Bada Bing

I had never seen The Godfather. My husband, who was then my boyfriend couldn't believe that I'd never seen it let alone ever read the book since I've been known to buy and plow through books in a couple of days. In my stocking last year was a copy of The Godfather. I couldn't wait to get started reading it and in true form, devoured the book like it was smothered in Mrs. G's red sauce. I've always been obsessed with Italian food and while I just recently started cooking and enjoying wine I've been eating lasagna, spaghetti and gnocchi since I was old enough to chew solid foods. I've also got a strange kind of fascination with the Mob and enthusiastically watched every episode of the Sopranos. I get excited about driving past Satin Dolls, the strip club in the Sopranos called the Bada Bing and I live around the block from the local diner where they filmed the last episode. I'd probably pass out if I ever met "Tony Soprano" but the fact that I can sit in the same booth that he did during the last episode is pretty darn close if you ask me. And as many people know the last song that played during the last episode is my all time favorite. And in case you're wondering, I do think he was whacked.

This past weekend I had the opportunity to attend a food and wine show in NYC. My husband and I talked about it all week and couldn't wait to walk through the event tasting wines and snacking on the delicious foods prepared by some of NY's finest restaurants. Armed with a list of wines to sample and tasting glasses we circled the floor searching for some new wines to try. It is a strange and wonderful thing to attend events like these. Not only for the variety of things you'll encounter but for the people watching. Dressed in a simple long sleeved black dress with a hint of cleave and open toed kitten heeled shoes, I felt very New York chic. The hubby looked dashing in his 'cute professor' look; jeans, white collared shirt and hound's-tooth jacket. The average food and wine event attendee wore jeans, a sweater, sneakers or flats. Many didn't seem to give a damn about their outfits and while it shouldn't matter what they were wearing it seemed to me that if you are to attend this kind of event you'd probably give a little bit more thought to your outfit than you would if you were schlepping around Disneyland. The event was held at the same time in the same venue as the Chocolate Show so we occasionally dodged an over-sugared child with chocolate smudged fingers and brown stained lips. We pondered the idea of bringing kids to an event like this; especially a chocolate show. There are literally 25 – 30 booths all distributing free samples of chocolate products: truffles, brownies, cookies, hot chocolate, milk chocolate, dark chocolate, chili powder chocolate. How can you contain a small child and hold him back from this delicious disaster? What do you say? "Ok honey, now you can only have five pieces and then you have to drink water and sit down."

Even the hubs and I had trouble pacing ourselves from table to table. Who can with that amount of free chocolate?! But for the low price of $28 per person, I guess you can let your kids overdose on sugar once a year. That sugar high and crash must be terrible. There were numerous presentations and demonstrations happening that day and we paused to watch NYC firemen create pancake delicacies and were dazzled by the world famous pizza dough tossing team. It was at this time that volunteers began passing out slices of Sicilian style pizza. I'm not kidding when I say that you must literally throw elbows to get a sample of almost any food being served. Like starving Ethiopians people swarm the poor volunteers and grab slices off his tray. I watched my overly polite husband try like hell to get the attention of the server who looked like he'd rather be anywhere but there than surrounded by I Love Chocolate t-shirt wearing families of five. The wine booths all opened at 1:00 p.m. so we proudly stood in the line waiting to get in about 10 minutes before hand. Most people seemed to know a thing or two about food and wine and enthusiastically approached the wine booths with cleansed palettes ready to sample wines from all over the world; Chile, Australia, Italy, Spain and even Long Island. We walked the floor two or three times began sampling the wines. We started to see some of the same people staffing the booths over again. It made it a little awkward when you've already sampled the wines at that booth to approach it again and ask for more. Sure it was free, but who wanted to be seen as the freeloading wine samplers. It wasn't a frat party.

