Can I bottle up moments like these and savor them at a later date?

The subway was made for dancing.

And meeting strangers.

And being completely overwhelmed by the music.

Enjoying the moment.

Trains flying under your feet.

And my feet never skip a beat.


Michael has been putting on the amazing Silent Disco Parties for a while. The idea is brilliant - everyone wears wireless headphones with two channels, and dances. No one else is subjected to noise, so no one is disturbed, conversations are easy - thus leading to the mobile silent disco parties. Brilliance.

After dinner and wine with Menachem and Beth, Beth and I hopped in Colin's car and headed over to the loft to pick up our headphones. It was a smaller group, full of amazing people.

The music was amazing. My feet ache from dancing. On the subway, passengers would watch, amused. We'd share our headphones, and they'd bop along, loving the music. I felt so free, dancing, letting the music invade my soul. I was nearly sober (Just had a small bit of alcohol, not enough to make my tipsy.) but the music was infatuating and overwhelming me. It was taking over. I was music.

I danced, arms lifted, embracing the strangers, the love, the energy, the view from the bridge. It was beautiful, only in a way that the unexpected can be.

If life isn't about dancing late at night on subways, then I don't want to hear about it. This is my life.

A Slice

Covered in sparkles, re-reading William S. Burrough's The Yage Letters. Waiting for the G.

"Excuse me, I didn't think angels walked on earth," mumble mumble mumble.

He was so young - maybe 17. With shyness, and an awful pickup line. He told me I was beautiful, asked me my name, my age. And suddenly, for the first time ever, the G arrived on time. I ran to the front, with my book, and thought, "These moments won't happen forever. I'm not sure what they are, but they are temporary."

And, feet aching from dancing, I sat and I read.

The Deli

I was waiting to get a roll of paper towels, because Wayne forgot and it was 11pm and of course I, like any New Yorker, needed my paper towels NOW so I could clean the litter box. I wanted things done right now, like any New Yorker. So I picked my recycled paper towels off the shelf and was shocked to see the couple in front of me with their massive amount of stuff. (Most New Yorkers buy a Red Bell or some beer or chocolates.) They were shopping - chips and cheese and blueberries and they asked for a big bottle of Dr Bonner's soap and a Mrs. Meyers candle.


Something touching - in how he tried to pay, or contribute, and how she gently, quietly shook her head now. He nodded, reached over her for the two heavy bags. I could see their love was new. He was covered in tattoos, wearing a shirt for a punk band, but all he was emanating was love for her. She was wearing some old black shirt with the arm holes way cut out so you could see her bra - and she too had a lot of tattoos. But mostly, you saw the adoration.


They didn't notice me. They barely noticed the smiling guy behind the counter. They were so sweetly falling in love, it struck me. This is what it's about.


I watched them float out of the store, and paid for my paper towels, too much for what they are, but that's what New York City delis are like. And then I went home to my little world, where the boy in love with me was washing a sink full of dishes - and our cat slept happily under the A.C.


And it was just another night in NYC, where falling in love and being in love are what keeps us going.

Eat in the Dark

Gwendolyn is my hip friend who always knows abt the new, interesting restaurants, or that great exhibit, or something else fun going on. For her birthday, we went to Dans le Noir. It was an incredible experience.

You pay a flat fee for your meals. You get there, order cocktails, and pick out one of four menu choices: meat, vegetarian, seafood, or surprise. You tell them any dietary restrictions.

Then, your server, who is blind, leads you into a completely dark dining room. Everyone has a hand on each other's back, and she helps you into your seat. Pitch black. You can't see your hand in front of your face. It's pretty freaky. Our server was super duper nice, raised in Georgia. We were having her experience for a little while.

She passed us water pitchers. Pouring water in the dark was hard. Then we were served rolls. It was interesting to identify what we were eating. Gwendolyn and I had different rolls, and when I was saying, "Salty and savory. Olives," she was saying, "Cinnamon and raisins and nuts." We shared rolls, which was hard, since I couldn't tell where her reached hand was.

Then we got salad. We were giggling as we tried to eat. "What's this slimy thing?" "A tomato." I think there was fresh mozzarella, tomato, some greens, fig and goat cheese and something else. All really good. I ate with my fork and hands.

