Does this count as a Mitzvah?

Last night I visited a client in her home. This is something I usually don't do, but when I was talking to this client on the phone I noticed she lived in my old neighborhood and mentioned that fact to her. She immediately invited me over to meet her, and I decided to go. She thought I'd come at 2 or 3 pm, and was very surprised when I said the earliest I could come was at 6. But she seemed excited and said she'd make us something to eat.

When I got to her apartment, she brought me into the dining room where she had prepared dinner for us. She said "When you said you work till 5, I thought oh, I can't serve her tea, we have to have dinner since it's so late. I can't serve tea at 6 o'clock!" I had not planned on having dinner with her. I thought I'd be fed some cookies and maybe a piece of coffee cake, and actually had brought her flowers instead of candy because I figured there'd already be enough of that.

And what was for dinner? Tuna salad. And did I eat it????

YES I DID!

I ate the whole helping she put on my plate, and I ate all the mayonnaise-coated normal salad, and a roll, and I drank two cups of tea and ate two cookies for dessert.

How was I supposed to refuse to eat this food that an elderly, recently widowed woman had made especially for me? I felt so uncomfortable needing to please her, yet so happy that I was able to keep her company and listen to her stories. She's so nice, and she's had an amazing life, but age and experience have taken their toll and unfortunately she seems rather paranoid and depressed. She really didn't want me to leave--she asked if I wanted to spend the night--and I felt very sad that I was going home to Javert while she was going to be all alone.

At the end, she mentioned that she had no one to go with her to a memorial service at a synagogue here in April. Of course I told her I'd be happy to take her. She seemed happy to hear this. Then, right before I left, she said to me "Do you know anyone who would come to a wedding with me?" I knew she was asking me to go with her, and I also knew that I couldn't (I'll be out of town). So I pretended that I didn't understand what she meant and said that I didn't know anyone.

Did I do the right thing by visiting her? By eating food I don't like and didn't want? By listening without protest to complaints or opinions that seemed unreasonable or possibly even prejudiced? By ignoring the meaning behind her wedding question? Is this just my general social ineptness combined with anxiety or was I wrong?

More on Crime and Shopping

The Owings Mills Mall was the place to go on the weekends when I was growing up. I went on dates at that mall (I remember one particularly horrible date with my first boyfriend, where I refused to let him buy me candy at the candy shop because I had my own money and didn't need him, a boy, to give me ANYTHING--what an idiot I was, turning down free candy that my mom wouldn't let me buy anyway), I spent entire weekends there shopping, I went mall-walking with my grandmother. My mom and I used to go on Saturday morning and shop all day, taking breaks to eat hot pretzels or turkey sandwiches. My dad would take us to the mall for dinner on nights my mom had to work. I got my ears pierced at this mall!

But times change and the Owings Mills Mall started declining. First, Saks moved out and JC Penney moved in. That was the first sign of trouble, and everything went downhill from there. Cool kids now spend their weekends at Towson Town Center, which boasts a Nordstrom and a Coach and a Delia's and some other cool stores that I'm too old to know about.

At the same time, the neighborhood around the Owings Mills Mall also started to change. A woman was raped at the Metro stop near the mall. A man was fatally shot in a drug dispute in the mall parking lot.

My mom and I (when I'm visiting) still go to this mall, but we're careful not to park too far away, and we try to leave before dark. Sometimes we drive from the Macy's side to the Hecht's side if the mall seems particularly emtpy.

So on Sunday, my mom went to the Owings Mills Mall Macy's to buy a new leather coat. She found one she liked and bought it, but decided not to take it to the car while she continued shopping, because she'd brought the Outback and didn't have the mat that covers the stuff you have in the back. She thought someone would see her new coat in the back, break into the car, and steal it. Because that's the sort of thing that might happen in the Owings Mills Mall parking lot.

Instead, my mom took her purchase with her to JC Penney's, where she tried on more leather coats in case she found one she liked more. She hung her new coat on a rack, tried on another coat, rejected it, and turned around to find that voila, her new coat was gone. Of course she didn't find it, despite checking with customer service and various sales people. I told her she should've filed a police report, but she said she didn't think of it.

She's positive that someone was following her in the mall, that someone marked her as a target and waited for their chance. This is really scary to think about, so I prefer to think that someone saw the coat hanging there and couldn't resist taking it. It's a great way of stealing, actually. The coat was already paid for, the security thing was removed, and it wasn't even in the same store.

My mom's upset at the robbery, but she does acknowledge that it could've been much worse. Someone could've hurt her, or carjacked her, or god knows what, for whatever reason. She told me to let it be a lesson, to put your purchases in the car and don't carry them around with you, but the real lesson is not to shop alone at declining malls in dangerous areas.

