White shirts aren't the only things they dye blue...

The weekend was one of the most perfect weekends of the summer. I spent it up in New Hampshire with my cousins and uncle, who have a cabin on a lake. Perfect weather. Perfect lake water temperature. Perfect weekend.

Besides learning to kneeboard (yes, I kneeboarded and have the bruises to prove it), I also went blueberry picking - another first. Blueberry picking is so relaxing. There's something about finding the perfect blue berry and picking it off. It's so easy to say "Just one more...". So much, in fact, that I picked 4 lbs of blueberries.

What can I do with 4 lbs of blueberries? There's enough antioxidant-fighting power there to keep me going for a few years, but there are also so many blueberries I can eat plain.

I need some good blueberry recipes before they all my berries go bad!

HIghway Robbery

I was driving north, on my way to a New Hampshire weekend, when the traffic began to slow. The domino effect of red brake lights alerted me to slow down, just as an interstate sign (with a fitting pilgrim hat icon) announced the entrance of the Mass Turnpike. I scanned the turnpike entrance and the surrounding signs, looking for the toll amount. Nothing. I inched up closer to the stall, my turn being immenent, and starting frantically scrounging up coins. Twenty-five...fifty...sixty-seven cents. How much is the toll? I looked up and searched again. Nothing. Now it's my turn. There's no person in the stall - it's an automatic toll - so maybe it's like Chicago, where you throw your change in and then go. BUT HOW MUCH IS IT? No sign, nothing. So I take fifty cents and throw it at the metal appartus in front of me. The coins fall to the ground. Where do I put the money? I look behind me, at the long row of cars waiting for me to go and imagine they're thinking "What's wrong with this stupid person from North Carolina?" I'm a semi-intelligent person. I know how to calculate the area of a triangle. I know the Marketing 3C's and 4P's. Surely I can figure this one out. I look around again, sweat starting to bead up on my forhead and my heart beating frantically. And then I see it, sticking out of the metal appartus. A single ticket. No toll. No change. Just take the ticket and go.

I don't understand the purpose of tolls. They seem to be especially prevalent in the Northeast and I don't know how an interstate, that already gets federal funding, can legally charge drivers an extra fee to drive on their roads. If I was Queen for a day, I would get rid of all tolls. They cause traffic to slow down. They cause undue stress on people, trying to find the right amount of change as quickly as possible, before the jackass behind them starts leaning on the horn.

Did you know that the George Washington bridge into NYC is $6? And the NJ and Deleware Turnpikes aren't much cheaper? Quickly do the math - let's say 30 cars go through each stall per minute. There are roughly 10 stalls per toll bridge. That's 300 cars a minute paying (as in the case of Delaware) $3 a car. That's $600 a minute. That's $720,000 a day, assuming 20 hours in a day (let's say 4 hours are kind of slow in the wee hours of the morning). That's the conservative estimate. So what do the states do with this kind of money? I find it hard to believe that road repair requires hundreds of millions of dollars each year. After driving on New York's roads, I can vouch that they are definitely not pouring my $6 into repairing potholes.

The toll system has corruption written all over it. Or, at least, needless waste. I vote to get rid of the entire system, unless someone can show me how it's helpful and necessary. At the very least, states should spend $60 of the $720,000 they make per day and put up a sign that says to "Take a Ticket", to prevent another poor soul like me from flinging coins at the side of a toll booth. On the way back from New Hampshire, I came to the the start of the Mass Pike again, this time confident, not even thinking about reaching for the bag of coins. Instead, I pulled up and took my ticket, as if I did this everyday. What can I say? I'm a fast learner.

What the Trump?

For those who watched Project Runway last night, can somebody please tell me what Ivanka Trump was doing on the show? Did she suddenly become a fashionista when I wasn't looking? I can understand why the editor of Elle magazine is a judge, and why Vera Wang has - what seems to be - a semi-permanent role as judge, but Ivanka? Just because Daddy owns Ms. Universe doesn't mean you get special priviledges.

If you didn't catch the show, it was pretty good. The cute little dogs on the show were half the fun. The skinny-legged jeans that Heidi was wearing at the beginning of the show - not so fun. And can someone please tell Vera to get a stylist to do her hair? And maybe a dab of rouge? The poor lady looks like my grandmother in a housedress. If my grandmother was Asian.

Elizabeth got me into this season's show, and now I'm hooked. Half the fun is the running commentary we have during the show, complete with impressions of most of the contestants. If you haven't seen this season yet, it's not to late to take a hit off the crack pipe - Wednesdays at 10 on Bravo.

