Lessons to be Learned in a Blizzard

At around 10:30am yesterday morning, the predicted blizzard hit the East Coast. I hear that NYC usually shuts down at 6 inches of snow. This morning there are 20 inches coating the roads and the rooftops. However, it was business as usual last night in the SoHo area when I left work at 8pm. I don't know if any other parts of the city were shut down (I hear some shows were canceled) but as I walked two blocks to the subway, I saw many a retail worker closing up for the night. The two blocks from work to the subway were pretty treacherous and I naively thought to myself, "thank goodness I can get a $5 taxi back to my house when I get to Hoboken from the PATH train." When I exited the PATH train, my heart sank as I looked with despair at a couple of lone taxis that were stuck firmly in the snow. I looked towards the taxi ramp, and the snow was already a foot high; there were no taxis in sight. I panicked slightly as I wondered how I was going to make it home (the walk to and from the PATH is 20 mins on a nice dry day at a brisk pace). "Okay, I'll take the bus," I thought, and went looking for the bus ramp as I'd never taken the bus. I heard mutterings from people that the bus service had been suspended. There were a handful of people like myself standing outside the PATH station wondering how on earth we were going to get home. The only option for me was to walk. I literally had no other choice. And so, I set off on a 40 minute walk that would be one of the hardest and most terrifying experiences of my life.

This is what it feels like to walk in a blizzard: The wind is so strong that when it hits your face, it feels like your face is ablaze with fire. The continuous shock of it takes your breath away as you wait for the wind to cease, but of course the wind doesn't. Mother Nature plays by her own rules. Your legs are heavy from walking in snow that sometimes comes straight up to your knee; interestingly, your body does not feel the cold because it is working so hard to walk through the growing feet of snow as you push your weight against the wind. Your sight is taken almost completely away as the constant slap of wind and slow pierces your eyes and you struggle just to keep them open. In my case, I was wearing glasses, and as my face was generating so much heat from the effort of the walk, they kept fogging up and restricting my sight even more. The fear only grows as you realise that this is not going to stop. The wind, the snow, and the cold are not going to stop, and you are only a human being at the mercy of the blizzard's wrath. No matter how much you say to yourself, "please let this be over please let this be over, please let this be over," the blizzard doesn't give a damn about you. And on it goes. And on I went.

I stopped countless of times under storefronts and in doorways, and when I couldn't take it anymore, stopped in 3 open grocery stores on the way. At the first, I spoke to my cousin and my good friend Michelle who both offered me a place to stay in the city, which I declined because I was still unaware how difficult the rest of the walk would be. At the second, the man who worked there gave me a towel to dry my face, which was burning from the wind. He and his colleague looked at me with much apprehension. My face must have been tomato-red and I must have looked about to pass out. "Just breathe," one of them said. I went to the back and wiped away tears that for some reason I didn't want anyone to see. On my way out, two other men laughed at me while they jokingly wished me luck. At the third, I was two blocks away from home and willing myself to just get through the last stretch. During the walk thus far, I had images of my falling down and getting buried under snow, or of ringing a stranger's doorbell to ask for shelter, or of dialing 911 (not that a police car could get to me as the roads were so bad). I was scared that my face had severe windburn and I would fall sick when I got home. I was scared that I would end up with an ear infection. The few cars that were on the road were either stuck or moving incredibly slowly. No one in a car offered to help. I passed a handful of people on the way. A couple were taking shelter in a bus station and I saw one man trying to hitch-hike. Most restaurants were closed and all the shops were closed. It became a cruel game of "how many more steps do I have to take before I can find another doorway to take shelter in?" Before I left the 3rd grocery store, I gave myself a stern talking to. It was either burst into tears or walk the last two blocks home. I was not giving up (I had no choice) and headed back out holding two proverbial middle fingers up to the blizzard.

The moment I knew that I was going to be okay was when I saw my apartment building. As I approached it, a man standing in the doorway of the restaurant next door said something to me, and I shouted "I MADE IT HOME, I WALKED ALL THE WAY FROM THE PATH TRAN!!!!!" He couldn't believe it. If I didn't walk it, I wouldn't have believed it. I opened the main door, walked the 3 flights up to my apartment, went in, closed the door, the afforded myself one weakness: I sobbed. Loudly and with such vigor that I shook. I am still a little emotional as I think about that walk. It was one of the few times in my life when I have felt truly and utterly alone. Having only yourself to rely on when you fear for your safety is a scary thing. And therein lies the lesson I learned from the angry and uncompromising blizzard: when you encounter a very harrowing challenge at a time when you're truly alone, you have to dig inside to find your own strength because that is the only thing that will keep you from falling down and getting buried under the snow. I always knew I was strong, but last night I discovered another side to my inner strength, lying in a deeper place than I've ever had to search for before. So, I don't hate the blizzard for making me endure its wrath. I thank it for challenging me to find more pieces of myself that I am grateful I didn't lose in the snow.

For today and the next few days, let's enjoy the winter wonderland of the blizzard's creation. That's another old lesson: There is always good to be found in the bad, there is always beauty to be found in the ugly, and everything has a sparkly silver lining. Merry White Post-Christmas!

copyright (c) 2010-2011 Celia Mei Rubin

Of the Jew-Princess and the Matzoh Ball: A Holiday Poem

Twas the night before Christmas in the center of town -- a little Jew-Princess was donning her gown. To go to the Jew ball and meet many princes, and perhaps even eat lots of latkes and blintzes.

She zipped up her black dress -- a size 2 don't you know. Just part of the effort to attract a nice beau. She packed up her Vuitton and prayed for good luck, and hoped that she wouldn't get stuck with a schmuck.

For schmucks come in bucketloads, shitloads, and bunches. When they take out a Princess, they don't pay for lunches (oye vey). This Princess had known enough schmucks in her time; to not have to meet others would just be sublime.

So out of the door she bounced with a clatter, and thought, "in this size 2 dress I must not get fatter." She clip-clopped her heels along the cold pavement and imagined Jew-Santa would bring her a Jew-gent.

She arrived at the venue and saw lots of Jews, and wondered how long the line was to get in the loos. "I just need to pee-pee and have a cocktail in hand, then I just know that this night shall be grand!"

The little Jew-Princess worked that little black dress (well, what do you expect, she was dressed to impress). She smiled and she thought as she danced with delight, "Merry Matzoh Ball to all, and to all a great night, I may just be lucky and meet Mr. Right!"

copyright (c) 2010-2011 Celia Mei Rubin

The REAL Kindness of Strangers

I've been at a loss during the past month for what to write about. Usually, I witness something that strikes me as very funny, or very touching, or very happy, and it'll inspire me to meditate on the lessons it teaches me, or the hopes it brings, and share these thoughts with others through my blog. Though the last month has been a very busy time for me, nothing has happened to inspire me to write or share. Tonight, something did happen that I must share. The story I am about to recount is one that saddened me very much, but the reminders it gives are appropriate for the beginning of the holiday season; a time for giving, sharing, loving, and reminding our nearest and dearest that we love them and that we can be counted on in times of need. I know I can count on my family and friends. But what I saw tonight convinced me that sometimes, if you're lucky, when there is no friend nearby and no way to make a call to a loved one, you really can count on the kindness of strangers.

