At Long Last, my nyc experience is complete

I've battled roaches, and won.

I've fought with mice, and lost, then won, only to lose again.

I've melted into a puddle on the sidewalk in the middle of the summer when it's 95 outside and 92% humidity.

I've frozen my a$$ off in winter.

I've experienced an epic snowstorm.

I've navigated the City and subway on crutches.

I've seen the marathon, several parades (Thanksgiving, St. Patrick's, Mermaid, Tartan, etc.), watched the tree lighting at Rock Center, seen the ball drop at Times Square, dancing at Lincoln Square and the Winter Festival.

I've been to holiday markets, and green farmers markets.

I've listened to pipes rattle, squeal, hiss, ding, spit, and howl when the heat comes on in the winter.

I've fallen asleep to the hum of air conditioners on a summer night, only to be awoken later when people at the sports club a block away cheer at the latest touchdown.

I've watched the fireworks from the FDR.

I've been trapped in an elevator. (Not for very long, but still, it counts.)

I've awoken early in the morning to a woman screaming from the middle of the street, "Call the police, call the police, call the police."

So I did. (The domestic dispute, eventually ended. She was fine.)

I've seen the garbage and construction crews work the tunnels in the subway, and have wondered and read a book about Mole People.

I've been stuck on a subway and waited hours for the A train late at night.

I've learned to sleep through sirens of all sorts unless the stop at my building.

I've attended protests, seen the Central Park Skate Dancers, and been harassed by rent-a-cops for taking pictures.

I've walked past accidents where a bus and a semi-truck have run over people, and seen a body covered with a sheet.

I've had a neighbor in the apartment across from mine, die, then decompose in his apartment for three days. In the summer.

His relatives succeeded in dripping his oozing decomposing bodily fluids along the hallway into the elevator, then back along the hallway and down three flights of steps, then across the lobby as they removed the mattress from said apartment.

I've lived on a fourth floor walk-up and hauled my laundry, down the stairs, around the corner, past fancy restaurants and café's a couple of blocks away to the Laundromat.

I've arrived home late at night to find Amsterdam Ave blocked off at 79th street and filled with fire trucks and ambulances, only to discover that said fire trucks were responding to a now gutted building that just so happened to be right next to mine.

I've peered out my window and looked at the shattered windows and blackened rooms across the narrow chasm between buildings, and slept in a room that smelled like smoke for days, with a broken front door (thanks firemen, No, REALLY! Thank you!) because I had no place else to go.

I've walked from the very tip top of Manhattan to the other tip (Inwood to Battery Park) mostly.

And yet, until tonight my NYC experience wasn't complete.

You see it all started with a leak.

Or should I say drip.

Yes, drip. Or several or hundreds of them. And bulging bubbles of paint that hung from my bathroom ceiling over my sink.

Resulting in me vacating the medicine cabinet and moving all my skin and hair care products into the hallway.

And a couple of calls to my Super. (He lives upstairs from me.)

Tonight when I arrived home from a night out on the town, (book browsing, dinner @ Whole Foods, and the movies (Twilight, it half-way sucked)) I found disaster.

The only thing that remains of half my bathroom ceiling are the original lathe (as in lathe and plaster) slats from 1920.

Oh, and creepy dark crevices that make me scared that roaches will begin to invade again, or that mice will drop between.

I'm just glad I had the foresight , or shall we say intuition, to close my bathroom door today when I left.

Oh, so happy that the resultant mounds of dirt, dust and plaster chunks were contained to the bathroom.

Although, I am saddened to know my hesitance in removing my trusty, fluffy, cozy bathroom rug led directly to its demise.

-Bitter

No, I didn't take a picture, I cleaned the mess up, sanitized, and disinfected quickly, since the facilities were needed immediately.

Cheering, in the streets

It's 11:00 at night and people are out on the streets cheering and chanting "Obama".

I stick my head outside my 4th story apartment and listen to the cheers wondering if people have simply gathered at the park down the street or if they're marching.

I wonder, should I go join them?

My neighbors cheer as well. Some pop their heads outside their windows and chant too. Others just pull the drapes to the side and peer out.

It's too early to call, but Obama's ahead so far.

-Bitter

Update: It's 11:13 and it looks like the BBC had called the election for Obama with at least 297 votes.

Of course after the debacle a few years back, we in the US are a bit more conservative in calling the votes. The NY Times is reporting Obama ahead at 217 votes. Here's hoping the Brits have called it correctly.

Update II: People are setting off fireworks down the street. All of the networks have called the election for Obama.

Voting, it went smoother this time

I'm happy to report that voting went A LOT more smoothly this time. (Click here to read about last time.)

