Archive for November, 2009

Dodge Brothers WWI Army Trucks

Friday, November 27th, 2009


The gravel crunched beneath our van as we pulled into our Thanksgiving destination, a red wooden house capped by a green hard tennis court and a small brown pond.

The men were standing in the garage holding wine glasses, inspecting what I could only assume to be Dennis’s latest purchase. I jumped out of the car, little sister in tow, and galloped towards them, eager to see the latest acquisition. Giving hugs and hellos as we approached, I saw it: an old green army truck. The front seal of the car had a Jewish star symbol and read, “Dodge Brothers, 1916.”

Dennis had acquired it after someone forwarded him a link on Craigslist, he said. Within 24 hours, a deal had been struck, and the vehicle was on its way from San Francisco to Connecticut. It was one of 1000 of these trucks that had been built for the war; half had gone to France to fight against the Germans, the other half had remained in the states, but the whereabouts of only three remained- Dennis’s garage was one, the other two were museums.

It was not the only army truck in the musty barnlike garage. There was another one, fully restored and polished, yet slightly different (this one could be used for civilian purposes, Dennis explained), from 1917, and another one that was barely a shell of a vehicle, purple and black and metal, but Dennis said he could easily restore it to what it looked like back in 1918.

As the men wandered back into the house, eager to get started in on hot turkey and stuffing (and as the menu would have it, deep-fried oreos), Lily and I stayed, curiously drinking in the cars and firing questions at Dennis about their history and about how he managed to find such cool stuff.

Dennis was all too happy to oblige, showering us with information on the acquisition and restoration of rare antiques.

But soon the cold started to bite, and it was time to go in. Dennis tenderly laid a canvas over his new car, as if he were putting a newborn baby to sleep for the night.

He told me he spent nearly all of his free time searching the internet and flea markets for rare treasures, engrossed in their history and nuances.

“You see, Sam,” he said, “you gotta have something. Your dad has golf, and I have…” he gestured to the myriad antiquities littering the garage, “this.” And with that we headed towards the warmth of the house; towards chestnut soup and marshmallow-covered sweet potatoes.

For each one of us, there is something in our lives that keeps life interesting, something that has the capacity to grow and expand, to engage our interest, to stimulate the reaches of our brains that constantly ache for excitement.

For some people, it is their jobs, for others, it is a hobby, a passion, an escape. Dennis reminded me of how different people’s passions may be; to him, it is searching for and restoring Dodge Brothers World War I army trucks, to my dad, it is decreasing his handicap by another point, and to someone else, it might be mastering the art of making crème brulee.

No one is less important to the other; what is important is that they are there, keeping us bright when times get tough; personal adventures and gratifications in a world where our lives are anything but personal, stickily intertwined with the lives of others.

So on this Thanksgiving, thank yourself for knowing what your passion is and letting yourself engage in it, and if you don’t know, go find it.

If you have a moment, leave a comment on what it is that is your passion, that keeps you going everyday. Oh, and Happy Thanksgiving!

Find someone who shares your passion now on Meezoog.

Posted in food for thought, self-love, spirituality | 1 Comment »

From Date to Mate

Tuesday, November 24th, 2009

Yes, folks, that is indeed the title of the mockumentary style new TV show in which I play Sara Rappaport, a Jewish girl looking for love in New York via the internet (I’m an actress, in case I didn’t mention that). Although the show is scripted, a lot of it is improv based, so I get to stick my two cents on dating into some of the dialogue.

A lot of interesting ideas are discussed in the show- one of them that I became particularly intrigued with is the concept of settling when you marry someone. The idea is that because it is so unlikely that we will find our ideal mate (and because, for many of us, our ideal mate is completely unrealistic), we end up settling for whoever it is that we do marry.

After thinking about this for a while (and my character going on and on about how unromantic the concept is), I think that this idea has merit. In order to be happy with someone, and to commit ourselves to them monogamously and otherwise, we must accept the fact that they have flaws- and for many of us this may be “settling,” or merely being realistic, because our “ideal mate,” who has lived in our head for years, is flawless.

And let’s face it- even Prince Charming probably has issues. I mean, please, he’s probably off fighting dragons all the time and never sees his wife.

