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I LOVE myself a delicious 'bar', as my lovely friend Dena (of The Perfect Bite, Boston) so endearingly calls them. If you don't know what a 'bar' is, well, I am referring to health food bars, bars with nutrition in them, compact, rectangular pieces of food that tend to be cutely packaged in eye-catching wrap.  

So, when my dear family friend, Meghan Schloat (Asphalt Green Cycling Team's woman extraordinaire & my sister from another mister) posted a review about ZingBars, I just couldn't resist to comment about my excitement for these bad boys (or girls). 

I have yet to get my Zing on, but having recently trained for a half marathon I struggled to find something delicious, yet nutritious for my longer endurance runs. These ZingBars seem like THE perfect fit.   Meghan writes, "By combining all-natural low-glycemic carbohydrates (agave nectar, oats, and fruit) with a moderate amount of protein per serving, Zing bars deliver a continuous source of energy without spiking blood sugar. I find them to be a happy medium between a fast-acting sports gel and a dense protein bar. Best of all, Zing bars’ soft, chewy texture make them easy to break apart and eat while riding." Ummmm, YESS! 

Stay tuned for my ecstatic reviews, chomping and all!

Get your zing on and find out where you can purchase the bars here.

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#scopebacon:  Gluten Free & Vegan Friendly!! Expeditiously Swish Your Way to Diabetes-ville via Your Inevitable Bacon Addiction. 

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This song may have been released more than a year ago, but damn, it's still fresh.  I hadn't heard this song in a few months and then it came on to my spotify radio station while I was running....It took me there for the extra boost :) 

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What’s that catchy song from the GIRLS trailer? Well, it’s Ellie Goulding. And, you could most definitely run 13.1 miles to this song alone on repeat.

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Poehler didn't ask for this.

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In defense of Guy Fieri.

He's Smashmouth, Chumbawumba, and the Macarena all rolled into one guilt-ridden Cinnabon. He stuffs his face. A lot. With Hot Dogs. Like, in one bite.

He's the antithesis of urban and sophisticated. He's an easy target to so, so chic New Yorkers.

He may not tout foie gras and bone marrow in his new restaurant 'American Kitchen & Bar,' but he is a supporter of small business. He's transformed unknown shanties serving eggs into Meccas de huevos in Anywho, USA.  He's delivered business and interest from individuals to 'Diners, Drive- Ins, and Dives' who would normally never give the ol' holes a second glance.  

His influence on small business may be unintentional, but it's still there. You have to at least give him credit for that. 

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Now, who is this? It's not Cementra. 

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Introducing, CEMENTRA.

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If you are a native New Yorker, a 'native' New Yorker by association, or a 'native' New Yorker by right of time, you know what the 30's to 50's mean on the West Side.

A. Whole. Lot. Of. Hell.

Ironically, the north part of Hell's Kitchen is pretty freaking cool these days and its Southern component is a real unfortunate, foul irreparable trash bin-a.k.a your really embarrassing Republican Cousin.

I often forget what the area is like in between where I work and live on the West Side until I decide to walk home from work rather than ride the Joe Lohta Express.

When I was walking home from work this week, I was so bloody happy. I had my tunes on, my walking shoes laced up tight, the air was brisk and people were happy to not be Amish anymore (post-Sandy).

When I hit the West 34th Street 7th/8th Avenue area -my heart, oh, it a fluttered.  So many people. So many slow walkers. Bright lights. Flashing lights. Seizures!?! Ahhhh!!

I truly hate this part of Manhattan. It's about the opposite of where I find Zen.  I, always trying to find the silver lining, was trying to latch on to SOMETHING that would make this hell hole okay.

And, there she was. CHEYENNE. THE CHEYENNE DINER!

(in my head)

The Cheyenne Diner is an iconic rail car diner - one of the last standing in New York until 2008.

For those who may not have ever had the pleasure of knowing Cheyenne, she was special.  Cheyenne hugged West 34th Street & the 9th Avenue of New York for 68 years before she was displaced to Alabama (somewhere) where she quickly bowed her head in defeat.

My old school memory of Cheyenne made me get over my modern problem with the South Hell's Kitchen- Port Authority-Times Square area.

