First Day Jitters

Picture this: it's your first day on the job, you woke up on a couch and/or air mattress on the floor of a packed living room with your three other co-fellows, you have just come off two weeks of intense training that has been both mind blowing and intimidating since everyone who has spoken is highly accomplished and many are within15 years of your age, AND you're working directly with a population that will like you if you're lucky, but would have many reasons to hate/resent/dislike/not accept you.

Welcome to my first day at HIPS.

I wasn't as nervous as I could have been since Jonathan was by my side, I did walk into day one at HIPS a touch wide-eyed and surprised. Perhaps one of my favorite stories so far happened shortly thereafter.

The fellow who I am replacing, Eve, showed us the ropes and gave us a grand tour of the office. We then popped upstairs to check out the HIPS van that we use to do mobile outreach. Essentially it's a soccer-mom minivan with cool HIPS decals adorning the sides. Just as we were inspecting the vehicle, a woman walks by and says quite loudly, “Are y'all HIPS??” I couldn't read her tone – was it sassy? Happy? Accusatory? Excited? Admonishing?

“Uhhh, yes,” replied Eve. Jon and I were slightly dumbfounded and perhaps we nodded slightly.

“I just wanted to tell you,” she drawled and then paused – what was coming next? “That I think you're great! I used to be a prostitute, my best friend is STILL a prostitute, but I have a real job now. You guys helped me so much, I think you're great. Keep doin' whatcha doin'!”

Talk about validation and pride when we were feeling shaky on our first day!

We Are HIPStars! (and we like puns)

Oh goodness me! I am a terrible blogger apparently - these past few months have flown by and blogging fell through the cracks. I'm so sorry! I also contemplated starting a new blog for this year (I'm in DC - more on that in a second), but couldn't fathom asking people to follow me at a different address for a THIRD time, so although "Salt and Balsamic" doesn't inherently refer to the non-profit world, global health, advocacy for sex workers and injecting drug users, or advocacy, I feel like keeping it despite the anachronism.

So, DC? What am I up to here? Fabulous question. I'm here for the year on a Global Health Corps (GHC) fellowship. GHC places "emerging leaders in global health" at local non-profits in the United States and in parts of Africa. As a Canadian, I couldn't apply for the positions in Africa, so technically I'm their international applicant (which is funny to me, considering how much time I've spent in the US these past 6 years, but regardless...). GHC seeks to mobilize the next generation of global health leaders. According to their website:

GHC believes that a global movement of individuals and organizations fighting for improved health outcomes and access to healthcare for the poor is necessary in order to change the unacceptable status quo of extreme inequity. GHC works to strengthen this movement by recruiting, training, and supporting the movement’s future leaders, diversifying the pool of young people working in global health, and amplifying the impact of individuals through the formation of a strong community of leaders.

GHC provides opportunities for young professionals from diverse backgrounds to work on the frontlines of the fight for global health equity in year-long fellowships. Our fellows have a measurable impact on the health of the communities in which they work, and draw upon that experience and the GHC alumni network to deepen their impact throughout their careers.So where does that leave me? After an intense two weeks of training at Yale (which I wish I could detail for you here, but I'd certainly lose readers), we're here in DC. Needless to say, the training was invigorating, inspiring, a little frightening (in a positive way! Frightening in the sense that we have the potential to make such a difference), and FUN! It re-lit the fire under my butt to doggedly pursue justice for a cause I believe in - health equity, despite background, race, gender, lifestyle, etc.

I am placed at a non-profit called HIPS - Helping Individual Prostitutes Survive (www.hips.org) - with my co-fellow Jonathan (see picture below). HIPS works with male, female and transsexual sex workers and injecting drug users using a harm reduction model. Essentially, harm reduction is the idea that if individuals are engaging in potentially dangerous or harmful behaviors, we help support them to be as safe as possible. We do clean needle exchange, condom distribution, counseling, daytime syringe exchange, overnight mobile outreach in the HIPS van, etc.

