Keep young and musical

I'm starting to understand what people say when they tell you to enjoy being young. I think it's because I'm feeling young. Yes. On the eve of my 24th birthday, it occurs to me that I have learned in the past year how to keep young.

Yesterday I went to—what I would call—my second real concert ever, my seventh overall. Spice girls was my first concert ever at the Meadows in fourth grade. Backstreet boys came next in middle school. My then-boyfriend took me to Dave Matthews Band junior year; I was so freaked in the midst of all the drunk high schoolers on the lawn I didn't  even realize I was at a concert. (This I consider the real concert, because it was outdoors on a lawn full of music fans high as kites.) I saw Frankie Valli and the four seasons once and Billy Joel twice. So concert-going experience level = novice. 

But I was invited to go to the Global Citizen Concert in Central Park sponsored by the Global Poverty Project. On the bill: The Black Keys, Foo Fighters, and Neil Young. 

A few of my friends won tickets through the online lotto, and we all went as a big group. Now I know why people love to go to concerts. 

I had such a blast. There I was, in Central Park with tens of thousands of music fans, dancing on the Great Lawn and jiving to some of the best bands in the world. 

Can I also just say that guitar players are sexy? The lead singer of The Black Keys was just too nice to look at. It's something about the crisp white tee and middle finger ring that just makes a girl sigh. 

But aside from admiring the band members, I also realized that rock and roll is kind of awesome. It turns out, this Broadway girl just loves good music of any genre. I could totally see myself rocking out to some Black Keyes at home. In fact, I think I'll buy a CD of theirs. 

But I digress. As I stood in the crowd, I noticed that a lot of my fellow groovers were parents who brought their kids with them. One guy—it was the cutest thing—bobbed his head to the beat in time with his toe-headed three-year-old. This guy, a dad and all, was still working it out at a concert and teaching his kid to love music. 

That's when it hit me: music keeps you young. There is something about it that feeds the soul. People have wedding songs and prom songs and "first kiss" songs because music holds a power to bring us back to the moment. Music is presence and nostalgia all in one. 

As further proof of this: I went to see Pitch Perfect as an early birthday treat with my friends Elena (who I sang with in college) and Rebecca. 

Go see this movie. It is hysterical and l laughed out loud at Rebel Wilson the full hour-and-a-half. While Elena and I cracked up at how all the a ca-politics were just childishly silly and terribly accurate, we were taken back to our college days. As a perk, the a capella arrangements had me jamming in my movie theater seat to song damn good music. Nostaligic and present.

Music. You feel it. You live it while it plays, but it also brings you back. Yesterday, jumping around at the Global Citizen Concert (whether to keep warm in the chilled night's air or to enjoy the music is anyone's guess) I thought to myself this is what it means to be young. This is what it is to enjoy New York and life. Then at the movie, I just sat there and swayed and grooved. I had nowhere to be but enjoying myself.

I was always a stressed out kid and my parents would say "Ruthie, just relax and have fun." It may have taken me 24 years, but I think I've learned how. 

Change is comin'

Last week I was home for Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish new year. On day two, one of our former rabbis delivered the sermon.

Rabbi Lazowski taught that shanah does not only mean “year” in Hebrew, (rosh being head, so head of the year) shanah also means “change.”

In what has been almost a year of writing this blog, I've done a lot of reflecting. I've done a lot of exploring. And now, I look back at the extensive life research I've done and work to draw some conclusions about where to go from here. As the new year kicks off, I’ve begun to truly think about what I want to change in myself, hopefully for the better.

Listening to the Rabbi speak, he spoke of change as a journey, "If we are not changing, we are not growing. And if we are not growing, we are not living." The old adage says that you can't teach an old dog new tricks, but according to the thickly-accented words of this Holocaust survivor...sure you can. You can teach any dog who is willing; anyone who is still living.