Cinderella, without the pumpkin

Before the clock strikes twelve, I had to commemorate the day. Today is the day. July 24th. Two years. To celebrate, I'm attaching one of my favorite pictures of Scott and me, taken this past April at Alisha's wedding in Winston-Salem.

(As I uploaded this image, I noticed that I've got a little bit of cleavage going on. Hey, even the A-Team can represent!)

Happy Anni!

It's all in your head

My grandma ("Nanny" for the Italians in the house) used to never tell anyone her age. Not even my mother truly knew how old Nanny was, and I think Nanny may have actually lied about her age to my mom. Anyway, now that she's reached a certain age, she seems proud of the fact that she's 86 (if that is, in fact, her real age). Except instead of saying "I'm 86!", it's more like "I'm 86 and I don't know how much longer I'm going to live."

I firmly believe that you're only as old as you want to be, as you believe you are. Next month, I'll be 27, but I still feel like that gawky 16 year old high school kid sometimes. I think I'll always be 16 at heart.

Since I've come to New York, I've become addicted to The New Yorker. (Seriously, I don't think there's anything about NYC I don't like). What I love about The New Yorker is that everything is written beautifully. I came across an editorial that I think describes perfectly the virtues of growing old. So instead of counting down the days until we die, and lamenting about turning 86 or 27, we should be treasuring what we're learning as we grow older and feeling young at heart. Here's an excerpt:

"...People tend to regard the gradual yet irreversible atrophying of their faculties as a bad thing. Is it, though? Sure, it's tied up with stuff that you don't want to think too much about. One day, you learn that you can't hear a sound that is perfectly audible to teenagers and dogs. Soon after that, you realize that you have forgotten how to calculate the area of a triangle, and how many pints there are in a quart. From there, it's not long until you find that you are unable to stop talking about real estate, which is the first step down an increasingly rocky and overgrown path that leads, almost always - all right, always - to death. What is there to like about any of this?

"...The point is that mental and physical development never stops, no matter how old you are, and development is one of the things that make it interesting to be a being. We imagine that we change our opinions or our personalities or our taste in music as we ripen, often feeling that we are betraying our younger selves. Really, though, our bodies just change, and that is what changes our views, our temperament, and our tolerance for Billy Joel. We can't help it. The chemistry has altered.

"This means that some things that were once present to us become invisible, go off the screen; the compensation is that new things swim into view. We may lose hormones, but we gain empathy. The deficits, in other words, are not all at the end of the continuum..."

Who needs cotton when you have NYC?

Two years. Two years! Scott and I have been married for two years. I guess time really does fly when you're having fun.

Our anniversary weekend, despite the lamenting from the previous post, turned out to be pretty darn good. Even though his flight didn't get in until noon on Saturday, Scott arrived safe and sound and we had plenty of time to just enjoy the city and each other. Just when I get used to us being apart this summer, he comes to visit and then it gets hard to be away all over again.

We ate at Asia de Cuba for dinner (on 38th and Madison), which was delish and the atmosphere was very New York City. We went to Avenue Q, which was hilarious, if not a little raunchy and totally off-color. Which made the 2 and a half hour sit bearable for Scott. Then this morning, we jogged through Central Park, ate brunch at a little cafe in SoHo, had our traditional coffee and pasteries at Ferrara's and then said our goodbyes.

The Library Hotel, where we spent the night, was fabulous. I saw this featured on The Travel Channel a few years ago, and have been trying to get there every since. The people there were great and the rooms and decor fab. I think it may be a new favorite and maybe a new tradition every time we visit NYC.

Our trip was our present to each other - so no cotton for our second. What do you do with cotton, anyway? Of course, maybe my new $147 jeans count. Although next year is leather...I wonder how imaginative people have gotten with that one in the past. Hmm...

This isn't happening...

My mom is a pessimist. She always expects the worst case scenario and never truly gets happy over something good, because she's already expecting something bad to happen next. She's the kind of person that tells me to be careful when I go on vacation because I "could be raped." And then she goes into detail about the latest rape/murder that she saw on TV and how people today "are crazy". Ever since I was little, I would get mad at her about this. "Why can't you just see the good side of something?" I would ask. "Because," she would reply, "that's life. It never turns out as you expect and you have to be prepared for the worst." And perhaps in an attempt to prevent me from becoming my mother, I have inadvertently bought a pair of rose-colored glasses.

But now I'm getting scared. I think I may becoming a little more like her. You see, the past several times I've gotten excited about something this summer, it didn't go at all as I expected. Could my mother be right?