From day 1, we were given a crash course in HIPS-related activities (the first crash course of many!). Our supervisor has been a total gem and an important guiding resource. She gave us a detailed explanation of the protocols, what the different needles are called, what the multitude of syringes are used for (injecting silicone, hormones, or drugs), and how the other supplies are used (cookers, bandaids, antiseptic, etc.). Yes, to a white girl from Montreal a lot of the info was new to me, but what struck me wasn't the plethora of supplies, but the degree of casualness (is that a word?) with which she explained these things to us, as though she were handing out samples of make-up or helping someone find the right kind of cough syrup. She was open, normalizing, and wholly non-judgmental, both to us as newbies and to the people who came in asking for works (AKA syringes and accompanying materials). I certainly have a ton to learn, but the community here is so warm, positive and affirming, I'm already excited for the journey!

You can keep up with the newly started HIPS blog hips-dc.tumblr.com, "like" us on Facebook, or follow us on Twitter @HIPSDC

More on my first daytime needle exchange and an awesome story that happened our first day here in a later post, but until then here's a laughable photo of me and Jonathan at the HIPS fundraiser our first Thursday here for the International AIDS Conference. Yes, I put fake eyelashes on him. He looks fab, don't you think?

Part II: The L train doesn't only lead to Hipsterville

And so follows Part II...

Let me continue to paint you this bizarre picture: we (aforementioned male specimen and I) are on the platform at the Bedford Street stop in Williamsburg, gaggles of buzzed and drunken hipsters in skintight black jeans, oversized cooler-than-Rayban sunglasses, gobs of black eyeliner and awesome retro jean jackets surround us, and we continue to argue back and forth. I want to go home. Again, he asks me to go back with him. "I promise, nothing will happen," he says, and sounds truly genuine when he says it. When the kind asking doesn't work (I can be pretty stubborn), he reverts to frustrated anger, "What's wrong with me? I bet you've gone home with guys before. You don't like me. Why don't you like me? You said you would; what did I do that now you say no?" It retrospect it is wholly manipulative, but I stood there on the platform and attempted to reason with him: I was tired. Maybe I had, maybe I hadn't gone home with people before, but why did that matter? This was now, and I was respecting my sentiments at a given moment (ok, ok, maybe it wasn't quite so eloquent. Maybe I overused the word "like" and blamed it a little more on being tired and wanting to sleep than I'd like to admit, but I certainly did explain the whole this-is-my-decision-and-it-doesn't-matter-what-I've-done-in-the-past thing). When angry manipulation wasn't working, he turned to pathetic self-deprication and sadness. And that is what got me.

Warning: minor amounts of emo-talk to come. Prep yourself slightly. Here we go: I have spent so long building up walls of defense and protection, that part of my "thing" when coming to New York and trying out OkCupid was to let some of that fall by the wayside and open myself up to potentials and possibilities. Instead of preemptively acting defensively, my goal was to go with the flow and to give people a genuine chance. Which is why - when Unnamed Creepshow pulled the sad/self-depricating card - I think I caved. The Manhattan-bound L train approached. He made piercing eye contact with swarthy Mediterranean eyes. People unloaded. Commuters loaded. I stayed where I was. The doors closed. I guess I'm going deeper into Brooklyn.

Now, in my mind the L train stops at Bedford Street. The L train is what you take to Hipsterville. So when he said he lived several stops off the L train, I just figured it was in pseudo-Hipsterville. Was I ever wrong. From the Bedford Street stop, it was about another 20 or 25 minutes to his stop (Walker Street). At this point, the train is above-ground, and we walked out of the station to find old school drug dealer Cadillacs, dark, unkempt streets and nothing save for a window selling some manner of late-night food. Put it this way: I'm a tough cookie, I walked in Zambia in the dark alone (sorry mom, I wasn't going to tell you that) and I would NOT have felt comfortable strolling these streets by myself.

We walked about a block or two to his apartment. The narrow stairs up to the second floor of a split level were dirty but not dilapidated, and truthfully it was too dark to see anything in particular. We enter his house and me - needing to "pee like a racehorse" - made a beeline for the bathroom. Wrong move. Not only was slightly dirty, but it was downright nasty. The green corrosion in the bathtub from old, unclean water trailed a third of the way up the tub. The dirt and crud encrusted around the faucet and sink made me gag. I wanted to go home. I hadn't seen the worst of it.

