Life Happens

I realize I have been a total slacker and my posts are getting fewer and further between.  I promise to be better at this, especially since I made Sam do all the work to duplicate the original Reese photo!  The problem with New York though is that it literally never sleeps – the adage is true.  Life is constantly going, going, going, and it can be hard to find the time to sit down and write something.  I’ve lived other places and do not want to be snooty to say that people outside of this city don’t lead busy lives, but I do believe there is more opportunity to constantly have a packed agenda.  It’s what you do with your time that determines whether or not you’re living up to the full hustle and bustle of this city.

Take for example, my friend Ash.  She is always on the go.  She is always peppy.  She is always up for whatever.  If you’ve seen the movie “Election” with none other than this website’s namesake, Reese Witherspoon, she is the epitome of Reese’s character, Tracy Flick (one year, Ash even dressed as Tracy Flick for Halloween – priceless).  She is incredibly ambitious, competitive, and ultimately successful.  She packs her schedule to the minute of every day, with sleep being on the lower end of her priorities. 

Then there’s me.  I consider myself to be busy and keep a tight schedule, but this is nothing compared to my aforementioned friend.  The difference?  Operating hours.  This city may never sleep, but thanks to a variety of genetic reasons, this girl does!  I require more sleep than most of the ladies in a nursing home.  This limits how much my body allows me to accomplish in a day. 

During the week, I go to the gym early in the morning, work during the day, make dinner at night for Sam and me, and may grab a drink with a friend once in a while after work.  After that, I’m spent by 9 or 9:30 and crash, just to start it all over again the next day.  One night a week I tutor after work (refer to previous post about Henry), and I spend the other weeknights/weekends actively involved in the Mizzou NYC Alumni Chapter, volunteering at events, attending happy hours, attending chapter meetings, and playing on our co-ed softball and football teams.  Sundays usually involve a trip to our (awesome) church, meal planning for the week, grocery shopping, and laundry.  I also recently started volunteering with the Alzheimer’s Association’s NYC chapter.

All that may not seem super time-consuming compared to the lives of those reading this, but the other thing that takes up a lot of time is commuting.  Even living in central Manhattan, it takes on average 30 minutes to get anywhere because of the density of this city.  If you have the money to cab places, you may save time, but being reliant upon public transportation leaves you vulnerable to the delays of the loathed MTA (Metropolitan Transportation Authority) and can make a two-mile commute take 45 minutes.

That brings me to the title of my post: life happens.  So you will have to forgive me for the lack of consistency in my posts.  Plus, I want to make sure they are interesting and not just writing to have something. 

That’s my brief post for now; next to come: my take on the Windy City vs. Gotham…

Pun Intended

In New York CIty, apartments are everywhere, and I'm not just talking about the high rises you see.  Apartments are hidden and tucked in just about everywhere you look, most often above store fronts and food venues.  

In my second apartment I lived in, I was living on the Upper East Side on 2nd Avenue, between 88th and 89th Streets, above a restaurant/bar called Elaine's.  I never saw people my age in there, so I didn't go check it out myself for a while.  A friend of mine informed me that it was a very famous New York establishment, which I never expected living in such an unchic area of town.  

Over time I heard more and more about it and finally ventured in one time with some friends.  Once inside, it was easy to tell that every person in there was a regular and that we were clearly foreigners.  The walls were lined with framed playbills and autographed movie posters, and a large elderly woman sat on the edge of her chair at a table near the front, her eyes framed with abnormally large round glasses.  The two friends I was with had been there before and knew immediately that the key was to make nice with the bartender, and then everyone else's gaze would come off of you.  

This was not a bar for a young twenty-something trying to make it in the fashion industry; this was a bar for famous authors pulling up in limousines, actors who were in their prime in the 1970s, and any sort of professionals over 40 years old and making six figures.  Clearly, I did not fit in, but it was still a place to be experienced.  The famed name most commonly associated with this bar is Woody Allen, who filmed a scene there in his film, "Manhattan."  Over the course of the 2 1/2 years I lived in that apartment, I can't count how many times I came home to see film crews setting up outside the restaurant.

The even cooler thing?  Elaine, herself, owned the entire building, which meant that I was renting an apartment from her.  

I have since moved from that apartment this past fall, and Elaine actually has passed away.  I am now living in a quite different neighborhood of Midtown East, in an area called Sutton Place.  The dynamic in this neighborhood is quite different, but I like that I am not so far uptown.  Once again I am living above a store-front and a restaurant.  On one side is Madison Diner, which is pretty much straight out of Seinfeld and constantly packed with customers wanting their mediocre food.  On the other side is something quite contrary: a "novelty" store, creatively named Come Again.  I have inserted a photo as evidence.  

