Alimentary Amore

Two of Mike Cope's recent posts jumped out at me today, and both are culinary-themed. The ones on hymns snagged me last week, but after reading through the 100+ comments on each music-related post, I really have nothing to add to that discussion that probably hasn't been said ad nauseum. However, I can't pass up the posts on Starbucks and the Food Ladies because . . .

I LOVE Starbucks and Food Ladies!!!

Or maybe because . . .

I LOVE FOOD!!!

I'll return to the Food Ladies tomorrow, but I'll address my love of Starbucks today (incidentally, you must try the banana creme frappacino -- delish). For starters, one must understand that I passionately adore food, sometimes in an almost scary way. It really frightens my youngest sister, who thinks that my delight in dining is a bit bizarre. While I'm not really a total Epicurean, I enjoy food enough to sit around reading cookbooks and surfing the web to find interesting restaurants and B&Bs (with amazing breakfasts) that I would like to visit. I can't help it -- good food makes me happy, and it makes me feel good.

Part of it has to do with my blood sugar sensitivity, I'm sure. When I get too hungry or go too long between meals, I experience pretty bad depression and become amazingly short tempered and even weepy. Nothing cures these shortterm doldrums like some of my Musical Genius' best salmon dip.

Food is also effective on my more serious bouts of sadness that aren't even blood sugar related. My first birthday after my father died, my sister Citizen-C took me out to dinner and a Lakers game. I was mopey, depressed, and irritable all the way to the restaurant, but once I looked at the menu and ordered my glass of red wine and interesting dish with pesto and goat cheese, I started to perk up almost immediately -- before we even saw physical food.

However, my fondness for Starbucks also has a lot to do with my joy in sharing delicious delectables with people I love. At some point, Starbucks became my happy place. Not only are the specialty drinks delicious (especially the Christmas ones), but I'm usually enjoying them with friends and family. Meeting Auntie M for coffee has become one of the highlights of my week. I remember fondly sharing gingerbread or eggnog lattes and apple cider with Mom and Sarah after the symphony, having a chai latte with Cori after a crazy evening at the Grill, and slurping frappacinos with Wells before or after a looooong day of teaching. Going back even further, I loved having Starbucks espresso shakes from the Bean Sprout in the middle of day with my music department buddies. The yummy caffeinated concoctions and companionship were just what I needed to run the emotional gauntlet of a late afternoon voice lesson. It's no coincidence that "Mucho gusto," which is a Spanish idiom for "pleased to meet you" has the same roots as gustatory. For someone like me, friends and food are ofter intertwined.

Not only was Starbucks a great place to go with friends, but it was also a great place to be alone, and a quiet place of escape. I would pop into the one right across from the GACS music building in between hostessing and teaching and have a latte (and maybe a cookie or toffee bar) and read a novel or write a bit. I did my best Bible studying there. Now I might frequent the one on 110 and Broadway and work on translations or journal. For some reason the atmosphere is just right -- sometimes more comfortable than my own couch.

I haven't even mentioned the Starbucks Bearistas . . . which I won't start on, but I just adopted this one after a tough day, and he makes me smile. And who can overlook the Hear Music collections, particularly the Artist's Choice series, which began with one of my favorite CDs ever.

Anyway, there's so much more I could say, but I'll save my inspiration for the Food Ladies tomorrow or Monday.

Crazy Skinny Lost Girl

Caveat: This post is going to make me sound evil and insensitive to the plight of a loony, drugged-out nutcase. I'm really not; I am normally rather compassionate, and this person obviously could use some compassion along with real help of the psychological variety. However, I have been under quite a bit of stress lately, and I just want to be left alone. I'm seriously thinking about writing to Gothamist and calling Morningside Public Safety about her -- especially when she goes into muttering and stomping mode. Read on and forgive my momentary lapse of goodwill.

I first ran into Crazy Skinny Lost Girl, or CSLG, a couple of months ago on a Sunday afternoon not too far from D'Agostino's at 110 and Broadway. However, I think she's been haunting the Columbia University area with increasing frequency for the past five or six months.

Actually, Daughter was the first to encounter CSLG. She ran into her near Morningside Park when out walking the "family" dogs several months ago. CSLG has since abbreviated her schtick, but Daughter received the full measure of the insanity. It went something like this:

CSLG: (in a very high voice) Excuse me, can I ask you for directions.

Daughter: Um . . . OK . . .

CSLG: I fell and hit my head (or something like that) because I have an eating disorder, and St. Luke's won't treat me because I have an eating disorder, so I need to get to somesuch eating disorder treatment center (St. Mark's?) on Eighth Street. Can I walk there from here? Is it close?

Daughter: No, not really. Couldn't they take you in an ambulance?

CSLG: Provides some weird excuse I can't remember. My sister could take me. Do you have a cell phone? We could call her.

Daughter: Well, I'm just out walking the dogs. I don't really have anything with me.

CSLG: Can we go back to your apartment to get it?

Daughter: Um . . . You could take a cab.

CSLG: I don't have any money, and I can't talk to men. I can't touch money. It's unclean. Maybe you could hail the cab, tell him where to go, and give him the money for me.

Daughter: Uh . . . I don't have any cash on me. I'm just out walking the dogs, and I really have to get back to the apartment. Worst case scenario, you could just stiff the cabby.

CSLG: But he would be a man. I can't talk to men. They scare me. They're unclean. But you could talk to him for me. We could go back to your apartment, and you could get some money.

Daughter: I wish I could help you . . . Look, there are a couple of policemen over there. I'm sure if you explained your predicament to them, they would drive you down to the clinic.

CSLG: Starts muttering and stomps off.

Until a couple of months ago, I just thought this was a bizarre, slightly amusing story. CSLG definitely scores points for creativity. At least this was how I felt before CSLG started stalking me. OK, she's not really stalking me, but she has decided to lurk almost daily, without fail, on the stretch of 110th between Broadway and Columbus and has, as of this morning, asked me for directions to this eating disorder facility at least FIVE times. The first time, I was polite and listened to her for a couple of minutes simply because I remembered Daughter's story and kind of wanted to hear this mess for myself -- except that I was running late for a voice lesson. She told me that I seemed very approachable. I think this is sometimes not such a good trait to have.

The second and third times, I just told her I couldn't stop because, once again, I was running late for something (sadly, this was true -- I am late for life). She started stomping around and muttering to herself.

However, the fourth time, I was a little bit peeved. I had been having a bad day and really did not want to be bothered by CSLG or any other crazy person roaming the streets of New York. I said, "Look, both I and a friend of mine have given you directions before. You've been looking for this place for six months. You could have walked there from here a gazillion times already. If you have not found it yet, you are not going to find it." I did not stick around to hear what she would have muttered back.

Naively, I thought that after my mild invective, CSLG would stop bothering me. I know other people in our building have had similar run-ins with her, and my Musical Genius has called her on this scam or whatever it is several times (apparently, she now needs directions so badly that some men are no longer "unclean"). However, as I was speedwalking to the subway -- late for work again -- who should approach me with her crazy, whiny, "Excuse me, can I ask you for directions?" This time I just sighed and said no. Maybe she'll have better luck this evening.