The Great Outdoors

Inspired by our kayaking, wine-tasting, peach and apple-picking, and generally very un-Manhattan-y adventure up the Hudson Valley with Nancy a few weeks ago, Eric and I broke the Manhattanites' Creed yesterday and took another venture off the island.

After a failed attempt to do this last weekend (monster blisters and a man-cold brought us down), this Saturday we tied on our hiking shoes, boarded MetroNorth towards Port Jervis, and headed out in search of fresh air. Our journey took us first to the great "junction" of Secaucus, New Jersey (look- don't even THINK you can buy a magazine there- the only thing for sale there is donuts.) Then we sped past towns like Suffern (of Sex and the City fame- you know, "sufferin' in Suffern"...), Garfield, and my personal favorite, Ho-Ho-Kus. Although the towns leave a bit to be desired (particularly if you would be in the mood for, say, all you can drink brunch), the scenery only continues to get more beautiful the further you travel.



We finally arrived at our destination: a quaint little town called Tuxedo. We stepped off the train into a rockin' farmers market (complete with Banjo Man, Mozzarella Man, and Pickle Man) and realized fairly quickly that we really didn't know how to get to this alleged state park. The directions "behind the train station" turned out to be not quite specific enough. Strange.

Luckily, Eric is unafraid to ask for help, so someone told us to go over the train tracks and then keep walking. Helpful?

Luckily again, those directions weren't half bad, and after a few minutes of walking past some cute houses and some very strange houses (imagine a giant stuffed panda, a small teddy bear, and a headless torso having tea in someone's front yard, and you'll basically get the picture), we stumbled across what looked like it could be a hiking trail and (hooray!) some other hikers with (hooray!) a little better plan than ours.


We were instructed to follow the little red dots on the trees and head on up- as long as you could see the red dots (or blue dots, or red lines, or some other symbol), you were on a trail. Good enough for us!


The hike took us through some amazing, varied terrain and to several beautiful vistas. We found only one dud of a trail (don't go on the Flying V trail- b.o.r.i.n.g.) and never got lost! Success!







We wound our way back down the trail and, like good Weekend Warriors, grabbed a hard-earned beer at the local watering hole- the Taverna Tuxedo (sadly, it was too early in the day for any salty locals to be watering)- before catching the train back to Organized Chaos (the city).



It was a fantastic new adventure, and one that we hope to take a lot more often. The leaves were just starting to change and the air beginning to cool- this adventure is sure to have a reprise as we delve further into the East Coast's most magnificent season of the year.

Twice??

Remember that time when we saw a Wizard? Like a real, live Wizard sitting and learning his Wizardry in the library? Like an actual Wizard in Wizard Clothes and pointy shoes?

Well, guess what--

We saw him again.

This time he was just strolling through the park, all la-di-da, just wearing his Wizard Suit, waving his magic wand. A few key differences from the last sighting, however:

1. He was not wearing pointy, Wizard Shoes. Rather, he had on ratty old running shoes. Lame, I know, but our theory is that he either cannot wear his Wizard Shoes while walking through the park because clearly that might hurt his Wizard Feet OR it was Wizard Off-season and pointy shoes can only be worn during peak times for spell-casting OR his shoes were being repaired by the Wizard Cobbler. Yeah, definitely one of those.

2. He had an apprentice with him. Which mean, that we should be on the lookout for another West Side Wizard.

3. He was actually PRACTICING those Wizard Spells he was learning last time we saw him. I swear I heard him try to turn someone into a toad. I'm not lying, Scout's Honor.

The day we saw the Wizard the first time was one of the greatest days ever in New York (for obvious reasons).

The day we saw the Wizard AGAIN was also the day we went to the circus, which means we also saw people bend themselves in half the wrong way. And also Doogie Howser sat in front of us at the circus. I'm not even kidding.

So, CLEARLY that became the greatest day ever in New York. No contest!

Assimilation

Whenever I leave the city, I can't help but take note of all the differences between the daily pleasures and routines of those on the Outside (also known as the Real World) and Manhattanites.

My love for the Outside is not a secret: It could be nostalgia, it could be my rarely released, yet unbridled, passion for all things found in a Target or Safeway store, or it could simply be a suppressed love of a giant fried plate of chain restaurant deliciousness all for the low, low price of $7.99. In any case, while I have a HUGE place in my heart for Manhattan's parks, bars, and restaurants (five words: All You Can Drink Brunch), I have a permanent soft spot for the oversized comforts of the Outside.

