The other night, Ben and I had dinner with some friends at their apartment. They have a couple of children, one of whom is just about two years old and has a real zest for cheese. While the rest of us ate pasta, this little dude had a pile of shredded Parmesan with a single noodle buried somewhere inside.

For dessert, he had ice cream… and string cheese.

Naturally, it was all pretty cute, but we didn’t think anything more of it until the next day when his mom sent me an email. She described a conversation she’d had with her son after we left. Apparently, while she was giving him his bath, he had all this to say:

Cheese sticks. I knew Ben and I were missing something.

(Image via Sweet Caroline’s Cooking)

This morning I was emailing with my facialist about her upcoming trip to Baltimore for steamed crabs. (What? You don’t email with your facialist about your vacations? Weirdo.)

Anyway, I happened to mention I’d started using an argan oil facial cleanser since I’d seen her last. She replied immediately and was basically like, “WOMAN, are you out of your mind?! You’re rubbing that oil into your face everyday? With your skin? HAVE I TAUGHT YOU NOTHING?” (I’m paraphrasing.)

She suggested some alternative cleansers available at most drugstores, but I decided to pick one up at Bed, Bath and Beyond, because I have some store credit there.

At the register, I told the check-out clerk that I had store credit and handed her a neatly folded receipt with my credit amount circled in red at the bottom. She took it. Looked at it. Looked at me. Looked at the receipt again. And then said, “19 cents? You want to redeem 19 cents of store credit?”

In my head, I was all, “I’m a WRITER. 19 cents is 19 cents!” But instead, I just said, “Wha?”

You could argue that if I’m that worried about 19 cents, I might consider dropping the facialist. But then who’s going to bring me crabs from Baltimore?

P.S. This post is dedicated to Harry of 43rd Street fame.

Fun Thing: Victoria Brown’s Nightstand (What is this fun thing I speak of? Read the back story on this project here.)

Victoria Brown, who has a fabulous first name, has written a beautiful novel called Minding Ben — a subject I happen to know something about (See every reference to my boyfriend Ben ever.) Only in Victoria’s novel, Ben is four years old, and the main character is Grace, his nanny, who has only recently arrived in New York City from her native Trinidad. Victoria tells Grace’s story with such careful consideration and gentleness that I knew almost from page one that I wanted to interview her for my Nightstand series.

She graciously agreed, and I’m thrilled to have her here:

1. So your nightstand is really a chest. I love it. What hidden treasure have you got in there?

Don’t I wish it was filled with treasure. The chest has become a repository for clothes I can’t stand to part with but really should. There’s a pair of blue jeans I bought at Spitalfields back in 2000 that reminds me of being in England. Also, two ratty bikinis I wore on a trip to the world’s most dilapidated resort with my husband back in 1999. There was no water in the pool, but it was the best holiday we ever had. These things should no longer exist except as part of a quilt, but I like to think that my children might go through the chest one day and ask, “Mom, why do you still have this?”

Whoa. Timeout. The world’s most dilapidated resort with a waterless pool, and it was the best vacation you and your husband ever had?! You HAVE to write about that.

2. Anyway! Now that I’ve made myself clear, where did you get your chest?

Ha, it’d be nice to say I bought it at that Eat, Drink, Pray, Love woman’s little antique shop, but it came from Pottery Barn, circa 2000.

I love that you call her “that Eat, Drink, Pray, Love Woman.” I’ve always wanted to check her shop out. I think it’s in Frenchtown, NJ. But, you know, if you hold onto your chest long enough, Pottery Barn will totally become antique-y and retro.

3. Tell me about the frosted-glass looking cylinder. Is that a lamp? A vase?

The cylinder is one of a pair of lamps I got from my friend Dalia who moved to Berlin. Except it’s now the surviving partner.

Lamp loss. It happens.

4. It looks like maybe that’s an alarm clock on the edge there… do you use it to wake up every morning?

Not for the actual alarm but the clock. There are two small people living in my house who get up very early. I’m usually awake by the time they come in, but if it’s before, say, 6:45, then I know how much longer I can stay in bed.

5. Let’s talk reading material. You’ve got all sorts of novels and books and magazines here. What are you currently reading in this pile?

Most actively Elaine Pearlman’s Binocular Vision. I’d never heard of Pearlman before her recent NBCC award for fiction, and now I can’t put her down. Her characters are perfectly drawn in even the shortest pieces. You know just enough about them to know them and to care. Wish I’d read her earlier but I’m excited to be reading her now, and I’m telling everyone about her work.

