How to survive a New York winter

by Ella on January 5, 2010

Winter in New York

Pic by Chris

Growing up in Australia, you think you know winter. Then you go somewhere like New York and realise that your life has been a balmy, sunny sham.

One of my biggest worries when moving here was not how difficult it would be to find a job during a recession or how tricky it might prove to secure an apartment. It was whether I could make it through four-odd months of snow, sleet and subzero temperatures.

I arrived in the city at the tail end of winter 2009. Having sold or given away most of my possessions — and coming from summer in Australia — I had little in the way of warm clothing. My initial strategy for dealing with wind-chill temperatures of -15 degrees Celcius was to wear all my clothes at once. This made me look rather ridiculous, and also ensured that every time I entered a building or got on the subway, I would start to sweat and feel faint under the weight of 35 cardigans. Rookie mistake.

When dressing for the cold, it’s actually better to wear fewer layers. You just have to make sure that each one traps the heat most effectively. For the benefit of those who grew up sunning themselves on various idyllic beaches, here are the essential items for a winter wardrobe:

    winter-hat
  • A snuggly hat that covers your ears. A few weeks ago I purchased the Best Hat Ever. (See evidence at right.)

    I can’t even deal with the perfection of this hat. For starters, it was cheap: $7.50 from Pearl River, a SoHo store known for its Asian delights like fluoro perspex chopsticks, paper parasols and cheapskate kung fu shoes. (You could also nab a similar style from one of the souvenir shops on Canal Street in Chinatown.) It’s wool, but lined with fleece, so you don’t get an itchy scalp. It covers your ears, preventing Frigid Pinna Syndrome. And it has those braided tie thingies that you can grasp to pull the whole thing tighter around your head when the wind picks up.

  • An insulated jacket or coat. If you live somewhere where “winter” means anything below 20 degrees celcius, don’t even bother going coat shopping. The lightweight wool specimens on offer will let you down when you venture into the real chill. I guess you could hit up a ski shop, but the prices tend to be steep, and, in Australia at least, the selection’s not great. Wait ’til you get here, then hit up The North Face and nab a waterproof, fleece-lined, let’s-not-mess-around-here jacket or coat.
  • Thermal singlets, tights and long underwear. Now we’re talking! This is real hot-chocolate-and-marshmallows-by-a-roaring-fire type stuff. Head to Uniqlo — conveniently located on Broadway, right near Pearl River — and pick up some of their Heat Tech singlets and shirts. They come from Japan, cost less than $20 each, and are magical. Would you expect anything less from the industrious Japanese? Apparently the fabric is a mixture of rayon and milk protein. Bad news for vegans, but good news if you don’t mind warming your derriere with dairy.

    As for your legs, girls can go for woollen tights under jeans, and dudes can pick up some long underwear. Unless you’re all “long underwear’s for girls, I’m hardcore”. In which case, please suffer in silence when you freeze your ass off.
  • Waterproof boots. You’ll need them when it snows! And, more importantly, the day after it snows, when the gutters are a mix of grey slush and giant camouflaged puddles. For cheapo wellies, head to K-Mart at Astor Place or good ol’ Pearl River.

Everything else is pretty self-evident: add a scarf, gloves, a cuddly jumper — that’s “sweater” to you American folk — and thick socks. You are now ready to face winter in New York. Which is actually pretty neat, once you’ve got the dressing part down. Here are just a few highlights:

  • Ice skating. There are rinks everywhere. The most famous, natch, is the one at Rockefeller Center, but it’s super pricey and chocka-block full of tourists. The only advantage of going there is that you might get to see some nervous guy from Iowa propose to his girlfriend on the ice. (This happens multiple times a day, as a result of the rink’s $250 “Engagement On Ice” package — see this PDF for details. Commodify my love, baby!)