Here is the link to the trailer http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=500304595000&ref=mf

and here is the link to the first episode. This is the first of eight episodes in the season.

http://shalomtv.org/DateToMate_1.htm

If you would rather, you can also watch the show on demand for free. Go to Entertainment on Demand, and click on Shalom TV, and then From Date to Mate.

Also, although on the show my character may belong to a different dating website, my full endorsement goes with Meezoog, as it is the most technologically advanced and savvy way to meet someone compatible via the web.

Find your date, or your mate, or both, now on Meezoog.

Posted in dating, fantasy love, marriage, media, soulmates | No Comments »

Does Class Matter?: From the UK to the US

Monday, November 23rd, 2009

“Class matters,” he said to me. We were walking through the Museum of Natural History in South Kensington.

“What do you mean?” I asked. I looked to my left, distracted by something sparkly.
Was that gold? Or fools gold? I peered into the case, aching to press my hands against the glass like a small disobedient child. I refrained. Whatever it was, it was pretty.

“It just does, “he said. I took my eyes away from the sparkly item.
He stopped and looked me. “For example,” he said, “you are bright and educated – you should be with someone from your class. Nothing else will work.”

I still didn’t really get it. The whole class concept is pretty foreign to me, as in America we are taught that no matter where or how we are born, we can become the President of the United States if only we work hard and persevere. We are taught to respect others, regardless of race or religion; to appreciate good morals and generosity of character over any so-called class.

But while social mobility may be more elastic in the United States than the UK, enabling those of a lower socio-economic status or foreign birthplace to work their way to the top, I was about to find out while American social mobility may be thriving and well, classes have not disappeared. Particularly when it comes to romance.

Two weeks later…

I went to Yale for the annual Harvard-Yale game, which basically constitutes an enormous tailgate full of U-Hauls, kegs, and knit sweaters, crimson on one side, blue-and-white on the other. Oh, and a football game. But I didn’t go to that.

I was blissfully happy to be surrounded by preppy Ivy League men, and even happier to be spending time with a lovely friend who I hadn’t seen for a while.

After a very fun day schmoozing with Yalies upon Yalies, and being fed by nurturing alums (there’s nothing like hot meatballs and seven layer dip on a cold fall day), we headed to our nighttime destination: Toads.

Toads is a club that is packed to overflowing on the weekends, a variegated mix of Yalies and townies.

Although I had lived for a summer at Yale, it wasn’t until I stood on the Toads line with my three friends that I remembered how stark the difference is between the citizens of New Haven and their Ivy League coinhabitants.

Two women stood in front of me with long nails, big hair, and tight leopard print dresses. I suddenly felt modest in my black leggings and ivory tank. The line to enter was an odd mix of cream sweaters with big blue Y’s on them and sideways hats, low-slung pants, and bitty dresses.

One hour and a lot of bad eighties songs later, the lights came on. It was time to leave.
As my friend and I carefully walked down a black ramp to the floor, I saw a petite girl with curly brown hair and a forlorn face being pulled down the ramp next to us by her friend. The girl (she looked young, probably a freshman or a sophomore) was gazing longingly behind her.

I wondered why she was so sad, when her friend tugged the girl so hard they almost tumbled down the ramp. “Sara,” she yelled, “He’s from New Haven!”

I was shocked. At first the friend’s comment struck me as comical, but then I found it sad. No matter who the guy was, if he didn’t go to Yale, he would never be accepted by those who do. Particularly as any sort of boyfriend or lover.

The two entities of people are like tap water and bottled water, both the same in composition, but one distilled and refined; having a higher value. And you don’t mix tap water with bottled for fear of contaminating it, although whether or not it has contaminating properties is constantly debated.

I thought back to what Ethan had said in London between the mineral displays and the man-made solar system. Does class really matter? If it does, what are the delineating factors between one class and another? Is it education? Finances? Birthplace? Family? All of the above?

And can you be with someone from another class and be happy?

Find happiness now on Meezoog.