Take 4th of July weekend: Scott was supposed to come up that Friday night and we were supposed to start our big weekend off with dinner. But then the weather acted up and his flight was cancelled and he had to take another flight into Hartford, which resulted in a 3 hour round trip drive to pick him up. Which totally ruined our night.

And then take last weekend: Elizabeth and I, prepared to do shopping bought nothing. And then I had visions of me and my newly-minted 21-year-old sis hanging out at the bars and bonding, only to be thwarted by a bunch of Australian guys, who she flirted with all night.

And now this: our anniversary weekend, and Scott was flying up tonight. We had plans to stay at The Library Hotel, a boutique hotel in NYC near the public library. I had visions of us exploring tonight and starting off our fun-filled weekend with drinks on the rooftop bar. But Philly had different plans...a tropical storm. So the flight was cancelled and he's not coming in until tomorrow morning. So we only have one night together. We didn't get to celebrate our 1 year anniversary because he had to take the bar exam a few days later. So our 2nd anniversary was supposed to be a special celebration.

Once again, my visions have been thwarted. And I'm afraid that I'm going to become cynical like my mother...a string of disappointments that causes me to start expecting the worst and to stop dreaming. I guess it could be worse. Like the person behind Scott in line, waiting for an new flights, whose mother had died and she was trying to get on a flight. I guess mother's death trumps 2nd anniversary.

So I guess I'll put my glasses back on and figure that life is pretty good, afterall. And I'll keep dreaming because we're pretty lucky people and even one night together on our 2nd anniversary is better than some people get.

Not that I care...

I never really cared about celebrity life until I started business school. For some reason, everyone I hang out with at business school is obsessed with what's going on with famous people. They read People. They check out crazy celebrity websites. They care.

I never used to care before. But now I find myself checking out The Superficial and reading up on the latest news on CNN or MSNBC. I don't know why. Maybe because it's a nice distraction from real life. Or because these people are so bizarre, it's impossible not to look at the freak show that is their life. I think it just makes us feel better about ourselves.

So I don't really care that Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes may have a mutant baby and are trying to hide her from the world. Or that Lindsey Lohen has the worse fashion sense ever. Or that every woman celebrity lately looks like a BRAT doll - with skinny bodies and huge heads. Really, I don't.

Check out this website, courtesy of Elizabeth. It's pretty funny and will give you a good dose of celebrity realism. Something we all could use.

Would you like a drink with your jeans?

I did two things this weekend that I never, ever thought I would do: I bought a pair of jeans for $147 and I bought my sister a (legal) drink.

About the jeans: Elizabeth and I hit SoHo on Saturday, prepared to do some serious shopping. I had a budget. I had a mission. I had a personal wardrobe advisor (that would be Elizabeth). But nothing, folks. There is absolutely nothing going on in the fashion industry right now. All I got to say is leggings and house dresses never needed to come back in vogue. I refuse. So we meandered into Bloomingdale'ss and up to the "denim lab", where a DJ was playin' my song. You know you're in NYC when a DJ is busting it up in Bloomingdale's and a hot guy comes by offering frosty rootbeer-flavored green tea beverages. Yum!

I've been wanting a pair of designer jeans for over a year, now, and I figured if I've been craving them this long, I deserve a pair. So 16 try-ons and $147 (including tax) later, I walked out with AG "The Club" jeans. Hey, they're Oprah's favorite pair. And if Oprah likes them, are they really too good for me?

About the drink: My sister, Alisa, came into town this weekend to see friends and celebrate her 21. Yes, you read that right. She's finally 21! I meet her at a bar in Greenwich Village (alas, she was wearing a house dress) and I bought her a drink. It was fun to buy my little sister a drink, but also a little weird. In fact, I wonder if this should be filed under my signs of getting old. For those wondering, it was a Mattress, and it cost appoximately $10. You know you're in NYC when a drink that contains only 1/3 vodka costs $10. I would have spent more time getting wasted with her, had she not glued herself to a group of Australian guys and flirted the night away. At least, I think they were guys. She's into that whole emo subculture, so it's kind of hard to tell sometimes.

So that was my weekend. A pair of jeans and a drink. But I got to hang out with two of my favorite people - Elizabeth and my sister. And that was enough.

Waxing Poetic

I think about the environment every day. Which means I feel a pang of guilt every time I start up my car or throw away garbage. The biggest frustration is that I want to help preserve the environment, but I don't know how to make a big enough impact. I do what I can: I shut the water off when brushing my teeth. I plan to trade my car in for a Prius. I try not to use a lot of paper towels. I recycle when I can.