    I say get your schmaltz fix by watching proposal videos on YouTube, and for cheaper, less-crowded ice skating, try The Pond at Bryant Park, Lasker Rink at the top of Central Park, or Wollman Rink in Brooklyn’s Prospect Park.
  • Snow. It really is gorgeous, the way that it coats the trees and houses and roads in icing. Especially in a frenetic city like New York. Everything becomes quiet and slow and peaceful. And everyone is a kid again! A few weeks ago there was a snowstorm, and a snowball fight broke out in Times Square. Stuff like that reminds you that you don’t have to be glued to your PS3 to have a glorious time playing around.
  • Central heating. In a way, winter is almost worse in Sydney, because everyone pretends it doesn’t exist. Unless you’re a fancy rich person, it’s unlikely that you’ll have central heating. So when the mercury dips to 10 degrees C overnight, you’re stuck with your crappy little fan heater that you don’t want to turn on because your energy bill will skyrocket.

    Most apartments in New York are equipped with beefy radiators. When winter hits, the super will flick a magical warmth switch, and all of a sudden your house is toasty. And there’s no heating bill — it’s included in your rent. The only downside is that some radiators make a really loud hissing noise. Lately I’ve been having these crazy dreams about snakes coming to kill me, and I realised that it must be result of radiator sounds filtering through to my unconscious brain.

All that said, I still consider myself a n00b to this whole winter thing, so if you have some good tips for staying warm and happy, please share them in the comments!

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Digg
  • FriendFeed
  • Delicious
  • Tumblr
  • Technorati Favorites
  • StumbleUpon
  • Share/Save/Bookmark

{ 21 comments }

Introducing The Elegant Guide

by Ella on December 17, 2009

Many months ago I had an idea for an online comedy series. I scribbled various influences — Amy Sedaris, Shaun Micallef — and fragmentary ideas — etiquette instruction; a fallible, deranged host — into various notebooks and wondered how on earth I was going to shoot it when I had no money, no camera, no sound equipment, no lighting and no location. You might say the odds were against me. But practicalities should never defeat creativity, dammit.

As fortune would have it, I managed by pure serendipity to meet two terribly interesting guys — Dusty Wright and Ed Bennett — who became instrumental in bringing these scribbled thoughts to life. They heard my episode ideas and were all “Sure, let’s shoot those”. And I was all “Really? That seemed too easy. What if they suck?” And they were all “Meh, let’s just try it”.

And so we did.

The show came to be known as The Elegant Guide. There are six episodes in total, and the overall concept is “deranged advice on modern life”. For the titles and release schedule, have a squiz at TheElegantGuide.com.

Here’s the first episode, The Elegant Guide to Poise:

I hope you like it!

And now, a humble request: I want to know what you want to see on Sprinkle of Ginger. More “how to” articles? More silly anecdotes? More New York experiences? Or something else entirely? Please let me know in the comments, because I’d love to write about the things you want to read about.

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Digg
  • FriendFeed
  • Delicious
  • Tumblr
  • Technorati Favorites
  • StumbleUpon
  • Share/Save/Bookmark

{ 15 comments }

Tips for surviving a long-haul flight

by Ella on November 23, 2009

Learn to love long-haul flights

Pic by Lin Pernille Photography

Let’s not mince words: long-haul flights SUCK. And no-one knows this better than Australians. Any time we want to journey from our hallowed homeland to London or New York, we endure 20-plus hours of air travel. That’s two long flights and a lot of shlepping and waiting around in between. Then there are the special events that make the experience all the more memorable: kids who kick the back of your seat, broken entertainment systems on 13-hour flights, being penned in by the world’s most obstinate sleeper…it’s enough to make one want to have a staycation.

I am typing this from a seat next to gate 38 at Los Angeles airport, where I will shortly board that infernal 13-hour flight to Sydney. Instead of summoning dread over what awaits me, I’m going to serve up a bunch of advice and anecdotes that will hopefully make your next long-haul trip a little less painful.

