday present to myself.

Empire State Building from the High Line

2011-08-05T07:00:00.004-04:00

I expected greenery and big crowds when we visited the High Line park earlier this summer. What I didn't expect were so many great views of the Empire State Building. I'm going on four years as a New York City resident, but the sight still makes me pull out my camera.

Addressing New York City's Neighborhoods

2011-08-03T07:00:00.014-04:00

I have many ways to describe where I live, all equally correct.

The neighborhood of Bay Ridge
The borough of Brooklyn
Kings County
New York City

Addressing New York City's addresses correctly seems to be second nature to the natives, but it took slightly longer for me. Here's what I had to learn:

New York City is comprised of five boroughs: Manhattan, Brooklyn, Queens, the Bronx and Staten Island.

Each of the boroughs is also its own county: New York (Manhattan), Kings (Brooklyn), Queens (Queens), Bronx (the Bronx) and Richmond (Staten Island). All five of the boroughs/counties make up New York City, although in common parlance, only those who live in Manhattan are said to live in "the city" (a common abbreviation specific to Manhattan).

Each of the boroughs have neighborhoods, most with imprecise borders. But there are some differences in how these neighborhoods are addressed, quite literally. Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, is every bit as much of a neighborhood as Astoria, Queens. Every neighborhood in Brooklyn, however, has a "Brooklyn, New York" address, but in Queens, letters are addressed to the specific neighborhood (in this case, "Astoria, New York"). The Bronx and Staten Island follow Brooklyn's example, while residents of Manhattan get envelopes addressed to "New York, New York."

To make thinks a little more confusing, Brooklyn also has a specific downtown that's considered its own neighborhood. It's possible to work in downtown Brooklyn in the borough of Brooklyn -- in fact, Paul does. Manhattan also has a downtown, although it's usually called the Financial District. That's where I work.

Of course, novels could also be written on the the intricacies of New York's neighborhoods and their abbreviations, as well as the area code system. That's for another post!

Thai Comfort Food in Bay Ridge: myThai

2011-08-01T07:00:00.008-04:00

Some people turn to meatloaf, but Pad Thai has been my comfort food of choice ever since we moved to Brooklyn.

I'd never been to a Thai restaurant before moving here, although there was one in Columbus that I'd always meant to try. Instead of sampling it there, however, Thai was one of the first foreign cuisines I remember trying after moving to New York. My favorite Thai restaurant is so good and so near -- less than 10 minutes away by foot -- that I've rarely been tempted to try another.

Each visit to myThai is wonderfully the same. Paul and I each start with a Thai iced tea. Anyone who knows me knows well that I hate ordering drinks in restaurants. For this I make an exception. A tall glass is filled with ice, a dark tea and sweetened condensed milk. Sometimes it's a craving for this alone that will lure me to myThai.

We typically visit myThai with a gift certificate from Restaurant.com in hand. Everything's so cheap that we practically struggle to use it all. So even though I typically don't get restaurant appetizers either, both Paul and I have become obsessed with the myThai pancake. It's kind of like a flaky, savory elephant ear, fried in coconut butter and served with a coconut milk and curry dipping sauce. I could make a whole meal out of a few of these.

But I look forward to my entree all the same. Almost every single time I get the same thing -- vegetable Pad Thai. Along with the appetizer and upcoming dessert, I generally have enough leftover for another night or two. Paul mixes it up -- during our latest visit he ordered green curry -- and I like it when he orders something with rice. It always is served molded into the shape of a heart.

Pad Thai

Green Curry with heart-shaped rice!

Dessert depends totally on what we're in the mood for. Perhaps mango ice cream or fried green tea ice cream. Last time, we ordered friend bananas with honey and green tea ice cream. Each banana chunk was neatly and lightly fried into a sphere. Yummy.

I always leave myThai happy, full and wondering why we don't eat there more often. What more can you ask for? Only, I suppose, that Paul could whip up a myThai pancake at home.

Are My Favorite Books Still My Favorites?

2011-07-29T07:00:00.029-04:00

Yes and no. After re-reading my eight favorite books this month, I would delete one from the list and rearrange a couple of others. But for the most part, I seem to have a pretty good handle on my taste in books.

Here's the books I read, in the order I read them:

8. "The Prime Minister" by Anthony Trollope. As I wrote at the beginning of the month, Trollope is one of my very favorite authors, and I chose this as a representative sample. I dislike the secondary storyline in this book, just as I remembered I would. Overall, I like "Phineas Finn" better, but I hated the last few pages so much I couldn't bear to read the book again.

