Veggies! Get 'em while they're...Crisp.

Never trust the Man, man. Unless he's wearing overalls and a big straw hat.

One of my favorite and delicious choices I've made in this fine city was joining a CSA. While paying up front for six months of groceries was hard to swallow, it's more than paid for itself both in quality of food and in what I've learned (been semi-forced) to cook.

Every Wednesday, my friend Lizzie and I split a share of fresh fruits and vegetables from local NY/NJ farms, which is delivered directly to our office.

It reminds me of a grab bag (aptly titled The Bag - Jamie, you know what I'm talking about) full of jewelry, which you don't get to open until you purchase. While living in Ann Arbor, my roommates and I shared one CSA with another house (meaning it was essentially split six ways), but ironically, we rarely finished it. Reminds me a little of the bystander effect, if you think of vegetables as desperately wanting to be eaten, which I generally do.

Having ownership of an entire half has caused me to step up to the (dinner) plate, and up my cruciferous game. No two weeks have been the same, and I can honestly say I wouldn't ever have bought on my own:

fresh dill, parsley, thyme

swiss chard/kale

leeks

radish

to name a few.

It's kept me on track to eating well every week, since it comes automatically and doesn't require a trip to the grocery store. Obviously, living in a food capital like this one, it's easy to eat out and spend little time in the kitchen, which I find incredibly soothing (I really hate identifying with gender stereotypes, but I seriously love to cook. Give me an apron and pie recipe, and I'm set.) I probably end up shopping even more to make complete meals with seemingly random vegetables, but it's so worth it.

I've only had two issues with the CSA, since the rest has been bliss:

1. It's awkward bringing a bag o' groceries with you to bars and happy hours. Be prepared to be called 'Farmer Cathlin' by friends.

2. The peaches. They just haven't been rave-worthy this season. It wouldn't be a big deal if it weren't for the free, amazingly succulent peaches we have at work...mere feet away from where our food is delivered.

Lesson #35 in moving to a big city: Join a CSA! Or at the least, vow to shop weekly at a Farmer's Market if you're not ready for CSA type commitment. Not only will this help you feel more connected to local farms and your community, but you'll cook more adventurously and often. My only regret was taking so long to join to get in on the action.

So now, I leave you to chew on this thought:

"Sex is good, but not as good as fresh, sweet corn." - Garrison Keillor.

Don't Sweat It.

But if (and when) you do, you're not alone.

There's something about New York that inspires so much beauty, art, music, philosophy, and all of these things take passion. In the summer, that much passion conjures a sweaty demographic, moving madly through the city, glistening and glowing. Not exactly a pregnant glow, or this kind either, but a glow that reflects the haziness of summer with 8 million best friends, living in close proximity.

Lesson #28: Embrace the sweat: a thin film of it will cover you at all times during summer, so learn to find it sexy on yourself, and others. Accept that you will often feel like a wilting flower, cowering from the sun with your fellow perennials.

Once you get past the fact that you'll always be a little sweaty in the summer, you can learn to look forward to things like taking the train (when the AC is actually working, that is). It's almost painful how cold it can get, but I love it - and as I've said before, moderation is overrated and ultimately kind of lame.

So wipe your brow, roll up your sleeves, don't worry about that glisten because you don't have time for worry, you've got a lot of living to do. Besides, people find it pretty sexy - not that you have a choice.

I have always depended on the kindness of hot, sweaty strangers.

It's a New Scentsation

I could write an Ode to the smells in this fine city. Unfortunately, not all of the smell are fine, and the ones that aren't seem to assault you when you least expect it.

Lesson #12: Your nose/palate simply cannot prepare itself for the plethora of scents. Just accept this. Clearly, this lesson is just more of a fact, since I can't conceive how one would prepare for these things.

Of course, some of the scents are indeed horrible (sometimes if I'm walking close to the Hudson, the smell is almost enough to make me fall in.) And though I'm someone who tries very much to be in charge of my own happiness, but I've found it to be damn near impossible to even feign happiness when surrounded by a terrible smell. It's a similar feeling I get when feeling too warm - flustered, pissed off, and decidedly not myself (if I am any of these things usually, please let me know because that means I have absolutely no sense of self).

But! There are such succulent smells in this city that I'd gladly accept the terrible for a glimpse (waft? aroma?) of perfection. Most days I'm treated to the delicious delight of walking over bakery vents at Chelsea Market on 15th St. The wafting smell of bread, pastries, etc is enough to make a woman go weak in the knees. Some go for tall, dark, and handsome...others are content with the decadent smells of bread baking.