The down side is that the police officers wouldn't let me take pictures, and they threatened to confiscate my camera.

The good thing is that I was greeted immediately when I walked through the door and was directed to a check-in table.

The next volunteers in turn quickly looked up my address and directed me a sign-in table, giving me clear directions on where the table was located.

While standing in line a friendly gentleman went along asking for last names, there were two people signing voters in, one covering the first half of the alphabet and the other the latter.

He quickly moved the line along, moving people ahead in line when the second sign-in book was available.

The volunteer handling my sign-in book had a little difficulty with alphabetization. She kept thinking that BITTER was found somewhere after BRINKERHOFF. I had to help her realize that BI comes before BR, . . . and BO. But it went smoothly and fairly quickly, and posed no problems.

When I finally arrived at the booth (which looked a lot nicer this time), a volunteer stepped into it with me, I was a little unnerved by this, but she calmly and happily described how to cast my vote.

1- Pull the lever over.
2- Turn the knobs.
3- Pull the lever back over.

Voila you're done.

She left me, I snapped a few pictures. Voted. Then stepped back out.

Overall, it was a vast improvement from when I voted in the 2008 Presidential primaries.

Here's the photo I promised from last time. I was too close to get the overall effect, so I just took a photo of the lever. I'm not going to go into details about my photo taking troubles, but let it suffice to say that the cops were NOT happy with me.

Hallelujah, the heat is on

This is my fourth Autumn in NYC, and the most interesting of the bunch. The first Fall/Winter I roasted. The heat vents/radiator in the apartment where I briefly couch surfed were permanently on.

As in full on.

As in plastered into the wall with no access on.

The only way to cope, was to leave the windows open and wear shorts. It worked until the heat went off in the middle of the night and then we froze.

My next two fall seasons were pleasant, almost bland (heat wise). Actually, Autumn is my favorite season. Crisp cool days, turning leaves, hot chocolate and apple cider. Brisk walks through the city, shorter days, and the holiday lights and displays.

The past two Autumns, I haven't minded the slight delay of the heat turning on, while the super waited until the last possible moment to turn on the broiler.

This year I did.

I think it's because this is my first year at home. All day. Without heat.

You know, regularly, I'd go to work, sit at a warm but drafty cubicle, play into the evening, then come home.

I'd only be home long enough to snuggle down under soon to be warm blankets, toss and turn for a moment, dash quickly to the sock drawer to don additional layers, then dive back under the covers, where I slept soundly with my hoodie over the top of my head.

This year, I spend my days bundled up against the cold, with my "heater shoes" on (crocs if you must know) and multiple layers of clothing. And yet, here I sit watching my fingers freeze and the end of my nose turn cold.

It's the first year I actually looked up the NYC heat regulations.

The happy thing is that the heat season started Oct. 1st. The sad part is that supers aren't required to turn on the heat until the daytime temperature doesn't rise above 55 degrees, and the nighttime temperature sinks below 40.

Yeah. I thought the regs were shocking too.

I figured that since we're skirting those temperatures, but haven't reached them, that between the price of oil, the long-standing tradition of things going slightly unfixed around here, and our landlord attempting to save a buck, the heat wouldn't be turned on for a few more weeks. I was wrong.

It official. As of 6:00 this morning. The heat is on! We're saved!!! Er, um, at least I am. . . . What about you? Has your super turned the Heat on yet?

-Bitter.

The End, cafe mozart

A week ago a friend came to the City to visit, so we hit the town to celebrate. Bitter Style, of course, so we dropped by The Hampton Chutney Co. between 82nd and 83rd on Amsterdam, to get dosas, then walked down to Cafe Mozart for dessert.

My friend had been dying to go to Cafe Mozart since I blogged about their luscious Hot Chocolate Souffle in June 2007, so we headed south umbrellas in hand, but not unfurled, sauntering down Amsterdam.

It was a nice evening, cool, but not cold. Quiet, but Citiesque. We dropped into the Jaques Torres store and bought some chocolate covered pretzels and dark chocolate covered almonds (Mmmmm). We browsed the flower selections at several corner shops and enjoyed the misting rain against our faces.

We chatted about old times and caught up on the new, and before we knew it, we were there. When we rounded the corner of the correct street, I was a little confused. The string of lights outside the restaurant were out. I double checked, yes, that was the restaurant, we'd turned on the correct street.

We chatted while crossing the street, ducked between a couple of parked cars, and around the scaffolding poles to the sidewalk shed, then shrieked in horror as we caught sight of this sign.



This is what it looks like inside.



What a sad day.

The Upper West Side's lost another one of their gems.