7. "Persuasion" by Jane Austen. I underestimated this book and would now place this one up a few notches, probably to number 5.

6. "Cass Timberlane" by Sinclair Lewis. I overestimated this book. I was on a Lewis kick maybe five or six years ago, and this was my favorite of the bunch. The book is all about marriages and how they're rarely as straightforward as they look from the outside. As a fairly new wife myself at the time, I found this fascinating. Now I wonder how it would compare to his classics like "Main Street," which I read so long ago I can barely remember the plot. Anyway, I would knock this one off the list, but I'm not sure what I would replace it with.

5. "Emma" by Jane Austen. I watched a movie adaptation of this book a week or two before my 16th birthday, and shortly afterward read the book. Thus began my infatuation with Jane Austen, and so "Emma" will always hold a special place in my heart. It's been a few years since I've read it, however, and I must admit that I found a secondary character or two more tiring than usual. "Emma" drops to number 6 on my list.

4. "Middlemarch" by George Eliot. As near as I can remember, I read this book my freshman or sophomore year in college, and I can specifically recall finishing the epic and thinking that it was one of my favorite books. Fast-forward 11 years and I couldn't name a single character in the book. The first 400 pages or so made me question what I saw in the book, but the last half made up for the tedious parts. What's more, I came away with a greater appreciation of Eliot's skills as a storyteller. This book remains on the list.

3. "Anne of the Island" by L.M. Montgomery. My parents got me "Anne of Green Gables" -- I think for Christmas -- when I was just old enough to think I was too old for such fare. Nevertheless, I fell in love with it and quickly devoured the seven sequels. The set makes up some of the few books I own. "Anne of the Island" is the third book in the series and my favorite. Sure, it doesn't have the depth of "Middlemarch," but rereading it I found more than a few similarities to "Pride and Prejudice." The book also renewed my interest in visiting Prince Edward Island. When you hear of me reading all eight of the Anne books in one month, you'll know a trip is near.

2. "Norwegian Wood" by Haruki Murakami. If you were to play the old Sesame Street game "one of these things does not belong" with this list, this book would be the odd man out. I was introduced to Murakami by a coworker a few years back, and I'm still working my way through all of his books and short stories. "Norwegian Wood" is the best of the bunch. There are more than a few parts that would make me blush if I were forced to read them aloud to my mother, but it's the overall mood of the book and the feeling that it leaves me with when I turn the last page that makes this one of my favorites.

1. "Pride and Prejudice" by Jane Austen. This seesawed with "Emma" as my favorite book shortly after I read it, but I think I can safely say that this has been my favorite book for about 13 years. I can flip to my favorite scenes and find my favorite lines in seconds, and I know the book so well that I feel like I'm almost floating over the text instead of reading it. The book -- no surprise -- was just as good as I remembered.

I've always loved to read, but I think I can truthfully say I've never looked forward to reading quite as much as I did this month. I could hardly wait to put down one terrific book to pick up the next. The exercise has convinced me to re-read more books -- especially the classics I read as a teen and now barely remember. Maybe I'll even find a replacement for the book I kicked off the list.

Al Safa: Good Food Across the Street

2011-07-27T07:00:00.003-04:00

Our first meal as resident New Yorkers was at Mazza Plaza.

We had driven all day from Columbus and were about two hours behind schedule thanks to a traffic jam in Pennsylvania. The Saturn was loaded up with a few odds and ends we hadn't sent with the movers a few days before, along with our two full-grown cats. It was October but very hot -- we grabbed lunch at a rest stop but hurriedly ate it in the air-conditioned car; we just couldn't leave the cats in the heated vehicle while we lingered over a big meal.

By the time we unloaded the car and cats into our new, empty apartment and then found a parking spot, it was nearing midnight. We were tired, and now wasn't the time for exploring. The only spot that seemed to be open was across the street: Mazza Plaza. We downed our Middle Eastern food and watched the Cleveland Indians play a post-season game on a small TV propped on what I remember as some kind of large cabinet. The food served its purpose, but I was so worn out that I couldn't have told you whether or not it was good. All that mattered was that it was edible.

Then, a few years ago, Mazza Plaza was suddenly renovated and replaced withAl Safa. The restaurant got not only brighter, but also busier. The menu seemed similar. Paul had been there a handful of times when I was away for dinner or otherwise looking in another direction, but I had been in the building only once since our first night in New York. I couldn't remember if it was Mazza Plaza or Al Safa that second time. Obviously it was time to try it out again.