I know Elaine would be so proud.

Between the yellow and red awnings was the door to my apartment.

Elaine Kaufman

(And they're having a sale!)

Coincidence, schmoincidence...

Last week at church, our pastor Brian talked about affirming and denying the Resurrection of Jesus Christ on the cross.  By "affirming or denying," he was not referring to whether or not we believed the event happened, but whether or not we affirm the Resurrection in our actions in life after that of the Lord, in order to show him praise for his sacrifices and live in the way he has asked of his followers.  It is a message that has stayed in my mind over the last week.  One of the hardest parts of trying to live your life as an affirmation, though, is that you don't always get proof of the change you're trying to be in the world, but last night I was given such proof.

Sam and I went to a French restaurant in our neighborhood that we had never been to before.  The restaurant itself was quite small - only a little over a dozen tables plus the bar.  We were seated at a two-top table with one side on the booth that lined the wall, and because of the small space, we were quite cozy with the neighboring tables.

There was a small space on the other side of the table next to us, and I asked Sam if he thought that's where the advertised live music for the night was going to be set up.  Before he could answer, our neighbors affirmed, "Yes, it is; we just asked the same thing."  That comment led to a few other small talk comments, which led me to my usual talking at the faces of a strangers incessantly at the speed of light - much like I did to Sam the night we met (see, I picked him up, not the other way around...), and also led me to the conclusion that the couple was in from out of town.   A few minutes later I stopped mid-sentence and said, "I'm sorry - I'm from the Midwest.  I talk a lot."  (This is the time-frame in which Sam is usually sitting silently, trying his best not to roll his eyes over my repeated chatting up with strangers, silent, and looking down at his plate.)

The response?  "Oh, that's OK, I'm actually from the Midwest too," said the husband, who was about my father's age.

"Oh, really??  Where are you from?"

"Kansas City.  Well actually I grew up in Overland Park."

This immediately set off a firestorm of questions and findings of commonalities, including that the husband, Mark*, went to Mizzou!!

Through additional conversation, we learned that Mark and Karen* were in town from Los Angeles.  Mark was in on business, and they staying for a long weekend.  Per my usual self, I asked if they needed any restaurant recommendations, etc.  For the next hour or so, we chatted as the live music set up on the other side of their table, and I gave them a list of non-tourist places to eat and visit.  We continued to enjoy a lovely evening with this couple and were amazed over the chances that we would be seated next to each other in a restaurant in one of the biggest cities in the world.

As the plates were cleared from our tables, Mark excused himself and I sat talking with Karen while Sam listened in on the live music.  She leaned into me and said, "I don't want you to say anything, but I just [got some devastating health news] yesterday, and talking with you two is the first time I haven't thought about it since I found out." (Out of respect to Karen, I am refraining from verbalizing what the actual news was...).  I immediately threw my arms around her without even thinking about it.  It was such an emotional moment - incredibly sad, yet also so touching of a comment to receive from a complete stranger.

Before Mark and Karen left, I gave them my email address and insisted they let us know the next time they were in town.

When they left, Sam gave me his quizzical look, obviously regarding the hug.  When I told him what Karen had said, he sat in silence for quite a few moments.  I finally broke the silence and said, "I don't think this was all just a coincidence.  This was a sign from God."

Sam slowly responded, "I was just going to say the same thing..."

In the next hour of our date night out, we couldn't stop thinking about the blessing we had just witnessed.  I started thinking about Brian's message, and it led me to be filled with a joy I cannot put into words.  Striking up a conversation with a stranger (as I said, is something that usually annoys Sam) ended up making the day of someone who is suffering.  This experience affirmed to me that I should continue to just be me, because playing the character of me without any filters, affected someone in a positive way.  This is the character I want to continue to develop in myself.  THIS is what Brian was talking about!  THIS is the message of God!

This experience was not a coincidence.  It was not a chance of random people meeting at a random time.  THIS. WAS. FATE.

This was the work of the Lord.