6. Any other standouts?

Teju Cole’s Open City is gorgeous. Like Pearlman, I find that I can’t read him quickly. It’s rare for me to find books that have to be savored in small chunks of goodness. Usually I read through what I’m into very quickly and then move on. It’s interesting to be reading two contemplative books at a time.

7. How do you decide which books live on your nightstand?

There’s always a combination: There will be my latest fascinations; the books that I’m currently reading through. Also, the books I’ve pulled out to help solve with some writing puzzle. Right now I’m trying to write younger characters from a third rather than first person perspective, so I pulled out Peter Carey’s True History of the Kelly Gang to see how he deals with Ned’s early years. All Quiet on the Western Front is there because it’s the current, “Huh, I’ve never actually read that before” book. A couple of books are new. My friend Honor Molloy’s Smartypants, and John Williams’ Augustus. I read Stoner, and it elevated itself to one of my top five favorite books, so I wanted to read more of Williams’ work.

I met Honor Molloy once! And then she wrote me a fantastic email. Love her. I’m dying to read Smartypants. It’s at the TOP of my list.

8. Do you often read in bed?

I do read in bed at night but rarely during the day. If my husband is in the living room I’ll read until he comes to bed, usually.

9. Do you read in bed mostly for pleasure or also for the writing work you do?

Both. I find myself reading a lot for writing recently, so it depends on what I’m looking for.

10. I want to know about the little brightly colored toy — is that a pig?

Ha, it is a toy pig, a finger puppet. I think he’s the wood-house builder? A friend from Barcelona sent my son the storybook in Spanish. It comes with all the characters and the pages are the actual houses pre and post huff and puff.

11. I love your rug, by the way. Beautiful.

Interesting you notice the rug. We got it from the Kurdish Library, which used to be just down the road from us. Vera, the woman who ran it, died a couple of years ago and her brownstone is being remodeled. I don’t know what happened to the rest of her collection.

But at least you have a piece of what must have been a gorgeous collection.

12. What’s the very last thing you do before you go to bed?

Turn off the lamp and put my icy feet against my very warm spouse.

13. What’s the very first thing you do when you wake up?

Look at that alarm clock.

Of course! You gotta find out ASAP how much time you have left til those adorable tornadoes come through!

Thanks, Victoria!!

For more of Victoria and to see a sneak peek of her NEW novel, check out her blog, the Medium.

Fun Thing: My (2nd) Moment with Kathleen Turner (What is this fun thing I speak of? Read the back story on this project here.)

Ben and I were out, and I went to the bathroom to wash my hands. As you do. On my way, I noticed Kathleen Turner sitting alone at the bar.

This was not the first time I’ve found myself in close proximity to Kathleen Turner. Five years ago, I saw her in the dressing room of an Urban Outfitters on the Upper West Side of Manhattan; she was with her teenage daughter, and they were having one of those awful arguments that only go down between mothers and daughters in crowded clothing stores on Saturday afternoons. I remember thinking two things: One, she looked terrible, and, Two, I never, ever wanted to be the mother of a teenage daughter.

But when I saw her the other night at the bar, my first thought was that the last five years had been remarkably kind to her. She looked fantastic. Then again, everything about our surroundings was far more flattering than the Urban Outfitters’ dressing rooms.

I noted her general awesomeness and continued on my way to the single-occupancy bathroom. I washed my hands and was just starting to unlock the door when someone tried to open it from the other side. Startled, I turned the knob and came face to face with Kathleen Turner. I think I said something witty like, “Oh!” And she said — in that fabulous baritone growl of hers — “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” I just shook my head and smiled. She smiled back with that winsome grin only the very best celebrities have.

I recovered enough to get out of the way and leave her in peace. But walking back to my table, I just kept thinking, “Thank god that bathroom was clean when I entered and all I did was wash my hands.”

(photo via Blondie Nation)

Fun Thing: How Much Do We Love Spring? A LOT (What is this fun thing I speak of? Read the back story on this project here.)

I think I’ve mentioned before that winter is no friend of mine. Don’t get me wrong, I wish winter and I weren’t sworn enemies. I love the idea of snowy evenings, fires in the fireplace, big chunky sweaters, and, uh… what else do people like about winter? I forget. Because, honestly, I feel a little dead inside from, oh, about November to April; I get mopey and ungrateful and it becomes very hard to remember all the super wonderful things about my life.

This happens EVERY SINGLE YEAR. And, usually, March is the absolute worst. The ultimate killer. At this point, it feels like it’s been winter FOREVER, and I can no longer remember what it feels like to stand on a street corner basking in the warm spring sun not caring if the light ever turns green.