I tentatively peered my head out and questioningly called his name. The apartment smelled like stale weed. Granted, he had told me his roommate was Jamaican, but that's no reason for an apartment to smell like a smokehouse. Following the sound of his voice, I found him in his bedroom. Now, I've seen dirty rooms before. I went to college, I have two older brothers, I've been in boys' bedrooms; I know what messy boy's room looks like. This my friends, was above and beyond. There were rumpled clothes on EVERY. SINGLE. SURFACE. Tossed there and left to gather dust. The room was completely undecorated save for one poster with rolling and frayed edges. In the corner of the large room was a massive old wooden cabinet. The kind that was actually quite beautiful and would likely sell for a lot (it reminded me of heavy wooden doors in Zanzibar), but that was definitely a hand-me-down from the previous owner, too lazy to take it when he or she moved out. There was no headboard, no box-spring, no bed-frame, just a mattress on the floor, sheets crumpled in the corner. One desk chair rolling in the corner was in fine condition. the second was missing part of the back. A large computer screen rested on an Ikea desk that had seen better days. The mouse was on the floor near the mattress. A Kleenex box was nearby. I tried really hard not to think about it.

Now, where was that tea he promised? He ran off to make it, and as I sat there momentarily, trying to finagle my way out of the situation as quickly as possible, I realized that I should definitely not let him make me my drink without me there. I went into the kitchen and sure enough he was making us tea, but he had put three teabags in a crusty, stained coffee maker and was letting the hot water drip through. I let it go - I'm sure I've imbibed grosser things. When he finally handed me the tea (he had made himself some too) I took a sip and found it sickeningly, unbearably sweet. "What is that??" I asked.  "Oh, it's sugar," he replied, "It's sweetener. Don't worry, I'm helping you watch your figure." Really, dude? Go f%*! yourself. I didn't ask you to do anything of the sort. I swallowed down the overly metallic concoction as quickly as possible, while he tried to get all psychoanalytical on me again.

White spittle that had slowly been forming at the corners of his mouth throughout the night had finally hardened into a pale yellow crust. My tea was finished. "I'm going home," I announced. "I want to go home." "Won't you stay? I just want you to stay. I promise I won't touch you, just please stay." Really? He was going that route again? At this point I wasn't having it. "I'm going home. Thank you, but no."

He was kind enough to walk me to the station. He came in and waited with me until the train came. And when it did, do you want to know what he said? "Can I come with you?" I wanted to scream, NO YOU CANNOT COME WITH ME YOU PSYCHO! But instead I said, "No, I'm sorry, you can't." I don't think I've ever been that happy to board a train in my life.

What about the fallout? Oh that's a whole other story. Just you wait for Part III...

Part I: Does your worst date beat this?

Most of my closest friends have heard this story in detail, but up until now I've refrained from posting it it up here. Although it occurred almost three months ago, the reasoning behind my hesitation to post is equally divided between the fact that it is a hefty, circuitous story to write and that as much as it is above and beyond what you can imagine for the worst date story possible, there are also elements that (I feel) reflect poorly on me, my judgement and my decisions made. But when all is said and done, if a blog isn't a space where you can admit your shortcomings and share ridiculous, hilarious, horrifying stories, then where else is? Plus, I share it as a forewarning to others...

So as you all know, I joined OkCupid to meet some interesting, handsome fellows in NYC. However, my good friends Tim and Lexa convinced me to join when I was here over New Years, prior to taking my MCATs and about a month before I actually moved to the city. While it proved to be a thoroughly entertaining mode of procrastination when studying (Facebook ain't got nothin' on OkC in that regard), I made what I later learned was the worst decision you can make on OkC - I had ongoing conversations with people. Doesn't sound TOO bad, right? But when you think about it, people can create very particular personae on the internet, they can become whomever they want to become. And while I knew this instinctively, I misjudged my ability to discern between the good eggs and the bad apples.