Tips and strategies for staying sane

  • Bring your pyjamas. For real. I always bring my trackies — sweatpants to you Americans — and change into them as soon as I’ve checked in. I also wear a fleecy hoodie and thick socks. It always gets cold on the plane, and you don’t want to spend half a day shivering as you gaze at the ice patterns forming on the window. Sometimes I bring a small fleecy blanket, too. I can roll it up and use it as a pillow or wrap it around me to create a comforting cocoon. The blankets provided by the airlines tend to be small, scratchy and not very effective at warming you up.
  • Bring your own snacks. When you board a long-haul flight you relinquish a lot of control. At least if you smuggle some snackage you can choose when and what to eat. And man cannot live on airplane food alone.
  • Load up your iPod with videos, music that makes you happy and new episodes of your favourite podcasts. Pretty self-explanatory, but the key is to save up a few new installments of tried-and-true podcasts. That way you’ll be looking forward to hearing the latest from people you like. I even chuck a few of my favourite meditation podcasts in the mix just in case I need to calm down during a bout of turbulence.
  • Go for light reading material. There’s a reason there’s a genre known as the airport novel. If you’re bringing fiction on-board, you want to go for something with short chapters and probably a lot of chase scenes, explosions or ludicrously improbable chance meetings between former lovers with unresolved issues. This is not the time to finally have a crack at Les Miserables. (Though I do recommend adding the musical’s soundtrack to your iPod. One Day More!)

    I always buy three magazines: one vaguely artsy and creatively inspiring, one focused on fitness and healthy lifestyles — so that I can pretend I am fit and healthy — and one complete trashrag featuring fabricated stories about reality TV stars. The latter is for when my attention span is so destroyed by exhaustion that I can barely handle complete sentences.
  • Don’t fly United. It may be unfair of me to malign this particular airline and exclude other, perhaps more deserving brands, but I have had so many bad experiences with UA that I feel it is my duty to warn you off them. First off, their planes are really old. Unlike most long-haul carriers, which offer individual TV screens and a vast array of entertainment options, United makes do with single CRT screens mounted above the aisles every twenty rows or so They’ll screen a few movies, which invariably get interrupted by fuzz, wiggly lines and poor sound. Obviously this does not happen “on-demand”.

    Technological inadequacies aside, my main beef with United is that they just don’t like to tell you what’s going on. Once I was flying from New York to Sydney, via San Francisco. The departure time had been delayed by an hour, but everyone had been loaded onto the plane and we were buckled up and ready to go. An announcement came over the PA:

    “Uh…ladies and gentlemen, you may have noticed that the departure time has passed….uh…unfortunately, during our routine maintenance check, we discovered a fault, and as a result, this flight may be delayed, re-routed or cancelled. My co-pilot is on the phone now trying to work something out, so just sit tight while we figure out what to do.”

    Well, okay, fair enough. Stuff happens. Safety first and all that. But then, ten minutes later, the captain came back on.

    “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome about United flight 863 to San Francisco. We will be taking off in just a few moments.”

    So…did they fix the plane, or would we be flying in faulty aircraft to an unspecified location? Throughout the flight I played a little game in my head. It was called “Will I Still Be Alive In Six Hours?” It alternated between that and another newly invented game, “Where Will I Be In Six Hours?” Obviously I survived, but the turbulence — both emotional and physical — that ensued was far from fun.

  • Be mindful of the need for sleep and relaxation. Travel is stressful, and can create weird and unexpected responses in you. A few months ago I was flying from Chicago to New York. I had just had an intense three days of doing 11 back-to-back on-camera interviews, and was totally wiped. The tiredness combined with my ol’ friend anxiety, and when I got to the airport I suddenly became utterly convinced that my plane was going to crash and I was going to die. This thinking was completely irrational, but it felt very, very real. I did not want to get on that flight.

    I tried to talk myself down from it, but I was way too wound up. So I opened my laptop and wrote an “Oh by the way, in case I should, like, die or something, I just want you to know that I think you’re amazing” email to someone dear. Then I stood up, boarded the plane, sat down in my window seat and cried at the unfairness of it all. A few minutes later, a man came and sat next to me. He couldn’t tell that I was upset, but he just happened to start a conversation with me about pharmaceuticals and being a sales rep and wonderful, mundane things that I could cling to to help pull me out of the Swamp of Crazy. I felt like he had saved my life, and he didn’t even know it. Thank you, lovely guy whose name I don’t remember.

    All of that happened because I was tired and rushed and needed to just chill out. So if you’re feeling weird and unsettled, remember that tiredness plays a big role.

Bonus: Vomit bag anecdotes!

