October 2009 Archives

This just makes me want to park in this space that much more.

But you see, I can’t  – I can’t because I drive an enormous car. A huge SUV. A monster gas-guzzler that could literally crush any fuel efficient vehicle in its path. I know this, not only due to the laws of physics, but also because I recently witnessed a car accident in Bridgehampton where a buzzing little bee of a low emissions car pulled out of a space on 27 West and rammed directly into an SUV that was minding its own business… just driving along… The SUV remained unscathed while the weenie of an environmentally acceptable car had it’s hood up over the roof, lost front bumper and two front tires rolling down the street… Air bags popping all over the place. The driver was fine, a few bruises, but whoa. We were walking on the sidewalk when this happened right in front of us… I froze for a second, then grabbed my son and ran back to our SUV – - Yikes. What if another tiny car was to pull out of somewhere… And please get me out of there before the traffic reaches murderous levels. Witness? What? I didn’t see anything Officer… please move your little car… just, just GO!!!

Now, I don’t have anything against saving the universe, greening the planet or drivers of little cars… I’m quite for all of it, actually. I recycle, I buy organic–And you should just SEE the non-plastic shopping bag collection that I have compiled. I TRY….But I also prefer to have my family locked and strapped down in the most aggressive looking tank of a monster vehicle… especially when faced with putting ourselves in the hands of other drivers. Accidents happen, I’ve been there… and I would much rather clean the other car off of my SUV with a baby wipe than deal with the unthinkable.

And so, similar to that of handicapped parking–I will not park my massive car in the space reserved for fuel efficiency… because those drivers are clearly in need of special attention. I will not park there despite the fact that there are no special parking signs up, right against the new Southampton Post Office, for working moms that have to carry their 30lb–often wiggling to not be carried–children across the dangerous and poorly planned parking lot. The parking lot that contains massive SUVs as well as tiny cars that can pull out of somewhere at any given second and destroy themselves by brushing past other vehicles…. But oh, the overwhelming need to park in this space. The Boiling Blood that this sign was written and exists despite the fact that we sought out the safest possible car to drive our child around in. I’m sorry, did you say selfish? Did you say environment? I am parking here. I am parking my massive, gas devouring SUPREME UTILITY VEHICLE in this specially reserved, fuel efficient, move to the back of the bus, space… and I welcome your eyes of silent judgment. Come on, say something to me… it will be fun.

Guest Bird #2 – Sylvia

Hi everyone — welcome to my very first guest-blog entry (thanks, Ryan!)  First, a little background info about me:  I grew up in central California, spent 20+ years working in Manhattan, and now my husband and I are sort of “bi-coastal” although not by choice.  We are desperately trying to sell our New York house.  For the moment, however, we are in the gorgeous Palm Springs, California area — which I will report on in-depth in a future blog entry!

Until next time – Sylvia 
http://twitter.com/SylviaEnder
http://www.linkedin.com/in/SylviaEnder (Please “connect” with me!)

In the North East, autumn is truly the commander of all seasons. A complete and total unpredictable monster of a season that holds beauty and gale force winds in it’s grip–only to release when one least expects. Complete and total wash-outs turned to reds, yellows, oranges against the bluest possible sky. And temperatures that require layers–Ts covered by fun big sweaters and scarves acting as jackets. And then there are the boots. A designer’s delight. Comfort food to singe the slight chill in the air and sleepy from Budhi’s warm rice wine… A reprieve before the cold.

Guest Bird #1 – Amanda

My name is Amanda. I live in San Francisco and write a blog called Brilliant Sulk. I don’t make a penny writing. I wish I did. So I’m forced to earn a living as a personal chef. In my spare time I like to eat cereal, take photographs and dream about moving to Paris. Someday I will.

So here I am. Writing a guest post on this marvelous blog. Why? Well, Ryan asked me because she was in a bit of a bind. Something about a monkey, a few dozen bagels and a cheap flight to Bangkok. I couldn’t quite understand her email. It was littered with exclamation points. !!!!!!! Plus she promised me a year’s subscription to the sauerkraut of the month club. How can a girl resist that?

I happily accepted. She said I could write about anything. Uh oh. She’s so screwed.