I was on my way home after a long day at work. The PATH train from Christopher St. to Hoboken was hot and crowded. "It's only a 7 minute ride," I thought to myself, as I boarded the train with tired feet and legs, disappointed that there was barely a place to stand, let alone sit. A couple of minutes into the ride, a commotion behind me caught my attention and I saw that a man (he looked only slightly older than I) had asked someone if he could sit down. He was breathing heavily, and it took me a moment to realise that he was unwell. A younger man next to him asked if he was alright, and he replied that he was feeling dizzy. The colour of his face turned from bright red to yellow to green to grey in the space of just a few seconds and he looked terrified. I, myself, became terrified for him. My fight-or-flight instincts kicked in and I started going over in my head the different scenarios that might unfold and how we could deal with them. "Is he about to have a heart attack? A panic attack? A seizure? Is he diabetic? Are his eyes going to roll towards the back of his head? If he passes out, what do we do? I wonder if anyone knows mouth to mouth resucitation? But isn't that only for choking victims?" All these questions and no answers. I was not panicking, but the man looked as if he was in a panic, willing himself not to pass out. I desperately wanted to go comfort him, to offer any sort of help, but he was a few seats away from me, and as there were a few people I'd have to push past and the younger man next to him and a lady in front of him were trying to be as comforting as possible, I figured it was best to leave him be. Sometimes, the last thing an ill person wants is too many strangers crowded around. I continued to watch him, trying to give him strength through the power of thought (the things we can make ourselves believe in desperate situations are incredible). He vomited into his hat. He seemed confused, horrified, and terrified as he came up for air before vomiting a second time. His pupils were dialated, his face was still a dull grey, his lips drained of all colour. Someone gave him a tissue to wipe his forhead that was now beaded with sweat, Two other strangers passed him plastic bags that he could chuck the hat in and vomit into. I looked for the emergency button and caught sight of it and wondered if maybe I should push it. I kept thinking, "the poor man the poor man the poor man." I made a decision (whether it was rational or irrational, I'm not sure) that I wasn't going to push it, because there's nothing anyone on the train could do to help him, and the sooner we arrived in Hoboken, the sooner he could get some fresh air and medical attention. I looked back at him to see him vomiting again into a plastic bag. Most of the people on the carriage were watching him, not with disgust, but with apprehension. I wonder if we were all having similar thought processes. I had a strong feeling that I was not the only person worried about him. I knew, I KNOW, that if the man had passed out, we would have all worked in tandem to help, to fight for his safety. He wiped his mouth and blinked many times and continued to take deep breaths for what were probably some of the longest 4 minutes of his life. He kept thanking the strangers around him that had passed him the plastic bags and the tissue. The train finally arrived in Hoboken where I saw him step onto the platform and go to sit on one of the benches. I approached him and asked him if he needed help or of I could call anyone for him. He told me that his wife was on her way, that she was aware that he was feeling ill, and thanked me. I asked if he wanted me to stay with him so that he wasn't alone, just to be safe. He thanked me, declining the offer. I walked away trying not to cry and feeling very worried about him. I really did not want to leave him alone, but of course was not going to force him to let me stay. Leaving the station, I saw a couple of cops and mentioned to them that there was a very sick man on the platform who shouldn't be alone. The young man who had sat next to the sick man on the train came out of the station and told us that he had already told two other cops about the situation, so the cops that I had spoken to left to join them. I was so grateful that the sick man was not going to be alone. As I walked home in the dark, I burst into tears, wishing I could have helped more, wondering what this man's plight would be, praying for him to be okay.

I have rarely seen a man so scared; I am so saddened by the sight of him having to struggle through what he did tonight. I obviously cannot be certain of what his thoughts were, but I do believe that somewhere in the 7 minutes it took to get from Christopher St. to Hoboken, he thought he might die. I have no idea if he has been sick for awhile, if it's something that caught him by surprise, if he will be okay. I keep imagining his worried wife in the car, driving as fast as she can to be with him. I really really really hope that he is okay, and I am so grateful on his behalf that there were people around him that tried to help him as much as they could. In a carriage full of strangers, when the world must have felt like it was closing in on him, he was shown kindness and consideration. I hope and believe that this is not unusual; that when a stranger really is in need, people will step up to the mark and offer help and support. It is a testament to the human capacity for compassion and empathy that we can care so much about a stranger.

What if he had had a heart attack on the train? It is a reminder that it only takes a moment to lose someone you love. So I take this moment to say that I cherish my parents, my sister, my friends, and the all the wonderful, abounding joy that I have in my life. I hope that at this very moment, the man is with his wife at home, that she is taking care of him, and that he is less scared. I hope that if he has to see a doctor, the news will not be bad, and that they get to celebrate the holidays happily. I'm saying a prayer for the man. I will never know if his story ends happily, but I will pray very hard that it does. I want to say that I love my family and friends very much and hope that they stay healthy this holiday season and for many seasons to come. May we all be blessed this holiday season with health, happiness, and the kindness of strangers.

copyright (c) 2010-2011 Celia Mei Rubin

Brewing Smiles: It's a Family Business

Before you begin reading this entry, you might want to get comfy...it's long. Why don't you brew yourself a cup of tea and snuggle up under your duvet? I'll wait, go ahead.

Now imagine that you are in the countryside -- Millerton, NY to be exact. It's a far cry from city life, or even suburbia. In the town of Millerton sits the Harney and Sons tea shop, a family owned and run business of 25 years. A stone's throw away from the shop is a local diner, owned by one of the Harney sons. A stone's throw way from that is the real estate business owned by Mr. Harney's wife. There are cute shops dotted around town -- a knitting shop, a flower shop, and even a Chinese/Japanese restaurant. You get a sense that everyone knows everyone in Millerton. It's quaint and friendly; the sort of place that freaks a New Yorker out when they can't get any phone reception or walk down the block to the corner shop for a quick chocolate bar. Have I painted the picture enough? We are almost 3 hours out of New York City where the morning air is startlingly fresh to a young lady used to city-living. And this is where I, a young lady of the sort, spent 4 lovely days in training for my new tea consultant position at the soon-to-open Harney and Sons SoHo shop.

Day 1.
I arrived in Millerton with another young lady and two young gents, all of whom were in training with me. We were accompanied by the manager of the Soho shop, Emeric Harney, a 3rd generation tea shop Harney. Emeric first took us to the factory, which is HUGE. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but the depth of the operations left me a bit in awe. We got to see all types of machinery and bucket-loads of loose teas and got to meet the man who started it all -- Papa John, as his family affectionately calls him. I like to call him Grandfather Harney. There is a very specific Harney sense of humor, and we got the first whiff of it when Grandfather Harney met me and the other female consultant and joked, "well, these ladies are prettier than the last ones!" (This is completely untrue, by the way -- the last team that trained are very attractive.) His down-to-Earth manner was charming. Here's a man who, with his sons, and now grandsons, has built a kind of tea empire and legacy (one of the gentleman consultants was telling us of a moment when he saw Grandfather Harney at the Fancy Food Show and was so starstruck, he couldn't approach him) and yet he is a man who welcomed us with the biggest of smiles and the firmest of handshakes. The Harney machine is obviously a very well-oiled one, but there is a real sense of family warmth, which became even more apparent when we spent time with Grandfather Harney's son, Mike, and Mike's French wife, Brigitte -- Emeric's lovely parents. More on them later.

After a tour of the factory, we were treated to lunch and a pot of tea. I chose PanAsia to sip on -- "a delightful blend of Japanese Bancha and big Chrysanthemum flowers from China that creates a light, clean tasting delight." It WAS delightful, as was my chicken and avocado sandwich. I have a habit of not eating the bread when I have sandwiches or burgers, and this occasion was no different. Of course, everyone made fun of me when they saw me scrape the filling off the bread and they asked what I was doing and I replied, "I have to watch my carb-intake!" I did not live that down for the entire trip.

With happily full tummies, we dived into our first tea tasting with Emeric where we tasted a range of Green teas, Oolong teas, Jasmine teas, and Darjeeling teas. I won't bore you with the fascinating facts that we learned, but I will talk you through a tasting so you know what to expect when you visit us in Soho! From the tin, the consultant pours some loose leaves onto the lid for the customer to smell the dry leaves. The consultant then puts a teaspoon of leaves into a steeping cup, pours water of a specified temperature into the cup, covers it, and lets the leaves steep for a specified amount of minutes (the temperature and steeping time differs with each tea). Once the tea has steeped, the liquor is poured into another cup to drink, and the customer can smell the wet leaves before drinking the liquor. There is a way of slurping the tea properly to get a proper taste of it, but I am still perfecting that skill!

For dinner that evening, we ate with Emeric and his parents in their home, which is just beautiful and so tastefully decorated (the French are so classy!). We were made to feel so welcomed by Mike and Brigitte. Mike has his father's sense of humor, and when I told the group that I am half Chinese and half Jewish, he remarked, "Oh, so you're a Superhero?" I retorted, "Well, my one of my nicknames IS Superfierce!" He and Brigitte were keen to learn about all of us and we were made to feel completely at home. Though she's lived in the States for decades, Brigitte is still very European with that certain poise that only French women have. We capped off dinner with some Harney Earl Grey and Green Tea ice cream, and the other female consultant and I went up to our rooms while Emeric took the gents to their hotel. Thus ended a super first day at Camp Harney.

Day 2.
I began my day going for a run at 7am. The day before had been a big food day, and as Emeric told me that he'd gained 5LBS the previous week with the first group of trainees, I was determined not to follow suit. It was pretty cool to be running along the countryside before the rest of the world had awoken.

We started the second day of training with a tea tasting of various Ceylon teas, Assam teas, and Chinese black teas. By the way, if you're a coffee drinker, come into the SoHo shop and ask to taste our CTC Assam tea. It may not convert you, but you may enjoy it immensely. You've already read about the tea tasting you'll have if you come into the shop. After this 2nd batch of tastings, Emeric performed a Chinese Gongfu Cha tasting -- literally meaning "tea brewing with skill." I won't go into what that entails here as that is a whole other blog, but if you're interested, you can read Wikipedia's version of Gongfu Cha here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gongfu_tea_ceremony

The afternoon was spent unpacking stock and then being treated to lunch at the local diner, where I had venison chili for the first time -- Yum! We then returned to the factory and packed tea into tins -- if you pick up a tin of Harney's Paris tea with the code 10301 on the bottom, know that it was packed by yours truly! We left the packing room with the scent of tea seeped into our clothes, which none of us minded, of course. It's a great way to smell.