On our past a booth we had tasted at before, we noticed a crowd forming. I recalled the booth because behind it hung a poster of a handsome older Italian man who has probably lain in far too many tanning beds. His wine's label shared the same font as the recognizable Godfather and there were pictures of 'the family' posted as well. The man in the picture was staffing the booth and we noticed that in addition to his wine he was also selling red sauce. We stood about 10 feet from the booth and squinted, staring at the older man, wondering why he looked so familiar. Another couple approached us and asked if we knew who the older guy was. He looked like he could have been the younger brother of George Hamilton. He wore a dark pin striped suit with a white collared shirt open to the second button. His gold chain and pinky ring glistened in the fluorescent lights and his tan skin looked leathery and aged. We notice a picture from a famous scene in The Godfather in which Sonny beats up his sister's husband, Carlo Rizzi. Our eyes move from the old guy's face to the picture and suddenly it hits us. He's got to be the guy who played Carlo Rizzi. The name Gianni Russo is listed on the bottles of wine. The resemblance is clear but is it really him? I start to question it but quickly remember that the movie is a couple decades old and while Carlo was young and handsome, this tan gentleman could possibly be him. Remembering that I've got my Blackberry on me I quickly Google Gianni Russo. The IMDB website quickly pulls up a list of movies that Gianni Russo has starred in. Sure enough this guy was Carlo Rizzi. Not only that but he was also in Seabiscuit, The Freshmen and Any Given Sunday. I tell the couple we're chatting with that the old guy is indeed Carlo Rizzi and we all laugh about the fact that we've been staring at him for the last ten minutes. He suddenly notices us looking at him and gives us a dead pan mobster stare. We smile politely and nod in recognition and take our tasting glasses to the next booth. He wasn't exactly Tony Soprano, but I'd say he's just about close enough to get my movie mobster fix in.

There's No Wordsmithing the Almighty

So we've finally heard back from the Officient...remember that blog back in April (An officient in Starbucks)? Yes, he's still our officient (Associate Pastor - who knew he had such credentials? we found him online - I'm not ashamed.) He's been helping us write our ceremony. I want a little more humor...the boy? He's all business. Let's face it. He's in PR. He writes for a living. He edits, he screens, he talks a good talk. His pen has been gliding over this ceremony draft in smooth edity like marks. It's ridiculous.

We're trying to find a nice way of recognizing those who are no longer with us in a way that remembers their contribution to our lives without being overly sappy. AKA, I am trying really hard not to cry at this wedding ceremony thing. Let's just do it already.

We recieved the ceremony (draft 1) from our officient today and over a magnum of wine, I convinced my loving fiance to sit down and edit it to a place where we both feel comfortable. Among the words 'some may argue', 'respect', 'miracle' and many many more words we're struggling with, we begin to edit to a point where we begin to feel more like ourselves and less like the ceremonies heard time and time again. And for those of you who know us - you know that we're flip flops and beer (or good wine) kind of poeple.

We arrive at a reading I've selected because it reminds me of my Grandfather, Poppee, who loves a certain Psalm. When he passed away I wrote a song to his favorite Psalm. I sang it at his memorial. To commemorate him and his song, we've asked that the Officient read it. The boy, still in editing mode begins to take his pen to paper. Suddenly, he looks up at me, blue eyes glistening. He leans back in his chair and sighs. "There's really no wordsmithing the Almighty, is there?". "No babe," I say. No edits.

The smash and grab...

We're looking for our wedding rings. It's a circle, a symbol of unending love, commitment, trust and whatever else you can think of. We visit the local jewelry store in search of a platinum band for my soon to be hubby.

Perusing the cabinet of platinum and Tungsten bands, we listen as the underpaid jewelry saleswoman describes the varying overpriced designs.
Smash!

I duck.
Smash! I scream.
My soon to be husband grabs me and pulls me toward the back of the store. The jeweler runs out of the store. "Call the police!" he screams. I start to get a migraine.
We stand there silent, thinking, wondering, what will happen next. The jeweler has reentered the store just as the woman we're working with says to the cops, "They've apprehended the suspect!" Obviously someone has been watching a bit too much of CSI

We're asked to remain in the store until the cops come. Apparently the 'suspect' has attempted a smash and grab in the engagement ring window with a concrete brick. He attempted getaway on foot and has yet to be found by the Clifton Police.