I started to think about it and realized I’d have to come up with an actual idea. Unlike my blog, where just about anything goes. This is someone else’s blog.

Should I write about San Francisco? Should I write about the time I hosted a Halloween party, drank five consecutive shots of Goldschlager and ended up on my bedroom floor naked, throwing up. All while I still had guests in the living room? Should I write about how most days I feel that I’m failing miserably as a parent? (Yes, even lunatics can have children) Or how about the fact that I HATE bra shopping and I’ve been wearing the same two bras for three years? Uh. No. Not quite good enough for this blog.

You see, I’m a bit of a procrastinator. A very busy procrastinator. I have two daughters so I’m usually making sure their bowls of water are filled to the brim and their favorite dinner (foie gras jellybean terrine) is on the table by six. But more importantly, I must make sure my husband’s “Ghost Hunters” t-shirts are ironed for the next day at the office.

So I thought it would be best to make a list of potential blog post ideas and narrow them down.

Topics I would not write about:

• The amount of wine I consume in a month’s time
• Math
• How after I gave birth to my first daughter I couldn’t walk for a month because I had so many stitches holding my vagina together
• The proper way to give a one eyed stranger a bubble bath

Topics that might appeal to Ryan’s readers:

• How to choose the right nudist colony for you and your family
• Why as an American I believe I should have the right to make a burrito, text, talk on the phone, color my hair and clean my gun while I drive my Hummer
• Why I allow my children to go out in public wearing their underwear as stylish headwear
• Uh oh. Time’s up? Crap. See? I can’t get anything done.

Oh boy Ryan, aren’t you glad you asked ME to guest post?

This is Mia – or as my son recently renamed her “Meow”.

We are taking a few days off… getting out of town… fleeing the Hamptons… be prepared to rock out next week with For the Birds first Guest Bird. Hmmm will he/she be a Rooster.. Chicken… Ferruginous Duck… Slaty Egret… Peacock… Black-faced Spoonbill… ?

PS. If you would like to be a Bird, please let me know.

Every few weeks or so we receive phone calls from the local Suffolk County Police Associations and/or Fire Department Organizations attempting to raise funds via telethon. I know this due to the glory of caller ID, and I keep continuing to answer because these are really good causes to support.. I would support, I really want to — Just TAKE MY MONEY–HERE, JUST TAKE IT!! When you support they send you a fun sticker that says “DO NOT PULL ME OVER”… it’s priceless. The only problem is that I can’t get four words into the conversation without having the MAN  – and it is always a man (never once has a woman called) on the other end of the line, discontinue the pitch. The conversation goes like this:

RING RING
Me: “Hello”
MAN: “Yeah, uh Hi, Ryan there?”
Me: “Yes”
MAN: “Is he available?”
Me: “I’m Ryan”

Now, the role of “MAN”, at this point, can take on different breeds of MAN depending on who the man actually is on the other line — The “I HATE YOU SO MUCH I’M GOING TO FIND YOU AND TELL YOU SOMEDAY – Man” hangs up on me, and I imagine him taking a huge drag from a Marlboro Red, blowing it out and swearing my existence up and down the curse-word dictionary. He then leans around to the guy in the next cubicle and goes on and on about me and what is wrong with women? Why can’t we just, at the very least, be civil to the telemarketers that are only trying to support the local PBA and Fire Departments. He then says “F-This”, gets up and goes to the vending machine. The other breed of MAN – The “I HATE YOU AND I AM GOING TO TELL YOU NOW ABOUT HOW MUCH I HATE YOU – Man” is the one that makes me look at the receiver in unbridled disbelief — making my ears burn for a second or two, mind you. He’s the one that talks back to me like I am actually messing with him — vs. telling the truth. “Oh Yeah–Ha Ha, FUNNY LADY!” click. Or in really aggressive tones–“I SAID IS HE AVAILABLE” or “PUT HIM ON THE PHONE”.

I know who I am–just who do they think they are? Now, clearly I am the one hanging up, cursing– Damning the MAN. Perhaps this is how I taught my son to say “Uh-Oh” every time the phone rings.

A delicate dance, I know.