*names changed

Easter "Peeps" Show

Sam and I attend a contemporary non-denominational church here in the city called Forefront.  I’ve been a spotty attendee over the last two years, and last year I dragged Sam there once and now he regularly encourages me to attend.  The church itself as a community is pretty young on average – mostly college students and young professionals – and the services are held inside of a bar venue (kind of funny to walk into church on Sunday mornings and see signs for jello shots…), which is not abnormal in a city stacked on top of itself.  Our pastor is in his mid-thirties and dresses in a trendy New York style.  Sam is involved in a small group (bible study), and the people in it are incredibly fun and actually know how to party.  All in all, we love our church and the people that go there.

This weekend at the ever-popular Easter services, church was held at a larger venue across the street at a local college to accommodate for the additional once-a-year church-goers.  I must admit I’m not always the most attentive Christian student; I often find someone or something to fixate on that helps me get through the parts I may not find so interesting, and this service was no exception. (**As a side note, I personally blame my mother and my “other mother”, my Aunt Shellie, for this fixation habit, having grown up constantly hearing stories like, “We saw this woman on the plane that had THE BIGGEST pimple on the back of her neck.  I was just staring at it trying to will it to pop!”)

Just as the service was starting, this husband and wife came in and took the seats in front of Sam and me just as we were starting to sing worship songs.  I had never seen them at our church before, but I figured they were just trying out the Easter service like so many others.  I immediately fixated on the uneven bobbed haircut of the wife.  It was chin length all the way around except for a very thin layer at the nape of her neck that was two inches longer than the rest.  Additionally, the bob part itself looked like she had maybe let a blind person do it.  What puzzled me was that she had brown roots starting to grow in, so she obviously had her hair done somewhere….which got me thinking further – is someone actually telling her that this haircut looks good?  Those were the kind of meaningless thoughts that were going through my head and I had to force myself to refocus on the scripture up on the screen in front of me.  I continued to fixate on this meaningless haircut and also noticed that she kept leaning over to her husband and whispering things.  So you come to a new church, on Easter, and talk throughout the whole thing?  Hmm, interesting. 

Fast forward about 30 minutes later, and our pastor Brian was in full-swing up front, talking about the Resurrection.  I was listening intently and actually very engaged and interested in what he was saying.  That was quickly averted though as the wife, who had stepped out a few minutes earlier, came back and sat down with her toddler son, whom I guess was about 2 ½.  She held him for a while like a baby, which I thought was weird for a toddler, but then I thought maybe he was just tired.  But a few minutes later, the husband took the hand of the little boy, and they walked up the aisle and left.  He returned shortly sans the little boy.  We were sitting in only the 3^rd row in one of the side sections, so the whole show was happening about ten feet from the pastor and in my direct line of vision.

After church, Sam and I went to brunch with some girls from Forefront, who had been sitting on my left during the service.  Kristi said, “Oh my God!!!!  I could not concentrate because of that lady in front of us!”  I asked, “Oooh, you mean the lady with the crooked haircut?”  Kristi responded, “Well, yeah that, but she wasbreast-feeding her son during the service!”  Shocked, I realized that the initial thought that had come into my head when she was holding the boy like a baby was that she was breast-feeding, but I had immediately dismissed that notion since she was not covering herself at all and was in a public setting surrounded by hundreds of strangers. 

I know this is a hotly debated topic amongst mothers, and I myself am not one yet, so I can only give my own spectator perspective, which is: cover yourself when you’re in public.  I am not against mothers breast-feeding even in public, but there is a respectful way to do it.  It’s not just about your own personal comfort, but the comfort of those around you.  I can only imagine what our pastor Brian was thinking as he talked about Jesus’s sacrifices for us and looked around to his flock to see an exposed breast in his very short line of vision (I mean, let’s me honest, no man can concentrate when there is even mention of a naked or semi-naked woman, let alone when it’s right in front of them).

The other thing that I couldn’t get over was that this boy was walking, talking, and had a full set of teeth.  In my opinion, unless there is some sort of health allergy or sensitivity that prevents a child of that age from drinking some other sort of milk, he is too old to be asking his mom for a snack.

Needless to say, you won’t be catching me whipping it out at any future church services.

The fabric of our lives

Working in the fashion industry often lends itself to the stereotypical assumption that it's an industry just about shopping and gossip, driven by shallow unintelligent girls and gay men, who are super chic and spend their time backstage at runway shows trying to avoid the glare of one Anna Wintour, while sipping on bellinis and smoking cigarettes.  I'm here to tell you that the majority of us in the fashion industry do not experience life in this manner.