Oh, the memories. The good times. The birthday celebrations. The crazy wig for the birthday girl or guy. The decadent desserts and yummy food. (Can you tell I ordered dessert here more often than food?) We miss you.

.

.

.

It took us a while to decide, but we ended up going to Grom instead. The pear gelato was fabulous of course.

-Bitter

Bicyclists, in the morning

I woke up this morning to the sounds of whooping and hollering. Repeatedly. As I slept through it, with the occasional wake-up, I kept wondering what was going on.

I finally dragged myself out of bed, pulled the window open and shoved my head outside. It appears there is a race of sorts going on today. The 2008 Bike MS NYC. Looks like they've raised $1.99M so far. Not too shabby if you ask me.

For the past half hour as I've breathed in the fresh and clean (not normal, looks like it rained earlier) NYC air and watched young cyclists and old, heavy and skinny, roadies and mountain bikers pedal past my fourth story window I've thought to myself, hmmmmmmmmm, maybe next year I'll join them.

Of course that means that I'll actually have to ride my bike over the course of the coming year so my rear end doesn't hate me for the next decade.

-Bitter

Air Conditioner, why is it on right now

It's 2:00 am the perfect time to take a quick break from re-writing the current Work In Progress (WIP), so I meandered into my kitchen, plugged in the trusty toaster that The Expat Drama Teacher gave me last summer, and plopped in some cinnamon raisin bread.

There I stood, waiting for my toast to toast, while eating ice cream from the container with a fork when I was jostled away from the decadent feel of chocolaty creamy goodness melting in my mouth by the rattling hum of my neighbor's air conditioner.

Which motivated this post.

Why is your air conditioner running? It's 64 degrees outside.

And to the neighbors across the street, why was your air conditioner running earlier today? We had a high of only 72.

And to the majority of the neighbors along my street, why have you been running your air conditioners all night for the past couple of weeks? When except for the rain and humidity last weekend, it's been quite pleasant outside at night.

The current temperature right now is 64. But the low is going to be 59.

Please tell me that you keep your apartment at 55 degrees, otherwise you're most likely sweltering in your stifling apartment when you could be basking in the blessed coolness of Mother Nature, sans the electric bill.
I was just wondering, that's all.

Kind regards,
Bitter

Hi, remember me?

It’s crazy how it can be absolutely freezing outside one day and then warm & balmy the next isn’t it? I guess that’s Spring for you. Happy day.

The past few weeks have sped by at an unusually fast pace and a lot of things have happened. Here’s a quick run-down:

The Ankle
Verdict: I’ve hobbled all over town and can thoroughly vouch that NYC is not crutch friendly. For example, have you ever noticed that the subway steps are slanted slightly downhill? Yeah, I didn’t notice either, until I was crawling up the steps the other day.

Good news: The sight of my aluminum appendages engendered sympathy, a personal bubble of space, and a bit of kindness from my fellow jaded New Yorkers. I suppose that since I was hobbling along slightly faster than molasses on a cold day helped facilitate that bubble of space, but on the whole, New Yorkers have been kind. (oh, and i’m sans crutches now)

Side note: I’m now the proud owner of a prescription for physical therapy and now wonder if it’s possible to get hypothermia or frost bite from sticking one’s foot into an icy cold whirlpool of water. Four to six more weeks and I’ll be as good as new.

_______

The New Zealand Wedding
Yay: I’ve managed to wrestle a certain slideshow program into submission and have uploaded the presentation online. :) You can find the link to the New Zealand wedding pictures in the next blog post.

_______

The Day-Job
Finally: Yes I saved the best for last, I’ve given notice at work and will be leaving the day job in tow weeks. (No this is not an April Fool’s joke.)

You may send your felicitations or condolences to not-so-bitter [at] i-m-bitter.com.

At long last, I’ll have enough time to implement the exciting blog changes that’ve been percolating for the better part of a year. A recipe section, a free stuff page where I’ll give away free stuff, and a section where I can sell the stuff that’s not free.

Since I’ll soon be out of the steady income paying my rent and would prefer not to beg for pennies on street corners, if you hear of anyone who needs a photographer, please keep me in mind.

-Bitter

Bag of Frozen Corn, i knew it would come in handy for something

I tripped down the subway steps as I ran to catch a train this morning.

Note to self: don't run in the subway.

After spending 4 1/2 hours in the ER, I now am the proud owner of some crutches, an ace bandage and stuff that looks like batting for a quilt, a Velcro boot to wrap around the injured foot, and a prescription for an air cast.

Here's to severe sprains and my aching left foot/arch which is not used to doing double duty.

I'm wondering about my daily commute to work and how I'm going to manage the stairs... I'm thinking that NYC isn't too crutch friendly.