Mike was out of town, so we had another fun dinner at home with Brigitte and then the second day of tea training came to an end.

Day 3.
I took a break from tea boot camp to return to the city for an audition, which I'm happy to say that I got! I'm adding another string to my ethnic bow by dancing in a Native-American piece and I will be assisting the choreographer; A first for me! I went back up to the Harney household after my audition to find some veggies and a huge piece of steak waiting for me. What generosity the Harney family has. Of course, I hadn't expected to be fed and had eaten on the train ride home, but who turns down homegrown veggies and a delicious looking bit of steak? I just had a little of each, which made a delightful snack before bed. We spent some time sitting by the fireplace and chatting, and I brought down a bag of candy corn for us to share, which Mike, after adamantly saying he wasn't a fan of the chocolate ended ones, proceeded to consume them continuously, much to our merriment. All Hallows' Eve was just around the corner and we were in the country, tucked up next to the fire with candy corn. Am I recreating a cozy enough picture?

How's your tea doing? Duvet comfy? Enjoying this little trip out of the city? I certainly am.

Day 4.
We were finally thrown into the deep end on our last day of tea boot camp. After Mike gave a recapping lecture on tea, we worked the tasting bar where we interacted with customers for the first time. I was nervous and tentative at first, but as the day went on and I got to grips with conducting tastings and answering various questions, my confidence grew and I was enjoying myself so much, that I turned to Emeric and said "I LOVE my job." The best part about consultations is when you make a recommendation to someone and, after a tasting, they enjoy the recommended tea to such an extent that they purchase a tin of it. One such incident occurred when a very friendly, slightly hippie-ish couple came in. He asked for something that had a smoky taste (given their manner and appearance, I had to stop myself from giggling at the implications of his request) and I immediately recommended Lapsang Souchong -- "an ancient and much loved black tea from China. Large leaves are dried over smoky pine fires. As you might imagine, the tea develops a distinctive smoky flavour." Well, he adored it and bought a tin. It was a joy to watch him smell the dry leaves, then smell the wet leaves, then taste the tea and smile a completely satisfied smile. He knew what he was looking for, and upon tasting Lapsang Souchong, found it. Glad I could help!

Another consultation I particularly enjoyed was with a woman and her disabled husband. He was in a wheelchair and could express himself, but not through words, nor did he have full use of his body. For the most part, his wife (an inspiration to me) was able to understand him, but on the odd occasion when he wanted to be very specific, he had an alphabet board to point to specific letters. They both tried our "Tea of the Moment" which was a green tea, and he wanted something much more brisk and dark. I suggested different black teas, and when I eventually mentioned trying a Darjeeling 2nd flush, his face completely lit up. I knew I had struck gold! (Darjeeling has 3 flushes, and the body, briskness, aroma of the leaves change with each flush.) I brewed him a cup of Risheehat Second Flush -- "a great second flush Darjeeling. Full of body yet balanced with nice fruit notes. Please note it is from 'China' tea bushes, meaning the plant stock is descended from Chinese bushes taken to India over 100 years ago." His face when he took that first sip was priceless. His smile was so big, I hardly had to ask if he wanted to purchase some. His wife purchased tea for herself as well, and I hope they left feeling as contented as I did. What a lovely thing tea can do, huh?

The day ended with dinner at a beautiful French restaurant where Mike treated us to a scrumptious meal. A scrumptious end to a scrumptious journey.

Day 5.
Before heading home, we were treated to breakfast at the diner by Grandfather Harney where we got to meet Grandmother Harney, Mike's brother Paul, Paul's wife Mimi, and their little son Finn. One big happy Harney family, of which I felt and feel very grateful to be a part of. The gentleman consultant who had been starstruck by Grandfather Harney at the Fancy Food Show finally got to tell him what an honour it was to be in both his personal and business company. I got to eat a full Irish Breakfast and the baked beans reminded me of London. When I got back home, I was able to skype my family in London whom I had missed alot throughout my trip and tell them all about it.

Someone asked Emeric at the end of training if everything was copacetic. I did not know what that meant and looked it up : 'copacetic,' meaning something is in excellent order. How appropriate. Kind of like those smiles I witnessed when those men had tasted a tea that was just right for them. A tea smile is a copacetic smile. I like it! Harney and Sons SoHo opens mid-November. Come along for a tasting and let's see if we can find a tea that induces you into a copacetic smile.

"Each cup of tea represents an imaginary voyage." -- Catherine Douzel. If that's the case, I'm due to take many an exciting voyage! Thanks for joining me on this one; Let's go for another! You get the kettle, I'll get the pot!

copyright (c) 2010-2011 Celia Mei Rubin

You Know You're A New Yorker When...

...You cuss out a taxi driver using every single profanity in the book. A young, tiny woman struggling with a suitcase bigger than herself swearing at an incompetent taxi driver? Welcome to New York. Indeed.

I am moving from the Upper East Side to Hoboken. As I have no furniture and no car, I decided that what I would do is pack a couple of suitcases, drop the loads off at Hoboken, then return to the Upper East Side, repack more stuff, and make another trip, and I would do this as many times as necessary to transfer all my sh*t. Pack, transfer, repeat. Except, because I refused to ask for help and wanted to save money, it was more like: pack, struggle with luggage TO public transport, struggle with luggage ON public transport, struggle with luggage FROM public transport, transfer, repeat. And once, I got caught in a HUGE storm. (Remember that one that came for 10 minutes recently, with heavy rain and heavy wind? I was that soaking idiot walking along Washington St. in Hoboken pulling my huge suitcase along and stoppng periodically to make sure the rain didn't wash my contacts out of my eyes. That was two days ago, and my sneakers are STILL soaked.)

After a couple of trips back and forth, I decided that the money spent on using a taxi would be worth saving my sanity. So, I hailed a cab with one ENORMOUS suitcase, got in and requested to go to 41st and 6th (to drop my bag off at work before rehearsal. Oh, did I mention that all the while I'm packing, transferring, and repeating, I'm also in rehearsals for a new musical and pulling shifts at Pop Tarts World?). The driver -- I think he was Indian, I couldn't quite place his accent -- said to me in a way I couldn't really understand that he wasn't going to drop me off at 41st and 6th but 43rd and 5th because he couldn't make some sort of turn. Or, whatever it was he said, he basically told me he wasn't taking me to my requested destination, and to me that was obvious code for "I can't be bothered to drop you off at the doorstep." His attitude was abrasive from the start, but at this point, I just said, "okay" and let him drive.

The driver drove quickly and unsteadily enough to make me a little nervous and anxious and he was on the phone the entire time, which always unnerves me. I was already pretty riled up when we got to 43rd street, but was keeping my mouth shut. I just wanted to get out of the cab. He then stopped abruptly behind a car at a traffic light in a one-lane street and immediately got out to get my bag from the trunk. It was as if he couldn't wait to get me out of the car. I thought it bizarre that he had stopped in the middle of the street, because surely the traffic light was about to turn green and we'd be stuck in the middle of the street waiting for my credit card payment to go through. Which is exactly what happened. The driver got back into the taxi, I had barely gotten my card out of my wallet, when the light turned green and the car behind us started honking profusely. WELL, that was it. I saw RED. I never really knew what it was like to "see red" until that moment. I believe that, in that moment, I became angrier than I had ever been in my entire life. And here's what happened.