Posted in communication, dating, food for thought, global dating, social anthropology | No Comments »

The importance of being alone

Wednesday, November 18th, 2009

My mom got married at twenty-one, my dad was twenty-two. They met at SUNY Buffalo through my father’s ex-girlfriend, who was my mother’s college roommate (and is now a lesbian…not really relevant, but for some reason I find it hilarious).

When I think about being twenty-one, I think of trotting around town with a genuine ID (one with my real picture on it that actually swiped through the scanners), being able to go out in Boston (it sucks, don’t waste your time…unless you really like homogenous white dudes in Red Sox hats), and my junior year of college. And although I was dating someone pretty seriously circa my twenty-first birthday, the farthest thing from my mind was marriage.

Yet in the seventies, and the eighties and early nineties, oh, and all of the decades before that, getting married straight out of college (or in some cases), even straight out of high school, was the norm.

These women, embroiled in marriage as soon as they left the womb of schooling, were never really alone. What does this mean? That they also never had to learn how to be alone. And learning how to be alone is an art in itself.

Conversely to them, women today, particularly NYC women, inhabit a newly independent epoch, one where being alone is the norm and is accepted.

To the women of my mother’s generation, and the generations before hers, this protracted female independence is unnecessary. And to my grandmother’s generation, they view being alone as forced by unpleasant circumstance (ie, World Wars I and II), thus they can’t understand why we women in our twenties and thirties may choose to be alone of our own volition, with no war at hand but one that only two percent of American men are actually involved in.

Because they never chose to be alone, they see no reason for us to be.

So it makes sense to me, why, when I cry to my mother about my incompetency at dealing with the little things in life, (ie. budgeting, using power tools, even figuring out how to work the DVD player), she says to me, “I don’t know, Samantha, maybe you should just get married.” And why my grandmother begs me for grandkids even as she sees me focus on my career and my writing.

Of course, my mother is not actually serious (although my grandmother is). But my mother is half-serious. Because contrary to me, who has to figure out how to use power tools (I nearly cut off half my hand yesterday…and my wall looks like it endured a small shoot-out), how to open a pickle jar; how to function all on my own in Manhattan (although I would be remiss if I didn’t mention my roommates’s, past and present, significant contributions to my survival- I love you dearly), she never had to. And she never will.

But in lacking the tools gained by forging one’s way alone, are the women of generations past missing a vital element in successful, blooming relationships?

Because what makes a relationship great is that although you depend on one another, you also know how to exist as your own entities, and how to function without the other, as may happen due to work, or circumstance, or choice.

And if you can’t, the relationship becomes such that you are virtually useless without the other, only a complete person when the other is there; a hollow, useless shell when by yourself.

So I may hate using a hammer, or a plunger, and doing Excel spreadsheets to try to keep track of my finances. But as M. Scott Peck said in his book,The Road Less Traveled, “Life is difficult. But it is through the pain of confronting and resolving problems that we learn, that we grow mentally and spiritually.”

So the independent woman of our generation may be forced to confront her problems on her own, to make decisions on her own, to find solutions on her own. But although it may suck sometimes, it may also mean that come the time to be with someone else, we will be wiser and more knowledgeable about how to create our own paths in life, and how to be by ourselves even within the relationship, more than our mothers ever did.

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Posted in advice for women, food for thought, marriage | No Comments »

BBM Buddy: The New Pen Pal

Monday, November 16th, 2009

“Want to be my bbm buddy?” he asked tentatively. “Your what?” I responded. Was this some sort of weird sexual request? “Your bbm buddy,” he repeated, looking slightly aghast. I looked at him blankly. “You know, on your blackberry?”

“Oh,” I said. New to the world of blackberries, I was starting to recall the term from somewhere. But I still had no idea what it meant.

Ten minutes later, his explanation had sufficed, and the deed was done. I had given him my pin.

I still futz around with bbm, but I am starting to get the hang of it. The glory of bbming (blackberry instant messaging) is that you can see multiple responses at once, without having to open them one at a time like with texts. Also, you can see all of your conversations with a particular contact at once.

I’m not really explaining this well. Probably because I am still figuring it out.

But suffice it to say that bbming is the most advanced form of instant messaging.

I probably like bbming because I have fond, nostalgic memories of good old AIM.