  • On yet another flight from New York to Sydney a few years ago, a guy sitting a few rows up from me wrote me a letter on a vomit bag and instructed one of the flight attendants to give it to me. His name was Vince, he was an accountant, and he felt certain we were destined to spend our lives together. Note that he sent me this regurgitatey missive at the beginning of a 13-hour flight, meaning that every time he or I got up to use the bathroom, awkward eye contact ensued.
  • My dad told me this great story once about a guy on his flight who became airsick, pressed his attendant call button, and attempted to hand the flight attendant money as he was vomiting into the bag found in his seat pocket. It seems that he saw an advertisement for $9.95 photo processing on the bag and, not being able to read English, assumed it was the fee charged to spewers for sullying the stationery.
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Digg
  • FriendFeed
  • Delicious
  • Tumblr
  • Technorati Favorites
  • StumbleUpon
  • Share/Save/Bookmark

{ 23 comments }

Sesame Street!

by Ella on November 9, 2009

Sesame Street celebrates its 40th anniversary this year, and a few weeks ago I was lucky enough to visit the set of the show to the shoot an episode of Rocketboom.

Here are the interviews with Elmo and Cookie Monster. I think you can tell from my permasmile that it was pure joy to meet these furry stalwarts of my youth. Thank you to Philip Toscano at Sesame Workshop and rockin’ Rocketboom producer Leah D’Emilio for facilitating the fulfillment of a childhood dream!

By the way, if you fancy taking a nostalgic trip back to the rhymes and songs you learned when you were four, the Sesame Street website has a heap of classic videos. (Remember Teeny Little Super Guy? And the emotionally resonant If The Moon Were A Cookie? I get all verklempt looking at this stuff.)

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Digg
  • FriendFeed
  • Delicious
  • Tumblr
  • Technorati Favorites
  • StumbleUpon
  • Share/Save/Bookmark

{ 17 comments }

Surprise Industries

Blindfolded and a little nervous, with Maya from Surprise Industries and Sam.

Recently I came across a rad New York startup called Surprise Industries. They deal in “surprise experiences” — you pay a flat fee of $25, receive a time and location, and show up having absolutely no idea what might happen.

Naturally, this killer combo of mischief and whimsy piqued my interest. So a few weeks ago I signed up for my own surprise. On a Wednesday, Maya, one of the trio of kick-ass women who founded Surprise Industries, briefed me with the instructions: I was to meet her at a subway stop in downtown Brooklyn at 6pm that Friday. The surprise would last approximately three hours. Oh, and she kept using words like “courage” and “bravery”. As in, I would need them.

Being a compulsive overanalyser, my mind went into overdrive. What if I turned up and she forced me to be the naked model for a life-drawing class? What if I was handcuffed and pushed into a pit of boa constrictors? Or bundled into a drum and thrown off the Brooklyn Bridge? Why do you want to subject me to humiliation and death, Surprise Industries?!

I sent a text to Maya with a hint that I was…you know, afraid.

Her reply was oddly reassuring in its brevity: “Trust us”.

Friday rolled around and my friend Sam — cameraman and genuine redhead — and I traipsed out to Brooklyn on a prematurely wintry evening. Maya greeted me, then blindfolded me and bundled me into a cab. I had a dream like this once. It did not end well.

After a five-minute drive through serpentine streets, the cab stopped and I was guided out of the car, across a sidewalk and through a door. The faint smell of chlorine rose to my nostrils. A Crowded House song was playing in the background. What was this, a pool party hosted by Neil Finn?

Finally I was instructed to remove my blindfold, and it was revealed that I was at Galapogos Art Space for Matt Wasowski’s Nerd Nite, an evening of drinks and presentations on topics as diverse as zombie physiology, Jewish gangsters and the evolution of swinging. Well jeez, what a relief! Sitting back with a lychee martini and listening to a talk on the undead sounded pretty sweet to me.

“Oh, one more thing,” said Matt. “You’ll also be giving a presentation. In about an hour. To a few hundred people.” Surprise!

Now, while I nerd around onstage and in front of cameras for a living, it’s usually in the guise of a character or persona. So the notion of jumping up to give a dissertation at a moment’s notice was a smidge terrifying. But at the same time, I was excited and energised and ready to give it a red-hot go.