But then spring does arrive.

You know how in the film version of Mary Poppins the Banks’ neighbor fires his cannon to mark the time? And everyone runs around the house holding onto the china and the furniture so they don’t topple over from the cannon’s rumble? That’s what winter feels like to me. And spring is that moment when the cannon stops — everything settles and peace returns. And every year, I’m just relieved none of my china broke. Or, if it did, that it’s fixable.

But this March, so far, has felt surprisingly spring like. Next week is supposed to be a bit cooler, a bit more gray, a bit more rainy. But these last few days, the cannon stopped, and the anxious rattling and dark chill that grabs hold of me every winter slipped away. I feel like myself again. It has been wonderful.

Oh yeah, and it’s Friday! Have a great weekend. Let me leave you with a few things on the internet that are also quite wonderful:

It’s true I haven’t met every two-year-old on the planet, but I don’t need to. This one wins.

Swedish people have the best weddings. That’s a proven fact.

Five books that must never be adapted to film. I could not agree more.

Um, hello, Azature “Black Diamond” Dark Chocolate Pralines. If these taste even half as good as they look, they will still blow my mind.

Sandals with four-inch heels that are insanely comfortable. No longer an urban legend. (I got ‘em yellow.) Seriously, every shoe I own by this company is amazing.

(photo via A Blog About Love, photo taken by Kristiana Parn)

Fun Thing: Champagne Flutes for Everything (What is this fun thing I speak of? Read the back story on this project here.)

This morning when I got home from the gym, I made myself a glass of seltzer. But instead of using one of our water glasses like I usually do, I decided, just for the hell of it, to use a champagne flute instead. Even though I was still wearing my running shorts and sports bra and was all drippy sweaty, I felt very fancy.

I think I might have to start drinking exclusively out of champagne flutes: milk, Coke Zero, champagne (obviously), scotch, moonshine, gin and tonics, dark and stormies, my green juice.

About that champagne flute. The guy who lived in my apartment before me left it behind along with a second one. He left the pair of them on the counter. Perfect condition. Not a scratch or a chip. They were the only things he didn’t take. Kind of sad, though, because after living in this apartment for thirty years he was leaving to move in with his mother in Albany. I guess he figured there wouldn’t be much to celebrate in Albany. With his mom.

And, suddenly, this post has taken a dark and depressing turn. I think I’ll pour myself a glass of scotch. In my champagne flute. And raise a toast to Larry. (Yeah. His name was Larry. He had like six cats, too. Shit. This story just keeps getting sadder and sadder. I better make this drink a double.)

Fun Thing: Nine Years In This Town (What is this fun thing I speak of? Read the back story on this project here.)

I’ve lived in New York City for nine years. Just typing that knocks the wind out of me a bit. Long time to live somewhere entirely by choice. Which is why childhood doesn’t count. No one cares where you want to live when you don’t contribute to the bills. Although, in my defense, my allowance was shit.

In nine years time, I’ve accumulated a lot of memories. Often, I’ll be walking down a street and see a restaurant or a bar or a theater and think, “Oh yeah, that was the night…” Of course, usually, it’s really just the address or a familiar stoop. Because whatever bar you’re remembering went out of business and then became a cupcake bakery and is now an organic dry cleaner.

Then again, inexplicably, some places stay in business year after year. Last night I was walking on 23rd Street, which was unusual, because I try to avoid it — Both 22nd and 24th Streets, by comparison, have so much more charm. And whenever I can manage it, I prefer to be charmed. But there I was on 23rd, and there was Dallas BBQ.

Years ago, for reasons lost to time, I met my best friend at Dallas BBQ two hours after being dumped by my boyfriend. When our food came, I cried into my meat platter. Mostly because I was in a Dallas BBQ.

I thought about that long ago Saturday afternoon as I continued west on 23rd last night, and I couldn’t help but smile. I’ve stuck around this town long enough that most of the painful memories don’t sting anymore. They’re just little posts in the road, marking the moments I learned something or got a little braver or made a mistake I’d never make again. Liking eating at a Dallas BBQ.

Fun Thing: My Advice — Which You Don’t Remember Asking For (What is this fun thing I speak of? Read the back story on this project here.)

After a flurry of email exchanges this morning, the awesome someone I was corresponding with wrote me this:

“Well – let me ask you this, since I have you cyber-captive… what would you suggest as a routine or a launching point to get me in the swing and the habit [of writing]… I always have about ten thousand ideas swirling in my head, but I end up distracting or overburdening myself into non-action. I’ve been jotting a lot of stuff down, but I find myself stopping at that, not fully fleshing out the ideas.