We went almost by accident. It was July 4th, and our first two choices were unexpectedly closed for the holiday. It was hot, and we didn't feel like walking. Al Safa take-out was a last resort. It was so good I feel a little guilty even writing that last sentence.

I'd been eager to try za'atar, an herb mixture served on a flat round piece of dough about the size of a personal pizza, folded over and eaten. (Other toppings were also available, and I'm anxious to try those, too.) Paul and I also split a small container of delicious hummus and a side of pita bread.

I'm lucky to have such a good, authentic, inexpensive restaurant just steps from our apartment, and anyone can tell that I don't take advantage of it nearly as much as I should. When I go out to eat, I want to go out, and that doesn't include restaurants I can practically see from the living room window. One of the reasons we love this neighborhood, however, is the number of restaurants and storefronts within walking distance. Now I just have to visit them more often.

Beating and Retreating from the NYC Heat

2011-07-25T07:00:00.002-04:00

When the living room hit 93 degrees, it was time to turn on the air conditioner.

I had resisted all summer. I not only have a high tolerance for heat, but also get cold extremely easily. When others are comfortable, I'm wrapped up in a blanket. When others are sweating, I'm finally comfortable.

That's generally true, but not the past few days. Central Park hit triple digits, and Newark, New Jersey, even reached 108. The extreme humidity made it feel even hotter.

Our sole air conditioner is in our bedroom, so Paul and I have been camping out. On Friday night, we assembled turkey wraps with cold cuts and lugged our supper and laptop onto the bed and watched a few episodes of the first season of "Fringe" on DVD. Armed with books, newspapers and the laptop, I barely left the room for the next 20 hours.

On Saturday night we were invited to a backyard barbecue whose start time understandably got pushed further and further back as the forecast predicted higher and higher temperatures. By the time we arrived at 7 p.m., the sun had mostly set. Even when the sky was black, however, the heat and stagnant air made most people's drink of choice plain old water.

Sunday was cloudy and "only" in the high 80s in the mid-afternoon, a welcome reprieve. I even ventured into the living room for an hour or so earlier in the afternoon, but the indoor thermometer still read 90 degrees. I retreated into the bedroom.

This is only our fourth summer here, and each year there have been a few terribly hot, uncomfortable days (not so different from Ohio in that respect). Usually we've had a couple by now. The last few days, however, truly have produced record-breaking temperatures. But when it comes right down to it, does 95 really feel all that different from 105? Not when you're holed up in an air conditioned room.

An Upper West Side Sunset

2011-07-22T07:00:00.001-04:00

A Second Birthday on Broadway: Anything Goes

2011-07-20T07:00:00.003-04:00

For my second birthday in a row, Paul presented me with tickets to the Broadway show I most wanted to see at that particular moment. It's a moving target, and Paul has evidently acquired the skill to keep up.

Last year we saw "South Pacific." This year: "Anything Goes."

I'd never seen the musical in any format ever before, but I became vaguely enamored of the Broadway revival when I heard that Sutton Foster was the star. She's been associated with happy memories in my mind since we saw her in "Thoroughly Modern Millie" during our honeymoon in 2003.

She won a Tony for "Millie," and she won one again just last month for her role as Reno Sweeney in "Anything Goes." That, two more Tony Awards (one for Revival of a Musical and another for choreography) and a toe-tapping performance during the Tony telecast replaced "How to Succeed in Business" at the top of my to-see list.

The show met expectations (and probably exceeded Paul's, since it also starred Jessica Walter, aka Lucille from "Arrested Development). I was whistling the title song all the way home.

The theater itself was interesting in one respect. Our seats were in the mezzanine, but we didn't have to climb any staircase. Instead, ticket-holders with stage-level seats had to go down a level.

Last year I lamented that we hadn't been taking advantage of the terrific shows at our fingertips. I've gotten better, but only very slightly -- in the last 12 months, I also saw a play in the fall. Birthday resolution: stop being so complacent.

A Shake Shack Birthday

2011-07-18T07:00:00.068-04:00

When your birthday falls in the middle of the summer, there's really only one place to celebrate: outdoors.

That's why I chose to mark my 30th birthday Friday at one of New York's most beloved -- and informal -- outdoor food-and-drink spots: the Shake Shack at Madison Square Park.

Paul and a couple of friends got to the Shake Shack before I arrived at 6:30 p.m. with coworkers in tow, and they had already assembled a string of tables and marked our territory by tying red balloons onto the chairs. Other friends -- about 15 or 20 in all -- came and went over the next four hours.