Celia (through gritted teeth): We have to pull over so this car can get past.
Driver (yelling): Bag is on the street! What you want me to do??
Celia (getting redder by the second): SO. GO. AND. GET. IT.
The taxi driver sits in the taxi, flustered and yelling but refusing to move, while the car behind them continues to honk. Celia completely loses her rag and yells: WHY THE FUCK DID YOU STOP HERE?? BECAUSE YOU CAN'T FUCKING BE BOTHERED TO DO YOUR FUCKING JOB PROPERLY???!!! MY FUCKING SUITCASE IS ON THE FUCKING STREET I GUESS I"LL HAVE TO FUCKING GET OUT AND GET IT YOU'RE SO FUCKING RUDE I CAN'T BELIEVE HOW FUCKING RUDE YOU ARE THIS IS YOUR FUCKING JOB I'M SO FUCKING ANGRY THIS IS FUCKING BULLSHIT!!!
Celia stomps out of the car and heaves her huge suitcase back in the car, all the time continuing to utter despicable profanities. She slams the door and is shaking. Her heart is racing and she can barely see straight or control her hands as she attempts to swipe her credit card.
Celia: I'M NOT FUCKING LEAVING YOU A FUCKING TIP.
Driver (a little perturbed at this woman unhinged): Okay. Sorry. Don't leave tip.
As she swipes her card, she can't figure out how to not leave a tip. She is still shaking and short of breath and can't focus her eyes.
Celia: WELL IT LOOKS LIKE I HAVE TO LEAVE A FUCKING TIP.
She leaves a tip, the payment goes through, and she heaves her suitcase out of the car still cussing out the driver who has now become silent.
Celia: WE ALL HAVE A FUCKING JOB TO DO WHAT THE FUCK THIS IS YOUR FUCKING JOB DON'T EVER FUCKING DO THIS TO ANYONE ELSE AGAIN YOU'RE A FUCKING ASSHOLE FUCK YOU I'M SO FUCKING ANGRY YOU'RE FUCKING RIDICULOUS ETC ETC ETC.
She slams the door.
End scene.

I have since recounted that story to a handful of people and have gotten the same response: "I can't believe you even paid him." Yeah. I can't believe it either. I actually heaved my suitcase BACK into the car to pay him AND I ended up leaving a tip anyway! Oh boy, was I mad.

You know, I understand that people sometimes can't be bothered to do their jobs. However, while I'm out here striving for my dreams, I have done my share of customer service in retails shops, and there have been times that the last thing I wanted to do was put on a huge smile and say chirpily, "Hi there, welcome!" But that's my job, and I do it because the customer always comes first. I don't know if that taxi driver thought I was crazy or if I perhaps made him see the error of his ways. I don't really care. I'm a New Yorker now, I've been through the official initiation, of course I don't care. The polite Brit has been driven (sorry) out of me. Don't fuck with a New Yorker. Especially when she's a tiny woman with a huge suitcase and the stresses of rehearsals, work, moving, and auditions adding to the load. You just might get cussed out.

copyright (c) 2010-2011 Celia Mei Rubin

No Pills Or Therapy Needed

When I recently posted some photos on Facebook of myself in BROADWAY BARES and dancing in other photoshoots, a handful of my (female) friends contacted me asking what my "secret" was of staying in shape. I wrote them all back with my pearls of not-much-wisdom, and hoped that my advice helped on some level.

Last night, as I hugged a friend goodbye, he remarked, "wow, you've lost weight. You're back to your 'break-up' body and flat stomach." His remark referred to this habit I have of losing weight after a break-up. Some people comfort eat. I lose all appetite. As I made my journey home last night, I felt really pleased that I've managed to get back to my "break-up" body at a time when I'm very content and happy. As a woman and a dancer, I constantly have "body-envy" and am forever judging my figure against those of other women. As DOT in SUNDAY IN THE PARK WITH GEORGE states, "If my hips were flatter..." We all want what we don't have. The grass is always greener. And yet, for all the dozens of times a day I'm struck with "body-envy," I'm still pretty pleased with my figure. Being happy with my body is as impotant to me as doing a good audition. I will shamelessly confess that it may even be more important. After a bad audition, I've usually moved on within half an hour. If I feel bloated and tired and not in peak shape, I've been known to shed a tear. Or a river. Because, you see, as a dancer, looking a certain way is a large part of my job. Competition is just too high not to look feirce at every casting call. But, I'm digressing. The point of this blog is to "make public" what I do to keep me feeling good about myself and my body. In a city where it seems most people are in therapy or on Xanax, I'm grateful for a happy peace of mind without having to fork out money on pills and therapists. I can't even afford a visit to the doctor's as it is! A healthy mind = a healthy body, and vice versa. I hope that the following will inspire anyone who wants to kick their asses into feeling great.

My 5 life-style mantras

1. I believe that one should eat well and exercise to be healthy, not to be skinny. Skinny doesn't always equal healthy.

2. I believe that if you treat your body well, it will thank you, and you will feel great.

3. I don't believe in dieting, diet foods, or "miracle" remedies.

4. I don't believe in "quick-fixes." As I say to my girls that I teach, "If it feels easy, you aren't working hard enough."

5. I believe that one's physical and mental well-being should be more important than financial success. What's the point in working so hard to make money if you're not happy when you look in the mirror, or you can't sleep at night due to stress? For those of you that are loaded and love your bodies -- I envy you!

My 5 golden rules:

1. One portion of dry carbs a day (bread/noodles/pasta). I LOVE pasta. LOVE IT. But, when I eat it, my stomach is painful and distended for days, so I cannot eat it regularly. After a couple of sliices of whole-grain bread for breakfast, I'll stick to protein, fruits, and veggies for the rest of the day. Or, if I have eggs for breakfast, I'll have a sandwhich for lunch or dinner. I'm forever trying to get in 5 portions of fruit and veggies a day. Sometimes I succeed with gold stars, sometimes I fail miserably.

2. Fizzy sodas are a once-a-week treat. I've heard so many stories of people cutting out soda and losing weight. It's SO bad for you! When I have a coke, I go for the full fat, all the way! I'd rather pack my body with sugar than aspartame found in diet drinks.

3. Add just a pinch of salt to food. Salt is dehydrating and really bloating. When I have too much of it, I look like I'm pregnant.

4. Never ever ever EVER reach for the "diet" foods. Here's the thing -- diet foods are packed with preservatives, and artificial ingredients. Maintaining a healthy lifestyle does not mean dieting. It means cooking from fresh and being able to have that glass of full fat milk or that slice of chocolate cake. I eat ALOT. Anyone who knows me will attest to this. But I eat well, and I most certainly eat my share of junk food. Then my body will tell me I've overdone it by becoming constipated (sorry) or breaking out in acne, or being tired all the time, and I'll put myself back on track. Which brings me to golden rule number 5.

5. Listen to your body. It will tell you what it wants. The instant self-gratification part is always telling me that I want that KFC. But the smarter part, the part of my body that focuses on the long-term, will always let me know when it needs some lovin'. I'll have no energy, or I'll be anxious and cranky, or I'll be bloated all the time, or I'll gain weight. When I go back to good eating and exercising, I'm happier, with lots of energy and a flat tummy!

My one exercise rule:

JUST DO IT. Really. There is no way around it. Exercising is as much a priority to me as taking singing lessons and performance workshops. When someone wants to hang out, and I need to go to ballet class, or I need to jog in the park, then that's what I say. "Sorry, I can't, I have to work-out." Sometimes my friends roll their eyes, but I don't expect everyone to understand. I never work-out until I'm absolutely knackered. If I do, I won't get through a work shift. I work out to the point that I'm sweating profusely and pretty pooped, then I stop. If you burn yourself out, you'll just talk yourself out of your next work-out (or, that's what I do!). It's important to find ways of exercising that you love. I LOVE ballet class, jogging through the park, and Bikram yoga. So, it's never a chore. I never go to the gym because I find it mundane and I can't afford it. If you're looking for cheap yoga, check out www.yogatothepeople.com for $8 classes. If you're looking for a really lovely dance studio that is not at all crowded or intimidating, check out www.balart.com for $15 classes ($14 with a union card). If you want a work-out buddy, give me a bell and I will gladly come along. When I worked at Pure Dark, the girls and I went to Bikram yoga together a couple of times and we had a blast.There are countless studies that prove how much exercise can have positive effects on emotional well-being, and I'm a firm believer of this.

And that's pretty much how I get the "break-up" body without having to go through the actual break-up! No pills or therapy needed. Never had a protein shake in my life, never been on a diet in my life, never had liposuction, never been in therapy, never popped an anti-anxiety pill. The "secret" is good a ol' fashion cardio work-out and fresh home cooking, and your mind and body will be happy, content, and giddy!

copyright (c) 2010-2011 Celia Mei Rubin

Summer Sunshine And All Its Secrets

July has been, for me, an uber fantastic month. I can’t really explain why or even know what it is that has made this so. I do know that, finally, after just over a year here in NYC, I truly feel like myself again. I walk through the city finding things that take my breath away at every hidden corner, and I have often caught myself smiling a little secretive smile, but I can never pinpoint the cause of that smile. Perhaps it is as simple as my being a summer girl. I adore the heat and the sun and the smell of freshly cut grass. Coming from London town, where 80% of the year is gloomy and drizzly, waking up to consistent sunshine is most certainly a novelty. “Sunshine on my shoulder…”

It’s taken me this long to reconnect with myself after my move. I have tried many times to explain to my nearest and dearest the rite of passage I have taken emotionally, but I cannot find a way to express just how much of a challenge moving from one culture to another is. ALONE. English is the only thing the Brits and the Yanks share. It came as a shock to the system, and I had no idea how to simply “be.“ I was constantly unsure and awkward. For months, I didn’t know where “I” had gone. It was as if the “me” whom I had gotten to know so well vanished as soon as I stepped onto the plane from London, and when I got to NY, I couldn’t find her anywhere. I spent months desperately trying to figure out why I was constantly sad, or anxious, or nervous. Months feeling completely alone and utterly different. Like everyone else in NY was moving to a tense 2/4 rhythm and I was still trying to catch up at a 3/4 waltz. Like I’d accidentally left the best parts of me on British soil, and my weakest parts, the sorts of personal flaws that everyone tries to hide, were on display for all to see. I missed the strong, fiercely ambitious and independent woman of my past.