Of course, you have to train this dog. Change does not happen over night. Rabbi urged us to set manageable goals—a philosophy my yoga instructor, Amanda, echoed in my Saturday night class. Don't expect yourself to go full throttle from the start. If you want to become more educated in religion, aim to study five minutes a day, not to read the Bible in a week. If you want to become more fit and focused, aim to come to yoga once a week for three months, not three times a week for one week. Ease into change.

Rabbi also warned that change is not always for the better. Sometimes you make a detour down the wrong path. He told the story of a married couple: A husband and wife got into an argument, screaming at each other, unable to compromise. The husband quipped, "You should have married a better man." The wife answered, "I did." 

Not all change is good change; it is up to each of us to choose our course wisely.

The most important thing I can change is to be more open-minded. If you know me, you know I've got opinions and I'm stubborn. Writers tend to be this way; we always have something to say. But more important than hearing the opinions of others, I hope to be more open-minded in situations.

I often have difficulty adjusting my mindset once I enter a situation. I remember in high school, I was in my AP Psych class—which was deemed the "easy AP." The kids in the class ran the gamut of intelligence. My peers who asked dumb questions (because dumb questions do exist) drove me insane. And if you asked a dumb question, the next time I spoke to you, I was bound to just think you were dumb and probably keep the conversation super short. Rather than give the benefit of the doubt that my classmate just "had a moment" or that she could be smart in other areas of life, but lack common sense, I judged her. I would not amend that judgement. I reacted based on that judgment.

That's pretty horrible. To be so inflexible in my impressions of people AND to behave towards them based on that stiff opinion? This is what I need to change.

As Yom Kippur approaches with each click of the clock, I ready myself to delve into deep reflection and to emerge ready to take on a path towards change. 

I don't care if you're Jewish, Christian, Muslim, Sikh, atheist, agnostic, or what the hell you believe. Introspection is always difficult, but always important, and always worth it.

So while the Jews of the world prepare to fast, atone, reflect, apologize, forgive, and ultimately, change, I hope that you will also gradually aim to be better.

New York Moment: Odd Jobs

New York City is home to the greatest eclectic array of people in the world. I feel comfortable stating that as fact. It’s more than the size of New York—the city of 8 million people. After all, you never hear anyone ramble on about how much they love Shanghai even though it holds the largest population in the world—clocking in at over 23 million.  

It's more than the skyline, or even the food.

There is a reason why everyone comes here and immediately considers which I <3 NY shirt to buy. 

I’m convinced that it has something to do with the crazy spectrum of person New Yorkers lie on. There are bums buried beneath bags of Coke cans; actors working three jobs (sometimes none of which are acting); recent college grads wandering the streets trying to find purpose; high-power executives jabbering to themselves on their Bluetooths; random celebrities blending in. We all use the same subway. We all walk the same streets. It’s insane how such different people exist in the same environment.

Thanks to the these harrowing gaps in New York society, there is a strange surplus of odd jobs and a city's population of people to fill them. It’s not that there aren’t odd jobs in other cities. What feels different about New York is the variation in the type of task and the elevated demand for people to fill these stints. My grandpa used to joke that I would never be poor, because I could always find a random way to make a buck. 

But this isn't just about the extra dough. The unique aspect of a New York odd job is the opportunity to make connections.  After all, I do know someone who ended up as a runway model in Isaac Mizrahi's Fashion Week 2011 show just because he tended bar at the right person's swank apartment.

Well last week, I achieved a new high of fitting odd jobs into spare time. While working my daily 9-5ish awesome day-gig, after work I filled my week waitressing a private dinner party, a freelance writing project, and babysitting.

I never worked for a caterer. I never held a job at a bar or in a restaurant. But the colleague of a friend of mine was hosting a Tuesday night dinner party at her schmancy apartment and needed some young blood to do the heavy lifting (or in this case the light lifting of wine bottles and the heavy washing of a seemingly endless parade of dishes). While some extra cash is always handy, I actually signed up to be cocktail-waitress-for-a-night because there were bound to be some pretty important media moguls in the room and I wanted to meet them.