Ever since I was a little girl, Cheyenne was there. No matter the midtown event- Phantom of the Opera, endless sports games, and even Mickey Mouse Club's 'The Party'-my Dad & I frequented the Cheyenne Diner. My dad, a guy who loves to yak it up, loved it! He had his go-to diner gals, his cabbies, postal workers and questionable prostitutes to gab with. I went along with him with a starry eyed interest. I also loved it.

It was our 'thing' together. When news came that Cheyenne's time had come to an end- my Dad & I pretty had a somber call about the end of an era.

 The Cheyenne Diner was one of the last charming things about the Western side of Midtown Manhattan. As long as I channel her-my walks through my least favorite area of New York will be okay. 

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The sunshine man-boy knows how to push a product.

First off, on my run today I saw some amusing sights.

1) An army of Japanese (would-be) marathoners all wearing tutus & pink wigs on a group run. It was pretty funny. Made me laugh and smile & they were also really friendly which put me in a good mood.

2) A 200lb dog (I kid you not) sitting on the lap of its much smaller owner. I reallly wanted to take a picture, but figured I'd be THAT weirdo.

3) And then there was Johnny Sunshine.

I was running north, he was on a bike going south. HOLDDDDDDDDDDD up! It wasn't a bike; it was some weird bike-like scooter contraption. Johnny Sunshine's face was glowing with a smile that stretched from ear to ear. I smiled back because the pure joy a 40-something year old man had whilst riding his neo-bike scooter contraption made my day.

I ran about 1/10th mile farther when I caught a ray of light out of the corner of my eye. JOHNNY SUNSHINE came back to me. I stopped.

Mr. Sunshine goes, "Uh, hey, have you ever tried a FootBike?"

Me: "Excuse me? A what?"

Mr. Sunshine: "What I'm riding here. A footbike. You should try one sometime."

He shoved a postcard in my hand which contained info on NewYorkFootBike and he was off in a jiff.

Up close, Johnny S. - probably early 40s- was like the QUINTESSENTIAL California boy. Manly, but still possessed a child-like excitement about, ohh, the little things in life.  When he shoved the postcard in my hand, I didn't feel violated, more like 'yeah, if this guy is so pumped- than I am so pumped!' I instantly regretted that I did not have one of my single ladies with me because he was frankly adorable.

I digress. The combination of his demeanor & his targeted audience of runners on the bike/run path was pretty dead on. The only problem I have with his approach is: do you really expect a runner to carry this post-card for the duration of their workout? So, I did the 2012 thing; I took a picture of it with my iPhone.

Needless to say, Mr. Johnny prompted me to check out their product online. Their website can use some work- you have to really dig for what the 'benefits' of the adult toy are &, in general, the site could be fleshed out about who runs the gig and why they run it, etc..  I also got the feeling that New York Foot Bike was a wee bit like a big-boys club- no girls allowed!

Well, see for yourself. Here's a video of boys, just being boys. Ha. Would you get one of these contraptions?

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Come Monday....

I took my first run outdoors since Hurricane Sandy hit New York City. I chose to go my typical route along the Hudson as it seemed to be the safest, clearest course available. 

I ran up towards 125th street with my eyes peeled on my surroundings.  The path, normally grey, dull cement, was covered in a tawny brown dust.

Patches of the path had piles of woody debris speckled with fluorescent purple lighters, blue pen caps, and half used Visine bottles. As I approached 125th street, the muddied patches thickened.  Despite the clear destruction and flooding where my feet fell, those brown, muddied strips already donned a fair amount of footprints, tire marks and life that squashed the devastation that so recently overwhelmed the riverside park.

A washed up dishwasher here, a broken piece of construction plastic there- the Hudson Park didn't seem 'so' bad four days post-Sandy.

But, as I ran back South, three dark oblong objects caught my eye. 

It's then I realized the damage of Sandy wasn't about what I was seeing on the ground, but what was in the sky.

 Army helicopters flew in a perfect triangle soaring from the North down the Hudson. As I ran, they transformed from oblong raisins to tiny pen points in the sky. As their propellers became less discernible, one thing came most clear. They were flying to Staten Island. I wondered what was in the helicopters. Only people? Food? Clothes? I just prayed it was something that would ease the pain of my fellow New Yorkers.