This July, she resurfaced. She kind of snuck up on me, so quietly, that I had no idea she had come back. In-between jobs (the chocolate shop which I so affectionately refer to in my various blogs closed at the end of June, much to my dismay), left with a teaching job that doesn’t take up a lot of time, and waiting for my next exciting survival job to commence in August (I can’t wait to announce what I will be selling this time!), July should really have been merely an “interim” month; sorta there just because it happens to be part of the calendar. For me, it was looking bleak and dull. Although it wasn’t. No, not bleak and dull at all. Out came the sun, and washed out all the rain! And the strong, fiercely ambitious and independent woman of my past climbed up that spout of confidence and gratitude and love again! She’s so coy, she took me completely by surprise. I was simply walking along one day, and realized that I felt something I hadn’t felt in awhile. I felt that old feeling of being “me.”

Happiness happened again. The sort of happiness that creeps up on you from somewhere you never thought to look. A remarkable book that keeps you up until 3am because you can’t force yourself to put it down. A 3 hour walk in the glistening sunshine with detours for ice-cream and a browse of Barnes and Noble. A jog through Central Park on a blistering hot day. Walking out of a final audition for a Broadway show and believing that, no matter what happens, you danced with all your soul. A stranger politely saying “you have a beautiful smile.” A movie that hits you right in the heart as you fall in love with the leading man (Joseph Gordon-Levitt makes me blush). A conversation with your best friend that reminds you of how hard you can laugh. All good things. All GREAT things. All great things that make me smile my secretive smile. Are you in the habit of unknowingly smiling your own secretive smile? When I catch myself doing it, I might even let out a giggle -- so soft a giggle it is, only I am privy to it.

I want to tell you about the last time I smiled secretly. It only happened today. I was sitting on a park bench alone. Along came an older man, who asked if I minded him sitting on the other side of the bench. “Of course not,” I told him. We sat there in a pleasant silence for 10 minutes or so. Then a construction worker approached the bench and asked if I minded him sitting next to me. “Of course not,” I told him. “Do you want half of my sandwich?” he offered. “No thanks,” I laughed back. The three of us sat there in a pleasant silence. I, reading, the construction worker, chewing, and the old man, just sitting. Eventually the construction worker spoke: “you know, it’s really nice that you didn’t get up to walk away, because a lot of people have stereotypes of construction guys, they think we’re rude.” My reply: “well, I understand that stereotype, and if you’d been rude, I would have got up and left, but you haven’t been rude, so why would I?” We bantered a bit, and the old man joined in, and the banter got a little boisterous. Mid-boisterous banter, another construction worker came over, and motioned if he could sit on the other side of me, and I joked, “wow! I’m making a lot of friends today!” A rupture of laughter. Then back to pleasant silence. Old man, sitting. Construction worker, chewing. I, reading. Other construction worker, sitting as close to the edge of the bench as possible to give me ample room, chewing. Then ANOTHER construction worker came over, but as there was no more room on the bench, he chewed standing up. He struck up conversation with all of us, and there was polite chuckling. They recommended a place for me to grab lunch if I was hungry, and with that, I thanked them and got up to leave. “Guys, it’s been a pleasure,” I said. I meant it. I walked away with a bounce in my step…pretty sure that they were checking me out as I bounced away, but I didn’t care! We had shared a moment (well, half an hour) of genuine companionship, and as I walked away, I smiled secretly to myself and thanked the Universe for making happiness happen again. It’s good to be back.

copyright (c) 2010-2011 Celia Mei Rubin

A Running Joke

One of my favourite past-times is running in Central Park. I have the same route, because I know exactly how long it's going to take me from point A. to point B. and I like to be consistent with my running. I run for two reasons: to stay skinny and to relax. Yes, running is relaxing for me. Obviously, not the type of sit-on-a-couch-for-5-hours-watching-T.V. relaxation, but it's an "active relaxation." It's both a physical and mental battle, but at the same time, while I'm listening to music as I run, I daydream, and visualize my goals, and affirmate! Once I start up my heart rate, I hate to stop. It's like a high or a rush that's cut short, and it's frustrating and annoying to have to stop mid-run. Which is why the story that I'm about to tell makes for a good laugh.

I was just starting out my run in the park. It was a most gorgeous day. The sun was proudly blessing us with It's rays. my music was giving me a great boost of energy as I inhaled the smell of freshly cut grass, a scent I have adored since my days at summer camp. Man, I felt GOOD. I was set to go for an hour, and nothing, no nothing could stop me now! (I crack myself up.) Not more than five minutes into my run, a Japanese tourist approached me. You know the type. Porcelain skin caked with pale foundation; Louis Vuitton bag in her clutch; head adorned with a huge sun hat; meticulously planned designer outfit. THAT type of Japanese tourist. She asked in her soft broken English, "Excuse me, Metropolitan Museum?" I replied mid-stride, "You're close but you have to go that way out of the park," and pointed her in the right direction as I continued my run. She either did not understand me, or wanted clearer directions on how to get to The Met, because, not satisfied with my response, she actually started to run with me, in order to keep up and ask more questions. "Oh, LORD. Here we go," I thought.

As this woman, who looked liked she had never broken out in a single sweat bead in her life, attempted to keep up with my pace by running beside me in a sort of comic desperation, I really was torn. On one hand, she seemed perfectly pleasant and could have already been wandering about for hours trying to find The Met, and we were so close to it that I could have walked her out of the park and physically steered her in the correct direction. On the other hand, I was mid-run! Our conversation went back and forth like a tennis match as she continued throw phrases at me like, "Out of park?" and "5th Avenue?" and I hit her back with responses like, "yes, you need to go out of the park THAT way," and "Yes, if you exit the park THAT way, you'll be on 5th Avenue, then you can ASK SOMEONE ELSE."

I wished there and then that I'd had a friend with me. Or a candid camera. SOMETHING to witness this moment that could not have been better scripted by the most talented Sitcom writers. After a mere minute of keeping up the pace, my acquaintance was becoming breathless. I thought that, surely now, she would relent, too tired to continue the effort. Not so. Let me tell you -- getting to that museum must have been this woman's childhood ambition -- because Miss Japanese tourist took stride after stride with me. I must admit, watching her valiant efforts while she struggled in her heels gave me a sick delight. I don't know if that makes me a bad person? The scene and the memory of it are too funny for me to really care.

Out of breath and probably perspiring a little in her designer outfit (and holding onto that sun hat to prevent its falling off), she followed me. And followed me. And followed me. I stopped being torn in two ways as to whether to stop and help her or keep on running (in all honesty, the chances of my interrupting my run were almost non-existent) and began to question this woman's sanity. I could not for the life of me figure out why, in a park where she was surrounded by sunbathers and ice-cream vendors, this woman had chosen the ONE non-static person to ask directions from. I have laughed at the thought ever since. I relayed this story to a friend who surmised, "well, maybe she saw you and thought because you're a bit Asian, you'd speak the same language." Ha. Perhaps. Though I seriously doubt it.

Finally, after a good three minutes or so, my breathless acquaintance either decided that her outfit was not worth ruining or that she could perhaps...oh...I don't know...ask someone who wasn't obviously in the middle of an intense workout. I continued on my merry way, and felt only slightly guilty that I hadn't been more helpful.

I do hope she found The Met. The thing is, had we been the only two people in the park, of course I would have stopped and would probably have walked her to 5th Avenue. But it was a busy day, and she certainly wasn't stuck without someone else to help her. I made my directions as clear as I could, so I hope that she was helped at least somewhat by me. Maybe next time, she'll carry a map.

I don't know what all these tourists in NYC are doing strolling along without maps. I've lived here for over a year, and my map follows me wherever I go. Moral number one: Always carry a map when on holiday. Moral number two: When asking for directions, ask someone who is not in a rush. Moral number 3: Start working out to improve your Fight-Or-Flight capabilities so that when you are lost, if you HAVE to approach a runner, you can most definitely keep up the pace!

copyright (c) 2010-2011 Celia Mei Rubin

Man...Or Caveman?