But then I see these people drive Hummers around, and I feel every small step I take is negated. My father would argue that it's everyone's right to drive a Hummer, and would oppose any luxury tax on these vehicles. While I agree that people have a right to drive any car they want, what about my rights? Don't I have a right to breathe clean air? Don't I have a right to the same fossile fuels that these Hummers are sucking dry? The way I see it, people who drive Hummers, or any other vehicle that gets less than 20 miles to a gallon, are being selfish. They have no regard for anyone else's rights, or for the health of our planet.

Remember, when we were kids, we'd learn about the environment and how to save it? I remember writing papers on the Brazilian rainforest, or learning about endangered animals, or eating dolphin-safe tuna. What happened to composts and planting trees on Earth Day? Do we even teach our children about saving the environment anymore?

Not only do we all need to take more responsibility to take care of our environment - think about the welfare of others and the welfare of our plant - but we need to educate people again. It's a whole mindset change. But how do we, once we accomplish this, push our government and our private sector to find alternate fuel sources and do more to save the environment?

I want to know because I want to feel like I'm doing something to save the environment. And I don't want to feel guilty anymore.

Goodbye, Farewell, Alvederzane, Goodnight

As many of you know by now, or maybe you don't if you live in a hole, the World Cup is officially over. The winner is....Italy. I know, not quite the Brazil or Germany or 26 other countries you were expecting. But it is better than Iran. We don't want to give them too much confidence, if you know what I mean.

Rather than recapping the exciting final game, I'll let you read about it on Martha's post. She did a good and hilarious job summing it up. Plus, she gives me a shout out, so I'm giving a shout back. Holla!

When did I become old?

Sign #4: I totally don't get the new Sprite Sublymonal ads. I just saw a new one in the movie theatre last weekend (when did they start showing non-stop commercials in the theatres?) and it felt like a bad acid trip. It was "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" meets "Eyes Wide Shut". I just don't get them.

Click here to see other signs I'm getting old.

Larry King Live

I was in the city again yesterday, window-shopping my way down Madison Avenue when Larry King passes me. He was carrying several shopping bags and I didn't even recognize him at first, only noting that he looked vaguely familiar. Until two ladies next to me starting flitterpating and he looked up at the three of us, gave a slight head nod and faint smile, as if to say "Yes, I know I'm famous. Thanks for noticing. Now please don't talk to me."

He looks much like he does on CNN, but walks a little more hunched over than I imagined he would. My first New York celeb sighting...I feel like I could have been in the July 10th issue of People Magazine.

Can I get an Amen?

Since May I have been frustrated. I've had that little ping in the back of my head, always reminding me that there's something I have to get done and feeling like I have no control over getting it done.

I flew to China and back on United Airlines, who has a code-sharing program with USAirways, with whom I have my frequent flier account. When I boarded my flights, I gave my USAirways frequent flier number and assumed I would get my boatload of miles (about 16,000 to be exact). However, around this same time, USAirways had its merger and my miles never showed up in my account. I will spare you the details of my countless calls to USAirways (who then told me to call United, who got their fair share of calls). Basically, I was told to fax my info to USAirways and everything should be taken care of. So I did. I faxed it 2 weeks ago. Nothing.

So I called today. Just to see if they even got my fax. The 16-year old (she may have been smacking gum, for what I could tell) asked me for the fax number I faxed it from. Honestly, I don't know that number because I faxed it from a co-worker's fax number (everyone has their own fax number at GE). So she said she couldn't help me. By this time, I've jumped through so many hoops and am so frustrated, I ask her "What can we do to solve this problem?"

And herein lies my argument. People don't think. They aren't trained to think and they don't care if they think or not. I understand customer service is a hard job and I try to be as sweet as strawberry pie everytime I talk to them. And I know how rote and mind-numbing the job can be. But it can't be that these people are lazy. And it can't be that they don't care about helping others. Because solving problems is fun...thinking can be fun. It causes you to be creative and stretch your brain. Her job was to think. Instead, I had to come up with a solution. Here was the conversation:

"Are you telling me that you can't look up my account number and just see if the
fax has come through?"

"No, they come through the computer, so we can only look up by fax number. And we get thousands of faxes a day."

(Thinking creatively. Stretching brain.) "Can you sort faxes by date?"

"Yes."

"What if I gave you the area code and the date and you look to see if my fax came through."

"But we get thousands of faxes a day."

"I bet you don't have a thousand faxes on June 20 from area code 203."

Sure enough, she found my fax. But not without me doing the thinking for her. Isn't it the job of customer service to find a creative solution to the customer's problem? Not for the customer to do it themselves? If we could all just think, train others to think, and problem solve a little bit more, we'd all be happier people...happier customers, happier workers, happier bloggers. Can I get an Amen?