Hormonal upsurge?

Research has apparently shown that men are sensitive to female fertility, and are more attracted to women who are at the most fecund point in their monthly cycle. Friends of mine feel like they are sometimes living proof of this phenomenon, and one says to me, periodically, when I describe some sort of entertaining and unexpected male behavior, "you must be ovulating." And she's almost always right.

So, based on some experiences over the course of the last three days, I think I must be ovulating. Just yesterday, for example:
1. Chatting online with an acquaintance of mine, he felt compelled to mention that one of his sources of entertainment for his February Mondays off was, um, solo activities
2. Minutes after arriving at a bar in a slightly more nightlife oriented suburb of Spookytown, the drunkish guy to my right turned to me and asked, quite sincerely, for my opinion on issues of male endowment, bringing to the table (so to speak) his own, and asking for an evaluation of a somewhat crushing comment his recent ex had made to him
3. Another man in said bar told me less than 60 minutes after meeting me that he was in love with me, and I think he was only 1/2-3/4 kidding.

Put this together with the youngish male teacher at my makeup yoga class on Saturday giving me an adjustment (after asking permission to adjust, of course) that involved basically putting two hands on my butt and moving my entire pelvic girdle into a new position, and I can't help but think it may be true. I've spent a month being apparently almost entirely repugnant to the XY types, so I think I'll enjoy it while it lasts, which should be, according to my rhythm method calendar, another day or two...

Photo flashback of the week

Mom with Sveltie and the Giklet. I remember this like it was yesterday. Wait, because it was...

Photo flashback of the week

My first car (cheesecake). 1988. Ah, the Renault Le Car - air conditioning or acceleration, your choice.

NYC: Winter Wonderland?

I went to New York this weekend. I had expected an eventful and fun-packed time, since that is J-ka's base state of existence, but what I did not expect was that I would get caught up in record-breaking blizzardy excitement. (Somehow everyone but me apparently knew that a blizzard was headed into town -- even Mom, down in Florida on some sort of road trip, knew. But when I checked the weather.com weekend forecast before buying my tickets, it said simply "Snow Showers." Was this not something of an understatement? Should there not have been a blinking red banner at the bottom of the screen? But I digress...)

J-ka had been agitating for a visit for some time, but between travel to Chicago, California, conferences, and Thanksgiving, I just hadn't been able to head on up. Plus, what with the parents just 40 miles out of the city, things get awfully complicated schedule- and guilt-wise when they are around on the Island and I want to stay in the city. But a free weekend, nothing much going on in Spookytown, and parental absence (see aforementioned Florida visit) meant the time was ripe. Immediately upon arrival, I met up with J-ka at a tango night in the East Village, in a Ukrainian restaurant (and why not?). The empty concrete corridor you need to traverse just to get into the restaurant, when combined with the smell of boiled meat and heavy dumplings, said Eastern Europe, but the performances of professional tango dancers who had literally just gotten off the plane from Buenos Aires said something else entirely. Watching people tango is fun, but the steep and long learning curve combined with dancing incredibly close to possibly sketchy men who have just walked up to you mean that I am not headed to tango lessons anytime soon.

The next morning began bright and early with my favorite NYC breakfast sandwich (fried egg and cheese on a kaiser roll, why is it impossible to find anywhere else in this country?) and then a slightly odd Jewish renewal Shabbat service, complete with 6-piece band and torah-interpretation performance art. The parts that I liked, I really liked. And the parts that I didn't made me wonder what it is about me that prefers intellectual ethics-focused rituals and services to visceral, more joy-oriented ones. (Weary Eastern-European shoulder shrug here.) After that, it was off to Brooklyn for bluegrass brunch with Benihana -- looking at the stylish and cosmopolitan mid-30s man it was hard to believe that I was his RA 16 years ago, and that he still had his Midwestern middle-parted hair when we met all those years ago. In lieu of resting in order to digest our (so tasty -- Brooklyn Italians really know how to cook) food, we headed back over to Manhattan, where I called my fave cousin J. David when I realized we were but 3 blocks from his house. But wait! Even better, we were just half a block from the man himself, who said, "Hey, I'm on 9th between 2nd and 3rd. Wait, I can see you -- look! I'm the one waving." Just another instance of human-oriented serendipity in my life, and so instead of visiting the commie bakery (they apparently only sell 2 types of cookie) or the cheapie cheese store on 3rd, we ended up checking out J. David's new live/work loft, which he had just gotten the keys for that very morning. There's still a lot of work to be done before it's inhabitable by workers or livers, but it's great.
Evidence of the absent workers seemed somehow touching, and photos taken in the space look oh-so-urban. J. David and I were really happy to see each other. I was reminded once again that the people I like, I really, really like. It's particularly nice when they are your relatives.
After the loft visit, it was back to Brooklyn for a prom party thrown in honor of someone's 40th birthday, held in an actual high school gym in downtown Brooklyn. The snow, which had been coming down for a while, was just starting to accumulate by the time we arrived.
I had forgotten about this party until the day before my departure, but luckily had managed to find a garish but decent-fitting (if shockingly low-cut) prom dress at a local thrift store just 2 hours before boarding my bus up to NY. J-ka, meanwhile, had no worries, as she had preserved (and still easily fit into) her original prom dress. Yes, from 1988. Complete with original gloves that she had sewn matching peach ribbon onto, and original dye-to-match peach shoes. Impressive, to say the least.
Look, the bathroom was in the girl's locker room. So authentic! (Well, except it didn't reek of hairspray.)People danced up a storm.Non-traditional party goodies included balloons, a "Prom 2006" sign taken by J-ka's friend Orphan,and a platter each of tiny cupcakes and crackers/crostini (not pictured).