Matt loaned me his laptop — onscreen was a Powerpoint presentation about the Scoville scale, which measures the hotness of chili peppers. I had around 45 minutes to become an expert on this stuff. You’d better believe there was a martini or three involved in the education process.

The resulting talk is embedded below. It’s nine minutes long, so if you’d rather be writing emails or washing dishes, here are the cheat notes: I was a pretty rough speaker, but the audience was wonderfully supportive, and seemed to be laughing with me, not at me. All up, it was a great night of nervousness and nerdiness — and I was thankful to Maya and her crew for getting me to do something I never would have done on my own.

If you’re in New York, I absolutely recommend that you sign up for a mystery experience courtesy of Surprise Industries. And don’t fret if you have a deathly fear of public speaking or a gluten intolerance — they will take any phobias or allergies into account when choosing your surprise. (I blacklisted nakedness, snakes and zucchini. A combination that Freud would find intriguing, to say the least.)

If you’re not in New York, how about crafting a surprise experience for a friend? It builds trust, shifts you both away from the same old routines, and will make for a fascinating story to bust out at your next dinner party.

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Digg
  • FriendFeed
  • Delicious
  • Tumblr
  • Technorati Favorites
  • StumbleUpon
  • Share/Save/Bookmark

{ 8 comments }

What songs are on the soundtrack to your life?

by Ella on September 20, 2009

Life soundtrack on the iPod

Pic by desireedelgado

Last week I left my iPod Touch in the seat pocket of an American Airlines MD80. The moment I realised it was gone, I felt a panicky sense of loss — not just because I am among the millions who fetishise the shiny surfaces of Steve Jobs’ creations, but because I am so accustomed to having a soundtrack accompany me as I go about my daily business.

I am rarely able to interact with the world without having the comforting buffer of familiar music being piped straight into my auditory canals. And I daresay I’m not alone. Music plays such a massive role in our lives. It revs us up and brings us down. Hearing a long-lost song can dredge up a combination of feelings that immediately catapult you back to a precise time in your life. The effect can be quite extraordinary: nostalgia crossed with unease, with a dash of pleasure thrown in for kicks.

If your life were a movie, what songs would be on the soundtrack? What tunes embody the experiences you’ve had, the troubles you’ve conquered and those exultant moments that you replay over and over? Have a browse through your iTunes and get back to me. In the meantime, here are a few picks from my movie’s soundtrack. (I guess the role of Me will be played by Kirsten freaking Dunst.)

  • The Beatles, especially Help!
  • We had the movie Help! on VHS when I was a kid, and I used to love the magical four-doored house that the Fab Four inhabited. John’s sunken bed was especially appealing, as was the randomly placed flautist who popped up to play the bridge of You’ve Got To Hide Your Love Away before disappearing into cinematic obscurity.

    We also had Beatles songs on cassette tape — No Reply, Baby’s In Black, You’re Gonna Lose That Girl. My mum had recorded them off the radio back in New Zealand, so you’d hear the odd ad for weekly specials on “chucken ligs” at the local Wellington supermarket.

    I still listen to The Beatles frequently. And I can’t wait to play Beatles Rock Band.

  • Les Miserables
  • My untamed love for the Act One ender, One Day More, is well-documented, but the music of Les Mis is more than just an opportunity to mime multiple singing parts while walking home from the subway stop at 2am.

    When I was about six, my mother worked as part of the Sydney crew for Les Miserables. Each night she would tuck my sister and me into bed and then head off to the Theatre Royal, where people were storming barricades, placing themselves in the path of fatal bullets meant for their unrequited lovers and all manner of other exciting things. It seemed like such a magical world, and my sister and I became enamoured of the songs and costumes. We both fancied ourselves as little Cosettes and would pretend that we were at the Thenadiers’ inn, our soot-smudged limbs shivering as we prepared to fetch fetid water from the unlit well.