Caught!

On Friday, Javert and I went out to eat at a newish crepe restaurant on 109th and Columbus. As we walked in, we passed a group of guys gathered around the entrance--typical for this neighborhood. But during our meal, all of the sudden, a police van sped up the street the wrong way and stopped in front of the restaurant. At the same exact time, 5 or 6 men were led out of the building next door in handcuffs, arrested by undercover cops. I'm not sure if the men we saw outside our restaurant were the cops or the villains, but it was definitely good dinner entertainment.

When I told my parents this story, they reminded me of the time they were seeing the movie Sex, Lies, and Videotape and the police burst into the theater and arrested everyone sitting in the back row. I was around 8 or 9 when this happened and for probably 5 years afterwards thought that my parents had been watching porn.

Well I'm Certainly Not Watching Their Damn Parade Now!

After work today I went to Macy's. Not that it's a surprise, but the whole store is decked out for Christmas already. And full of cheerleaders and other jacket-wearing teenagers who I suppose will be performing in the parade next week. So I and probably 3/4 of all the tourists in New York for the week were all in Macy's at the same time, and it was hot and loud, and I was looking for socks.

Specifically, I wanted knee highs or tights to wear with my new boots. I headed straight to the place on the main floor where the tights always are. But I was out of luck, since the entire main floor has been completely appropriated by what I assume are "stocking stuffers," like wine glasses that each hold an entire bottle of wine, and by those intrusive perfume spritz people (who NEVER approach me, and I can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing...do they immediately notice my lack of makeup and write me off as a lost cause or do they immediately smell my natural 'scent' and feel that perfume would simply ruin that with which god has blessed me?).

Determined to locate the sock section, I consulted the store directory near the main escalators. It said women's hosiery was on Floor 4. On the fourth floor, I found the shoe department, promptly ascertained that YES my new boots were indeed ten times better than anything sold at Macy's, and wandered around looking for the sock department. How logical, I thought to myself, they've finally put the socks with the shoes! It makes total sense.

But no, in fact I couldn't find any socks. So I asked a Macy's employee, who told me he "thought" they'd been moved to the Juniors section on the other side of the floor. Reluctantly I entered the Juniors section, where I was immediately harassed by deafening music and the noxious odor of Auntie Annie's pretzels. Again, large shoe department with slightly less sophisticated though cheaper shoes, but no socks. So I asked another employee, who told me that hosiery was on the main floor.

Where I had already been. At this point I was really hot and really annoyed and ready to kick the next slow-walking tourist who got in my way. But then I thought of this blog and how much I'd like to save that entry I'd thought up earlier for another day and write about this instead. So for you, dear blog, I persevered.

Back on the main floor, I asked another Macy's associate where I could find the women's sock department. He told me it was on the Lower Level, so I took the escalator down there and wound through the men's athletic department to the men's hosiery section. After a brief episode of paranoia where I managed to almost convince myself that Macy's had switched over to a unisex sock department and how stupid was I for not being able to tell men's and women's socks apart, I approached yet another sales person for what I promised myself would be the last time. I told her I'd been to the main floor twice, and to the shoe section, and to juniors, and to my surprise she said "Oh honey they've been moving those socks all around the store. Let me find out for you--stay right here till I find a manager." Which she promptly did, and then she yelled across the floor for them to HOLD THE ELEVATOR and proceeded to personally escort me to floor 1 1/2 (who knew?), where the manager thought the sock department had been moved.

On Floor 1 1/2 we found the stocking section, but no socks. So she asked two more sales people, who directed us way in the back, past the estate jewelry, along a balcony overlooking the main floor, to--Hurray!--the sock section. Where I bought two pairs of over-the-knee highs (again, who knew?) and two pairs of tights for less than $30. (This stuff was on sale, but of course nothing was labeled as such, so I ended up even more annoyed at Macy's for their indiscriminate pricing and labeling). Also, do you know that there were at least ten different sorts of LEG WARMERS? Can I even wear these? Not that I know how exactly you're supposed to wear them--but really, LEG WARMERS?

Thank goodness for that wonderful sales associate. I wish I'd asked for her name so I could call Macy's and report how nice and helpful she was. Of course I thanked her profusely and told her that without her help I would've left, but her bosses should know too....Actually, now that I think about it, there's no way on earth I'd attempt to navigate through the Macy's phone system. Maybe I should write a letter....

What I really want to know is, if you ran a world famous store that attracted 3/4 of the tourists in New York City at any one time during the Pre-Christmas season and that was about to sponsor a parade featured on national television in less than a week, wouldn't you want to let your customers (and your employees!) know where merchandise is located and how much, exactly, it costs?

