Anna "Professional Spinster" B.'s Profile

Once upon a time, someone had a GREAT idea.  Why not renovate an old hotel next to the boardwalk, make it clean, chic and hip, sink lots of money into it and the disposable income from Manhattan will come to AC to play!

Add a couple of hip clubs, make it a pool scene like in Miami, and they will come!

OOPS.  They built it, but then staffed it with people who HATE customers.  It isn't even fake snobby HATE, it is HATE.  The clientele are people who "like" get away for the weekend, drink a lot, "Paahty" and complain about the $50.00 cash security deposit.  (I am guessing that not many of them have credit cards or credit cards that work)

I drove in to compulsory valet parking at 5pm (for some reason, I just didn't want to leave the car parked on the street over night).  There were a few cars there.  I had been on the road for a week and had a lot of bags.  The valet yelled at me to "Hurry up and get your bags, I have to take your car".  I said "huh?".

"I need to move your car".  He looked at my five bags that I had put on the walkway.  I asked for a bell hop.  He said "Can't you see we're busy? Parking is $10.00 a day, it'll be charged to your room."  With that he took my key handed me a ticket and walked away.  I tried to grab a luggage cart.  A voice came from a cracked door in front of me "Those are for bellman only."

Did I mention that one of my bags had six bottles of wine in it?  Fuming, I picked up my bags, slung what I could over my shoulder and traipsed into reception.  I walked up to the counter dropped my 50+ pounds of luggage and the receptionist looked up at me, stared for a moment and said "Are you checking in?"  I snapped "No, I am just standing here for the hell of it". (How many people check out of a hotel at 5PM?)

She checked me in, glared as she listened to me complain about no bellman and the valet and then said, "Go to your room" .  I asked, "where is my room?"  After a sigh, she handed me a piece of paper with a magic marker number on it.

Then I was told to carry my bags to the other side of the lobby, and "someone will bring them up later". (the couple in line behind me were hoping that I would take the bait and fight back - I didn't).  I was exhausted, that the woman in "hospitality" simply wasn't worth my time. My thoughts were "if I have to schlep them all the way over to the other side of the lobby, I might as well take them to my room." I had been defeated by nastiness, and my company was paying for the privilege.

When I got to my room, it was just as chic as the pictures, but smell does not photograph.  It was a smoking room, and a stale one at that.

It was dusty, but the bed was large and looked comfortable. I was shattered. I went to order a burger from room service and then go to bed.  Guess what, no PM room service during the week.  I traipsed off to find their Coffee Shop (separate review) but I will say that I took some cute pictures of the flies that were on my table.  I got sick and tired of shooing them away, gave up and took pictures of them as they crawled all over the utensils on my (and other) "clean" tables.

2am:  The drunken fight outside my door was epic. It was like Snookie (not her real name) had been cheated on, and he was gonna pay.  There was thumping and screaming and then tears.  Loud, loud tears.  She was a wild woman that Snookie.

The next day:

7am (that is when room service for breakfast starts) I found out that the only coffee I could order is a pot of 6 cups for $8.00. I ordered it.  It is so sad that it was terrible coffee...

7PM, I was pacing my room, on the phone with my boss when I stepped on something soft and squishy.  I jumped and told my boss that I had stepped on a sock, then I looked.  It was a pair of men's black mesh underwear. No one I know.  I was skeeved out beyond belief.

It has taken me six months to calm down and finish this and my blood still boils...

I can't write about the desk clerk who lied to me and said that they would send someone for my bags when I checked out. I finally gave up and carried my bags down myself.

I can't write about the valet who glared at me as I stood with my luggage at the wrong line and would not help me with my bags. Two nice teenagers helped me.  I wanted to bat my eyes and say that "I always rely on the kindness of strangers" but they wouldn't get it, and I was too hot and upset.

I can't be funny because not enough time has gone by for me to calm down.  It stands at the worst hotel experience I have ever had.

By my third meal here, I kinda fell a little in love. Enough for me to want to take it home and share. Maybe it was the Mai-Tai with the straw paper morphed into a rosette, maybe it was the Lobster and Asparagus Soup, definitely it was the Duck Pot Stickers.  Yes, I am enamored. It is all about the details people, and at Asian Moon they get the details right.

There is parking in the back parking lot, and the place is clean, the staff are nice, and well, the food is so far above average that I forget that I am living in the 'burbs. (Home of incredible Italian, great Greek, succulent Sushi and, finally with the addition of Asian Moon, Amazing Asian Fusion)

I'll stop writing now, upload pictures, and dream about their duck pot stickers.....

Dear Steve,

First, I want to say, I LOVE my new iPad.  Really, it is amazing.  But I am sorry, the hip, cult mentality just has to go. Or maybe, it is just me.

