New York Cliché

A Date with My Elementary School Nemesis: He’s in the Navy

January 27, 2012 by newyorkcliche

I watched him as he struggled to parallel park the car, always a challenge on a San Francisco hill. I was nervous. This was the culmination of seven weeks of communication complicated by a separation of 3,000 miles. This was real life. The last moments of anticipation: a straightening of wheels, a gear shift, a door open and I would finally be faced to face with the boy I hadn’t seen since he was the hot lead singer of a band and I was the artsy weird girl in glasses.My hands were sweaty, and not just because I’d been sitting in the California sun for the last hour. Can you enjoy talking to someone on the phone but hate them in person? What if he still has cooties?

The lock on the car door clicked and he stepped out. “New York Cliché,” he said, grinning. No one can say your name the way some one you went to grade school with can; some one you knew before really understanding what last names were. The friendliness lacking from our last encounter was now present by tenfold. He grabbed me and pulled me in for a hug. As my elementary school nemesis, if we’d touched each other it was with malice- a hair pull, a pinch. We’d certainly never hugged. Turns out he gives good hugs. I smiled, enjoying the feeling of his strong, I-live-on-a-ship arms. There was no question: he’d outgrown cooties.

In kindergarten we all drew pictures of what we wanted to be when we grew up. I drew a tightrope walker (a trip to the circus left me infatuated with the shiny pink costumes of the performers. I have no idea what Nemesis drew, probably and astronaut or something. Does anyone follow through on their kindergarten dreams? By fifth grade my answer had changed. I remember clearly filling out a 5th grade graduation questionnaire: What do you want to when you grow up? I carefully wrote “Actor” on the line provided. Again, I don’t recall what Nemesis but it wouldn’t surprise me if he filled the blank with “Writer”. If that is the case, we’re both pursuing our ten year-old dreams. His fill-in-the-blank is now considerably more specific, however. He’s a communications specialist. That means he’s employed by the United States Navy. That means my Elementary School Nemesis grew up to be a sailor.

You all know how us ladies feel about sailors. Just walk through Times Square during Fleet Week and watch how many female heads turn.

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Give-away Winner!

January 25, 2012 by newyorkcliche

Thanks everyone who entered my Fancy Food give-away! The winner is HarleyJQ from 1, b, Platypus! This box is going overseas (I think)! Congrats, Harley! There’ll be more give-aways (something else I get for free, maybe a copy of Sex & the City) but in the mean time, if you’re looking for reading…check out yesterday’s post.

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A Date with My Elementary School Nemesis: Background

January 24, 2012 by newyorkcliche

Hair pulling, teasing, pinching, name-calling, tattling, insulting, fighting. Oh boy, did we have a history.

Last week I went on a date with my elementary school nemesis.

You could say it was a date 2 months in the making. You could say it was a date 20 years in the making.

You could say it started with a Facebook message. You could say it started with a playground game of “Farmer in the De ll“.

When he picked me up for our date, my first glimpse of him was through the windshield of his brand-new BMW. It was the first time I’d seen him in almost a decade. The last time we’d seen each other was in high school, an interaction so brief he doesn’t even remember it. I, however, have a memory like the sticky traps most city dwellers place in the crack behind their refrigerators. It doesn’t just catch the big mouse-sized memories; it catches dust, hair, any small particle. Besides, it’s hard to forget when someone makes you feel like shit.

It was one of the few house parties I went to in high school, some friend of a friend’s sweet sixteen. With probably fifty teenagers in attendance, this was not a rager but still a great party from my not-a-cool-kid perspective. While the birthday girl’s parents cut the cake, a live ska band played in the front room. The front man was about 6’2, still with the same fiery hair and cocky attitude he’d had since age 5. I had not seen him post-puberty but I recognized him immediately as my Elementary School Nemesis. He looked remarkably the same and yet so different… The little boy who had given me constant cause for cootie shots was now grown up, and inextricably attractive.

I was unrecognizable from my elementary school self. My signature blonde pigtails replaced with an androgynous shaggy bob, so abused by home dye-jobs it looked like the worst-case-scenerio of a tye-dye shirt: when all the colors blend together and you’re left with something you’ll never wear. The adorable pink dresses that defined my K-5 signature style replaced by my teenaged signature style: best described as part punk-rock part creeps-leave-me-alone-if-I-wear-shapeless-clothing. The know-it-all nature I was known for in fourth grade had morphed into the awkward insecurity of a teenaged girl.

I was a cross between the weird girl in "The Breakfast Club" (but I wasn't that weird) and pre-makeover Rachel Leigh Cook in "She's All That" (but I wasn't that hot).

I wasn’t the kind of girl who approached the lead singer of a band (as you know) or any kind of attractive teenaged boy (which might explain my recent travest y with just such a nineteen year-old). It was no small thing that I squeaked his name inquisitively as he walked right by me, “Nemesis?” He turned, “Yeah?” I could see no look of recollection in his eyes, instead I saw the glaring sentiment: Girls like you don’t usually talk to boys like me. I swallowed, “New York Cliché, remember me?” He looked at me in disbelief, “New York Cliché? No way,” he scoffed. Then he laughed, that cruel way only attractive teenage boys can, “New York Cliché… do you still tell on every one all the time?” There was no friendliness in his voice. I do not recall my reply, I know I refrained from running away to cry in the bathroom. That was the last time I saw or heard from my Elementary School Nemesis until about two months ago.

How did we get from there to actually going on a date? Stay Tuned.

Posted in boys, childhood | Tagged boys, dates, memories, teenagers | 3 Comments »

Drool Worthy: Fancy Food for Me & You

January 19, 2012 by newyorkcliche

If my New Years Resolutions had been diet-centric in any way (it is a resolution cliché after all), I would have already failed miserably.