But I have built up an immunity to these situations — on an almost daily basis someone nice and pleasant usually questions the name. A great deal of people have tried to convince me that I’m spelling it wrong — it should be Rhyann or Rhian — or at least something other than “Ryan”  — which inherently insinuates MALE!! WHAT AM I CRAZY? Damn you daytime soaps of the 80s. Then — some are just dolts, like the pizza guy (of course not you Budhi–the other guy–I love you Budhi, PS. bring me more Saki) that said it was “weird”… but how can I care about the correctors and idiots when I’m spending all my free time trying to get through to the Police and Firefighter funds?

Not really.

So – yes, my name is Ryan. It has been my entire life – and, aside from a very strange phase in grade school where I wanted to change it to Robyn (yes, with the “y”), Ryan will continue to be my name for the rest of MAN-kind and I quite like it actually. It has a memorable quality to it — while it isn’t completely out of the ordinary. I have met other fem-Ryans… went to school with them–I actually ran into another lady-Ryan while shopping at outlets IN MAINE (Ehhm, for another time). It is an elite club. It adds another piece to the puzzle, if you will – another layer on the non-allergenic but still fluffy cake. Another THING that I have to test the next caller with. And if you like this, tune in next week where I talk all about how my ATM card had my middle name “Louise” spelled LOUSIE on it for at least 5 years before I realized it. Always a good time.  

In keeping with yesterday’s topic on promotion and how we should all be ashamed of ourselves for wanting to succeed in our endeavors, here’s a little shameless self-promo for Breakwater Design Studio. Over the years [including life pre-bwdstudio], myself and a team of talented designers have designed hundreds if not thousands of logos–highly successful brands. It was really hard to choose which ones to present today, so I blindfolded myself and dug into the vault. 

In a few weeks I’ll post more. Now isn’t this fun? Who isn’t having a good time? Dave Sage?

Hey you – Yeah, YOU. You out there among the wires and sparks of the World Wide Web. What do you think of this?

This post, screen captured above, belongs to Seth Godin. You can read it on his blog here.

Yesterday…while I was twittering, checking my email, designing a logo, writing an allergen free cookie recipe and driving back from Hampton Bays where I had purchased a pound of nutritional yeast, it occurred to me that my brain was on overload. Genetically modified soy overload. Information anxiety overload. Kids are riding around in spaceships when they are really hiding in the attic before blowing chunks on the Today Show overload. David Byrne was on the radio and a woman was walking by pushing a terrier in a baby carriage. It had started to rain again. I had reached maximum capacity. My mind was feeling a little like mush and slowly I started to think about Dr. Pepper – and how I used to love to walk barefoot up my parent’s street to Ada’s candy store to buy the soda and then linger back home again. Then I thought about the time that my parents gave me a few dollars and told me to go to Ada’s to buy some gum before we left for a flight out of town. I remember thinking  – wow, dollars worth of gum? What kind of gum should I get? I told Ada to fill the bag with bucks worth of every kind of gum she had. She was a little grumpy – suggesting that my parents didn’t really want that much gum, but I insisted. Every kind of gum she had.

This was just my take on the situation – my analysis of the quest I had been given. There were no specifics involved–had there been, I would have done what was expected of me. I would have just bought one pack of Wrigley’s and returned with change. I could have been spared the disappointment, but the concept of every kind of gum was way more fun. Or I could have just listened to Ada. But what did she know? She’d only been running a penny candy store for 100+ odd years listening to kids  – one of these and one of those and two of those… yelling at teenagers trying to steal cigarettes… attempting to sneak up the stairs in the back to see just how many bodies she was preserving… one of these, four of those.. 2 more of those, no not those.. those… that one, and two of… OH ADA, JUST GIVE ME THE GUM. And so she did, and when I returned home with all of the newly purchased gum it was unbelievable to me that my decision making skills were a little off the mark. What do you mean you don’t want dollars worth of every kind of gum Ada had? But don’t you know that in 20-something years from now I am going to be driving back from Hampton Bays with a pound of nutritional yeast remembering this?

A few weeks later, it was all forgotten until one afternoon I was walking our dog Henry… there she was careening off her porch — “HOW WAS THE GUM?” — thanks Ada.