The Shake Shack is known for three things: its milkshakes, its burgers and its long lines. I've experienced all three at one time or another, but none on Friday night. The "A" line for hot food was about an hour long when we arrived (and got even longer later in the night), and a few friends braved the crowd. I had just stuffed myself with birthday cake and cupcakes at work, so I was content with drinks from the much shorter "B" line. Not that I stood in line for the drinks anyway. A birthday girl always has friends to do that for her.

By 10:45 p.m. everyone had left and we had given three of the helium balloons to three young brothers who were probably more excited by the unexpected gift than by their burgers. The Shake Shack was to close in 15 minutes, so Paul and I hurried to get in line for a hot dog (for him), fried mushroom burger (for me) and cheese fries (to share). A lonely red balloon remained on a chair as we walked away to ring out my birthday.

Earlier in the night.

An Older & Wiser & 30-Year-Old Me

2011-07-15T07:00:00.001-04:00

Me, six months old, with just as big a mouth

The best advice I got from my high school algebra teacher had nothing to do with math.

I can't remember Mr. Mack's exact words, but I remember the gist very well. Don't continue to yearn for the future, he said. It will come soon enough. Stay in the present.

He must have told our class that something like 15 years ago, and rarely a month goes by when I don't remind myself of the sentiment. Especially this month. Especially this day, my 30th birthday.

They were hard words to obey 15 years ago. I was one of the youngest in my class and couldn't wait to catch up with my very own driver's license and, later, a proper ID to show the bartender.

It's still hard to obey, when I have vacations, trips home, nights out with friends and backyard barbecues to look forward to. I'm sure I'm not alone when I say that those are the types of things that get me through the rough patches, whether it's small irritations or bigger problems.

But as I've looked toward my 30th birthday, all I've wanted to do was stay in the present. I know you can't turn back the clock, and I wouldn't want to anyway. Nevertheless, this birthday is a milestone, and not one I particularly wanted to reach. Who does? I was lamenting the approach of this birthday even two years ago.

I certainly wouldn't say I'm depressed. I wouldn't even say I'm old -- the older I get, the further I push back my definition of old. "Old" doesn't come until you're at least 90, I say.

But there's no doubt I am getting older. With that, I hope I'm getting wiser, although I often have my doubts. But maybe that doubt is the first sign that I'm getting wiser after all. Fingers crossed.

Putting Our Feet Up at the High Line

2011-07-13T07:00:00.000-04:00

Trying Halal Food for the First Time

2011-07-11T07:00:00.016-04:00

Halal food carts are just as common as hot dog stands in New York City. In Bay Ridge, they're even more common. I know of at least two halal food carts within walking distance; I don't know of any street stands that sell hot dogs in the neighborhood.

I'd rarely heard the term halal before moving here, and I certainly didn't have a clear understanding about what it meant. Basically, halal food is food deemed permissible under Islamic law.

Paul loves it, especially the chicken on rice, doused with a white sauce (basically mayonnaise). In fact, I can be sure of an empty styrofoam container in the trash can the morning after a night out with the guys.

He's been urging me to try one of the neighborhood halal stands for months, and I finally gave in. He ordered the usual, and I opted for the falafel on rice. Each order was $5, and the portions are large.

Chicken on rice

Falafel on rice

It's common to see men scarf down the food on the side of the street, steps from the stall. We took it home. Paul quickly downed his - no surprise there. I wasn't as impressed. The falafel was good, and you can't mess up rice, but the overabundance of white sauce messed it up for me. I ate half, and Paul happily finished it up for lunch the next day.

I'm glad I tried halal food, and even more so because Paul will now stop bothering me about it. Whether you live in New York or are simply visiting, the halal stands offer a cheap and sturdy meal. Just not for me.

A Visit to the High Line, Section 2

2011-07-08T07:00:00.005-04:00

Section 2 of the High Line opened in June, and Paul and I wasted no time in getting a look.

The High Line -- a park constructed stories about the streets on old train tracks -- opened to much acclaim in 2009. (You can read about our initial visit to the High Line that summer.) Section 2 doubles the length of the park to about 20 blocks.

We visited on a warm Saturday evening , along with hundreds (if not thousands) of others. The crowds made the High Line not as pleasant as I'm sure it normally would be, but it was still as interesting.

The greenery isn't as prevalent as in, say, Central Park. However, the grasses and flowers are woven into interesting architectural details, like benches, frames and hideaways almost -- but not quite -- hidden from view. Here are some of the highlights:

A full curved bench

A reverse billboard that frames the street below

Taking a rest

New age bird feeders ...

