ten things I am thankful for

1. My best friend Carrie is coming to visit this month.
2. I feel relaxed and rested right now because I spent the past five days being pampered by my family.
3. My super got a new refrigerator for my apartment. The old one was a combined refrigerator and freezer with just one door. The freezer was an ice box that needed to be defrosted once a month. Milk went sour after two days in the refrigerator. And chunky after a few.
4. The Christmas tree lights in my apartment —that my parents bought and my boyfriend put up. I only wanted white lights, but I figured I was making out pretty good with the deal so I gave in to one string of color lights, which my (color blind) boyfriend really wanted.
5. Living in NYC.
6. Family parties that are fun. Family members who are fun. (You know who you are.)
7. Fresh flowers on the kitchen table right now.
8. Being a part of a (too) close knit group of girls in college, who: made me more understanding of the cliques of girls who seemed strangely obsessed with themselves in high school; made me laugh; made upstate NY weather bearable; made Poland spring bottles filled with Vodka an accessory; made the best quote book ever.
9. A mother who supports my shoe addiction. And a grammy who doesn't mind being dragged along on shopping excursions.
10. Writing materials, like the never-ending adventures of @RKsoPitted, and reading materials, like the book I just started, The Tiger's Wife.

new title, first judgment

Titles are not my strong suit.  But I guess you already knew that.  I did name my blog, "things i think about."  However, in my defense, I never intended to keep this title.  Kind of like the time I named a Facebook photo album, "I can name this later."  Except whereas I never did actually get around to changing that Facebook album name, I have given my blog a new title.  Inspired by one of my bosses laughing out loud when I told her the name of my blog, I decided it was time.  And now, if I change the title again, you know why.


My first weekend judgment is a resounding positive one—and yes, it merits the use of the word, "resounding."  I normally try to be spare with adjectives and adverbs, but I don't believe I can do without them here:


Gretchen Holt Witt is a lovely woman.  She is generous, determined, smart.  She is a mother for whom there are no limits when it comes to her children.  She is a woman for whom there are no limits.  96,000 cookies.  She organized a team to bake them.  Cancer kills more children than any other disease, primarily because of lack of funding.  Gretchen founded an organization, Cookies for Kids' Cancer, which donates millions of dollars to doctors at leading cancer research centers.


About one out every four children who is diagnosed with cancer dies, and Gretchen's handsome son Liam was one of them.  But here Gretchen is, still (and always) fighting for Liam and so that children like him will have a better chance to live to see their seventh, eight, ninth, tenth, and someday twenty-first birthdays.  And if that isn't reason enough for you to click on the link below and vote for Gretchen for a Loreal Women of Worth and help Cookies for Kids' Cancer win $25,000...well, there is no real way to end that sentence, so just click on the link and vote.  And, thank you.
Vote for Gretchen

Located: RKsoPitted

The last time I saw my brother, Rob he was sitting at a table, at a bar, on the lower east side of Manhattan, with his friends, a lot of Irish beer, and plans to catch a 5:45 a.m. train back to D.C. where he lives. It was midnight. His train was leaving in less than six hours. He was supposedly due money upon his safe arrival to D.C. that morning. This was Friday, a week ago. I left the bar with three questions: would he make his train, would he convince anyone to go with him, and would he win this bet money.


I thought it was a little strange when Rob didn't comment on last week's blog post about him, respond to my Twitter shout out, call, or text on Saturday. Then Sunday went by. And then Monday. Feeling a bit like my mom, I called her.


"Has anyone actually heard from Rob? I mean, he did get back to D.C. Right?"


Mom hadn't heard from him.


So on Tuesday she sent Rob an are you alive? e-mail, and not for the first time. He was alive.


And here's what happened:


He did get on the train on time. Of course, I knew he would all along...


Two of his friends went with him.


All three of them got off at the D.C. station. But Rob's phone did not.


He didn't get paid the bet money. But his friends did support the party. And if I could bet my money on something, I'd say it was probably a pretty good party.




Rob will back in NYC next weekend.

My brother, RKsoPitted

My twenty-six-year-old brother's Twitter name is "RKsoPitted." I am not sure what that means, but I do know that it says a lot about him.


Rob called me at 6 p.m. last night. I was still at work. It was Friday, so I assumed he was an hour into a happy hour, on his way to a "sick" concert, had just discovered some "crazy" article online, aced a big test ("ballin'"), or was stopping at his D.C. home to get ready for a book party that someone he knew just happened to be throwing.


But he was actually on a train to NYC and would be pulling into Penn Station at 8:30 p.m. Of course he was. One of his best friends (from kindergarten) was celebrating his birthday. I don't know anyone who has more friends than Rob, or more friends in more places. If Rob were to take a map and stick pins into all the cities where he currently has friends living, the world would be littered. But, I digress...the interesting part wasn't that Rob was coming to NYC for his friend's birthday or that he was calling me when he was a couple of hours away to see if I wanted to meet up. The interesting part was that his return ticket to D.C. had him leaving NYC at 5:45 a.m. on Saturday.


"Are you kidding, Rob. Why are you leaving at 5:45 in the morning?"