While much of Manhattan seems to be 'okay' with the exception of some powerless apartments here or there, it is nothing compared to the loss of homes and life that other New York citizens continue to feel and cope with.

When I finished my run, the marathon was still slated to proceed. I had walked around Central Park earlier in the morning and the marathon prep was in full throttle (much to my chagrin).

  I was bothered by the fact the NYC Marathon prep was plugging along as if everything were normal. I held mixed emotions about the race. Part of me felt the unity of thousands of people presumably running 'for' New York could be a pretty powerful thing. But, then I thought of those on Staten Island and in Queens and how lost and desperate they felt and the Marathon just seemed so, so wrong against persons yet to be found and families yet to be solaced.

Now, it's off, officially. No Marathon this year.

It's unfortunate so many runners spent a lot of money to buy flights, hotels, and bring their families to New York to cheer them across the finish line as they pursue their dream of completing a marathon. But, money is replaceable and can be re-earned. More marathons will come in the future. Lives cannot be replaced. Completely destructed family homes and pictures cannot be replaced. This is the reality New Yorkers are dealing with and comforting those most in need should be our first, and only, priority as a city in the coming weeks.

Come Monday, when most Manhattanites will be back on the subway, back to work, and back in their powered homes-our inconveniences subsided- we cannot forget that the total & utter destruction of so many lives of New Yorkers in other Boroughs has yet curtail or improve. We still need to be there for each other. We need to rebuild together- for the long haul. Volunteer. Donate Money. Donate Food. Donate Clothes.

79th Street Boat Basin

79th Street Boat Basin

Entry prohibited to this Southern part of Riverside Park. 

Sandbags of day's past.

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I'd like to preface this all by saying that I do not like the destruction caused by extreme weather, I'm just fascinated by the intensity of the systems. Last spring, when I was in San Antonio for work, there were intense Tornado Warnings & tornados were touching down all across the area. I literally was like a kid on Christmas Eve waiting for Santa to arrive; except with this, all I wanted was to see my first tornado (from a safe distance) in the flesh. Sick, I know. Family & Friends know me to watch more than my fair share of video clips of extreme weather online or anywhere, for that matter. I can get consumed with vids of hail storms, tornados, and lightning strikes for-ummm, hour(s). I occasionally shoot amateur footage of weather that I want to share with family & friends (see dorky video above). If there are Wild Weather specials on the Weather Channel or History Channel- cancel my plans, Siri! When I lived in Brooklyn, my kitchen window faced North. As wild summer storms would roll by, I loved looking out across the city skyline and watching the clouds, darkness, and noise slowly engulf what was usually North Bklyn/Queens (poor saps). The one downside of my current apartment is that my windows face other buildings & I can't get a clear view of weather patterns tumbling upon the city. Now I know, if I am ever on House Hunters, having a 'weather-watching' window will be one of my 'must-haves'. I am not exactly sure why I am so intrigued by severe weather. Perhaps its the powerfulness and unpredictability of the weather that reminds us, mere humans, that we are insignificant and powerless when up against Mother Nature, the earth, and universe. It forces even the most unrealistic individuals to ground themselves and heed to something bigger and better than they are *gasp*. But, it seems as though my fervent interest in extreme weather is pointing its ugly head at me & playing a game of 'let's see who wins.' Upon thinking about it, every time I've traveled to visit my sister in recent years there has been some sort of extreme weather incident. For instance: 1) The Freak NYC Christmas SnowStorm(s): I won. I got out of NYC on the last flight to CA. 2) Hurricane Irene: I won. First Flight out to CA after the storm. I did had to check my flight status using wifi from a local coffeeshop because my electricity was shot. But, W was still mine. 3) Hurricane Sandy- TBD, but she currently is favored to Win. Blast! I think Mother Nature is sending me a message. But, whatever, queue the next weather vid, please!

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Kids: So, Dad, are you stocked up for the hurricane? Water, food, and stuff? Dad: Yep, I've got enough Oreos to hold me over.