Except for one.

Driving.

This last trip to Colorado, I not only got the pleasure of RIDING around the Best State in the Union in a big steel scary-mobile, but I managed to DRIVE. Twice.

Both auto-related challenges were met with great success- I did not run into any wildlife. I obeyed all traffic laws and posted limits, much to the chagrin of my fellow drivers. I didn't get lost in my hometown. And I brought both the Hyundai AND the Mercedes back to safety without even hitting the sides or front wall of the garage. See? Success.

However, as I steered my way through the treacherous streets of Cheyenne Mountain, I couldn't help but ask- they let TEENAGERS do this????

(No offense to my darling and, I have no doubt, extremely capable teenage cousins.)

But seriously, there are just so many things to navigate- we're talking obeying the speed limit; turning into the correct lane; staying in your lane; not running out of gas; not hitting anything made of metal, flesh, wood, or any other material; keeping your hands firmly at ten and two on the steering wheel while also pressing the gas/brake, but never both at the same time; remembering to continue pressing said gas, even when a car is coming your direction in the other lane... and this is just in the neighborhood! Do not even get me STARTED on the freeway. It boggles my mind to think that people drive over 40 miles an hour. And to think that I used to do this with the same ease that I now press the up button on the elevator 17 times a day is perhaps the most mind-boggling of all.

So the moral of this anti-ode to driving is this: I am not ready for assimilation.

While one day I will have to re-join the rest of normal, well-adjusted Americans behind the wheel- comfortably cruising to work or play, windows down, radio blasting- for now, I'll just hide out here, thanks.

Back to Business

As typically happens when I go home to my beloved Colorado and spend time with my beloved family, I have once again been inspired to resurrect the beloved Blog. So, here we are, with yet another promise to keep it up. After all, in the words of my mom, "How are you going to write a book if you can't even write a blog?" Touché.

I think part of this dry spell can be attributed to my hardening as a New Yorker. Over the past few months, it has occurred to me that I no longer find New York's ridiculous weather, female inhabitants that need to eat (a lot) sandwiches and wear pants (please- I'm begging on this one, ladies), or even fully made-up old women wearing gold lamé housecoats at 7 am, fascinating enough to blog about. Which means that I think that this sort of behavior is normal, ordinary, mundane even... And THAT, my friends, is the saddest realization I've had in quite some time.

And, so, I've decided to reinvigorate my childlike sense of wonder, my obsession with the curiosities and rather freakish habits of the island natives, and my duty to report these musings on a (semi)regular schedule. I'm still me, you know- unlike my reliable ability to eat a huge meal at any time of day or night, being on schedule is not one of my most noted qualities.

Despite my earlier confession of growing numb to New York's constant whirlpool of potential material, I have collected a few gems over the past 6 months. I'm loading them up now, and they will be delivered straight to you, and that's a promise. And now that I've rounded the corner to the ripe, yet tender, age of 26, I bet I'll have even more of my deep thoughts on life in general, both inside and outside of New York, as well. The kind of insight that graces someone who is blessedly out of their early twenties (the new puberty, if you ask most twenty-somethings these days...Go ahead, ask them) and is still WAY below that looming THIRTY mile-marker...

Alright- to start us off, let's go with something from the ever-popular Brushes With Fame category. Aaaaaand, we're back!

Kyra Sedgwick (maybe? let's pretend?)
A few weeks ago, a very lovely, very thin, very tiny, very blonde woman who LOOKED exactly like Kyra Sedgwick and TALKED exactly like Kyra Sedgwick stood next to me in yoga class. In fact, she even made jokes with me! And so, while I have no proof (namely a formal introduction, papparazzi sightings, or a peek at her photo ID), I have come to the conclusion that a very lovely, thin, tiny, blonde woman who both looks and talks like Mrs. Kevin Bacon must have actually been Mrs. Kevin Bacon! And now, obviously, we are new BFF's.

Tyler Florence (this one's totally real)

Earlier in the summer, I stood next to (and, more importantly, ordered the same drink as) Tyler Florence, Ultimate Chef on the Food Network, at Starbucks! For those of you who don't watch the Food Network, this is clearly meaningless so I'll try to have something more interesting for you next time, and for those that do, you can understand my excitement to share a latte order with someone so Ultimate. And this time, I do have proof because A) he LOOKED and TALKED exactly like Ultimate Tyler Florence. And B) they called his name when he picked up his drink: Tyler.

Done and done.