... up close

A Decade of Paul ... and Sushi

2011-07-06T07:00:00.002-04:00

I had my first date with Paul and my first taste of sushi 10 years ago today.

It's cliche to say that time flies, but it nevertheless does. A decade ago I had just started my summer job as a page at the Ohio Statehouse, and Paul was just ending his three-year tenure. We overlapped by just two or three weeks, but that was enough time for him to notice I was reading "Catch-22," his favorite book.

Our conversation about books turned into a conversation about his summer living in Ireland and backpacking through Europe. Next up: food. He couldn't believe I had never been to the Waffle House, and he said he was going to take me there. When he called later that night, however, he changed the location of our first date to Haiku, a really nice sushi place that we still enjoy, located in the Short North neighborhood of Columbus.

Two years and two months later, we celebrated our one-year wedding anniversary at Haiku as well.

My 8 Favorite Books: Happy Birthday to Me

2011-07-01T07:00:00.014-04:00

Months -- years, I think -- before I turned 25, the Columbus Dispatch ran a list of the 25 books you should read before you turn 25.

I dutifully clipped the list and hung it on the refrigerator. I had already read about half of the books, and I finished the remainder weeks before I celebrated the appropriate birthday.

I love a reading challenge.

And so here we are five years later, in the month of my 30th birthday. I never came across nor looked for a list of 30 books to read before you turn 30, and so I'm doing something a little different:

I'm reading what I consider my eight favorite books to see if they're still my favorite. In all honesty, I'm finishing what I consider my eight favorite books this month -- I've already started no. 8

8. "The Prime Minister" by Anthony Trollope
7. "Persuasion" by Jane Austen
6. "Cass Timberlane" by Sinclair Lewis
5. "Emma" by Jane Austen
4. "Middlemarch" by George Eliot
3. "Anne of the Island" by L.M. Montgomery
2. "Norwegian Wood" by Haruki Murakami
1. "Pride and Prejudice" by Jane Austen

I've had this project in mind all year, and I came up with the list a couple of months ago. It was more difficult than I expected. At least one -- "Middlemarch" -- I read about a decade ago. I barely remember the characters' names, let alone the plot. But I remember thinking then that it was one of my favorite books. Will it still hold up?

Two of the books on the list are part of a multi-book series. "Anne of the Island" has always been my favorite of the "Anne of Green Gables" series and was probably my favorite book before I was introduced to Jane Austen when I was 16. "The Prime Minister" was the most difficult choice on the list. When you consider entire bodies of work, Trollope is my second or third favorite author, and every book in the Palliser series is terrific. I chose this as a representative sample.

I've read eight books a month for years -- usually a combination of popular novels, classics and informative (and occasionally boring) non-fiction. I won't be bored this month. I consider that my birthday present to myself.

Rainbow City in New York City

2011-06-29T07:00:00.001-04:00

One of the best things about living in New York -- and I imagine it's the same in every big city -- is that you never know what's around the corner.

There could, for example, be a playground of giant, muti-colored, striped balloons.

Paul and I were just steps from the entrance to the newest section of the High Line, a New York City park I'll be writing more about on this blog next week. But we stopped in our tracks when we came across Rainbow City.

I had never heard of it and knew even less. I gathered that it was sponsored by AOL, and found out a little more about it's history here.

View from above, on the High Line

It really didn't matter anyway. I was attracted to the bright colors like a moth to a flame. It felt like I was prancing around not just in any cartoon, but in anime.

Rainbow City was just one of those things you can't plan for but you can always count on in New York.

Paul's Homebrew Nets Him a Fez

2011-06-27T07:00:00.000-04:00

Paul has joined yet another club and entered yet another competition.

This time it's really my own fault. A daily email I subscribe to listing cheap and free things to do in New York mentioned a homebrew competition and free samples a few months back. I mentioned it to Paul, and he looked it up. It wasn't long before he became a member of the Knights of Bruklyn.

This is a club of serious homebrewers and, according to Paul, many of them make some seriously good beer. Several times a year they test their chops and invite the world to sample their brews and vote for their favorite. The judges' three favorites and the people's choice of each competition go head-to-head in a brew-off at the end of the year.

Paul entered his first competition with the club earlier this month. Although he didn't place, he was pleased with his showing -- just one point shy of being a contender for third place. I don't care what they say -- his juniper ale was still the best of the bunch for me.

Nevertheless, he still came home with a "prize" -- or at least what he considers one. All new members who enter their first homebrew competition are presented with a fez to wear at that and future meetings. If Paul ever wavered about joining the club -- and I don't think he did -- that in and of itself would have been enough to swing the balance in its favor.