Yes, I work with people that you might liken to Meryl Streep in "The Devil Wears Prada," but most of them are not that extreme.  Don't get me wrong - it is definitely an industry where everyone is out for themselves and is extremely patronizing, but I also don't have a boss that throws a coat at my face when she walks in the door.  But the two biggest rumors I want to put to rest about working in the fashion industry are the following:

1. It is not as glamorous as people think it is, and
2. It requires more knowledge than just being able to spit off the latest trends in Vogue.

Before I go into my reasoning, I need to explain what it is exactly that I do.  Unfortunately, it always seems to be hard to explain in just a few words, so forgive me in advance for my wordy explanation of apparel production.  The best way to explain it is to liken it to a project manager or a producer of a movie;  I basically am managing a product and monitoring the people, finances, and timing that go into that product, from initial concept, to getting that product to the consumer.  The people that I manage include buyers/merchandisers, designers, product developers, and factories.  The finances I manage include cost negotiations of the actual product at the factory level, understanding international currencies and foreign trade/importing/exporting, factory commissions, & internal profit margins, among others.  The timing I manage relates to hitting necessary milestones in the product development cycle.  

Now that I've explained what I do briefly, that hopefully gives you a glimpse as to why I say my job is not glamorous; it is business.  I will go into that more throughout my future posts, but the purpose of this post is more to illustrate my second argument about the knowledge level required.

COTTON!!!!  No, I'm not talking about the stuff on the end of your q-tip, but the fibers that are in your clothes (although they are derived from the same thing).  In the last 9 or so months, cotton commodities have been priced higher than ever.  Prices have been climbing steadily since the middle of last year, with prices only holding for 24 hours or less.  The primary cause of the rising price has been demand ousting supply.  The low supply can be attributed to initial lower demand compared to other commodities such as soybeans and corn, flooding and droughts, poor quality of the crop, and government trading restrictions (suppliers even resorted to hoarding their crops out of fear of the fluctuating market).  Trying to manage a global business where cotton is one of your primary fabric fibers has thus become next to impossible.  

From a business point of view, companies have been forced to come up with new strategies in the hopes of saving money, or more accurately, reduce the losses they are inevitably going to have to take.  As prices first started to climb, retailers did their best to absorb the increasing fiber prices at profit losses in order to secure sales, but we are now in an environment where retailers have no choice but to pass on at least some of the expense to the consumer.  And guess what?  Those higher retail prices are coming to a store near you starting NOW.  

While the economy has very slowly been recovering (or so they say), we have not felt the effects of the worst of it in the apparel industry until now because of the length of the apparel product life-cycle.  The products that you are going to see in stores and shopping for this month, were designed 9-15 months ago, so the fabric that was purchased for that product was done late summer of last year, just when prices started to climb.  

We have finally started to see a small bit of relief in commodities pricing, but no one knows how long it will last.  New cotton crops will be harvested in August, so prices look to stay high through that time period.  So far the trends are showing a small dip in price September/October/November, then increasing again in December and beyond.  To put things in perspective, a year ago, cotton was selling at approximately 85 cents/lb; last Friday, April 15th, cotton was trading at 219.45 cents/lb, which is actually down from the all-time high of 243.65 cents/lb recorded on March 8th of this year.

OK, so have I bored you to death yet?  If so, that was not my intention.  My only intent has been to show you that fashion is still a business, and not just an on-going series of editorial ad campaigns you see in magazines and on billboards.  

When I went into fashion as a major in college, I certainly never anticipated that stock trading terms would become a part of my daily vocabulary, but here I am, just trying to figure out what the hell it all means.

Home away from home...

When I first moved to New York, I was broke (still am, just not as broke).  To make matters worse, I was making less money than I had been in KC for twice the cost of living.  In order to finance my life living in my dream city, I sought out some part-time jobs to supplement my suffering fashion salary.

I was able to secure a two-night a week tutoring job and a one-night a week babysitting job, totaling 10 additional hours outside of my full-time job at RL and $200 cash.  It was mentally, physically, and socially sacrificing, but I knew it was temporary and also necessary if I wanted to have any sort of social life on the weekends.

After a year of working three jobs, I finally got a promotion and was feeling quite worn-out keeping up with my work schedule.  Something to understand about these jobs, is that while financially the two families I worked for were similar, they could not have been more different in every other facet.  One family lived in the hippy West Village and the other lived in the family-oriented Upper West Side; one family had all girls and the other had all boys; and most obviously: one treated me like the help and the other treated me like a member of their own family.