It was a quiet Monday morning.  I had read about the camera connector for my iPad.  I wanted one.  I drove to the nearest bastion of sleek coolness, and was greeted at the door by an iPad wielding greeter.  He pointed me to a wall.  I am sorry that everything is packaged in white, and that I am so uncool that I could not discern one little white cable box from another white cable box.  

A blueshirt helped me.  There were so many blueshirts with their gadgets that I was amazed.  It seemed as if there were more blueshirts than customers.  And they were very, very, busy, communicating with their hightech communicators.

Then I tried to pay for my $29.00 white box.  Apple does not believe in cash registers, or lines for that matter, a blueshirt will walk around, and tell you to walk over to another blue shirt, but he won't be able to help.  He'll point you to a blueshirt with an iPad that also greets you.  But she couldn't help either, and pointed me to a blue shirt at the wall of white boxes.  That blueshirt was very nice, and just needed to turn his gadget on.  I went to pay (obviously it was credit only).  I opted to use the gift card that Grannie and Grandpa gave me for Christmas.  But that blueshirt could not accept gift cards. And wanted to walk us to another part of the store.  (on the plus side, it is a store AND a gymnasium!).  I balked that a quick purchase could be prolonged to even longer, and then I gave him a credit card that no longer worked.  (oops, I can't tell white boxes from each other, AND I grabbed an expired/empty  credit card from my wallet (it does look like the new replacement card... sort of... ) ok, maybe by then I was frustrated - you know old people and their low annoyance threshold).  I whipped out my debit card, and finally, we were leaving and I felt old, out of touch, and faintly frustrated....

Steve, I get it, I am just not cool enough for you.  I still need a point of purchase in a retail establishment.  I need to be able to spend $29.00 on a white box that I can locate on a wall of white boxes.  (really, aren't we over monochrome yet??? (I miss you Andy Warhol)).

Steve, I realize that it will never be totally over  between you and I.  After all, we are compatriots; so, you are a couple of decades older than me, but hey, we both have transplants! And we have been through so much... technologically speaking.

I will always love you Steve, but I get it that you have abandoned me to fend for myself while you court your teenage lovers. I expect that this is THE crisis in our relationship that we would eventually have to face.
I am woman enough to know that I was lucky to have been a part of the last 20 years, and I will always have our shared memories:

That signature Mac that you sent to Martha when I was a teenager?

The day I laughed at you when I first saw the clamshell design?  

Then our love affair went on-line.  The night, after a bottle of champagne when I turned on the iBook, (gen 1.0)?

Or when our on-line affair went viral, and you mailed me (all the way from China via the Internet) that first generation iPod?  Oh, the money I spent on you....

But the excitement that I once had for you has faded.  I will always have my memories of what once was. (stored digitally on the bluetooth external HD 500gig - I just can't justify a $99.99 a year subscription to mobile me))

Steve, you have upgraded without me.  We are no longer living in a parallel world you and I.  I have been replaced by wi-fi n/3g.  I know that we had many good times, we were cool once, we were rebels in a white collar world. I see now that you will be forever courting what your marketing and image department recommends. Meanwhile, I am going to take my iPad, my new white boxed camera adapter and some accumulated wealth, and I am heading to London for a couple of weeks with the Italian pool boy (no worries though, he won't be wearing a blue shirt... if I have my way, he won't be wearing any shirt at all).

I'll send a post card... via snail mail.

Always,

Anna

This is how I like my meat.  Fresh, well dressed and with attention to detail. Ok, I'll stop being dirty now, Because Mike the owner is a great guy, and he deserves respect. (his wife works with him too!)

A German meat market owned by an Italian equals a great selection of old world cuts of meat (wurst anyone or suckling pig?).  There is a nice selection of German dry goods (Spetzel? Black Forest cookies? Gummie Frog candy??) It is a small shop, dominated by counters and signs of what foods are available.  Duck breast? Smoked meats?  God old Steak or Crown Roast??? And then there are the cold cuts.  umm, yeah, many a delicious lunch sandwich has been thanks to Karl Ehmer.

If you want an old world specialty shop that is all around good, with a butcher that is willing to make sausage just how you want it, or french lamb-chops for you, or get you that pork belly that you are dying to have... Well, Mike is you man, and he can be found at Karl Ehmer Quality Meats in Old Brookville.

It called to me.  It said "Anna, you have driven past my entrance for over a decade, why the heck haven't you stopped in?!?" My reply was "You never invited me!" (Did I mention that I hallucinate when I drive the Mini on a sunny day?  With 70's-80's rock blasting through the speakers and the outside world framed by a retro British instrument panel, it is intoxicating - really...)