My migraine subsides thanks to the Excedrin I carry in my purse.
We leave the jewelry store and don't purchase the $250.00 platinum band.

We hit TGIF for an appetizer and beer. Later that afternoon we purchase a Tungsten band from Overstock.com. There has been no smash and grab reported there and the price is significantly lower.

It's safer to shop online.

Why I no longer travel underground

When I left my job at the bank and started at the agency, I traded my pin striped suits and heels for jeans and flip flops. I also traded my hour and a half long commute which consisted of a bus, a 4 block walk and two subway transfers for a 45 minute bus ride and a 7 block walk. It was beautiful. I had finally given up underground travel.

While clients typically provide enough out of pocket to cover our travel and food, they don't often think to build a budget for taxis to and from downtown where we typically meet. On this latest project I've been working with 4 wonderfully low maintenance men who opt to save the client money by traveling the 9 stops downtown via subway; versus cab. And while I appreciate the effort to conserve gas and save some green, I have long since given up underground travel.

Here's why:
1. Subways are hot. There is nothing worse than roasting underground away from sunshine and fresh air to arrive at a client meeting looking like you've just run a 5K.
2. They're crowded. You remember the whole ass in face issue? In this case its "anything in face". Armpits, asses, bellys, shoulder bags....unmentionables. If you're standing up you can sometimes avoid this fate. If you're sitting down, good luck to ya.
3. They're weird! From the prodigy musicians to the panhandlers, you never know what you'll see, or God forbid, what you don't need or want to see down in the basement of Manhattan.
4. I personally happen to like the sunshine. Why anyone would choose to drive a silver bullet through the darkest bowels of the city is beyond me. Give me a crazy cabbie anyday.

But the worst, my all time least favorite thing about the subway are the ticket machines. Sure they accept credit cards and cash instead of tokens, but 90% of the time they don't actually take any of the above and you're forced to try and try and try again while countless trains come and go leaving you stranded, sweating, being accosted by crazies and pissed off New Yorkers whining about how long it is taking you to buy a freaking Metro Card.

Give me the more expensive cab. I'll just expense it anyway.

Get Your Ass Out of My Face: A Guide to Public Transportation

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP - the alarm clock sounds and I immediately think of the million and one things I need to accomplish in my, at minimum, 12 hour day. Don't think: routine. Coffee, shower, teeth, dog, clothes, kiss the boy and out the door.

You've already heard about the countless hours I've spent waiting for the bus in the morning. But you haven't heard this. About 50% of the buses that pass by our stop are standing room only. Sometimes you just have to deal to make it to work on time. This morning was no different. Fortunately today, for those who were lucky enough to get seats, we relaxed in the 1970s comfort of the overly patterned cushions. The boy on the other hand gave up his seat to a woman who is 5 months pregnant. He's a trooper - what can I say?

For the other strap hangers haphazardly swinging to the bumps and constant swaying of the bus this is yet another thing we must deal with on our way to work. Ass in face.

What is ass in face you might ask? Well, it's like this. For someone standing on a bus traveling 50 miles an hour down route three, there are only three options; face front and risk falling head over feet. Face backwards and be that awkward guy staring at everyone sitting (picture an elevator with one guy facing everybody instead of the doors) or be that guy who casually flaunts his ass right in your face. I prefer to face forward. Other people prefer ass in face.

It's difficult to ignore. You try to engulf yourself in your Clive Cussler novel and lose yourself among the submarines and Generals but you can't help but notice and / or stare at the ass in face. I know what you are thinking, but its not even like that. Remember, we live in the suburbs - mommy and me, soccer practice and report cards. You may have that image of the cute, little thing just out of college trying to make their way in the work-a-day world...this image is that plus 20 years (and 20 pounds, give or take).

Now that you know about "ass in face" you are ready to learn a little more about the inside, or should I say, underside, of commuting in Manhattan.