I remember sitting in front of my computer, procrastinating from doing my homework, a braces-filled 13 year old, the windows popping up like candy. I coudn’t even respond to them as fast as they appeared. It was a challenge, a test of social competency. And I loved it.

Before that, I had a pen pal from Israel. We wrote back and forth in Hebrew. I loved receiving her letters and writing back to her. We never knew when, or if, we would see each other again, but yet we shared a special relationship, and kept a friendship going, through our letters.

All of these modes of communication enable us to keep and foster the relationships in our lives, whether they are friendships or romantic relationships. By bbming someone, gchatting, texting, emailing, or writing, it says to the person, I am thinking of you. And very often, this is also an indication that you care about the person and about your relationship with that person.

Particularly in a romantic situation, especially if you don’t see the person everyday, a simple “How is your day going?,” can be priceless. It indicates that you are genuinely interested in that person and care about what is going on in their lives, even if it isn’t you. This implies selflessness, which is an invaluable trait in a mate.

So keep in touch. Even if you are busy, it doesn’t take long to send a quick email, or bbm, or whatever, saying, “Hey, I’m sorry i have been MIA, but just wanted to say hi and see how you are.” Or tell them about a funny occurrence in your life that somehow relates to an inside joke you have with them. Keeping in touch will work wonders for your friendships, your romantic relationships, and how people view you: as someone who cares about people other than themselves.

Keeping in touch will also help you if you ever need a favor from someone- you won’t be asking out of the blue, and they will be more likely to fulfill it if they feel good about their relationship with you (or feel like they even have one).

So get out of here and go get in touch with someone you haven’t talked to in ages, and think is particularly awesome. Or send that girl you are dating a quick, “How’s your day going?”

Remember, the fuller our relationships, the fuller are our lives. And possibly our text message boxes.

Keep in touch with friends you know now on Meezoog! It’s not too late…

Posted in advice, advice for guys, advice for women, communication, dating, friendship, global dating, relationships, technology | 2 Comments »

For the Love of…What?: The woes of Love and Reality TV

Wednesday, November 11th, 2009

I was watching New York One yesterday and the hosts were exuberantly excited to have on the show reality TV star and hip hop singer, Ray J! In case you didn’t know, he is the star, that’s right ladies and gents, the star, of the reality TV show “For the Love of Ray J.” http://blog.vh1.com/2009-06-09/for-the-love-of-ray-j-2-announced-and-casting/

The show’s name makes me think less of how excited I am, and more “For the Love of G-d, what is happening to our society?”

From Ray J to good old Bret Michael, and let’s face it, even the Bachelor (whoever he may be), people seem to be fascinated by these embarrassingly ridiculous and attention-craving men and their search for the latest “Cocktail” (that was the name of the woman last picked by Ray J) to suit their taste.

The appeal for these shows is not completely non-sensical. Particulary shows like Ray J and Rock of Love are comical in a farcical sense.

And shows like the Bachelorette, and the Bachelor, as the people actually seem to be real humans and not fake-tanned bleached androids, appeal to the human’s universal search for love.

However, when these men flit from one girl to the next, or, in the case of The Bachelorette, when the man who wins her heart is actually sleeping with two other women in his home-town at the same time, (see blog The Cheater who Prevails: Why?) how much are these shows actually a pursuit for love and how much are they just people trying to get their 10 seconds + of fame (and the lucrative endorsements that come with)? Does it warp our perception of what the search for love actually entails, and is like? Or are they just harmless, entertaining parodies?

Posted in food for thought, media | No Comments »

Self Love: Part Two

Monday, November 9th, 2009

I’ve been thinking about self-love all day. It intrigues me for a reason I don’t really know.

I went to yoga class, huffing and puffing from my brief cardio workout, excited to get into my downward dogs and chatarangas, and get out all the angst left over from a vacation with my sister. But just as I was eager to begin, the teacher paused. We were in mountain pose (hands in prayer at your heart). The beautiful, lean yoga teacher said to the class, choose something to dedicate your practice to. This was not an out of the ordinary request from a yoga teacher, and my usual dedications popped up: my sisters, stopping genocide, ending poverty, etc., etc.,but this time I stopped instead of picking one of the myriad usuals.