"Well, we're having a party at my house tomorrow night. And I need to be there."


Of course, his house (think frat guys, but the charming, hilarious kind who cook gourmet lunches to accompany beer pong games, name the raccoon living in their background, and who cannot really relax unless everyone in their sight is having a good time) was having a party tomorrow. And of course he needed to be there in the morning. There were probably ribs to be slow cooked.


I did meet up with Rob at McSorley's, an Irish bar where they serve "light" or "dark" and there is no room to move and no music but it's so loud you can barely hear anyone, anyway. Rob and a crew of his friends—one of whom I had never met, but who told me several times throughout the night that he was Rob's best friend—were posted up/squashed into a small table in the corner. I (barely) made my way over to the corner table, with my tight, puffy jacket pushed up against the back of the bar. (My brother reminded me that I was not Gloria Estefan. Thanks, Rob.) My friend, Steve, sans puffy jacket, also made it into this small space by the bar with me. There was little hope for my 6'4" (his one redeeming quality—just kidding, babe) boyfriend.


But soon Rob and one of the server's—an Irish man with a thick accent and white hair, who I swear can hold more than 20 mugs in his hands at a time—are cursing back and forth at each other like they are old, Irish friends.


Server: "You f*ng said you were going to have 5 friends. Now, look at all of you."
Rob: "Well get us a f*ng bigger table."
Server: "It's not my fault you're so f*ng popular."


And a few minutes later, the server was clearing off a big, round table for us, and holding his arms out against the hungry drunks trying to sit down at it. Rob hugged one of the women, who looked to be in her mid fifties, as she left the table that we were now being given. From the bits of their conversation (yes, they had a conversation) that I overheard, it sounded like they knew each other. But maybe Rob was just thankful she was giving up her table. So thankful that he ordered 20 lights and 20 darks for the eight of us.


Then Rob got to work trying to convince everyone to take the 5:45 a.m. train to D.C. with him. By the way Steve's face lit up, I was a little worried that he was going to be convinced. Steve did buy a plane ticket to Seattle last Friday night while in a bar, via his iPhone. Mostly I was worried, though, because I didn't want Rob convincing anyone to buy a 5:45 a.m. ticket to D.C. because I was worried that Rob wouldn't actually be getting on that train.


Rob: "No, I'm going. If I get on that train, I get $1,500."


Me: "And how does that work?"


Rob: "Three of my friends are betting against it. They each owe me $500 if I make it."


Me: "And they're really going to pay you?"


Rob: "Hell yeah."


I left McSorley's a little after midnight. As curious as I was to see if Rob would make his train and if his friends would give him $1500, I decided that I was a little too tired to spend the next five hours in a bar, and definitely too tired (and sane) to get on that train with him.


Sometimes, with Rob, you just have to wait and see what happens.

Hi there

After a long hiatus, and many requests from my readers (i.e. Grammy), I am back. Readers—you are still there, right? Mrs. Arnault? Mom? Mom, can you please show Grammy how to get to my blog again? Mom, you do remember, right?


Just to catch everyone up to speed, I moved to April in Manhattan. I live on the fifth floor in a walk-up, so I have been pretty busy walking up and down the stairs. But the apartment is great because it has an exposed brick wall and a chocolate-colored wood floor. Sure, there are pieces of gum stuck to the brick wall that I cannot get off—yes, I tried a steak knife—and the wood floor is slanted, which makes you feel a little funny and crooked at times...but, these are minor details. The (small) cockroaches are what you might call, "character builders."


Besides walking up and down the stairs, I have been busy at work, which sounds grown-up (read: boring), but is usually pretty fun. The summer was an all too quick blur of trips to our family's bungalow in Breezy. And autumn has been dotted with some lovely trips and visitors to NYC. The latest visitor of which deserves a blog post all his own, so I'm signing off here...

Things I am enjoying right now

Words of wisdom

• "This is way worse than Britney. This is serious." -- A reporter, on Charlie Sheen
• "Why does anyone care about Charlie Sheen?" -- My mom
• "Maybe this is just a big scheme and CBS is in on it, and they are going to put Charlie Sheen back on his TV show. And then they would make a lot of money." -- My mom, again
• "My personal philosophy...I've just never been into sports, never cared about them. With so much going on in the world, I really don't see the point." -- The guy sitting next to me at a bar, talking to his silent date. It was a sports bar, across the street from the Verizon Center in Washington, D.C. A Wizards NBA game had just ended.
• "It's all about making sacrifices. I make sacrifices everyday. You've got yourself, your boyfriend, and your family. Not necessarily in that order." -- The same guy. I almost fell off my bar stool when he said this. First, because, apparently this silent woman was not on a blind date, but his girlfriend. Second, because he felt the need to add, Not necessarily in that order. How humble.
• "We should get rid of all the Republicans." -- A woman in her sixties, who was walking past the White House and turned toward me, looked me in the eye, and began speaking as if we were in the middle of a long argument. I didn't bother to tell her that I am a registered Democrat, didn't vote in the last presidential election, and learned about politics by reading novels.
• "That's the people house, right? Well then all the homeless people should move in?" - - The same woman, said while pointing at the White House. I actually thought this was a more sensible idea than getting rid of all the Republicans. I mean, where would we put them? But I laughed when she said this about the White House. I think it was because an image came to my mind of sleeping bags and garbage bags and brown shopping bags, and cats and dogs, and people wearing over-sized flannel shirts covering the floors of the White House.