What’s your vice? Cheese? Chocolate? Alcohol? You name it and that is what I spent my week eating. How could I say no? I was surrounded by the top gourmet food from all over the WORLD. I was lucky enough to get a job, and thus a virtual All-Access Pass, at the food industry’s most exclusive and largest showcase of the season.

The Fancy Food Show. Imagine a huge conversion center filled to capacity with 1,300 exhibitors representing over 50 countries. Isle after isle of booths featuring their tastiest products, some so new they are only available for pre-order. The competition is fierce; convention attendees are looking for products for their specialty stores, restaurants, hotels, etc. Exhibitors are all vying for those sales. Then there is me. Absolutely no connection to the food industry except what I put in my stomach. But I’m an actor and easily play the part of “Interested Buyer”. Every chance I got I let those exhibitors do their best to impress me.

There were so many cheese makers, from all over Europe primarily, with cheese aged to perfection. I didn’t come close to trying them all, even in three days. Most of the cheese I eat is from Trader Joe’s, I’m lucky if it’s aged a year. I never, ever eat cheese this good.

Then there were sweets, of all kinds. I have a sweet tooth and I indulged it, like the cliché kid in the candy store. I just went the dentist and learned I have two cavities. I should cut back on sugar, I really should, but how do you say no when you have glass cases of gorgeous looking pastries and truffles staring at you, with bakers begging you to take a sample?

Answer: you don’t! I can cut back on sugar tomorrow, this was an opportunity not to be wasted.

I had to walk by the Haribo booth every time I went to the bathroom. Haribo is something I can buy myself, at Walgreens…but..but..it was so visually appealing! Plus I love gummy candy! They had bowls full of absolutely every kind, making it so hard NOT to help yourself to a piece. It was too hard to resist.

Fortunately, many companies had packaged samples. Many people left this convention with several bags, full to bursting of samples. On the last day, I myself came home with a sizable bag. “It looks like Halloween trick-or-treating,” my mother remarked. More on that later. I did pretty well, considering my only time to walk around was on my half hour lunch break when my main priority was to eat lunch.

I could have filled up on cheese and sweets alone, but there were endless possibilities for more meal-like sampling:

Pasta and sauces from Italy, made and served by people from the country.

Surprisingly authentic frozen entrées from India.

Things you’d never seen before from Japan.

Endless tapenades made of my positively favorite things to eat: tomatoes, garlic, basil, onions, and artichokes. That one under the bread sticks was probably my favorite thing out of the entire show.

So what was I doing the rest of my day, when I wasn’t on lunch break? I was wearing a gorgeous red velvet dress. I don’t think I have ever gotten so many complements in my life. One man said to me “You look like a New York model.” (Note: this event was in San Francisco.) I grinned and thought, Ha. I could tell you a story that would make that compliment seem like an insult! Aloud I said, “Aw, thanks!”

Alas, they did not let me keep the red velvet dress that perfectly matched the Red Velvet Martinis I was promoting. The product won’t be on the shelves before Valentine’s day, which is truly a shame. It really did taste exactly like red velvet cake, pretty remarkable. It is very sweet, just like the cake, but I was strictly forbidden from saying those words. “‘Very sweet’ comes off as negative!” said the owner of the company, “Say, ‘Very flavorful.’” For the three days of the convention I slung those “very flavorful” martinis, from 10am to 5pm. Not exactly the kind of drink I would want anytime before dinner, let alone around brunch, but you’d be surprised by how many people tried them (and some people certainly thought they were too sweet). Just goes to show my charm as a promo model and the power of a fancy dress.

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Has all this talk of food made you hungry? Are you jealous I get paid to wear a fancy dress AND have access to all this amazing stuff? Don’t worry, I anticipated that! I filled my bag with samples with you in mind! I just stuffed a Priority Mail package box full of (nonperishable, sorry no cheese,) samples I got at this show and I am sending it to one lucky person who comments on this post!

That’s right, it’s a give-away! To win this box of goodies, please subscribe to this blog in some way (follow it on WordPress, follow on Twitter, Like on Facebook, subscribe via e-mail: any one of those is great) and then leave a comment on this post! Winner will be selected (by random.org) on Tuesday January 24th and then they need to e-mail me their address by Wednesday January 25th. Good luck & thanks, always, for reading!

Posted in food, giveaways, on the job, promotions | Tagged cheese, chocolate, conventions, Fancy Food Show, food, foodies, give aways, Giveaways, red velvet, tapenade | 25 Comments »

Ballerinas Take to the New York City Streets

January 17, 2012 by newyorkcliche

I have mentioned many times before the simple pleasure of a stroll in New York City.

There’s the people watching, the fresh air, the chance of meeting a handsome stranger. There’s also the chance you’ll see something quite out of the ordinary. Something you’d never see anywhere else.

I was walking through Columbus Circle the other day when I happened upon this unbelievable sight:

A couple doing very intricate ballet on the street.

They sashayed all over the circle, sometimes on pointe, doing twirls, even lifts:

Even the most jaded New Yorker had to turn his head (it didn’t hurt that the ballerina was gorgeous).

I was convinced it was some kind of street performance. It’s the recession! Ballet dancers are forced to take to the street!. However, when they finished, they just ran off. Swiftly departed without even a bow and certainly no putting out a hat. That, and a snippet of conversation I overheard from them, makes me believe they were simple rehearsing for a performance. Instead of renting a huge rehearsal space, they chose to take it to the streets. And why not? They would never have made any one’s day in the confines of a rehearsal space, but out under the sunshine they did just that.