I was chatting with a guy who shall remain unnamed, and I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't attached at all. I mean, I was cognizant of all the potential weirdness-in-person, but it was nice to have someone to come home and gchat with at the end of the night; I enjoyed having someone to think about when I felt like there were no options in Montreal. So, upon my arrival to NYC, we decided to hang out. I got here on a Monday and waited until I got a little settled, started my internship, moved into my place, and bid Momma Viv adieu before setting a date on Friday night. Apparently a first OkC date on a weekend is a big no-no - you can't use work as an excuse to get up early the next morning, and you might be committing yourself for a full night. Again, news to me.

Anyways, getting to the story (and I promise, I'm going to try to make this as concise as possible, because we all know how I can blab), we decided to meet in Williamsburg since he lives far out in Brooklyn. I texted him as I said I would, just as I was getting on the subway. No response, but I was underground without service, so I didn't think anything of it. I get there 20 minutes later, text again asking where he was, and he was like, "Umm, I'm at home, why?" He didn't realize that I was leaving. Great start to a date. So I wandered around Bedford Street alone for about 30 minutes on a popping Friday night, then hung out next to a bodega right near the subway stop. He got off the subway and texted that he had arrived, and as I looked around slightly-eagerly-but-trying-to-play-it-cool, I spotted him walking towards me. We made eye contact. He gave the hint of the lip curl of a smile. Then he blew right by me and walked into the bodega. Um, what?

I went inside and was like, "[Name]? Hi!" and gave him a hug. His accent was thick, so thick I had trouble understanding him. And people were around. And he wasn't talking much. So I was like, "I'll wait outside while you pay." He came outside and we walked to the dive bar across the street. He kept on shooting me these attempting-to-be-sly, pseudo-cutesy, totally creepy side glances and smiles. We got some drinks and sat at a booth in the middle of the bar, right next to the coatcheck (note detail for later). I got it out of him that he had smoked a joint and perhaps had imbibed a few beverages prior to meeting (he claimed it was because he was so nervous. I'm not sure about that) and his genuine reason for being late was because he fell asleep. I know. Warning signs already.

So we get a few drinks and conversations begins to flow a little more easily (or the snippets of conversation that I can understand). He gets a little cuter. Whether that's because of the vodka tonics or spending time actually talking, I'm not sure. Now, I should throw in a little preface here to clarify a few things; one of my co-intern friends said a great quote the other night. He stated, "I've had plenty of lovers, but not many boyfriends." I feel like I'm in the same boat. It takes me a lot to get close to guys romantically; I usually keep my guard up pretty high. So part of my New York goal is to let that down and genuinely give people a chance, even if that means getting a little hurt. Well, tonight was the wrong night to test out that goal.

He went to get us another drink and this time sat down on my side of the booth. He begins holding my hand, playing with my fingers. Meh, not really feeling it but I go along with it. Then puts one arm around my shoulders, proceeds to finish his drink, and places his remaining hand on my stomach. I'm not even this intimate in public with people I'm dating, never mind a sketchy guy on the first date! I giggle, brush it off. The feminist in me is seething. The naive girl in me is wondering if this is how all OkCupid dates proceed (WARNING! It is most certainly NOT!). He leans in with that same wannabe-cheeky, totally stalker-creepy smile and tries to kiss me. I dodge it. Or quickly start talking about something else. I can tell that he's trying to make deep, intimate eye contact, so I only heighten my effervescent conversation, never allowing him the satisfaction of stilling me with his gaze. He tries again. Will this guy give up? In my twisted, slightly intoxicated state I think to myself, "Well, bonus points for persistence, maybe? May as well give it a shot. He's probably not the most awful guy I've ever made out with," [in retrospect, I might have been wrong, but that's coming later]. Despite all that, not a great kisser; kind of couldn't get into it. And THEN I see a huge flash - some Williamsburg-hipser-chick has just snapped a picture of us (Instagram, obviously) mid-smooch, with my hair awry and my eyes probably rolling back in my head. I flip a shit. I spaz at her (what the hell is she doing taking close-up photos of random people in bars?), insist she delete the photo, grab my coat, and storm outside.