Wedding Adventures

So we're officially about 50 days from the wedding and so far things had gone pretty smoothly. Ok, so the wedding diet isn't going as well as it should be, I nearly lost my engagement ring and my sisters bridesmaid dress was temporarily lost somewhere in Asia. But overall, things are AOK. We set out to send our wedding invitations and in the spirit of saving money had them printed by a friend of ours (thanks Michele!). Over the course of two nights we left work early (6:30) and sprinted towards the dining room table, aka invitation central. While I addressed in my calligraphy pen, the boy stuffed the invitations. We started loading all 50 of them into envelopes and got ready to seal them. Wanting to add a little something extra to them we opted to seal them with some maroon wax.

For the last 10 months I've been thinking and planning and tracking and shopping for this blessed event all the while managing to go uninjured, unless you count the 99 sale at Davids Bridal. The boys idea od wedding planning is venturing to Home Depot.

On this one evening, when he finally contributed to the wedding outside of the proposal, while literally playing with fire, he managed to burn himself with the hot wax as he was dripping it on the envelopes.

Now if you've ever gotten married or planned a wedding you know that the whole thing will leave you with scars. They range from the debt of the catering bill, the blisters from unforgiving wedding shoes or the blindingly brutal work outs to fit into that Oleg Cassini gown. But when, when, does one have a story about injuring himself while doing the invitations?

Those Grooms.....they'll do almost anything for attention. :)

PS-it may seem as tho I've thrown my wonderful groom under the bus but he's been very helpful with planning. That said, he will likely retaliate with an equally as biting blog. Stay tuned for a guest entry :)

The Rings Big Adventure

A couple of days ago I was thinking about blogging about the extinction of customer service and my declining faith in the human race. At its best the city has started to turn its cynical head in my direction leaving me at a loss for my "happy-go-lucky-people-are-basically-good" attitude of days gone by. Recent experiences with retail stores, restaurants and even work have left a bitter taste in my mouth. I missed the good natured people of my home town. Until last friday.

The boy, the ring and our dear friends set off to Queens to cheat on our beloved Yankees. A quick game at Shea and we set off on back towards Manhattan. A natural fidgeter, I've been known to actually twiddle my thumbs, drum my fingers and twirl the rings on my fingers. Standing at the edge of the raised subway platform neat the exit of Shea, I anxiously awaited the 7 train back to the city and found myself mindlessly playing with my beloved engagement ring. I held my breath as it fell off of my finger onto the subway platform. Thinking I was in the clear it bounced off of the rubber plane near the edge of the platform and tumbled two stories down to the street below with drunken mets fans and crazy cabbies. Time stopped.

I ran to find my unsuspecting fiance and broke the news. Starting to sob I ran down to the street and began searching, praying and thinking about my empty finger and the money the boy had spent on it the ring that once sat on it. I cried some more. A NYC cop blew his whistle and angrily yelled for the boy and I to vacate the busy streets until we started to describe what had happened. He pulled the boy off to start looking and yelled for me to stay put. A kind older woman asked what was wrong. A young man asked if I was ok. A few people were searching the ground wondering what we were looking for. It seemed like hours until we started to slow down the search for my beloved missing ring. I began to fill out a police report. It seemed the ring was gone, destroyed or plucked up by someone who may be nice enough to return it to the police. A woman approached us and asked me what I had lost. My ring-I said barely audible. Describe it she said. And I did. Moments later she held up her hand with my beautiful ring sitting on her pinky!!!!I cannot describe how wonderfully happy I was. I hugged her like she was my mom, didn't let her go and thanked her profusely. The boy arrived and also wouldn't let her out of his hug. We asked what we could do for her-money, flowers, a gift. She said her daughter was getting married in November and she felt so bad for us-she knew someone was missing it and would be devastated to have lost it. She asked us to just be happy together and to appreciate each other. A car arrived moments later and picked her up. Her husband congratulated us and wished us luck. In the back seat of the car was the woman who had first asked me what I had lost. Strange the way things work out.

With new found faith in the city of queens and the good people of NY the boy and I set off for home. There was someone watching out for us....someone who knows that people are basically good.