    It was all very dramatic and adventurous, but beyond the make-believe was a sense of genuine unease. See, I used to have this thing about night-time. I’d become incredibly anxious as darkness fell, and would worry that something might go wrong. The details of this looming wrongness eluded me, but though it was irrational, I couldn’t help being afraid. Yeah, I know: a six-year-old with a burgeoning anxiety disorder. Chill out, kid. Anyway, this evening-onset angst coincided with my mother’s night job at Les Mis. So when she left home at dinner time, I would panic. I felt alone and helpless, and had trouble getting to sleep.

    My poor mum, faced with a stressbot daughter and a simultaneous need to, you know, make money to feed us, came up with a way to help ease my fearfulness. She brought us the Les Miserables soundtrack — also on cassette, this being 1989 — and told us to press play at 8pm. That was curtain-up time at the Theatre Royal. That way, she said, it would be like we were all listening to the same songs together. It seemed to work, although I do remember jumping down from the top bunk to switch the tape to the B-side because I hadn’t been able to fall asleep after the first 45 minutes.

    I had completely forgotten about this entire series of events until I stumbled upon some YouTube videos of the Les Miserables 10th anniversary concert about six months ago. I heard the music and all of a sudden I was six again, sitting on the top bunk with my knees hugged to my chest as the cassette played in our battered silver boombox with the broken aerial. It was amazing how immediate the feeling was. That sense of isolation really hit me — in a way that was heart-wrenching and strange and cathartic all at once. I’m actually trying not to listen to the music too much, because I want to preserve the feeling rather than diluting it with constant playback.

  • Massive Attack’s Mezzanine
  • This album marked the beginning of my affinity for trip-hop. I first listened to it at around 14, during what was as close to a goth phase as I would ever get. (This approximately two-month period involved repeated viewings of The Craft and a brief dalliance with Wicca.) Though the goth thing went out the door pretty fast, Massive Attack, Portishead and Tricky remain on high rotation to this day.

There are many more artists to list — including Garbage, Fiona Apple, Tom McRae and Radiohead — but this is too long already. I now turn it over to you.

(Oh, as for the lost iPod Touch? After repeated calls to LaGuardia’s Lost And Found yielded nothing, I decided I couldn’t live without a soundtrack, and siphoned a flurry of greenbacks into the coffers of one Steve Jobs.)

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Digg
  • FriendFeed
  • Delicious
  • Tumblr
  • Technorati Favorites
  • StumbleUpon
  • Share/Save/Bookmark

{ 17 comments }

Rollercoasters and merry-go-rounds

by Ella on September 1, 2009

Flashing the passport trilogy at Honkers

Pic by PhotoGraham

In a flurry of self-analysis some months ago, I was pondering my frustrating tendency toward inaction. I would often be struck by grand plans and ideas, but couldn’t seem to muster up the effort to put them into action. Articles lay fragmented and half-finished, freelance pitches and applications to acting courses stayed in my Drafts folder for yonks, and anything else that necessitated a bit of boldness or vulnerability would fall by the wayside.

Putting yourself forward for big opportunities can make you feel scared and out of control. Many of us avoid it, using time-tested tactics like procrastination, self-sabotage or building a fort with the couch cushions and hiding inside. But, man, what a boring, unsatisfying way to live.

When you have something that’s very important to you — something that is vital and treasured and exciting — it can be scary to chase after it. Because what if you futz it up? What if it turns out you’re no good at it? Where do you go from there?

One of the main obstacles to pursuing your dreams seems to be this: “What if the mean people say mean things?” Guess what? There are mean people everywhere. It doesn’t matter what you do — there will always be someone out there who doesn’t like it. There are people on this earth who find Angelina Jolie unattractive, for crying out loud. Everyone has their likes and dislikes — diversity of opinion is what makes this world so fascinating. You can’t please everyone, so you may as well do what you want to do.

There is this lovely scene in the movie Parenthood — and if you haven’t seen the film then watch it right now, because the cast is a smorgasbord of awesome — in which the dotty old grandmother busts out a seemingly irrelevant anecdote. Observe:

People: listen to gran. Always choose the rollercoaster. Its ups and downs are far, far more enlivening than the staid rotation of the merry-go-round.

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Digg
  • FriendFeed
  • Delicious
  • Tumblr
  • Technorati Favorites
  • StumbleUpon
  • Share/Save/Bookmark

{ 3 comments }