-Bitter

They Didn’t Ask to See My ID, hmmmm

Well this morning, for the first time in my life, I voted in a Presidential Primary Election.

It was a surreal experience, and I’m not sure what to think of it. For the record, I’m a registered Republican but have Independent leanings, I’ve voted in Utah, Virginia, and now in New York.

I’ve never encountered anything like I experienced this morning, and I’m not quite sure what to think about it.

This morning came early (mornings usually do), I woke, dressed, and ran out the door into the cool misty morning to cast my vote in the Presidential Primary on my way to work. There is a candidate whose positions I value and wanting him to have a chance in the general election I headed to the polls this morning to help him on his way.

I trekked along the streets of Inwood over to Academy to my local polling station, PS 56, and followed the signs to a side entrance leading to the school’s cafeteria.

There wasn’t a line and I was relieved that I’d chosen to come early in the morning instead of battling crowds at the end of the day. I gave my address to the lady manning the table at the front, she hunted for my address (it ended up not being listed, I know because I discretely searched the page along with her), consulted with her colleague, and sent me over to table 83.

Most of the other tables had numbers hanging off the front of them, mine didn’t. It took a few moments to locate the right table. “Is this is table 83?” I asked the volunteers at the far side of the polling area. They told me I was in the right place and asked my last name.

I said, “Bitter.” The lady at the desk looked startled and looked back up at me.

“What?” she asked.

“Bitter.” I reaffirmed. I opened my mouth to make a joke about my last name, but she’d already turned back to the spiral bound book in front of her and didn’t seem interested. Instead I dug through my hand bag and pulled out my wallet.

She quickly flipped through the book until she found my name, and began to copy information down onto a small slip of pink paper. I pulled my drivers license out of my wallet and asked if she needed to see my ID.

She said, “No.”

I hesitated, then put my ID back into my wallet then shoved it back in my bag. The woman handed me a pen and asked me to sign beneath my signature for verification, then took the pink slip of paper she’d written on and turned it face down and slid it forward next to a stack of blue papers about the same size. After signing the book, I reached down to grab the slip of paper, but she fended off my hand and gestured to the voting booth.

I hesitantly walked over to the enclosed booth, a crooked white cardboard sign with the number 83 blazoned in black upon it hung on the side, and a woman drew back the curtain. “You’re republican right?”

Startled, I answered, “Yes”. I wondered if she was allowed to ask me that, stepped into the booth, and promptly stepped back out. The lever and knobs (most likely built back in 1940) looked so foreign that had to ask for instructions.

Here's what the booth looked like but sketchier.

New York City Voting Booth, originally uploaded by thepodger.

“Pull the lever to the right, turn the knob, then pull the lever back to the left and you’re done.” She smiled. I nodded and stepped hesitantly back into the booth.

I’m tall, 5’ 10”, but still I had to look up at the wall full of knobs in front of me. I stared trying to make sense of what I saw. Column upon column of names on blue paper. Some of the columns had one name listed others had several. I remember seeing Obama’s name and Clinton’s, in another column I found Edwards (hadn’t he withdrawn from the race?).

For a moment I wondered why when the woman had confirmed I was Republican, had she put me in a booth where only Democrats were listed. I almost stepped back out to ask, when I spied one column in pink crammed to the far right. A short list of Republicans.

I grasped the large lever at the bottom, pulled it to the right, counted down the names to make sure I turned the right knob, double checked, looked up and read the short list instructions listed on the booth’s wall (there were three, pull the lever, turn the knob, pull the lever back), then triple checked the knob, turned it and an X appeared beneath and to the right of my chosen candidate’s name. I hesitantly pulled the lever back to the left. Gears turned inside the machine, and I wondered at the simplicity of it. Surely there must be something more?

I stepped out of the booth. No one paid me much attention, the booth workers were clustered around the table I had signed in at, and not wanting to interrupt, I walked out and past the table at the front, bid them good morning, then stepped out into balmy cool mist and crossed Broadway to catch the A train.

I now sit and nervously wonder if my vote was cast, if I did things correctly.

I think of how they didn’t check my ID and wonder how much voter fraud happens, I wonder about them re-affirming that I’m Republican as faint thoughts of anonymity float through my head.

I contemplate why the Democrats were spread out across so many columns with the Republicans squished into just one column to the far right, and why the columns were not labeled with the office the candidates were running for.

I am curious as to how many registered Republicans voted for Democrats and how many registered Democrats voted for Republicans in the Presidential Primary. Perhaps that’s why they asked if I was Republican, so they could de-activate the Democrat side of the board.