I'm pissed off. This blog is being written mostly because I need to vent. I am EXTREMELY disappointed and offended by the way some men behave on Match.com. As far as I'm concerned, no one owes anyone anything on that website. If a man takes the time to email me, then I guess it's a nice gesture, but he is also emailing dozens of other women, and so he isn't exactly going out of his way by writing to me.

So, the scenario is, I'm a woman on Match and I receive an email from a man. I check the man out if his profile picture and email strikes my interest. If I am disinterested in what I see, I don't respond to the email. Right?? Simple!! I'm hardly going to write back and say "thanks for the email but I find your profile very off-putting so I'm declining your offer of a date." I just stay silent, and assume that the man will take my silence as a sign that I'm not interested and move on. And most do. BUT. A few -- my blood is boiling just thinking about these select "few" -- DO NOT GET THE HINT.

An idiot who calls himself Masterofallmen -- PUKE -- emailed me, I looked at his profile, and wasn't interested. Two and a half weeks later, he emailed with the subject line saying "Having fun yet?" and wrote in the email, "seriously now Celia, has the cat grabbed your tongue?" OH MY LORD I GOT SO ANGRY. How DARE he??? How rude! How patronizing! What, does he think I spend my time purposely not replying to men that I'm interested in because that's my idea of "having fun?" And asking me if the cat had gotten my tongue -- I'm a lady for goodness sake, you don't speak to a lady like that, especially if you're attempting to court her! Or, maybe I'm severely old-fashioned and this is how men are treating women these days. Well, not THIS woman. I was so mad, it took all my willpower not to email him a series of profanities. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of a response.

I received an email from an Indian man. Now, my profile clearly states that I am attracted only to Caucasian men. I am not a racist (I'm a Chinese Jew, for goodness sake), but I cannot help who I am attracted to, and I'm afraid though I love people of all color, I only date white men. So, I didn't even look at this guy's profile. His follow-up email to me said, "I am not sure why you haven't responded. If you have never done this before, I can bet you are a bit apprehensive. I mean getting 50 mails a day from 65 year old men asking for a massage can be a bit scary. Or are you playing hard to get already? haha. Cute. :-) I think that works better once you have met in person! Who is teaching you these tricks?" This guy is even more patronizing than the last!!! "NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE???" I am a pro at Match dating! I know what I want! "PLAYING HARD TO GET ALREADY???" So if I appear disinterested, then of course I'm playing hard to get. This imbecile hasn't even considered that I have not responded because I have absolutely no interest in getting to know him. And, I ask you, what is the crime in that? I have found more and more that men's egos are so inflated that if I show even the smallest bit of doubt in my interest towards them, they get their little male knickers all into a twist and try to manipulate me by attempting to make me feel like a horrible, smaller person.

I can only imagine that men like these would be just awful to date. They'd try and make all my decisions for me, they'd disregard my opinion, they'd only listen to themselves and I'd be left with sore ears from their constant narcissistic conversation.

I am not a bad person. My dearest friends would tell you I'm quite the opposite. I am not a high-maintenance woman. My parents would disagree, but most other people would agree. I am a kick-ass girlfriend. My past boyfriends would assure you of that. But, though I try to always be extremely open-minded and give everyone the benefit of the doubt, once I am spoken to or treated with utter disrespect, my claws come out, and man do I want to scratch someone's eyes out right now. Preferably that Indian dude's. My pulse is racing from rage even as I type. The sad thing is, I am completely losing my faith in men, and I really don't want to. But the more I'm on the receiving end of sexual jeers, manipulative words, and selfish actions, the more I roll my eyes when a man so much as looks at me. They all piss me off! And I don't want to end up rolling my eyes at someone whose intentions are good.

Just to digress a little before ending this rant -- I don't think it's in my imagination that men are becoming ruder. I was in the elevator the other day, and a man who was standing in the back pushed his way out before giving the people in the front a chance to get out. The one woman left in the elevator with me looked at me in shock and said "did you see that? Men are getting ruder and ruder these days!" I notice it when a man gets on the subway before letting me on first, and when a man walks through a door and doesn't hold it open for me, and in ridiculous Match.com emails! Please, let this not spark that old debate about how if women want to be treated equally, we can't expect special treatment, etc etc. Yes, women have our share of flaws, too. But, just as I think it's nice when a lady acts with a good female etiquette in public, it's nice when a man is chivalrous. Or at least respectful to other human beings!

I think I've said all I can on the subject. Really, I could talk about this for days (and have). So, I'll put it to rest now and thank my lucky stars that I'm a decent woman who always treats others with respect, and if I encounter people who are not that way inclined, then it's just not my battle to fight. Which is a bit of a shame, cause she's feisty when she's riled!!!

copyright (c) 2010-2011 Celia Mei Rubin

The Day She Met 5 Scottish Lads

It was just a normal day at Pure Dark, on a quaint corner of Bleecker Street, in the classy part of the West Village. No celebrity shoppers on this particular day, just your average Japanese tourist and dolled up young mother with her baby carriage. Into the store burst 5 burly Scottish lads. How out of place they seemed, with their massive beer bellies, and their gruff Scot accents. They walked straight up to me and demanded, "ARE YE CEEEEEEEELIA?" I couldn't figure out if I was bemused or nervous. "......yes......." I replied. "WE'VE BEEN SENT HERE BY BROOOOOOOKE." Brook! A gorgeous Scottish lass I went to dance college with! Oh! "SHE SAID WE WERE TO COME AND FIND YEEEEEEE. SHE WORKS IN THE POOOOOOB" Oh my. The pooooooob. The pub! Ah, it became clear. Here in my gourmet chocolate shop, looking as if they had just landed from another planet, were 5 Scottish lads, who live in Perth, Scotland (one of them was even wearing a shirt that said PERTH). Every Sunday, they must go to the pub (as all men with massive beer bellies do) and my old friend Brooke serves them pints of lager and cider while they sit there and "get pissed," as the Brits say. Well, fancy that. Talk about worlds colliding.

I offered them some free chocolate. Most people are delighted when that happens. The lads just blinked. "NAH." They said. "Oh, okay. Well, can I get you some water?" I asked. "NAH." "Okay....would you like anything else?" "WHERE IS THE NEAREST PLACE TO GET A PINT???" one of them finally asked in exasperation. I howled with laughter. They looked absolutely desperate. I knew what they were looking for -- a good old English pub that served a nice cold pint of ale. I couldn't think of anything downscale enough for them in the West Village, so I pointed them towards a place called Fiddlesticks, in which they (if they even found it) would probably exclaim profanities at the price of the beer.

The lads had been in the shop for about 7 minutes. We even took a picture of all of us so that they could show Brooke when they got home. I still could not believe that they were in the shop. Looking at them standing there in all their loutish glory among the high-end shop branding made me beam. Before they left, I asked, "what ARE you doing in NYC???" In the States, there are certain Americans who have obviously never been outside of their own state, let alone the country. These lads looked as if they'd never even been to London, so WHAT were they doing here in the middle of Manhattan?? "THE FOOOOOOOOTBALLLL!!!" Oh my goodness, OF COURSE! The fooooooootball! They were in town supporting England in the World Cup. Pints and football -- what ELSE would a bunch of Scottish lads be in NYC for?

When the lads left, one of my colleagues said to me, "they were really scary and I couldn't understand a word they said." We laughed, and I pondered this. While she had looked at them in confusion, I had looked at them and felt like they had brought into the shop a little piece of home with them. They brought in a sensation that I was back in a culture that is familiar to me -- a culture where lads go to the pub to drink pints and watch football, families gather together every Sunday for a Sunday roast, newspapers have page 3 topless models, and every town in the country has a Marks and Spencer, a Nando's, a Primark, and a street called "High Street." I may have Yankee blood and a Yankee accent, but I have not felt more at "home" in NYC than when those lads walked in the door and brought a bit of Scotland with them.

The Yanks and the Brits may all speak the same language, but we are not the same by any means. I thought I was more of an American. But I still feel like a stranger in a foreign land. I still have never seen an episode of "Lost." I still need to look at an NYC subway map when I travel. I still don't quite know how the healthcare system works. I still drink tea instead of Starbucks. I think of Britain, and I can picture the glistening streets of Edinburgh. I can hear the "hardahardahardaharda" accents of the Belfast taxi drivers. I can remember Saturday morning TV with Cat, Ant, and Dec. I still want to say things like, "get your coat love, you've pulled," or "can I have a shandy, please?" or "fancy a cuppa?" I call soccer football and I find it totally bizarre that there are people are not aware that there is a difference between Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland. Well, I'll be damned...