It snowed all night, and in the morning, it was still going strong (in a falling quickly and blowing horizontal type way).
J-ka is the best of all possible hostesses, but it does get a bit cold in her apartment, especially at night. During a blizzard. The Hermes print blanket (?) certainly helped, though.
After a breakfast of mini-cupcakes and crostini, we bundled up and headed out. Some of us looked adorable,while others resembled Latino thug wanna-bes.As it turned out, pretty much everyone we met on the street was dressed for the cold.The layers definitely came in handy during our 7+ hour jaunt around the winter park that was Lower Manhattan during a blizzard, especially for mountain climbing (here adjacent to the World Trade Center) (well, former and future WTC),angel making,and traipsing through endless snow drifts.Buses were apparently not the best way to make it through the snow (this one seemed to have been stuck for a while),but delivery men on bicycles were all over the place (like their job isn't crappy enough already),
and there was a constant danger of being run over by snowplows,cross-country skiers,and (insane?) joggers.

The snow changed how everything looked and felt. The Irish hunger monument suddenly looked like a testament to the survival of brutal winter storms,
while the lawn-closing announcement seemed a bit superfluous. But for the snow blowers, well, and the snow being blown into your face by the storm, Battery Park was incredibly peaceful, lovely, and desolate-feeling, and New Jersey looked like a far-away, mysterious fairy land. (Insert your own New Jersey joke here.)A snow Sahara?
I liked how this bird built its nest amid the very anti-bird spikes that are supposed to keep it away. The icicles look like extra protection for it now.Trees, as you might expect, looked lovely, especially on blocks that were a bit more protected from the wind.
The snow accumulated on more than just trees, though, and enterprising kids were shoveling out cars for $40 a pop, though I imagine bicycle owners might pay a bit less.
Most of Manhattan seemed to be staying indoors, but the people who headed outside were determined to have fun.
Some seemed to have been having fun even before the storm hit.
Others don't want people to have fun at all.
My bus was cancelled on Sunday night, and I didn't make it back to Spookytown until 6 pm on Monday (having squeezed in both boot shopping and a quick lunch with my friend Yehudit S., who I used to commute to the city with one summer about 19 years ago, and who now works in Midtown). The snow down here was nothing compared to the record-breaking 26.9 inches up in New York, which was kind of sad on the one hand, but made digging out my car and driving home from the bus station a heck of a lot easier.

I think I need a tropical vacation after all of this.

Trite, perhaps, but...

I learned a lot about orchids yesterday (amid my other lesson learning, detailed below). For example, did you know this?
Me neither. Flower photos are a bit on the cliched side, I know, but the USBG orchids were really pretty cool, in addition to being aesthetically pleasing, so I thought I'd share. They can be showy:
And tropically exuberant:
But really pretty scary a lot of the time:

(Look closely at the scary goo in the center of this one above.)

Also of interest at the USBG, ants who love birds of paradise, scary tree trunks, and creepy palm trees.
Looking above, I kind of feel like I just shot an orchid catalog. Anyway, gotta love conservatories in winter, even if this winter day was 65 degrees (we'll talk another day about this winter weather signifying the end of the world).