Ok, what really happened (and I wonder why people question my driving ability) I saw their sign for "The Sea Around Us"  - yep, show me a picture of a sail and a wave and I am hooked.  I'm easy that way.

This museum is a converted estate owned by Nassau County, and well, the budget is slim, and the museum is tiny. I paid my $2 dollars for parking, was handed a yellow ticket from staples, and proceeded down a long driveway, under a trestle, and finally to the parking lot.  It was EMPTY on a sunny Saturday at noon.  Maybe four cars? Five?

What makes this a Museum with potential is that the landscaped grounds with eclectic statuary are accessible for $2.00 parking.  You don't know how much I want to make an elaborate picnic, invite some musician friends, and have a sunny afternoon with good food, good music and good friends surrounded by interesting art.  Really, I am going to have to work on that.  Maybe one nice September weekend.

I have uploaded pictures with comments, so this post is just setting the scene (or the possible scene).

The house is a house.  Granted, a nice turn of the century house, but it is like going to grannies (well, my pretend rich WASP Grannie), but all of the furniture has been removed, and some of her friends are sitting there in the entry way asking you for $10.00.  I shelled out my $10.00 and then clipped on my Museum Button, and walked into what may have been a library.

It was then that I knew my visit was fate.  I'm going to digress for a moment,  as I stepped into the current exhibit, "The Sea Around Us", I was looking at the boat of my obsessions, a model and pictures of the SS United States.  This boat caught me by surprise the first time I saw it, and it was love at first sight.  I was going to Ikea in Philadelphia, and I was a bit lost (umm, yeah, I get lost a lot), and I looked up, and there was this giant ghost of an ocean liner, just sitting there. I looked at my companion, and pulled over, and just sat there, jaw dropped.  Maybe it is the romance of the high seas, I don't know, but, it obsesses me.

And there it was in picture and model form, at the Nassau County Museum of  Art. What a great surprise.  And that is what this Museum is, a great surprise.  A Pissaro here and there, a cute picture that I thought was in an Amateur Room upstairs and when I looked closer, it was Hopper.  Duh - I love Hopper.  He was no amateur.

My advice, if you are in the area, see this museum.  Take a bit of time and walk through to see what surprises you. That is what art does, it surprises you, it can please you, and it can make you think "Why/How did they do that ?"  - My take on the polished chrome statue of a Whippet with a woman's head done in a dull contrasting raw metal.

You'll see familiar (the grand daddy of the brasses in the 14th Street A/C/E station), and foreign (the distant black disc in the water as seen from the second story window in Gallery 6 - near the ladies room).

There is a lot of indoor/outdoor potential for your $12.00. Go on a nice sunny day, and wander.

What is it about family?  I went to the Tenement Museum with my eldest sister. For me, it wasn't just an exploration of NYC's history, it was an exploration of family.  At one point, as we stood in the courtyard, listening to our educator, looking at outhouses and trying to imagine life in 1869.  I turned to my sister and asked, "where do I come from?"  I am a northern European Mutt, part Old New England Founding Fathers blah, blah, blah, and part Scandinavian turn of the century immigrant, with a little bit o'Irish to add some flavor.  (My sister very economically said "Sweden would be the most recent")

This museum is a vibrant time capsule of NYC and a living monument to the 7,000 families who passed through the hallways.  Working class, new Americans who were taking the first step on the ladder to the American Dream.  German, Irish, Jewish, Italian, Greek - all through the dark narrow stairways and tin lined halls, creating this melting pot that we call our country.

We took the Moore Family Tour, led by a well educated, ethnically proud third generation NYC Irishman, you could tell that his work was an homage to his family.  This was not an actor.  This was a man who was intimately versed in the Irish immigrant experience.

My sister and I decided that when she comes back to visit NYC, we'd take the tours for the other families/ethnicities. Although expensive @ $20.00 per tour (also offering student & senior discounts), you get a long guided exploration of the building, starting at the bottom, and then brought to the apartment of the family you are visiting.  Artifacts abound, both those found in the building entombed for 50 years, and objects researched an curated for each specific apartment and time period.You also see the preservation process in other apartments that are not restored, and you get a good background on the evolution of public health and housing laws in NYC.

It has a cool gift shop as well, at 103 Orchard (where you buy your tickets) with some unique gifts and plenty of books.  There is also another building next door that has been purchased by the museum, and in a year or so will be offering more recent immigrant housing experiences.

This tour made me think of who I am, where I came from and what my impact will be.  After the standing/walking tour (chairs are available) my sister and I hit Starbucks on Delancy for a coffee, then walked down Orchard to the Hester Street Fair, got some yummie food, did some shopping, then walked to the Essex Street Market to shop for dinner (chocolate covered bacon was an appetizer).  