I spent a decade in London rejecting the fact that I am British. How ironic then, that I feel more of a kinship with a bunch of Scottish lads than a bunch of Long-Islanders. I guess I am a Brit after all. I'll need to have a Guinness and black the next time I go out, to celebrate this self-discovery. But, wait, the Americans don't have blackcurrent cordial, do they? Do they even have cordial?? Eh, perhaps I'll have to stick to liquor on the rocks. When in Rome...

copyright (c) 2010-2011 Celia Mei Rubin

Baring All...Oriental Style

This year will be the second year that I participate in BROADWAY BARES in support of the wonderful charity, Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS. I've had 2 rehearsals, and with 3 more rehearsals and a week before showtime, I'm feeling just about ready to bare all!

Last year I was clad in a black S&M outfit. I was wearing both a bra and underwear, which, by BROADWAY BARES standards, is pretty tame. This year, at my first rehearsal, I learned that I would be in a thong and pasties. As we listened to the music and the choreographers talked us through the dance, my first thought was, "wow, that's a long time to be onstage wearing just pasties." As I looked around the room at our predominantly male cast, all of whom are tumblers with perfect bodies, my second thought was, "I really need to be as toned as these guys so I don't look like jello dancing next to them."

I immediately got to work getting into prime shape. I have been having just one tiny serving of dry carbs a day, drinking so much water that I spend alot of time in the bathroom, and have refrained from eating as much chocolate as I usually do at work (I work in a chocolate shop!). I pretty much stick to white meat protein, fruits, and veggies...which sounds simple enough, but I miss cheese, toast, sausages, DOUGHNUTS, crisps, and just about anything else that's not canned tuna, avocado, or fruit, because that's all I've eaten for the past week. Those of you that know my gigantic love of food will know that this has definitely been a challenge!

In addition to eating properly, I'm working out alot more than usual. I'm back to Bikram yoga, running an hour at a time instead of half an hour, and getting in those bum squats! My legs are sore! And my back is sore! And I'm hungry all the time!!!! AND I NEED A MASSAGE! But, it will all be worth it when my kimono comes off (I play a Geisha in my number) and I look FIERCE. Maybe it will inspire you to know that it's only been 5 days, and already I can see results. That is what keeps me going when I walk past the amazing focaccia shop on my way to work and my mouth waters and my stomach begs.

I'm extremely proud of my number, ORIENT AVENUE, choreographed by Lee Wilkin and Stephanie Lang, who are both so generous and inspiring. They've created a beautiful and classy piece. Set in a tea house, our lead stripper is an aerialist who plays a Samurai. I can't wait to see how he's going to strip while in the air! There are 3 Geishas, and we have been hard at work practicing our fan work...I think between the 3 of us, we must have already gone through 2 handfuls of broken fans. We have some amazing male tumblers who play lantern holders (these guys are truly an inspiration, they are so good at what they do) and a lovely handful of beautiful Geisha helpers to complete our cast. Throw in some luxurious kimonos, Swarovski crystals (!!!!!), gorgeous tai chi moves, authentic Japanese music, and the number is going to be stunning. I hope I don't drop my fan!!!

I can't wait to see the piece in its entirety, and also to see the rest of the show this year. Last year I was absolutely amazed at the caliber of the show, and how much selfless effort went into putting on such a spectacle to support those in need. That amazement has not waned this year, and being part of the BARES community to support such a great cause is something I take great pride in. The harsh eating and workout regime is definitely worth it. I hope you will help me to help others by donating to my Strip-a-thon page at http://www.broadwaycares.org/celiamei -- every little counts!

Anyone interested in seeing BROADWAY BARES XX: STRIP-OPOLY on Sunday June 20th should contact me for $40 tickets! Let's make a difference together!!!

With a bow of the head, and a flick of my fan, I say to you, "Arigato!"

www.broadwaycares.org

www.broadwaybares.com

copyright (c) 2010-2011 Celia Mei Rubin

A Year Of Taking Detours

As I am closing in on a year of living in NYC, I have been spending alot of time reflecting on this past year and asking myself if I have made achievements. But, to even answer that question, I had to then ask myself, "WHAT is an achievement, and HOW do you measure success?" Does the fact that I'm not on Broadway yet make me a failure? Or does the fact that I'm not on Broadway yet and I haven't packed my bags to flee back to everything that I know make me a success? Most of society measures achievement and success by monetary gain. The more money you make, the more successful you are. But, what if you're making alot of money and not happy? What if you're on a year's tour of WEST SIDE STORY and understudying the lead role and making alot of money and crying every week? When I look back on that period of my life and career with a more objective insight, I still believe that leaving the show was one of the best decisions I've ever made. So, if money and career success doesn't necessarily make you happy, HOW do you measure achievement?

I asked myself during my reflection: "Why did I move to NY, and what do I want to achieve?" Well, that's easy. I want to be on Broadway. That's it. That's all I really wanted. I don't even need to be featured or anything, I just want to make it into a Broadway show. Not too much to ask, right? But, a year after moving to NY, I'm not on Broadway. Dammit. "Failure," I say to myself. Big F-minus. But, hang on a second...I'm...happy. Like, really really really happy. I feel empowered. I feel in control. I feel like yelling "IT'S GOOD TO BE ALIVE!!!!" So...HOW, can I possibly be a failure??

I asked myself this over and over, and while I was doing so, heard a quote in a movie trailer -- "Life is about taking detours." And you know when something just clicks? I have been playing that idea over and over in my head for the past 2 weeks. I came to NY to be on Broadway. Full stop. One clear path that was arrow-straight. Then, kicking and screaming, I was forced to take detours from this path.

I met a man. WHAT??!! I didn't ask for that, I didn't want that, so how dare the Universe make our paths cross. Then that man broke my heart. DOUBLE WHAT??!! And so there I was, left with a shattered heart and still not on Broadway, probably because I spent too much time focusing on being happy with someone. How stupid of me, and of course I'm back at the beginning. BUT. WAIT. Since that whole ridiculous rigmarole, I have had this tiny little voice in my head saying again and again..."I wanna get married I wanna get married I wanna get married I wanna get married..." Ummmmmmmmmmm, when did THAT happen? I was NEVER going to get married. Never never never never. Then life threw me a road-block and I had to take a detour and I finally found my way back onto the path, and, oh my Lord, I can't wait to get married. This is MAJOR. I have learned so much about the kind of partner I would like to be and the kind of partner I would like to have. No settling! That's why my next beau only lasted 3 months before he got kicked to the curb! I have never dumped anyone in my life! Which means I'm learning. I'm learning alot. I guess that detour was worth it.

But, anyway, back to the path to Broadway. I took a couple of "survival" jobs to, you know, pay my rent and bills. "Just a means to an end," I thought. I didn't plan on meeting the most incredible people at Pure Dark, the chocolate shop that I work in. I was desperately searching for a support network here, then a few months into working at Pure dark, I realized that I had one. My colleagues are so funny, and talented, and generous, and we are from all walks of life, but together, we just fit. It's actually very beautiful. I work with artists from the Fashion Institute of Technology, and a couple of guys from the Culinary Institute of America, and a Jewish playwright; a mix of people who laugh together until sometimes we cry. Some of my happiest moments in the past year have been with my Pure Dark family. There was this time that I went out on a date after work and they all text me to ask how it was going and begged me to meet them after the date was over to share the details. So I met them and we drank and ate pizza and I told them that my date was awesome, and they were genuinely happy for me. Genuine -- not something I see in NYC often, but my friends at Pure Dark have it by the bucket-load. Once in awhile we even have Pure Dark outings, and we spent one night eating at St. Mark's place then going from frozen yogurt shops to ice cream shops and stuffing ourselves. Another outing brought us to Christopher St. Pier where we had a wonderful picnic complete with homemade pasta and macaroons! Ah, these are the moments for which I am joyous and grateful. I'll look back on this one day and say, "remember when I had to take a survival job, and it turned out to be the happiest job in NYC?" Our Pure Dark motto -- "I'm hanging out with chocolate; how bad could I possibly be?!" AMEN.

I also teach dance, and we just had our last class of the school semester. I can't tell you how much I beamed with pride at my girls when I watched them complete clean pirouettes. They started out the semester barely being able to hold the pirouette position without turning, and I must admit that I thought it was a hopeless battle. But, as a teacher, you don't give up on your kids, and you push them even when they complain, and then something amazing happens -- they start to improve and they start to believe in themselves and they manage to pirouette, much to their own joy! Okay, I admit it, this hasn't been a bad detour either. If I'd gone straight to Broadway, I would have never known my friends from Pure Dark, and I would not have been able to watch my kids succeed. I would not trade such things.