Do You Know Where the Brussels Sprouts Are?

My parents called me the other day to tell me the big news: They'd gone to Wegman's. I had no idea what they were talking about. They couldn't believe I hadn't heard about it (even though I live 200 miles and 3 states away) but the fact is that I actually had heard about it, I'd just forgotten. I'd heard about plans for the superbig supermarket chain opening a store in Hunt Valley (20 minutes on the highway away from my parents house) when I was home 2 months ago, because people were ALREADY anticipating it then.

Apparently this store is so big that according to my mom, "you could fit the entire Giant (another rather large supermarket) into the cheese section." The store offers 5 different kinds of shopping carts: regular, baskets, carts with a seat attached so that your shopping companion can push you, motorized vehicles with small baskets attached, and wheelchairs with baskets attached.

I CANNOT WAIT TO VISIT THIS STORE!

I love grocery stores. When I go someplace new, I always visit the grocery store or market first. I love how different cultures have different ways of arranging and selling foods, I love watching how people select what they're going to buy, I love how people in New York shop in very different ways from people in Baltimore.*

So as you might imagine, I spend quite a lot of time in the various supermarkets here on the glorious Upper West Side. My favorites, I think, are Fairway (both locations, but the uptown one is so much more pleasant--in fact, I have on multiple occasions sworn off shopping in the downtown Fairway because it's just insane in there sometimes), Zabars (for the people, not the food), and of course my very own Garden of Eden.

The thing is, I'm becoming a regular at Garden of Eden, so much so that other shoppers have started to ask me questions. I can't go there without having a conversation with some stranger about produce. For example, the other day I was shopping for ingredients to make enchiladas with tomatillo sauce. I was selecting tomatillos when this hippie-looking woman wearing a tunic came over to me and asked "What are those?" I explained that they were tomatillos and she said "Oh I've never seen those before. They're like tomatoes?" I tried to explain what they tasted like (and its not tomatoes) but before I could, she started repeating, "Oh I've never seen those before, Wow, What are you making with those?" When I said enchiladas, she looked at me like I was from a different planet and backed away slowly. (When I went to pay, I had the exact same conversation with the cashier, which made me feel like maybe I was on a different planet)

And a week ago, a man asked me if the carrots that were clearly in the non-organic section were organic. I said no, the organic ones are in that area labeled ORGANIC. He asked if I'd ever eaten an organic carrot and did it really taste different from conventional carrots, to which I replied, Yes, if it had been picked recently, which I later realized made no sense at all since recently picked anything will always taste better than old anything.

And yesterday, a man asked me where the broccoli and brussels sprouts were. And of course I knew the answer, I told him that there was no broccoli, at least it wasn't in its usual location, and that the big brussels sprouts were for some reason pre-packaged and in the herb section. He then chose a mesh bag of "baby" brussels sprouts which were RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM WHEN HE ASKED ME WHERE THE BRUSSELS SPROUTS WERE. (Also, they looked like little green eyeballs.)

Maybe these are just examples of Upper West Side crazy people...but why do they all come to me asking these ridiculous questions? I'm afraid to speculate...but perhaps it's because I too am slowly descending into the world of Upper West Side crazy lady? Do they flock to me because I am one of them?

Gak!

*Of course I feel superior to other people when I see what they're buying compared to what I'm buying. And don't deny it--I know you do too!

In Which I Take Charge of my TV Watching Habits

In January, Javert and I got TiVO. Except that it's not TiVO, it's actually something called a TV tuner card which Javert installed into our computer. After about two frustrating (for him, not for me) weeks of trying to get it to work properly, we started enjoying watching what we want, when we want it.

It works just like TiVO except it's better. For example, we can program it to skip commercials completely. When the commercial break starts, it automatically skips and you don't have to sit through any interruption at all. Which is great, although I'm starting to wonder if later in life I'll regret not watching the commercials, like I'm missing out on a cultural phenomenon or something. I picture a repeat of how I used to feel in college, when my friends would talk about the shows they'd watched as kids and I'd have to sit silently, since my parents allowed me to watch TV only on weekends. Shows what an influence that rule had on me, since now I have a sophisticated fake TiVO system! That'll show my parents (who now own a 37-inch flat panel television).

There are some problems with our sophisticated system, though. The first concerns the wonderful Javert. He's great with computers--really great, and he likes them so much that I joke that his first and true love will always be the cpu under our desk (instead of ME). He's always willing to work on the program to improve it and to fix it when it breaks. However, I know very little about computers, either because I don't have to or because I'm lazy, and when the fake TiVO simply stops working during a crucial moment of, say, CSI, I am helpless to fix it. But this usually works out since Javert will go and fix it and I can do something much more interesting, like knit or sleep, till it's functional again.