I dedicated my practice to self-love, in all its generality.

And in my practice, I found myself trusting my body more than i ever have before (and I have been doing yoga since my friend lent me her Denise Austin yogalates video in high school). For the first time, I gave my worries, my fears and my frustrations completely over to my body, and let my body express those. And it was an entirely new experience.

So back from yoga, munching on crunchy baked green beans (if you haven’t had these, I suggest you try some- they are delicious), I have decided that a big chunk of self-love comes from trust. Trusting your body, your mind, your decisions, and your capabilities as an independent human being, to lead you down whatever path in life they create. It’s like doing a trust fall, but instead of depending on others to catch you, you have to depend on yourself. Can you catch yourself?

Posted in advice, food for thought, self-love, spirituality | No Comments »

Self- Love: What is it anyway?

Monday, November 9th, 2009

Love After Love

The time will come
When, with elation
You will greet yourself arriving
At your own door, in your own mirror,
And each will smile at the other’s welcome

And say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
To itself, to the stranger who has loved you

All your life, whom you ignored
For another, who knows you by heart
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

The photographs, the desperate notes,
Peel your own image from the mirror.
Sir. Feast on your life.

-Derek Walcott

Everyone always talks about the concept of self-love, and we all hear the clichéd sayings passing around about it. In their nebulous and slightly cheesy way, these sayings often resemble salty mashed potatoes made out of a box on Thanksgiving.
“Love yourself,” they say. “You will never be able to love anyone until you love yourself.”

But what exactly is ‘self-love?’ Does it mean that we wake up in the morning and wrap our arms around ourselves, looking in the mirror and mouthing the words “I love you” to our sleep-tossed faces? Does it mean we treat ourselves to shopping sprees and crazily expensive Chloe bags? Does it mean we practice yoga, teach ourselves about discipline and harmony, learn about buddhism and meditation? When people say it is internal, what does that mean? Or is self-love something that can’t be pinpointed, because some of us just have it and some of us just don’t? And where does self-love cross into narcissism? Are these two related?

Someone once told me an analogy that put it slightly into perspective for me. They key to self-love, the psychologist said, is to separate yourself into two parts, a parent and her child. Our frustrations, and problems often appear from the child’s perspective. In order to love ourselves, we must address the child’s problems from the perspective of the loving parent. And yet we are still ourselves.

http://www.soul-awakening.com/quotes/quotes-self-worth.htm
This website is interesting; it introduces the concept that the reason we have such difficulty self-loving is two fold- because we have been taught to accept other’s assessments of as as fact, and because we have also been taught that to love oneself is vain, selfish, egotistical.

What does everyone else think? What is self-love, and how is it acquired?

I have opened up a forum for this in the Meezoog forums, because I think it is a very esoteric and fascinating topic. So embrace some philosophy into your mundane work-day, and go talk to the Meezoog community about it!

Posted in food for thought, self-love, spirituality | No Comments »

The Modern Day Romans

Thursday, November 5th, 2009

POWER

Then

Then


Now

Now

“American girls are sexy,” he said, laughing and making a drunk imitation of himself, eyes rolling towards the back of his head. “That’s what I said when I was trying to pick you up,” he laughed, eyes squinting at me mischievously.

Throughout my ‘holiday’ in London, I have never felt less sexy. Every time I speak, move, or even breathe, I feel brash, coarse, and slightly tainted. The difference between myself in my ASICS and mustard yellow field hockey shorts huffing and puffing to my IPOD next to the skinny posh Brit sashaying down the street towards Harrods in South Kent, is striking. To the point where it scares me. Am I really this unrefined?, I think to myself. Their accent is quite a fitting symbol of those posh and royal Brits, light, airy, and sexy, while ours is twangy, hard, and unforgiving, a practical butchering of the English language.

So when Henry alluded to my sexiness, I was shocked. “Why are American girls sexy?” I asked him, leaning my right arm on my pool cue (needless to say, I had just scratched again).

“Huh,” he responded, as he shot two solid colored balls right into the back side pockets of the pool table. He straightened up and stood for a moment.