We talked about the impact of the tour off and on all day.  And tonight, after we polished off dinner and a bottle of wine, me, a NYC immigrant from Maine via Europe - I grabbed a pencil, picked a spot on my own "Tenement" wall, and I signed my name.  I am sure that it won't have the lasting power or the emotional impact as seeing the cursive signature of one of the last juvenile tenants, who left her name on the wall before her family moved to Queens in the 1930's, but we'll know that after I move from my little NYC apartment, under a layer of paint, will be my own mark in the history of a NYC rental, inspired by a visit to the Tenement Museum.  After all, aren't we all immigrants in one way or another?

Sunday early evening.  After a long day downtown, movies and street fair, the boy and I stopped at my local for a burger & beer.  It was my first time, (I am not a fan of bars - too crowded and noisy) but on off hours, this place is GREAT!

I wasn't too hungry, so a beer was fine for me.  But when the boy's basket of a pulled pork sandwich and fries arrived....  well... I nibbled, then, I grabbed the knife and fork and divided! Yummy - juicy sandwich, toasted bun, thick cut fries mmmmmm.  Jason our really friendly Bartender recommended it along with a pairing of Dogfish Beer - fruity start, coffee finish.  It was really great.  Jason knows his stuff.

Pulled Pork Sandwich platter and two beers $22.25 plus tip

How to lose two stars.  

10:30 in the morning.  The sole patron is a woman who looks like it has been a long morning.  A new waitress gives her a menu and is nice.  The patron peruses the menu more than she usually does.  She needs comfort food.  Decision made:  Hot coco and Banana Pecan Pancakes. Waitress brings a nearly perfect bowl of hot coco. Patron checks her Blackberry, tries to figure out when to schedule the surgery.

Banana Pancakes arrive at the table.  Patron looks.  Hmm, weren't there supposed to be Pecans too?  Crunchy bits of pecan would be perfect with Banana Pancakes.  Waitress has disappeared.  Patron flags down a waiter.  Asks: "aren't there supposed to be pecans on the pancakes?" Waiter says "NO". Patron questions her sanity and asks for a menu.  Waiter huffily goes to get a menu.  "We never have pecans on Banana Pancakes" .  Waiter comes back after reading the menu that says "Banana Pecan Pancakes".  Waiter goes away.  Minutes later comes back with a dish of walnuts and silently sets them on the table.  Patron looks up (about to cry - not because of the g-d damn pancakes) "these are walnuts."

Waiter says "That is all we have." and walks away.

FYI, the pancakes were like lead and tasted like they were made with bisquik, and had no bananas in them (but there were bananas on top), four bites, and I had to leave. So much for comfort food.

Sigh. It is official.  I now HATE Le Monde.

I just thought it would be trippy to write my review while NJ flashes past my window as the BoltBus I am on cruises down the freeway towards DC.  Let's just say I am a veteran bus rider....  It started as a teenager, Greyhound from Belfast Maine to Boston (Greyhound also owns this BoltBus I am riding on now - their name is in the small print on the side of the bus).  Those pesky Maine drivers license testers frown upon hitting the car in front of you (first attempt) and recklessly pulling out into traffic (second attempt) I really don't remember if I finally got it on my third or fourth attempt - but I digress... (aren't you glad I'm not your bus driver??)

BoltBus 33rd St & 7th Ave sidewalk - kinda hectic boarding (I printed my receipt instead of my ticket - oops) but once on the bus, roomy with OUTLETS in the seats and FREE WI-FI.  so what of my seatmate is an annoying whiny Lindsay Lohan wanna be, I have headphones and Pandora.  (Netflix eats up bandwith and can be sllllloooowww).

The seats are a bit hard, and could be more comfortable, I haven't checked out the bathroom yet (I really don't want to) and that jerk in the seat in front of me brought on stinky food, but hey, for $10.00 I'm not complaining!

The staff and driver are fast, and no nonsense - no complaints here.  I'll update from the bus back from DC should there need to be any .  For now, I am going to play a game on Facebook while the miles roll on by...

On a frosty winter evening, I was trudging through the West Village on my way to my Writers Group.  I was a little hungry, a little cold, and when I nipped down a side street, I stumbled accross Bonsignour, lit up like a welcoming hearth on a snowy night.

How to make me very happy...  steamed hot coco and an empanada like my imaginary Argentinian Grandmother-in-law would make. (hey, a girl can dream)

This small cafe with a display case of pre-made yummie looking food is a gem.  Nice music, nice artwork, benches out front, cute smiling staff.  GREAT steamed hot coco.  Small, but tasty beef empanada in a lovely flaky crust.  $6.00 was a little pricey for cheap old me but for the West Village, well worth it. (And NOT Starbucks!)