We all felt the darkness. It intoxicated us. I had half a cocktail when I entered and immediately felt drunk. Wow. Everyone was giggling, talking, freaked out. It was really scary. I asked to be seated next to Wayne b/c I wanted to at least be able to touch him - no eye contact or physical contact would've been freaky. But it was great. It was actually fun - we made out sporadically during the meal when we never would have ordinarily b/c no one noticed. We were all having our own intense amazing experiences.

Then the meal. I think there was some kind of quinoa with chevril and this amazing eggplant Parmesan. I don't know what anyone else had - this was the veg option. I dropped sauce on myself. I ordered another drink and spilled some of it down my shirt. Drinking and eating in the dark was hard. 

I kissed Wayne some more.

I laughed with Gwendolyn. We told stories. The dynamics were different. It was fun.

Then, dessert. Tiaramasu, panna cotta, a cinnamon puff with cream. Amazing

We felt drunk with darkness.

After, they showed us photos of what we had eaten, telling us in great detail.

It was an amazing experience. Yes, a little pricey, but you're paying for the experience. And it was fascinating.

Pigeon Update

The pigeon is gone, as is the egg.


The nest remains.


Part of me is glad that nature took its way. I think if Wayne had forced the bird out of the way and smushed the egg, I would have cried. I do hate pigeons and I don't want them nesting in my very small outdoor space, but I don't want to kill them either. I guess it's the vegetarian in me.


But despite not wanting them there, I don't want to kill them.


I'm not sure what happened. Wayne peered out the window to water the plants, when he noticed both were missing. My guess is Mama Pigeon left the nest for food when Mr. Squirrel came along and grabbed a snack. (Do squirrels even eat pigeon eggs? I don't know but I prefer to think that than a rat was on my fire escape, yuck.) And Mama Pigeon came back and was devastated and flew away. And she'll probably not come back to nest again, knowing it's a bad place.


More space for my tomatoes, but still, honestly, I feel a little sad.

Pigeon Nesting

I have a small fire escape and it serves as my garden. This year, I'm expanding and planting tomatoes, peppers, cukes, basil (LOTS), sage, parsley, cilantro, flowers, and some other things I forgot.


Wayne was pulling in pots for me to dig in when he said, "Oh...oh...tail feathers!" I immediately thought there was a dead bird on the fire escape and said, "Get rid of it! Just get rid of it!"


"No..." he said, a bit of awe in his voice. "It's a mother. A mother bird and her nest. A pigeon."


Like any good New Yorker, I know what pigeons really are. They are rats with wings. Rats in the air or on the ground, both gross.


"Ugh!"


"Why?"


"Wayne, I don't want it in our teeny garden. I'm afraid it's going to fly in, and it's also going to crap on everyone's heads as they enter and leave the building."


Wayne shook his head. "You're right."


I didn't want to kill the egg; I just wanted it someplace else. Wayne went out with a broom to try to scare the bird away. The pigeon tried to attack the broom.

We have a stupid pigeon nesting on our fire escape.

Sometimes, urban wildlife sucks.

I Run the Neighborhood...Or Ghetto Runs Much Preferred to Running Through Riches

Just got back from an amazing run where I ran past several projects throughout Brooklyn. Some people I know are scared or shocked; "You run through the projects?" Yup. It's not those fears you have; it's full of yes, low-income housing, poor people, but full of friendly faces, hellos, smiles at me singing while I'm running, cute boys winking, little kids squealing, fire hydrants blasting. I'm welcomed, mostly. Sure, sometimes I get the stares, the "whatcha doin here, white girl?" but mostly, it's just accepted - another person doing their thing.

I've run through rich neighborhoods and hate it. I've asked for directions in wealthy Long Island towns to get that snotty-look-down-the-nose. People see a sweaty runner and shudder. "Darling, just looking at that runner made me sweat. Off to the spa now - must deep cleanse myself." Running through the Upper East Side and Midtown East on forty-plus mile runs never is fun. Running through Harlem before that, yes.

And the music's better - I heard "Just a Friend" by Biz Markie at 6am in projects in Williamsburg. I've danced in splashing fire hydrants with ten year olds. I've blown kisses, given the finger, asked for cups of water, screamed with delight, moaned with pain, just felt more alive.