The unnamed man follows me, begging me to stay when I say I want to go home, promising that we will just drink tea and talk, apologizing profusely for making me feel uncomfortable and pushing me to do things I wasn't comfortable with. Can't we just hang out a bit longer?

No, no we can't, I assert. I'm going home. I'm going down to the subway. Of course, the Williamsburg L stop is perhaps the one place in New York City where there is only one platform for a train going in either direction. My home lies toward the Manhattan-bound direction. His? The other end of the line. I wish I could say this story stops here, yet it only gets much, much worse. The other half - aka Worst Date Part 2 - is coming shortly...

The terrifying details that someone can find about you

I received this message about a week or two ago:


Dear Maxime Billick, 

Your photo is of Cape Town. Did you like Bowdoin? To explain myself: Google indexes the whole wide public Internet, right? So with your Table Mountain image, you search Google, and from that you get your blog and thus your identity. And with a name, well, anything is possible. Like, if you want something, just let me know - I'll access your bank account and have it sent to your address. (Kidding! Kind-of...) 

If you're so inclined, you can return the act - I'm very Google-able. Recently I bicycled 5000 miles across Africa (spent a month in Zambia) and as such put up a wee web site, www.toAddis.com. From there you can figure out my date of birth. Search facebook for the party / public event I created to get my mailing address, start calling banks (maybe BoA, then Chase) and you'll be well on your way to stealing my identity / money! 

I apologize if this is creepy. (Clearly a poor strategy...) Thing is, when challenged, I like to succeed. (I only stalk when prompted, swearsies!) If you'd be interested in strategies to sweep up your digital footprints I'd be happy to oblige. It's rather amazing how much personal information is available these days. 

Regardless, best of luck with your endeavors, sincerely, 

S*@&%^$ M!C)$(^&$ [unlike him, I'll have the decency to remove his name]


THEN, 10 days later, once I didn't respond, he got the picture and came back with:


I'm being dastardly and double messaging. Apologies, it is reprehensible. But, my last message was pretty awkward... 

In hindsight, probably would have been better off had I simply said, your photo is from Table Mountain, want to get drinks and trade tales of Africa?




What are your thoughts? Was he entitled to use that info in a message since it's all readily available on the internet? Or is it a little excessive? Where do our personal lives end and our public lives begin? I'd love to hear your feedback!

OkCupid Novels

Should I continue with the posts? Some are just ridiculous! This guy is a straight-up novelist. Never mind the fact that his screen name is "J*&@^#$622," but he explains, "I'm not actually Jewish (although Asian Jews do exist). I'm an honorary one since I went to a predominantly Jewish high school." Right. Ok. 


Well, here's his message from January 28th:


Hi, 

First, best of luck with your move into the city. Where are you coming from? Are you moving here straight from working in Zambia? By the way, two friends of mine worked for Grassroot Soccer shortly after my own graduation in 2008. They were situated in Zambia and South African and I highly regret not joining them for at least a short period of time. I chose to teach China's National youth tennis program with a college teammate of mine in rural China instead. Eh.. the grass is always greener I guess... 

Backgammon is the shit. I currently work alongside various stock traders, art dealers, and professional poker players and so betting and competing in various game mediums is a regular part of the job. In the event you are a semi-serious player, I highly recommend http://www.gnubg.org/ since it basically tells you what the correct move every step of the way is. I am a huge dork sometimes btw. 

A an integral experience shared by my group of friends in the city is the one New Year's Party we shared several years back in which a large bowl of bouilabaise was unfortunately hidden underneath a couch only to be discovered several days later. The overpowering smell of rotting seafood and the hideous look rotting monkfish was our most unpleasant collective memory to say the least. 

I wholly agree with your gastronomical school of thought. Everything should be tried once. Congrats on being an open minded individual. I have eaten everything you mentioned except snake blood. Chicken feet are delicious, especially in dim sum form. You seem smart enough to not need a guide in the city, but if you ever need a good recommendation for any of the spicier ethnic cuisines you mentioned, feel free to ask. Have you ever tried Szechuan food? 

Anyway, I'm Jeff and feel free to read my profile and ask me any questions you may have for me. I'd be happy to answer them. Anyway, I hope to hear from you soon. 