After starting in on my second year with both families, a trip home and a conversation with my father changed things.  He couldn't stand me working for the family that treated me like the help.  "You're a smart, college-educated, beautiful, driven woman!" he said.  "Nobody treats my baby girl that way."  ("Nobody puts Baby in a corner!" much??)  He finally convinced me that I could do with only the one job and quit the other as soon as I returned to New York.

So that's what I did.   And I have never looked back after leaving the West Village family that asked me once how it was, exactly, I got home to Kansas City (was there an airport there?  Umm yes, as a matter of fact there is an airport...and guess what else, lady?  You're from Jersey, so get off your high horse...).

My UWS family was another matter, however.  Besides meeting Sam, meeting the *Curtis family is the best thing to happen to me in New York.  I am currently at the tail end of my third school year with Henry, who is now in 6th grade.  Every Wednesday after work, I go over there for two hours and help him with his homework.  It's not quite "tutoring" like it might sound to non-NYC people, but more a chance to give his mom, Connie, a break and a chance to get dinner ready for her family while I make sure Henry focuses on his school work.

What started as a job, has now become the most fulfilling and enjoyable part of my week.  I walk into their apartment without knocking, kick off my shoes, and go down the hall to the kitchen and open the fridge to help myself to a drink and maybe a snack.  I often spend several minutes chatting with Connie before Henry and I start on his work.

My time with Henry is work for sure (who remembers how to find the area of a triangle or the geography of Ancient Egypt?), but it has also evolved into something else that I'm still trying to put my finger on, something much more meaningful.   He's kind of like the little brother I never had, only we don't fight.  He keeps me young.  He shows me the latest video games and gadgets that are popular with kids his age, and the You Tube videos of the moment (after homework, of course ;)  ).  In the midst of all of this is the non-stop task of trying to shoe away older brother Nick from shooting Nerf balls at us (and I am definitely the big sister Nick never wanted!).

After homework is done, Hen and I mosey down to the kitchen where Connie is making customized pizzas for both the boys and husband, Jim.  Connie gives me a slice to snack on while Jim and I watch Jeopardy together.  I hang out with the family another 20-30 minutes and just catch up before heading back to my humble life.

And at the end of the night, I get paid for this?!  Yes!  But you know what?  I would do it for free at this point.  The Curtises are the most down-to-earth, midwestern-like family I have met here and they take away my stress and home-sickness.  Connie and Jim remind me so much of my parents, and I talk with them about the same things I talk to my own parents about.

Wednesday of the work week can be tough, and usually the last thing I want to do after a crazy day is have another obligation that involves anything less than holding a glass of wine in my hand, but I leave the Curtises home feeling refreshed and reminded of the things that matter most in life, which makes that long day worth every minute.

*Last name changed.

Rhys's Pieces

One thousand two-hundred and sixty three.  That is number of days since I packed my bags, got on a plane, and uprooted my life from Kansas to New York City.  

A lot has changed in my life in roughly three and a half years - some for good, some for bad.  But one thing is without question: it has been an adventure I have absolutely no regrets about embarking upon because I am a better person for it.  

This roller coaster ride has seen me gain friends and lose them; completely afraid and completely confident; poor and...well, poorer; depressed and happy; broken hearted and breaking hearts.   I genuinely believe I would not be the person I am today if I had gone through any of those things in any other city in the world.  Before living in New York, I had visited a handful of times, and even lived here for two months in the summer before my senior year of college; but the New York of someone that lives here full-time versus the New York of someone that's only seen it on TV or someone that's visited even 50 times, are not the same place. 

So why am I writing?  Firstly, I want to show people New York City through the eyes of a Midwestern girl instead of what you see on "Sex & the City" or "Law & Order."  Are the men here as abrasive and unbelievable as Carrie and crew portray?  Unfortunately, yes (luckily I don't have to worry about that anymore!).  Are their serial killers that kill prostitutes?  Yes, once in a while (i.e. there is currently an investigation for a serial killer on Long Island where bodies of four prostitutes have turned up).  But there are also so many things inaccurately shown on TV or portrayed by tourists:  the size of living spaces, the glamour of working in the fashion industry, the attraction of places like Times Square or Macy's on 34th Street, or what it's like to rely on public transportation every time you step foot out the door.

Secondly, and more importantly, I want to use this as a venue to stay connected to my friends and family who do not live here.  Believe it or not, there are times I do miss the life I had in Kansas and much prefer it over New York, and maybe this will be a chance for people to understand why.  

I look forward to sharing these pieces of my life with you.  With that I must bring my first post to a close because I've gotta head out for my football game...but more on that later...