Second, and perhaps more important: the program we use allows us to watch shows at a faster-than-normal speed. It adjusts pitch and whatever else usually gets messed up when you speed up, so people don't sound like chipmunks, they sound normal. Most of the time, we speed things up by about 20 percent--anything faster becomes a little silly. I think this is great since it saves all sorts of time. A normal hour length show now takes like 35 minutes (maybe less? I haven't timed it). But some of my friends are concerned this habit will make me into a robot who gets used to the speed increase and then can't handle the pace of normal life.

But normal life doesn't move like life on television! Who moves that slowly? Who talks that slowly? I mean, have you heard the narrator on Desperate Housewives? Maybe it's just me, I know that I talk fast, my grandmother tells me so all the time. I don't think that we should have to conform to the desires or needs of the television industry, whether it means not sitting through commercials or not suffering as David Caruso oh-so-slowly puts on his stupid sunglasses after solving yet another crime. For the first time in my life, I'm in charge of my own tv watching and I love it!* Yay for watching sped-up, commercial-free TV on school-nights!

*I realize that I'm not in charge, since I rely on Javert to arrange things on the fake tivo and computer, but he does whatever I tell him so basically I am in charge.

A First Post

Because I'm starting this blog mainly since Stephanie is leaving work, I figured I'd better get things going a week early so that I don't go overboard when she's finally gone. And it only makes sense that the first post be a recounting of one of her favorite stories.

Javert and I got married about a year and a half ago. We lived together for about 2 years before getting married, and I thought for sure that marriage would not mean a big change. The only thing different about my status as Married was that I got to refer to him as my husband, which was and still is really weird. On Sunday, for the first time ever, Javert's brother referred to me as his sister-in-law and I almost choked on my piece of the deep fried Mars bar we were sharing. Anyway, I guess being married did somehow change my life, because I started acting, well, like a married person.

In the morning, I always get up first and take a shower. Javert is supposed to get up and start the espresso machine. Then, he takes a shower and I steam the milk. This is much more complicated than our mornings before marriage, when we didn't have things like espresso machines and steamers and had to use archaic appliances like the tea kettle and french press to make coffee. I would put the kettle on before I got in the shower and basically make the coffee myself, since it was ready when I got out and dressed and since it doesn't really need much human assistance to operate. This story takes place right when we had switched over to the espresso machine and weren't really into our new routine. No, instead of getting up and starting the coffee when I was in the shower, Javert would sleep and sleep, not bothered at all by NPR, only waking up when I said, or more likely barked, "Aren't you going to get up today?" He'd be groggy and roll out of bed and into the shower and I had to make the coffee by myself.

Now I don't know if you've ever used an espresso machine and also been lazy like me (us?). Of course I'm not going to clean the machine after using it, or even at night when I clean up after dinner. No, I leave it for the morning. And it is VILE. You have to bang the thing that holds the espresso grinds against the trash can in order to get the grinds out (you can't put them down the sink, according to Javert, because it is bad for the disposal which we aren't supposed to have anyway and therefore if it broke we'd be in Big Trouble). Then you have to wash out the remnants of old damp coffee and pack in new coffee, attach it to the machine, put the (probably dirty so you have to clean them too) cups underneath, make sure theres enough water inside, turn on the machine, wait for the light to come on, and then turn on the coffee making part, count to 30, turn it off, and wait again for the machine to heat up. During this time you are also washing the milk frother, which since it sat there overnight is completely crusted over with dried milk. When the light comes back on, you can steam the milk which makes what is quite possibly the worst sound in the entire world. Then you mix it into the coffee, remember to turn the machine off, ponder cleaning up immediately, reject that option, drink your coffee, and go to work.

So I had to do all this myself, and didn't like it. Meanwhile he got to sleep and laze around the bedroom or shower. Thus, one morning, I decided to just not wake him up. I thought to myself, probably he'll wake up at like 11 and be really embarrassed, and I'd have such a nice feeling of satisfaction. I got up at the first alarm, turned it off (can't be too safe, right?), took a shower, and then got dressed in silence. Which is hard, since the dresser and closet are about 3 feet from the bed. But I did it all, creeping around the apartment like a burglar, and didn't make coffee since that would make way too much noise. I got my bag to leave and then realized my coat was in the bedroom. I went to get it and damn it! the coat hanger jangled and totally woke him up. And then of course I had to pretend that I was just finishing getting dressed and was all, I couldn't get the coffee machine to work and Aren't you going to get up, its 8:45? My plan was ruined! But he never found out, which means I can totally try again sometime.