City running's nothing like trails but I must admit, when I'm forced to do it (which is most times I run), I enjoy the diversity of some of the less wealthy neighborhoods - and the diverse reactions.

winner of the 2009 darwin awards

on my beautiful run this morning (during which an old lady told me "you look like you're dancing" -- and i felt like it, sunny, snow-covered streets (but no ice), pretty lovely energy), i saw many people shoveling their sidewalks. i also saw a genius who must be a winner of the darwin awards who was HOSING THE SNOW AWAY FROM HIS SIDEWALK. um, moron, don't you realize that water equals ice?!?!?

i heart new york

lately, i've been pondering living other places. it might be nice to run for hours on trails that are mere minutes to run to, or to have a variety of farmer's markets, or to bike everywhere sans pollution, or to take post-dinner strolls along the dream. pipe dreams, perhaps. everyone who knows me knows i'm a new york city girl. still, i can dream....and one day, i will escape the city!

here are some reasons why i love new york:

• i skip up wall street, listening to paul van dyk, feeling great, and i'm sure someone other than me is smiling
• the man walking past me skipping on wall street who is in the middle of the street, waving his boxing gloves around
• whatever you want -- english sweets, obscure running snacks, dog food bakeries -- nyc has it
• amazing food -- cupcakes, indian food, any kind of cuisine, and often for cheap
• walk on a new street and discover a new life
• the attitudes. i love the ego sometimes -- i saw a man last week wearing a shirt that had an arrow pointing up to his face, saying, "THE MAN." an arrow pointing down said, "THE LEGEND." i love it.
• my running friends. they sustain me.
• close proximity to my fam.
• brunch! my favorite meal of the week keeps getting better and better, esp when served with (unlimited!) mimosas!
• not too far from the beach; not too far from the country; not too far from the suburbs
• fantastic shopping
• great fun free events
• amazing djs and musicians are constantly in nyc
• nothing like xmas in nyc!
• the diversity of people, thought and ideas. i hated the whiteout of boulder.

one day i'll be gone, running on lovely trails and enjoying the beach daily, but until then, i'm a new york city girl.

running in 90 heat and too much sunshine

i forgot to put sunblock on and now i totally have a sports bra tan. ah well. only ran 10 miles today, which feels more relaxing after running 23 yesterday.

some things i saw on my run today include:

• a woman knitting in a lounge chair alongside the east river
• a grandma tanning in a very teeny tiny bikini
  

this is what you do

this is what you do on that kind of saturday.

you get up early enough, eat a half of a bagel (carbs) with peanut butter (some protein), pull on your wicking underwear, running skirt, wicking sports bra, running socks, running sneakers, sweatband. pull your hair into buns, top with a visor, sunglasses. sunscreen on shoulders. strap on fuel belt, and out the door. run through williamsburg--move it, hipster, cherie's on a roll. over the williamsburg bridge. through the lower east side, passing signs in chinese. through trendy soho. greenwich village. up along the west side highway. pass slower runners. pass walkers. get passed by cyclists, fast runners, bladers. refill water bottles with cold water from the fountain. run faster, north. pass people doing tai chi along the river, people tanning along the river, drinking iced coffees and explaining that they don't love him anymore they can't imagine where they should go otherwise. i run faster, sucking gels out of their goo packets every forty-five minutes, ingesting salt packets and ginger chews when my body requests them. alongside riverside drive...so beautiful. turn around when i'm far north enough...running south, when i run into an old coworker from the naropa library. we run together, chatting, catching up. she leaves me at 72nd, i continue south to 59th, then cross town, across the bottom of the park (passing the stinking sad horse carriages that the tourists love to amuse themselves with), over on the east side, then up on the queensboro bridge, oh, the steep include, and up up up. eat sports beans. drink water. it's in the 80s, sunny, i'm hot. over the bridge. faster. then down, into queens. i hate the pollution. run slow, feeling tired legs, exhaustion. tell myself, "cherie, you are not walking. it is only going to get harder in vermont. in the brook. and when you are running, you tell yourself, 'you are strong.' cherie, you are strong. you are running. you are a runner. think of good things, like bathtubs and comfy beds and lovers and food and cats. think of good things. keep going." through l.i.c., and over the pulaski. don't get stuck up, drawbridge. over. and to my block, and yes, yes, yes, i am finished.

i have succeeded.

another 23 miles under my belt--it only makes me stronger.

only in new york: fishing edition

today i was running on roosevelt island on my ten miler, when i saw a bunch of people fishing. fine, though i don't understand why you'd want to fish in the east river as the fish probably have three eyes and high levels of toxins--if your sport is to murder animals, i don't get that. but anyway, two men were fishing, and had several fishing poles set up...but were lying on the ground by their fishing poles.

only in new york.