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Getting Old is Not That Bad

I am currently on 'vacation' in Missouri visiting my sister aka my twin who is miraculously three years my elder... It's my first time in the state & I had no clue what to expect other than 1) knowing I'll feel more American (my goal is to hit up as many fast food restaurants and stuff my face while driving in the car a la The Biggest Loser. So far, I've conquered 5 Guys- not that exotic, but a start) and 2) friendly people. What I did NOT expect was as many hills or beautiful trees that I've seen. I am pleasantly surprised with good ol' MO. Channeling my desire to walk as much as I can in NYC so I can truly experience ALL of the city, I capitalized on my daily run to witness MO in a similar fashion. At my sister's suggestion, I ran a few miles up the road to the local school where I could use the track I hadn't run on a proper 400M track in many years. The moment I stepped onto the red, oval, rubber track- I got a bit competitive with myself. My first personal challenge was to run a mile as fast as I could. With the wind roaring against my face- I pulled a 7:42. Ehhh, fine. Whatever. Could've been better. Then, I was like, I wonder how fast I can run 400 meters? In high school, sprinting, or anything less than 400M, was totally my thing. Wahh, wahh. One minute, 20 seconds. This is, approximately, 21 seconds slower than I used to run when I was 18. I felt really old as I looked at my watch. I then realized that I weigh 20 pounds more than I did then. So, I made up an added pound, an added second rationale. Yes, that's why I am slow!! After I attempted to rationalize my slowness, I realized that I'm an idiot. Being 18 was super lame. I was pretty much a sack of bones, worried if some boy would take me to prom, and I worked at TCBY straining my forearm muscles- one scoop at a time (in case you're wondering- I didn't work at a rest-stop). So, I may be slower and fatter, but whatever, I can eat pizza for dinner OR for breakfast. I can also have breakfast for dinner. Or, I can decide to take trip on a whim, stay up late (at my own risk), and not give a rat's derriere about who's going to ask me to the prom. And then, the storm rolled in so I ran home (as quickly as possible).

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A Fleeting Friendship with a Mad Scientist

I had the pleasure (ahem, ahem) of taking MetroNorth into the city bright & early this morning. Typically, morning commutes on MetroNorth include an overwhelming stench of bad breath & eggs accompanied by the cacophony of coughs and sneezes. It's unworldly, really. The general feeling one has at 6:45am M-F on the MetroNorth is that of wanting to grab the nearest SARS mask and curl up into a tight, warm ball and sleep until it's over. Today, it was different. I sat sandwiched between a passed out, heavy breather on my left and, on my right, there was a mad scientist feverishly editing his science document. As I politely asked to sit between these fine specimens, the heavy breather continued to- well, breath heavily- and the mad scientist jumped up, placed my bag on the rack above, and took my jacket off- like a true gentleman. Before I could even blink, our friendship began: Mad Scientist: "You must be going away to someplace warm & sunny and full of palm trees…" Me: "Does Missouri count?" Mad Scientist: In a very Woody Allen way, "I’m afraid not. Sounds more like misery." He pauses to edit his science document. Mad Scientist: "What are you going there for? For some hot shot, fabulously rich tax accountant?" He lets a self congratulatory laugh for his zinger. Me: "Nope, not this time. But, who knows next trip..." *Another pause* Mad Scientist: "I’m glad you’re not some 400lb man who hasn’t showered in a week." Me: "My looks- they are deceiving." Mad-Scientist: "Amazing what some makeup can do." He scribbles vigorously over a chart on his paper. 'TOO SMALL!' he boldly declares. Mad Scientist: (in the most sincere way possible) "I appreciate your sense of humor." For the next 40 minutes, he tuned in and out of the document he was editing to turn to me to rattle off his next witty comment. He noticed I had some orange in my outfit and asked if I wear orange because I like Vitamin C. He also educated me on the benefits of antioxidants. We quickly came upon Grand Central. He again, helped me with my coat and bag. We bid adieu. And then he was gone, my fleeting friend, the Mad Scientist.