Perhaps you have another piece of sage insight (in addition to your very spot-on observation about not fully living) that will kick start my inspiration to complete something. I guess what I’m asking is – how do you decide what to write about and stick with on a case by case basis? Is it mere self-discipline?”

—

I wrote back and then forgot about it. But she was so appreciative of my response that it occurred to me just now that perhaps there’s another awesome someone out there who might appreciate the same info. So, I’m sharing my answer here. Take it. Leave it. No harm done.

“First of all, I love that you’re jotting down your ideas. That’s paramount.

Second, you have to find the routine that works best for you. Sure, some writers can wake up at 5 AM everyday and write for two hours before going to their job days or on a twelve-mile run. Other writers would rather pour ammonia in their eyes. Those writers may work better between the hours of 10 PM and 1 AM. Or maybe they write only twice a week but do so for four hours at a time. Whatever. As long as you write, it doesn’t matter when, where or how you do it.

Just don’t try and force yourself to fit a routine that doesn’t work well for you. It’s totally OK not to maintain a crazy militant writing schedule! Unless, of course, that works for you. Experiment with different routines til you find the one you like.

As for how to decide what to write, I’d set a finite amount of time to explore each new idea you have. Just don’t attempt to explore more than one idea per day. (Seriously. Some may call this lazy. I call it the crucial step of marination.)

Try spending twenty minutes (yep, just twenty minutes) sitting quietly every day mulling over a single idea. How do you see this idea taking shape? Do you have a sense of how you would elaborate on it? Just scribble down every thought that comes to mind. Have an idea for a character? Write down everything you know (or think you might know) about this character. Or, have the very beginning of a story in your head? What’s a conceivable plot for it? Does this plot have legs? Does it make sense to you?

Now here’s the most important part: when those first twenty minutes are up, STOP. No matter what. In this case, it’s better to stop before you want to. I promise you’ll spend the rest of the day both consciously and subconsciously
considering your new idea. And, I suspect, by the end of the day — if not way sooner — you’ll know if you want to get up the next day and continue with this idea.

In other words, follow your instincts and be patient. The right idea to pursue will make itself known. And man is it a good feeling when it does.”

(Image via la flâneuse)

Fun Thing: Eating Steak Just to Be Contrarian (What is this fun thing I speak of? Read the back story on this project here.)

Have you read this article from yesterday’s L.A. Times? It’s causing quite the little hoopla online today. It says, basically, that red meat is Satan.

I’ve certainly done my fair share of flirting with vegetarianism and even veganism, and I’m a huge cheerleader for greens and legumes. (And I love very few things more than quinoa.) And yet. All this article is really saying is that eating red meat every day is not in the interest of longevity. Didn’t we ALREADY know that? Haven’t we known that for years? Moderation in all things, remember? And when you do eat meat, it’s generally better to eat something that walked on two legs rather than four (but not humans).

But from some of the comments flying around the internet, you’d think it was earth-shattering news that we probably shouldn’t be having bacon for breakfast, burgers for lunch and lamb shanks for dinner every night.

Everyone, calm down.

Now, I, for one, am absolutely having some grass-fed, massaged in cashmere, medium rare organic steak tonight. I didn’t yesterday. And I won’t tomorrow. But today, bring it.

(Image via Caroline Pony)

Fun Thing: Ben Cooked Dinner (What is this fun thing I speak of? Read the back story on this project here.)

I give Ben a bad time, because when we first started dating he bragged a lot about his cooking abilities. Even now, he’ll eat something and declare it inferior to his own version. This annoys me, because, more often than not, I’ve never tasted “his” version. For all his boasting, Ben cooks very little.

For awhile, I felt duped. I had been so excited to date someone who loves to cook and was good at it. But then I remembered that I once told Ben I never get hangry. I suppose we’re even.

But the other night, Ben cooked dinner. While I did our laundry, he went to Health & Harmony and bought a big bag of fresh groceries. When he got home, he started cooking, and I didn’t even play sous chef. Forty-five minutes later we dined on vegetables and soba noodles with some sort of delicious spicy sauce Ben concocted. But the best part came after dinner, when he cleared the table and cleaned the kitchen. I KNOW.

Then he suggested we have dessert and pulled out a bag of beef jerky.

We’re still working on dessert.

(Image via Sexxx in the Kitchen)