The guest list is what made this party so New York. You might get asked to bartend some couple’s 50th wedding anniversary in Massachusetts, but I highly doubt that one dozen CEOs of notable companies like HBO and the like will be in attendance. So, as the upper echelon discussed the upcoming election and the fate of our nation, I served gazpacho and refilled their wine. 

I didn’t get a formal introduction, as the hostess had intended, but at least I tried (and I hope I made a positive impression on the hostess herself).

After that night, I definitely needed to recuperate. Warning: if you spend five hours on your feet serving food, worrying about spilling said food, and then drying dishes that held that food you will be absolutely exhausted. Don’t make big plans afterwards.

Wednesday evening (post cocktail-waitressing) I had packed with two events, both work-related, though not work. I attended a Campbell's event at the Met on behalf of Parents. There is a special Andy Warhol exhibition that just opened and I was invited to preview the art and taste new Campbell’s products. What goes better with Andy Warhol than tomato soup? 

My makeshift dinner-by-tasting was the precursor to my make-up’s night out at Fresh for an Urban Girl Squad event—the organization I blog for. I dabbled in face creams and lip gloss before spending my hard-earned cash (and more) at Loehmann's! With the Jewish holidays in full swing, I needed a wardrobe to match. And therein lies of the beauty of making extra money: no extra guilt.

Before heading home for Rosh Hashannah on Friday, I squeezed in another odd job Thursday night by visiting my second family. By visited, I mean babysat. I’ve been babysitting for the same family since my freshman year of college and they truly are family at this point. I hadn’t seen them in four months and I think I squeezed little Ellington for five minutes before I let go. 

The beauty of New York is that there are odd jobs galore. In fact, you could make a career of odd jobs and live a surprising, spontaneous life if you wanted. But more important than the money, are the opportunities and the people you meet. You never know if the woman whose child you tuck in at night will turn out to be your second mom and confidante. You never know if that woman you poured wine for will want you to star in her upcoming television series (I can dream, right?). 

You just never know.

The Dog Days Are Over

The weather cooled significantly this morning. All the little children are back to school. Rosh Hashannah (the Jewish New Year) hits in just one week. It seems that autumn is upon us and summer is making an exit.

Fall Fashion Week is here, all the New York publications have released their Fall Previews. It’s time we’ve face the inevitable and realize that the dog days of summer are over. I certainly lived it up this past weekend, in what seems like the final bout of summer warmth. At the same time, just because the weather is breezier doesn’t mean that our carefree, relaxed, fun-chasing attitudes should float away with the season.

This past weekend kicked off on Thursday—as all good weekends should. My friend Wesley and I went to see the new Channing Tatum movie 10 Years after I won the Urban Girl Squad contest for some free tickets. A cute little film about a ten-year high school reunion, the movie was nothing brilliant, but it was so fun! Wesley and I went to high school together. Although we were not really friends until undergrad, we had the best time laughing about who each character matched up to in our class and reminiscing over the shit-show that was our five-year reunion last Thanksgiving. Sometimes a movie is just more fun when you see it with the right person.

Friday night I went to a farewell Shabbat dinner for one of my friends who returned to Boston for her final year of law school yesterday—you may recall said friend from another recent post. The dinner was awesome. The food was incredible and we had a blast chatting around the dinner table of 12, in no rush to go anywhere. Some of my favorite times are meals in which you just sit at the table when you have nowhere else to be. The lack of pressure feels incredible and I can truly devote my time and attention to the people I am with. I call these instances, Morrie moments because in Tuesdays with Morrie, the title character emphasizes the importance of being fully present while you spend time with others.

For all you Jews out there, have a Shabbat meal with friends. If you’ve been on Birthright you can even host your meal for free through NEXT Shabbat. For those of you who aren’t Jewish, a meal is a meal. Go out to dinner and make no plans afterwards so that you can linger at your table. Host a home-cooked meal for you and some close friends.