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I would've wag.com'ed my tail today if I had one. Wag.com, soap.com, diapers.com- they all advertise like CRAZY on NYC Subways. All sites happen to be under the same corporate umbrella (ingenious!) which makes for simple cross-industry shopping & checkout. I finally caved to their ads when I saw a 20% off deal. My little, prince of a dog has a food allergy so, at the Vet's rec, I buy him this caviar-like, expensive food. Any chance to save some dollars on his food is always welcome. My mom, bless her soul, is dog sitting the boy this coming week. I needed some more food for Griz-wald so I had it shipped right to her house from Wag.com . She calls me at work, "Whyyy'd I get CAT FOOD!?" Me: "Crap." 15lbs of Cat Food. Can a cat even eat that within one year? Imagining the whoes (and $) I'd have to go through to get the food shipped back to wag made me want to find the nearest catlady/catman I could and say- 'PLEASE, take this!' But, didn't have to because Wag.com rocks. UPS will pick up my 'mistake' for free and the proper bag of food is already on its way to me. Ohhh, and the sweet, sweet customer service man who giggled at the word 'Cockapoo,' claiming he had never heard of such a thing. He 'just did not not want my dog to go hungry,' so he made my order VIP so I'd get it faster. The company's responsiveness, friendliness, and efficiency put a big fat smile on my face.

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'Grizzed'?

First off.

Louie= a nickname of mine.

Other nicknames include: Lu, Lulu, Looper. Real name is Lucy.

Louie, for some reason, has always reminded me of home. It reminds me of my mom yelling ‘Louieeeeeee’ as I would drive by her in my hometown years and years back in my totally adorkable first vehicle -a 1987 Nissan Sentra. 4 doors. Several shades of Grey. I named him ‘Jerry'- short for ‘Jerry-atric.’

So, imagine my mom screaming my name,’LOUIEEEEE,’ as I drove the below car (minus those cool rims)…

This isn't the real Jerry, but perhaps a fraternal twin, because Jerry looked far, far worse for the wear. He had extensive rust & only 2 of 4 doors opened. He had frequent speedometer & windshield wiper malfunctions. I channeled Jim Carey from Ace Ventura more than a few times.

My mom always said, “That car gives you character. Did you know, I saw this business man dressed so smart in a suit driving on the highway….he was driving…. ‘A Jerry’!?!”

Groannnn.

Well, she was kind of right about the character part (thanks, Mom & Dad!). My parents never let me know the feeling of instant gratification. When I was growing up, I was taught to learn to deal with, and love, non-ideal situations (such as my beloved Jerry or the fact there were 4 of us kids & only 6 fruit roll ups) and get on with it, work hard, and strive for something greater. Hand me downs were standard, teasing from siblings- expected, fun- always.

In all of this (middle child syndrome & all), I learned to appreciate the little things. I am not a vintage expert, but I can find a damn cute shirt at Goodwill without being a know-it-all, connoisseur, B in Apt 23. The greenest grasshopper will catch my attention while most people might rather step on the poor Insecta. I take pretty pictures, but I’m not a photographer. People are really, really funny creatures & say the damndest things. Beauty is found in the most unexpected places, most indecipherable songs, and most unlikely people.  

Every day, I take a trip a trip to LaLa Land for a minute, or so. Who am I kidding? It's more like hour(s), as my poor friends know. In LaLa Land, I file all of my day's stories, sights, and convos away for future reference.

One of those stories....A few months ago I was in a cab & struck up a conversation with the driver who was from Algeria. He was convinced that there was no kind people left in the world. To him, humans have simply lost the ‘goodness’ we used to have.  This comment hit me hard. It made me a little sad that hope has been lost for the future of manners and compassion and love. But, I’m an optimist at heart. I look at my dog, Griz, & he is 110% happy 100% of the time. It's in his pure nature to want to cuddle atop my head, take a nap with me, and greet everyone he sees with smelly, wet kisses. It made me think, if dogs can find this level of happiness & kindness, than geez, humans can too. We're better than that!

I'll be sharing various images, videos, stories & more on this blog that can help all of us 'Get Grizzed' so we learn not to worry, but to be as happy as my little motor-tailed Cockapoo. You can brush some good vibes onto me, I'll brush some to you, and we can get 'grizzed' and prove that cabbie wrong. 

Griz--->