But most of all, I worry about that pink slip of paper laying face down on the table. Was there something more I needed to do? Once I had voted, should I have placed that paper in a box, or was I supposed to leave it face down on the table? I suppose I should have interrupted the clustered group of volunteers around table 83 to ask if there was something further I needed to do, but I was unsure and hesitant, and now I worry did my vote count?

-Bitter


p.s. Polls are open until 9:00 pm today, have you voted yet?

Holiday Market, at columbus circle

Well, it's officially cold. I risked getting frostbite on various parts of my body in order to bring to you the following fabulous photographs. I hope you appreciate the sacrifice I made going out into the cold dark evening and facing the brutal winds that cut right through the liner to my ski parka.

Note to self: break out winter gear and find gloves.
_____________

So without further ado, I bring you the Holiday Market at Columbus Circle.



Somehow I've managed to miss this event for the past two years that I've lived here.

I discovered the market after strolling down Columbus Avenue last week during the Lincoln Center tree lighting celebration. I made it down to Columbus Circle and voila, there they were all these little booths set-up on the corner of Central Park.



Everyone was bundled up.



Here's the view facing the Time Warner building.



And a fabulous booth I found along the way. *grin*



Chocolate dipped strawberries.



And delicious looking candied apples. yum!




If you happen to stop by the holiday fair, drop us a line in the comments section to and let me know what you saw, bought, or ate. :)

-Bitter

Winter's Eve, at lincoln square

Guess where I'm going to be on Nov. 26th?

"The Lincoln Square Business Improvement District and presenting sponsor Time Warner will host the 8th Annual Winter's Eve at Lincoln Square, New York City's largest holiday festival featuring free entertainment, family fun, food tastings, in-store activities and shopping around and about this colorful and vibrant neighborhood... all following the Lincoln Center Holiday Tree lighting ceremony at 5:30pm!

On Winter's Eve, stores, restaurants, cultural organizations and public spaces in the district will be buzzing with activities for both children and adults. At the same time, sidewalks along Broadway from Time Warner Center at Columbus Circle to 68th Street will be alive with performers, street musicians, jugglers, stilt-walkers and more, making for a festive fun-filled stroll through the streets of this dynamic Upper West Side neighborhood.

WHEN: Monday, November 26, 2007, 5:30 PM – Lincoln Center Holiday Tree Lighting, 6:00 PM – Winter's Eve at Lincoln Square

WHERE: From Time Warner Center at Columbus Circle to 68th Street along and around Broadway and Columbus Avenue.

BY SUBWAY: Take the 1, A, B, C, or D train to 59th Street & Columbus Circle or the 1 train to 66th Street and Broadway.

FOR MORE INFORMATION: 212.581.3774

Linkage, to new york portraits

I'm on the run today and won't have time to blog later, so I'm sending you over to fellow NYC Blogger, Kitty @ New York Portraits.

Her write-up reminds me of my first three months in The City, where I lived on a couch in the front room/living room/kitchen. And my subsequent apartment that had a kitchen just as she describes.

I am now the proud owner of a fairly long/skinny kitchen, and I felt immediate kinship with the developer she mentioned. I ended up taking apart some metal IKEA racks and rebuilding it with shelves and a counter top. It's pretty ghetto, if I ever get brave enough, I'll post a picture so you can see it. ;)

How the Other Half Lives, by Kitty @ New York Portraits

-Bitter

Midsummer Night Swing, take 2

So I was a little busy today...and am now just barely able to post. And since I have a couple other things to write at the moment, I'll be summing up a lot more than usual.

Remember, how I was going to take pictures of the fireworks, well you see, it was raining and I thought to myself. Self, expensive digital camera, new, . . . and rain. Not a good combination. So I went out for dinner instead. After eating, I decided to walk up to my favorite bookstore on the way home and happened to pass Lincoln Center, where music was drifting on the wind.

So I stopped by for a look-see.

It happened to be salsa night, as part of Midsummer Night Swing. You know, I wrote about it a few weeks ago. I ended up staying all night, the music was great, and the dancing was fabulous. And boy could some of the older couples move. Everyone had fun, wish you could have seen it for yourself.

Since you weren't there, I dug a clip for you. Not the best clip, and doesn't do justice to the actual sound, but it gives a tinsy insy winsy idea of how it was. :)



There are still a few nights of dancing left, if you happen to make your way to the UWS, make sure to stop by, you won't want to miss it!

-Bitter

Oh, and one more thing. Harry Potter Rocks!!!

Yankee Stadium, and the fourth of july

A couple of weeks ago, I was offered a pair of free tickets to a Yankee’s Game for the Fourth of July. Having wanted to go to a game for a while, I snatched the tickets up and made plans. I called up Colette, she said she was in, we were set.