Then he looked straight at me.

“It’s because you rule the world,” he said. “You’re the modern day Romans.” Wow, I thought. So he was saying that my American identity made me a powerful, fierce ruler? I liked where this was going…

“And there is particularly something about being with a girl from Manhattan,” he continued, “Some guys just get off on that.”

It made sense, confirming what I already knew: that New York is the epicenter of the most powerful country on earth, and New Yorkers the most powerful people in the world.

It was the first time I had truly understood my power as a New Yorker, and as a New York woman at that.

Because in a city like New York, where we are always aspiring towards something greater, it is typical to forget how much weight we already do have.

So you guessed it: I won that game of pool (ok, well maybe it had less to do with the New York woman thing and more to do with him scratching the eight ball). But regardless, drinking my buttery victory pint, I felt darned sexy.

Find your sexy New York woman now on Meezoog.

and stay tuned for the Dating Diva’s next blog, “When Dating is a Political Choice.”

Posted in NYC, food for thought, global dating | No Comments »

How to Repel Women

Tuesday, November 3rd, 2009

I went to a house party for Halloween. Dressed as a sort of Amy Winehouse circa 1975 (hard to imagine I know; it basically meant that I wore a long black wig and lots of eye makeup), I was ready to eat gummy worms and candy corn, make pithy comments on other people’s costumes, and to flirt, talk, dance, and generally have a great time.

I should mention that I am in London, which changes things a lot, as you shall see. Firstly, they don’t really do Halloween here. I mean, they kinda do, but it’s pretty halfhearted. The first stop we made was to a friend of a friend’s party, and the guests couldn’t understand why my sister was wearing chemist’s goggles and my friend was donning a black veil.

We left the Halloween haters for an ex-pat fiesta, which promised to be way more celebratory, as most of the ex-pats were Americans. Phew, I thought, sitting in the black cab with my sis on the way there. Getting to hang out with people who actually embrace this oh-so-sacred holiday.

I got to the party and instantly scouted the scene. The first prospect I saw was a Hugh Grant look-alike in a witch’s hat. I talked to Hugh for a while, but was bored. Though his looks were dead on Mr. Grant, he was closer in personality to Mark Darcy than to Daniel Cleaver (Bridget Jones Diary), lacking any sort of dynamic appeal.

That’s when I spotted Tarzan. I excused myself from Hugh and walked around Tarzan’s side to get a better view. I was right: Tarzan was hot. Hmmm.. I thought, tossing my fake mane of hair- I could be Jane.

I entered the conversation (he had been talking to my sister) with gusto and glee, and was soon talking one-on-one with Tarzan (my sister had gone to fall asleep on the couch). But as I chewed on purple worms and drank champagne, laughing at his jungle jokes, I realized that something was bothering me.

I sniffed. Was that… B.O.? Oh my goodness, it was. And it was so strong that I couldn’t even focus on the conversation. Where was it coming from? I squinted through my aquamarine eye make-up, looking around in an accusatory manner as Tarzan kept talking. Having been exposed to a lot of B.O. already in London, I wasn’t that surprised, just particularly annoyed, and yes, grossed out. I was also slightly shocked that even in a party of mostly Americans, the connoisseurs of the daily shower, B.O. was still on the prowl.

I couldn’t identify the source, until…I looked right in front of me. I couldn’t believe it: It was Tarzan.

My dreams were dashed. I put an immediate end to the conversation and headed back to check on my sister. As I affirmed that she was ok drooling on the couch, I thought about how nothing Tarzan could do would be able to compensate for his smell. I physically couldn’t get close to him. And unless all the other girls at the party had no sense of smell, he wasn’t going to be getting close to any of them that night either.

So my advice for today is this: Wear deodorant and shower daily (particularly if you work out).

If you have a close female friend, ask her if you are a victim of body odor. She will tell you, (if she’s worth anything).

If you do find that you are particularly stinky, take charge. Because no matter how bright-charming- handsome- funny and amazing of a dancer you are, if you stink, you will repel women (and everyone else around you). Got it? Good.

Sick of stinkers? Find your rose-scented mate now on Meezoog.

Posted in advice for guys | 1 Comment »