Art (in a loose sense of the word)

• The new logo of Starbucks. According to a news article my dad sent me, the company decided to get a face lift for its 40th anniversary. (Dad, what is your job again?) Of course, I rushed out to see it on a cup for myself. Four dollars and change later, skim chai tea latte in hand, I know it's true. There is still the image of the mermaid/princess/goddess with long wavy hair and a crown. But, the image is green and white now, not black and white. The company's name, "Starbucks Coffee" is no longer there at all.  I guess they assumed we were all smart enough by now to put two and two together.

Writing

• Lauren Groff. I've read some of her short stories from the collection, Delicate Edible Birds. Now, I'm reading her novel, Monsters of Templeton, and you should, too. Family secrets and scandals, a hometown that comes alive on the page, a prehistoric monster, and a central character that you find yourself willing to make sense of it all. Best yet, the writing is good. No, great. Its lyrical, smart, not overdone, pulls aspects of the mystery together, and makes it seem believable - even the monster.
• Forbidden Lessons in a Kabul Guesthouse by Suraya Sadeed, a memoir coming out this summer. This book will take you to places in Afghanistan you never knew existed, and change what you think (or don't think) about the country, its people, the Taliban, humanitarian aid, donating, education, and maybe even hope.

Life Values

• Not lying or fibbing, which includes white lies and fibs for simplicity sake.

Colors

• Black. My boyfriend - who inspired the above life value (although I prefer not to go into the details about that right now) and who will probably fall off his bar stool when he reads his name in my blog - points out to me four or five times every week that I always wear black. Austin, I know, I like black clothes.

Riding the train

Today I'm thinking about trains. For the past few weeks, I have been riding the Metro North line from Connecticut to Grand Central. To put it in the least whiny way possible, this has been a tough winter for Metro North. The trains are (again, being as least whiny as possible) outdated, and the snowfalls up until late have been relentless. Of course, I mean relentless for southern Connecticut. In central New York, on the campus of Colgate University, I would call this weather, a mild winter. But in any case, because of the amount of train cars that were somehow damaged by the weather and in need of repair, Metro North had to reduce its New Haven line peak a.m. and p.m. trains by 10%. A letter put forth by Metro North explained that there simply was not enough space in the repair shops for all the damaged cars.

Yesterday (Monday), the New Haven line trains returned to their normal schedule. Today, the 6:33 a.m. train from Darien was canceled. "A train will be arriving in 15 to 20 minutes," a male voice came over the speakers and into the cold air of the tracks. I went inside the station house and as the minutes passed, I waited for some explanation to come over the speakers. Why was the train canceled? When the train came, 21 minutes, (the regular 7:54 a.m. train out of Darien), no explanation had been given. They didn't even tells us, I thought, as I sat in a train car with no heat (apparently the only one on the train, a different voice told me over different speakers).


It only occurred to me later, after I was off the train, had taken a subway ride, and was walking through downtown Manhattan, that I didn't know who "they" was and that it didn't matter at all why. At a comedy show I went to last year, a comedian was talking (joking, which I'll butcher) about traffic: Do you ever notice how you always need to know why there is traffic? And when the report comes on and you find out the reason --traffic is due to an accident at the bottom of the exit ramp--it's like yes, OK, uh-huh.
One could probably devote an entire year to blogging about Metro North. A train-ride-a-day-experience. It is always something. In the mornings, in the evenings, peak, off-peak. Off-peak, evening might make the best blogging material, though. I've seen someone take a baloney sandwich to the face. Actually, I sat behind that person and was splashed with Coke when a different person threw a paper cup in the baloney guy's direction. Actually, actually, though, the subway might make better blog material, entirely.

Two weeks ago, I was standing on the express train at the Union Square subway station, surrounded by many people (an understatement, but let's keep things simple). Nothing was strange about it until nothing happened. The doors were closed but the train did not move. No announcements were made. Why is this train not moving?, I thought. (But you already knew what I was thinking.) From one corner of the back part of the train that I was standing in, a jumbled, stuttering voice called out.

"Everybody wanted to go to work today. Because. Nobody went to work yesterday. No. Yesterday was President's Day. Well, you know what?" Pause. "Fuck the President. Today is February 22. My bills are paid. I didn't go to work. I stayed home and got drunk. But, no, everybody had to go to work."

Seven or so minutes and many more Fuck-the-Presidents later, a different voice called out.

"Folks, Union Square is this train's last stop. The doors are not operating properly. Everyone must get off the train."

Several seconds later, the doors opened, and several more seconds later, I stepped onto the platform. Claustrophobic, feeling a little air deprived, worried I'd miss the next train out of Grand Central, but somewhat satisfied because I had not one, but two explanations. The doors weren't working and too many people decided to go to work today and ride the subway. Now, if I could just figure out why that Metro North train was canceled today...