Here’s a photo of Colette at the game, modeling her Canada hoodie. Being a Canadian, it was perfectly acceptable to wear that jacket to the game.



The tickets arrived the next Tuesday, and I immediately searched the Yankee’s website to see where the seats were. It took a moment, but I finally found the section labeled 63. It was tucked up at the top right side of the stadium, up high in the stratosphere. Being free seats, they were perfect.

My normal Fourth of July festivities include going to a parade in the morning, perhaps a barbeque in the afternoon, followed by fireworks in the evening. Being fairly new to the City, I didn’t know if any parades were going on, and it isn’t easy to barbeque in the City. Last year I only managed to catch the fireworks. This year, I thought a Yankee’s Game would be perfect.

Game day arrived, so I took the A train down to 125th where I met Colette, and then we took the B train from 125th to Yankee Stadium. We budget time for it to take about 30 minutes, somehow the subway becomes a giant time suck so we planned for extra time, it took 15.

We had planned for at least 15-20 minutes to navigate our way from the subway to the gates at Yankee Stadium. It took about 3.

Our gate was literally just steps from the subway. Since we were so early, the lines were not long, and we breezed right past the attendants who were checking and scanning tickets in no time at all.

We wove our way along the concourse and reached the first open gate, section numbers were proudly displayed along the top of the frame. Thinking it would lead to one of those never-ending ramps that would take us to the upper level and spotting our section number, we ducked to the left to follow the signs.

This is what we saw.



Quite a bit different than what we were expecting, wouldn’t you say? This is where we ended up sitting, right up front where we could see all the action.



The day was overcast, but the stadium lights were on and shining brightly. After about five minutes I wished that I had a pair of sunglasses to wear, or at the least, a stylish Canon sun-visor.



We sat around and watched the crowd as they filtered in, taking their seats. A young girl near us kept busy collecting signatures from the players as they walked by.



Everyone ate their favorite ballpark treats. Hot dogs and Cracker Jacks, what more could you want?



The game started not too much later.



This is the view we had for most of the game…



We had some nice half-time (can you use that word in baseball?...) entertainment, field maintenance workers dancing to the tune, YMCA.



Here’s hoping that Nancy and Charlie were facing the scoreboard!



A rowdy fan caused quite a ruckus on one of the upper levels and was evicted from the game. He was standing right behind the yellow pole, you can’t see him, but you can see the fans reactions around him. (Update: To get a closer look, click here and here.) Looking back through my photos, it appears that one of the fans caught it all on video, via his camera.





All in all, the day was great. Due to the rain I didn’t go to take photos of the fireworks, I still had a fun evening, but I’ll wait to tell you what I did until tomorrow. Hope you had a great Fourth!

-Bitter

Okay, okay, I'm sorry! i got sucked into a book

Fireworks - July 4th 2007, originally uploaded by bnittoli.

From the comments section, Lanie said... "I'll write again on the 5th." Lies!!!! Where is the next blog?????

Dear Lanie,

Please accept my sincerest apologies for the emotional and psychological trauma you have suffered the past couple of days due to the lack of posts on my blog.

I have no excuse for my thoughtless behavior, suffice it to say, it will not happen again*. Should I decide, to take a couple days off again, I will endeavor to alert you far enough in advance so you can stockpile alternate reading materials.

Henceforth, I will make a better effort to keep my faithful and loyal reader’s wishes and interests in the forefront of my mind.

As a token of my sorrow and goodwill, please accept this small video tribute (rated R, for strong language).



-Bitter
p.s. Hope your audition went well today!


*Unless I get sidetracked by another book.

Fleet Week, pt 2, just photos

Sailors on 50th Street on their way to Times Square.


From the deck of the USS Wasp, NYC in the background.


Looking toward Jersey.


Another view of the City.


Military Helicopters and NYC.


I was snaping photos of the helicopter gun, and this soldier walked over and non-chalantly sat down in my shot. I think he knew that the final product would be lacking with-out him in it. He was right.

Bullet Bikes, in my hood

I snapped this photo when I was at Times Square two weekends ago.

*******

Bikers love the street in front of my apartment. How do I know? Well by the frequent sound of them going by my apartment each night. There isn't much traffic on my street (comparatively), so I think they find my street perfect for a leisurely smooth flowing cruising. There is a park nearby, and trees line the sides providing a serene traveling view. I don't think that the fact that there is a gas station about seven blocks down road, makes any difference in the reason they pass my way.

Last weekend I decided to visit The Cloisters and on my way passed a bunch of bullet bikes, or should I say, they passed me. Bright greens, reds, silvers and yellow, the colors reminded me of the Las Vegas Strip. Every bike was distinctive in its own way. The only thing is, there seemed to be more than usual. It turns out they were gathering for a rally and planned to drive down to Philly in support of Juvenile Diabetes.