The next day, Super Saturday began at 12pm. For those of you thinking, "Ummm there is nothing political that happens on a Saturday," you are right. Super Saturday is the day of the US Open when the tournament airs back-to-back Men’s Singles semifinals and top it off with the Women’s Singles Championship in primetime. I parked myself on the couch and watched an amazing match between Andy Murray and Tomas Berdych, before the second semifinal match and women’s final were tornado-ed out. That’s one I never thought I’d hear in New York. I mean, there is a reason why I don’t live in Nebraska. (Well, there are many.)

So instead of cozying up to watch my boy David Ferrer, I warmed up at yoga before getting ready for a night out. Mayanot Birthright (the trip organizer for my July Israel trip) hosted a reunion for all Mayanot trips at Lexicon. While I was hoping that a bunch of people from my trip would go, I ended up heading over by myself. My fellow birthrighter, Craig, met up with me later on. The DJ was playing great music, but no one likes to dance alone on the floor. So I walked up to this girl that was dancing in a group and asked if I could join. She was totally cool about it and I ended meeting some fun people at the party. The one thing I will say about the impending temperature decline: I do NOT look forward to coat checks and freezing my butt off on my way to a club before actually getting inside the always sweaty and overheated scene. I relished one of my last nights sans jacket.

But Sunday was the cherry on top. My girlfriends and I ventured to Atlantic Beach for MATCHBOOK’s Summer Olympics day on the water. The beach (as in all beaches) is amazing—and I won’t be back to one for a while. We dove into the water, which was so warm after a full summer of sun-heating, and jumped waves for hours. We started up an epic game of beach volleyball. I learned to throw a football. General romping around in the sand and smores roasting made for a phenomenal day. There were plenty of people at the event who sat on their beach chair, in clothes, and didn’t do much of anything. This is what separates the fun people from the not fun people.

Even though beach weather will bid us adieu quite soon, there is no reason to become one of the not fun people. There are still plenty of things to see and do even in a season that is not summer. Autumn brings apple-picking and pumpkin decorating, foliage hikes and mulled cider. Football season is back—I know how excited most of you are about that. Go to a game! Plan a weekend away in the woods!

If there is one thing I learned this summer, it’s that weekends away are so worthwhile. I used to fear missing out on activities in the city when I was gone. The truth is: if you had fun away, you didn’t miss anything.

I plan to live my year the way I lived my summer. After all, now that I’m not in school, one day pretty much looks the same as the next in terms of daily routine and scheduling. Why not live autumn as if it were summer? The dog days might be over, but there is certainly much to look forward to.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

It is upon us, my friends. My favorite two weeks of the year: the US Open. When anyone asks if I like tennis I say two things 1) my dog’s name is Wilson and 2) the US Open marks my favorite two weeks of the year. Do I play? Not since I was about 12 years old. I wasn’t very good, but now that I have become obsessed with the sport over many years of focused watching I really would like to pick up a racket and re-learn.

The US Open is two weeks of excitement, intense competition, enthusiasm, celebrity, sunshine and late nights. The players love it here, describing the crowd as unlike any other—electrifying, full of heart. 

I have been going to the Open in Flushing Meadows since 2000 (missing only the summer of 2006 when I was in orientation week at Barnard). It’s gone a bit too commercial—this year expecting to attract about 700,000 visitors in 14 days. I still love it. 

This past week has not just marked the kickoff to a FANTASTIC tournament, it has also been a week full of New York antics.

Last Monday night, my friend Emily and I went to go see Jimmy Kimmel in one of those 92Y moderated talks. We got the tickets on the cheap through Time Out Offers. Now a moderated talk might sound boring, but it is still Jimmy Kimmel, after all. I laughed just as much as I do at 12:05 when I tune in to his show. Bonus: his life story is actually pretty cool. As the story goes, he never aimed to be a host in late-night TV. 