-J.


Followed by (on the same day):


By the way, if you ever do become an international food itinerant, my favorite culinary travel destination was the Kansai region in Japan. Non-sushi Japanese food is amazing and as someone who also strongly believes that local food establishments are often the highlight of traveling, Kyoto and Kurama had some of the best to offer. Okonomiyaki and authentic ramen are undervalued foods by far. 

Sriracha is divine too. 

-J.


I didn't respond. Too lengthy. Too much investment on his part. That's weird online, in my books at least. Then THREE days later I get another:


Fine, fine... so I'm going to write more about myself since that's clearly what your silence is signaling for me to do! Free free to respond or shoo me away. Advice would be appreciated? 

A bunch of changes have occurred these past few weeks... but change is 
good (I think). I received a really good job offer downtown from a rival hedge fund (quick clarification: Yes, I do work in finance, but I have done more socially providing jobs in my past and I have hobbies outside of buying and selling things for profit...) and, after much internal debate, I decided to take it. I'm generally excited about the change. I heard a lot of good things about this new firm and they seemed pretty enthusiastic about me too. The guys in this new place were a bit older than me, smart, and of similar backgrounds as me. I think they'll be a group of people who I'd be able to learn a ton about trading from and also get along with. I found it kind of comforting to meet a group of people who were similar in background, personality, work-ethic, and competance as me; it was if I was meant to be at this new firm. 

However, like most major changes, this one does not come without a fair amount of anxiety. I worry that I might be giving up a great current job for one that might turn out worse than expected. I really like my current job-- the pay is good, I'm partner there, and I get to wear sweatpants to work (!). Who knows how great this new place will be? I have no idea if I'll be able to do as well of a job in this new firm. I have no idea if I'll be able to replicate my trading performance at this new hedge fund. Even worse, I'll have no idea if I'll be learning the useful information that I came to this new firm to learn. In a few months, there is a fair chance that I'll regret my decision to make this change. 

However, I feel in my gut that changing firms and taking this offer is the right thing to do. This was a place that I sought after for some time and now having gotten the job, I feel like I'm just going through some natural doubt and hesitation. I guess in some ways I fear change a bit. But, I'm telling myself to not be such a bitch (in short). As someone who is 25 and fairly ambitious, I think taking this opportunity to invest in myself and learn from a group of people who are smarter and more experienced than me is the right thing to do. I generally feel that people who are under the age of 28 should take as many risks as possible. If this enormous risk that I'm taking works out... then great! I just made the best decision of my life. If not... then 
whatever, I'm still young and there is a non-zero chance that I can always go back to my old firm. So... I hope for the best. 

Aside from work, I'm trying to think of something to say about myself that isn't already in my profile... I recently took up boxing and I recently lost a bet with a trader that resulted in me signing up for salsa lessons? I think putting yourself in uncomfortable new situations is often a good thing to do. Why not try new things? I'm generally pretty open-minded about most areas of my life, so why not hobbies as well? I looked like an ass in my first day of each activity... but that's part of the fun! 

So that's what's up with me. 

Where did you go to school in Maine? Are you back in the city? What do you currently do? Hobbies? Do you regularly look like a Christmas tree or Ms. Frizzle? 

Hope to hear from you, 

-.


Again, I didn't respond. Then, he slyly manipulated my Achilles' heel into answering. On February 9th he writes:


Since you don't seem like the biggest fan of replying, I would like to at least ask... where is that photo on the mountain? I have 3 months off from work (I'm switching firms but not switching fields. I got a sweet offer and as someone who's of the belief that under-28-year-olds should be taking as many risks as possible at this age, I took it with the caveat that they give me... 3 months off prior to starting!) and I would like a vacation destination. Where did you take that photo? 
Hope to hear from you soon!


-.


I write back:
It's Table Mountain, in Cape Town, South Africa. Great place to visit, I really liked South Africa and traveling around that neck of the woods is wonderful if you're adventurous. Take advantage of it, and have fun!


And then I receive another novel:
Thanks for the vacation suggestion and I'll be sure to take it into consideration. It fits well with my general aim to spend as little time in NYC during the winter season. 