According to the police officer on the scene, there were about 1200 bikers. I think he over-estimated a bit, I hazard a guess that there were at least a few hundred, but am wary about using the larger number. Meeting place, the end of Dykeman, under the Henry Hudson underpass, they parked and gathered waiting for it to begin. When they finally started moving, it was exciting to see them all zip by on their way.

One biker in particular, dressed all in leather, fringe flapping in the breeze made me laugh. He was different than most of the others, and his bike was closer to a Harley than a Bullet Bike. In that moment, I imagined he was some sort of financial guru, a stock broker who wore a suit and tie to work, and polished oxfords. And here he was now, letting loose and giving into his wild side.

They sailed down Broadway toward the George Washington Bridge where they would cross the Hudson River to get to Jersey, camera crew in tow. It was a sight to see, wish you could have seen it too.

Vienesse Hot Chocolate Soufle, i fall in love again

In March of 2006 I fell in love with a dessert named Vienesse Hot Chocolate Soufflé. It happened when I went out to celebrate a friend’s birthday at Café Mozart on the Upper West Side. There were five of us altogether, the only one I knew previously was the birthday girl Colette, who just happens to design custom wedding dresses for a living. You know the show Project Runway? Well that was her, she wasn't on the show, but went to school at Parsons under the direction of Tim Gunn himself. But that is a story for another day.

I’d never been to Café Mozart before, so I arrived a couple minutes early just to make sure I wasn’t late. Walking times vary in the City, and are wholly dependant on choice of footwear, state of (non/)exhaustion, and how trying one’s workday was.

We planned to meet at 9:30 and darkness had long since fallen. It was a fairly nice night for winter, not frigid and windy. Being semi-new to the City at that point, I set out from my apartment, bundled up in a winter coat, and booked it down Amsterdam toward 70th Street. The lure of “super yummy deserts” and a chance to wish my friend well drew me on.

I slowed my pace then nonchalantly rounded the corner of Broadway and 70th, and swept my gaze along the street. Anxious not to look out of place, I strolled down the street and scanned the signs without looking like a rubber-necker. My relief was palatable when I spied my destination without fuss. Now, all I had to do was linger outside by myself, while I waited for everyone else to show up.



Another girl arrived at the same time I did, she joined me in trying to look normal while waiting by herself just a few steps away. Turns out we were both in the same party. We had a good laugh about that.

The restaurant itself feels cozy and intimate. Low ceilings painted to resemble those of a chateau, the walls are decorated with 18th century flair, coupled with fun modern twists. Classical music adds to the ambiance, they periodically have live musicians performing. Check their website for a schedule. (And no, I don’t know if the performers dress up in period costume. And yes, I do remember that early music ensemble that made us dress up and wear white wigs.)

One of us ordered dinner, a chicken cesar salad that looked delicious. I can’t remember what anyone else ordered since I was too enamored of my new find. It was hot gooey melt in your mouth goodness.



Vienesse Hot Chocolate Souffle: Warm chocolate soufflé cake, fresh strawberries and whipped cream.

Café Mozart is one of those places where you can just sit back and relax. Chat with your friends, or admire the view by yourself. No, they don’t really have a view. However, they do have a nice stack of papers you can read from.

The servers are friendly and are the type that don’t rush you. (At least they are that way when I’ve gone during off hours.) They remind me of the time I ate at a Chinese Restaurant just off the Champs Elysees. But that’s also a story for another day. Let’s just say, they’re quite content to let you sit and chat to your hearts content. It’s a perfect place to enjoy a nice dinner out, or dessert after catching a concert at Lincoln Center.

And now back to our night out for a quick wrap-up, because I know you’re dying to know how they celebrate birthdays. Well it’s grand. There we were chatting and enjoying our time, when I noticed that the music had changed to a tympani led drum-roll which heralded an orchestral version of Happy Birthday. The servers came out with a goodie bag, made Colette wear a tall Mozart-type wig, and snapped her photo. I think another dessert was involved, but can't remember. It was quite an event, and was great fun.

• Have I celebrated a birthday there since March 2006? No.
• Do I know if they have changed and celebrate them differently now? No.
• Should I go anyway and celebrate my birthday there? Absolutely.

And that dear readers is how I came about finding and then falling in love with the Vienese Hot Chocolate Soufle at Café Mozart.

Edit 10/5/08: I discovered on Sept. 27, 2008, that this restaurant is closed. Sad day.