It wasn’t his dream, he just sort of fell into it. Nothing against achieving your dreams, but I found it both interesting and comforting that Jimmy did not always have a BIG plan. 

Apparently, Jimmy let life happen—watching the late night shows when he was in high school and moving into radio for the local college station, falling into writing, working on Win Ben Stein’s Money, falling into hosting a game show that never got picked up, until one day he had a conversation with a producer about late-night hosting and was given his own show.

I don’t mean to make it sound easy. He was very clear that he was a workhouse and broadcast radio was no joke. But his talk also demonstrated that life connected the dots for him. Leave it to Kimmel to tell jokes and teach lessons. 

Wednesday my mom and I took the the 7 to Mets-Willets Point in Queens to the Billie Jean King National Tennis Center. We hopped off the subway onto the wooden bridge, highlighted Schedule of Play in hands. I love that bridge. I get pumped up just walking towards the tennis center. We watched tennis from 11am until 8:30pm. AMAZING day. 

It started out right: a great match between Kevin Anderson (South Africa) and one of my favorites, David Ferrer of Spain. After a tough three sets—and a lot of screaming in Spanish on my part—David won! I ran down to get his autograph on my oversized Wilson tennis ball...and he didn’t sign. What? But they always sign. And I was in the best signing position. 

Well, I am an experienced professional when it comes to autograph-hunting. I know where they escort the players: through the tunnels beneath the stadium and out. So I ran to a stairwell where I heard some “wooooooos” which meant that David had just passed by. I bolted. I nearly killed an old man running towards him and then pushed past his HUGE body guard screaming “David David! Por favor la firma!” (No one every said I was normal.) He grabbed my pen and signed as he walked and I exploded “Muchisimas gracias! Buena suerte!” He took a peak through his bangs and smiled. VICTORY!! I knew it would be a good day.

Then my mom and I watched Isner play in Ashe, Ernests Gublis and Tommy Haas play on Court 17, Jurgen Melzer and Bradley Klahn, and Kohlschreibber and Llodra play on a side court. For those of you who just thought “who the hell are these people,” don’t worry. These are names for the tennis fans. Though, Isner (as in John) you should know. Now that Andy Roddick is retiring, he’s going to be carrying the flag for American tennis.

Saturday, I took a little break from tennis. I woke up early to rush One Man Two Guvnors on Broadway. The show closed on Sunday and I had heard amazing things. So I got my butt to the theater at 8am, preparing for the box office to open at 10am. Well...a few people were a bit more enthusiastic (or desperate) and got there at 5am. Insanity. So I ended up buying a ticket at the TKTS booth for the matinee performance. 

Tony-winning James Corden was hysterical. The show was really great. It’s in the style of Comedia Dell’Arte, which is seemingly spontaneous where the actors break character on purpose and speak to the audience (breaking the fourth wall). It’s pretty funny to watch actors playing a character who plays a character. It was really silly and totally fun. 

Sunday, I decided, needed to be another day of live tennis. Andy Roddick was slated to play the day session. Damned if I wasn’t going to see him live at his last tournament ever. 

Once again, for my first match of the day I cheered on mi amor nuevo David Ferrer (Rafa is out hurt) before taking seats to watch Roddick in Ashe. The weather was perfect. The tennis was CRAZY. I do not know how the networks chose a Shot of the Day because the shot-making on Sunday (fast forward to 37:30) was unbelievable. 

Perfectly timed with the US Open, my week was full of New York energy. Fueled by the Open, I set out to enjoy multiple avenues of New York culture. Having been so tired since Israel, I had been limiting my activities around the city and just trying to sleep. But now, I feel like I’m back on track. 

Even though it is past Labor Day and summer is “over,” don’t let that prevent you from exploring NYC. If anything, push yourself to try new things, revisit old favorites. Whatever you choose, there is a reason that international tennis stars are drawn to love New York year after year—they can't resist our unique passion and contagious energy and neither should you.