Since you seem to have an aversion to generic profile writing, I'll at least try to provide you a somewhat humorous story, one that you'll appreciate as an "adventurous eater". I was in Tokyo with one of my travel companions and we're having a pretty delightful breakfast sampling the morning sushi catches in the fisherman's market when my friend comes running up to me with "shiraku" which my friend translated as white cod roe, a spring delicacy in Tokyo during that time of year. My friend and I tried it and it was actually quite the tasty delicacy; it was creamy yet tart, milky in texture yet the eggs had some firm heft to it. It was an odd combination of characteristics that made the dish pretty unique and worth having. Unfortunately, my friend's Japanese was in a pretty rudimentary state and his translation for shiraku was slightly off. I went home that evening and, to my horror, discovered that "shiraku" actually means "cod semen" and I immediately regretting eating my 5th serving only hours ago. Do you have a gastronomical adventure that beats that? 

Anyway, I realize I keep bothering you but I really enjoyed your profile. You seem like a smart, social, outgoing, and good-looking girl and I would like to get to know more of you. If you'd like, feel free to read my profile and ask me any questions you might have for me. In summary, I think I'm a smart, friendly, and reasonably guy who currently works in finance and as a tennis coach. Even though I work somewhat generic jobs, I think I lived it up my first year and a half out of college with several 1-4 month trips to Barcelona, Shanghai, Tokyo, Prague, Aruba, and other places. At least I know how to spend my 20s! Anyway, if you'd like to know more about me, please feel free. Otherwise, let me know and I'll leave you be. 

Take care for now and enjoy your weekend. 

-.


Long story short boys, if she's not responding to your novels with novels of her own, chance are she's not interested.

Does ignoring a celeb sighting make you a true New Yorker?

Whew! I'm bad, I know. Who goes on a two month hiatus from blogging and then actually expects anyone to follow it again? I'm sorry, I let you down. Please don't be too disappointed, and please understand that I was thinking of you all throughout my intense MCAT studying (and I have the food photos to prove it). Between MCAT insanity and moving to New York for an internship with the Clinton Global Initiative 3 days post-exam, I haven't had all that much time to breathe, let alone decorate my room, upload music onto my first smartphone ever, or write blogposts. I HAVE had time to go on some culinary forays though, to begin to explore my adorable neighborhood of the West Village, and to catch up with a few old friends. That said, I'm reinventing this blog slightly - no longer will it predominantly be about cooking (although don't get me wrong, I'll definitely include cooking things when I do whip something up - it's just that evenings are my one time to socialize, so it can be lonely cooking for one), but about exploring NYC, ridiculous dates, funny stories, ethereal restaurants and the like.

To start, I'll give you my first celebrity sighting of this New York session: Andy Samberg! In the words of my mother, I was plutzing. For those of you who don't know, he's a hilarious comedian often on SNL, in movies and in skits. Check out these two links to see why I love him so much:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WhwbxEfy7fg
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4pXfHLUlZf4

Val and I were out for a lovely Wednesday bite at my neighborhood haunt, the little owl - yes, it IS as delicious as people claim - and Samberg and his girlfriend walk in halfway through our meal and sit down right next to us. Literally, so close, I could have reached over and pinched his cheeks if I wanted to (I didn't. Don't worry). As always happens with celebrities when they aren't followed by an entourage or doused in 7 layers of makeup, we weren't sure if it was him or just some hipster-looking Jewishy New York guy on a weekday date with his love interest. However, as the night wore on and we snuck multiple wannabe-casual glances in his direction, it became clear that it was surely who we thought it was: he slipped out to take a call, he wore thick face-covering glasses, he wouldn't make eye contact with neither me nor Val. I considered leaning over as we were leaving and saying in a low voice, "I know this is weird, but I had 'Dick in a Box' on my workout playlist for a year." But something told me that he didn't want to be bothered, so - upon the waitress' oration of the dessert specials - all I managed get out was a nervous, "The panna cotta is amazing!" Alas, Andy Samberg is not my new best friend, but maybe I'll see him around the 'hood.