To Be or Not To Be, a new yorker

Disclaimer: I stayed up late reading last night and only got about two hours of sleep, so I apologize in advance if my post is not quite as coherent as usual.

I had planned to blog about a fabulous dessert I love to get when I go to Café Mozart, but a post by “A Home in the City” today caught my interest.

When I was young I always said I’d live in NYC. Deep down inside I knew The City was where one could find the best art scenes and music schools. As a young musician, I knew I’d eventually end up in NYC. Of course life didn’t happen the way I planned, but somehow I still ended up here anyway, despite the realization I had in 2001, that NYC has too much concrete.

Somehow I overcame the concrete and managed to find some trees, so I’m happy. But still the never ceasing grinding weariness of work and chaos in the city that never sleeps go on. Which brings us to today’s post topic.

What makes a person a bona fide New Yorker?

According to Addie @ Resonant Behavior and a woman I met on the street while taking photos the other day, one only has to live in The City a year in order to qualify.

But Kitty @ New York Portraits and A Home in the City disagree. They make some good points, go ahead and read their views, I’ll still be here when you get back.

. . .

Fern and I were talking about this issue earlier today, we decided that being a New Yorker is a state of mind. And let me tell you, there are New Yorkers and then there are NEW YORKERS.

An East Side New Yorker is completely different from a West Side New Yorker. Which are completely different from the New Yorkers that live down in Greenwich Village or perhaps the Financial District. Each region of The City breeds its own type and attracts others like its own.

And then you have New Yorkers that were born in Manhattan and have lived here their whole lives, and then you have transplants. Fern has lived in The City and Brooklyn for over fifteen years, and although she considers herself a New Yorker, she doesn’t feel like she can call herself a Brooklynite yet. (She’s only lived there a couple of years, Manhattan resonates far stronger in her.)

As for newcomers, I think one has to have lived here for over a year. I’m approaching my two year mark and am starting to feel like I belong. Which leads us to State of Mind.

Fern and I decided that a person could live here for twenty years and still not be a New Yorker, and a person could conceivably live here only a couple of years and feel completely immersed and assimilated. It just depends on how much you do to get out and experience city living. It’s a difference between feeling like a tourist and feeling at home. Do you know the nooks and crannies in your neighborhood, the dive around the corner that serves cheap (relative) yet great food, or community activities like the street fairs or gardens.

I’d always heard that The City was a place that chewed you up then spit you out.

It’s true.

So becoming a New Yorker is a state of mind, it’s how well you do while being thrown through the gristmill and what kind of person you emerge.

So to follow in A Home in the City’s footsteps,

Here are the top thirteen things that make me a New Yorker
1. I slept on a friends couch for my first three months living in NYC, then subsequently squeezed all my stuff into a 8’x14’room complete with floor to ceiling shelves. Leaving only a three foot path to walk.

2. Joined with my roommates screams when a two inch roach climbed over her, in bed, in our fourth floor brownstone walk-up.

3. I don’t use a shopping cart, and carry my groceries home from the store.

4. I think a $5.00 sandwich is a good deal.

5. I actually considered renting a 10’x 12’ “Studio,” back in January, for $1475 a/month, before the rational side of me kicked the desperate side of me back into the dark where it belongs.

6. I’ve actually read an entire book at Barnes and Noble, while sitting on the floor in an out of the way corner. (shhh, don’t tell anyone)

7. I’ve experienced the blazing heat on a subway platform while sweat drips down my back.

8. I know the ins and outs of my neighborhoods. (I recently moved from 81st and Amsterdam (UWS) to Inwood.)

9. I’ve walked through Times Square on New Year’s Eve and strolled through Central Park to watch the fireworks afterwards.

10. I’ve stood still in one place for a couple of hours to watch the tree lighting ceremony at Rock Center. Never Again.

11. I parked out on FDR Drive (a six-lane highway) to watch the fireworks on the Fourth of July.

12. I’ve gone to the Mermaid Parade at Coney Island. Boy was that an eye opener…

13. Oh, and one more, in the past week I’ve been hustled by a Italian-American guy at the deli, a Moroccan food vendor while waiting for the A train, and a drunk Canadian at Times Square. -Note to Mom: No, this has never happened before.

And the top five that don’t:
1. I still get excited every once in a while when I go to someplace new in The City. If only I were more blasé.

2. I actually got my driver’s license when I was 16, although it’s expired now, so maybe it belongs on the other list.

3. Like A Home in the City, I don’t have a small dog in a bag and don’t plan on getting one anytime soon.

4. The state of mind thing is not quite there yet…maybe next year.

5. Okay, so I couldn’t think of a fifth. I’m sure there are tons, but it’s 5:00 on a Friday, and I want to go home.

-Bitter