So, I'm still not on Broadway. But I'm still HERE. And I'm here with more confidence and more fire. Yet, I don't want to be someone who is so determined to "make it" that they forget to live. There is so much more to life than Broadway. I've cried until I ran out of toilet paper to wipe my tears and I've laughed until a little bit of wee came out. It's good to be alive! A lovely man said to me recently: "I have a crush on you because when you smile, you literally lift the spirit of the room." That's a pretty great thing to be able to do! I'm still smiling (and lifting the spirit of the room) though not sure if I'm back on the path or not. But, it doesn't matter. I'll take a detour. I'll take a hundred detours! Who knows what will be on the other side. My next detour won't be taken with me kicking and screaming; I'll be hopping and skipping!

copyright (c) 2010-2011 Celia Mei Rubin

Happiness In 5 Mouthfuls

I’m a foodie. We all know that. I’ve been in NYC almost a *gulp* year, and one of my favourite ways to explore the city is by trying out new restaurants. Once in awhile I’ll stumble upon a gem. Here they are -- all of them unique and affordable and highly recommended.

Vietnamese (Thai Son at 89 Baxter St.) -- I was introduced to “Pho” by my parents in Paris, which has a wonderful “Little Vietnam.” Pho is: Vietnamese beef and noodle soup served with beansprouts, basil leaves, and coriander leaves on the side. The beef is usually rare upon serving, and you add the vegetables to your liking. I always order my pho to include tendon and tripe! I fell in love with this dish immediately, and on every subsequent trip to Paris, we had pho at least twice. When I first moved to NYC, I noticed with excitement that Chinatown was full of Vietnamese restaurants, which were extremely elusive in London’s tiny Chinatown. I tried a couple of places suggested by my “Not For Tourists” guide book (which is totally out of character, because as a well-traveled foodie, my experiences have shown me that most restaurant recommendations in guide books cater to the western palates of most tourists, not the refined palate of someone who grew up in Singapore eating a huge variety of ethnics food and whose home-cooked meals consisted only of made-from-scratch recipes because my mother refused to use any ingredient that wasn’t fresh). That was a long digression. Anyway, not being enamored with the pho in either of my guidebook recommendations, I took myself into a place called Thai Son. I picked Thai Son because I liked the street where it’s located -- it’s out of the way of a lot of the noise, hustle, and dare I say, stench of most of Chinatown. To my delight, the pho in Thai Son was large and delicious. For $4.95 (though I think this may have gone up a tad), it’s a brilliant deal (even my dad, who will go to 3 grocery shops just to compare the price of milk thought it was a brilliant deal when I brought my family for pho) as the bowl of soup is huge, and it is packed with meat and noodles. I also had, for the first time in my life, Ume soda. Ume is actually a Japanese pickled plum, and I love to snack on it when I have my salty cravings. In Thai Son, they serve "salty plum soda" -- ume with soda water and some sugar for a fizzy, sour kick of a drink. Gorgeous! If you actually are inspired to venture to Thai Son for some pho, step across the street to the Malaysian restaurant (I can’t remember the name of it, but it’s literally across the street) for some bubur cha cha (sweet yam soup) and pulut hitam (coconut sticky rice). Both are yummy traditional Malaysian desserts.

Turkish (Turkuaz at 2637 Broadway) -- Turkuaz is located on the UWS, and I was walking home one day from Harlem really really really in need of some fresh greens. It was a beautiful sunny day and Turkuaz had outside seating that looked incredibly peaceful. I ordered their "green salad" (Yesil Salata) which wasn't green at all as it came with carrots and tomatoes, and it was HUGE!!!! I'm not a big fan of salad dressings. I like a nice extra-virgin olive oil and a sprinkle of salt, which is exactly how Turkuaz served the salad, also adding a delightful spritz of lemon. It was so healthy and so delicious. I've been back a handful of times (unfortunately not in awhile as I moved away from the UWS a few months ago) and have had their calve’s liver and spinach pie, both of which were delicious. They also serve a large basket of complimentary pita, which was always soft and just out of the oven and incredibly tasty. So if you're ever in the mood for a delicious salad -- for $7.25 you can fill up on all 5 of your recommended fruit/veggie servings for the day, and a bit of free bread will top up those energy levels.

Tea House (Radiance Tea House & Books at 158 West 55th St.) -- My favourite spot to bring friends or to chill out after a dance class or to sit and read a book is Radiance Tea House. See my bog titled "An Afternoon Tea Chapter." It's a blog about my love affair with Radiance. In it, I've already written so much about Radiance, that I won't add much more here. I'll just say that I ALWAYS order the summer chicken noodle, and at the moment they have two amazing specials for dessert -- steamed black coconut rice and sesame mochi soup. If you visit radiance soon, (please do, you'll be so delighted), try one of these, if not both! And tell Dan (the really friendly Asian manager) that Celia sent you! Almost all the people that I've introduced to Radiance have in turn brought others there. It's a real gem of a place.

Prune at 54 East 1st St -- There is a restaurant called Prune on the LES. It's not really ethnic, but with dishes such as "roasted marrow bones" and "braised tongue omelette," it's not exactly run-of-the-mill cuisine either. My fabulous cousin took me to Prune for the first birthday I had upon moving back to NY. I had heard of their bone marrow and had been eager to try it for awhile. (Yes, I love gizzards, hearts, livers, and MARROW. My mom makes a kick-ass gizzard stew complete with all of the above.) I had no idea what to expect, and out came 3 gigantic bones -- like the size of my fists -- that had been sliced open, so that the marrow was sitting in the hollows, waiting to be scooped out and swallowed up. Oh my goodness, it was DIVINE. Even my cousin swooned over it. We also had the grilled whole fish which was cooked to perfection . This place is tiny and has one of the most interesting menus I’ve encountered, so it’s a novelty and reservations are highly highly recommended.

Senegalese (La Galette Café at 177th East 100th St.) -- The same cousin that I mention above also introduced me to this awesome Senegalese restaurant, La Galette, on the UES. If you visit, be prepared to wait, not for a seat, but the service is soooooooo slow. However, they are as friendly as they are slow, and the food always comes out piping hot, so if you have to wait for the freshest, best quality dishes, so be it. My favourite meat is lamb, and I daresay that La Galette has the best lamb I have EVER had (my parents and sister disagree, but I am proclaiming it as my favourite lamb ever). I’m not sure what it’s called but if you go and want to try it, just make sure you order the lamb shank that comes ON THE BONE. We have also had a shrimp curry, a fish dish, and a chicken dish there. I’m currently looking at their menu online, and I can’t remember which exact dishes I’ve had, but I don’t think you can go wrong here. It’s a warm, family-run atmosphere, and the food is always so tasty and satisfying.

Dim Sum/Congee (Jing Fong at 20 Elizabeth St.) -- The best place to eat dim sum in NYC is Jing Fong. Just take my word for it. You enter via a long escalator into a massive room that is as big as the ballroom of a hotel, 95% percent of the diners are Chinese, and the wait-staff are rolling neverending carts through the aisles with neverending choices of dumplings. The second you sit down, they swarm you with their carts and you are overwhelmed with having to choose what you want. I went there once with a friend and we stuffed our faces until we couldn’t breathe, and the bill came to no more than $20.00 including tip. It’s truly an experience that is fun, fascinating, and delicious. Around the corner from Jing Fong is a place called Congee (98 Bowery). “Congee” is a Asian savory rice porridge dish. The Congee restaurant on Bowery has a huge list of congees with different meat/fish/vegetable ingredients. I always have the sliced fish and liver congee, and I once took a friend who had the snail and frogs’ legs congee. But if you don’t want something so adventurous, there are congees that just have chicken or vegetables. On the table is chili oil, and if you like a bit of spice, add some into your congee for a scrumptious kick! For dessert, head over to Dragonland Bakery (125 Walker St.) and have their vanilla bun for $1. It’s happiness in 5 mouthfuls.

Outrageous Japanese (Kenka at 25 St. Mark’s Place) -- Pretty much anything on St. Mark’s Place between 2nd and 3rd Aves is going to be outrageous, and Kenka is no exception. They have the traditional Japanese dishes, and then they have dishes like -- “fried frog,” “bull’s penis,” and a spicy “jungle curry” that you get for free if you can finish it in like 5 minutes or something. One of my discoveries since moving to NYC is “Toro,” which is raw tuna belly. While most restaurants serve this delicacy at $8 for a single piece, Kenka serves it at $8 for 4 large pieces that were really delicious. I also had a “Japanese hot-pot” that came as a soup with lots of things that I didn’t recognise, and as I kept pulling bits out of the soup, my friends would keep saying, “woah, what IS that???” Whatever it was, it was mighty tasty. Most dishes are below $10, and they do great deals on drinks. At the end of the meal, they give you tiny cups of sugar that you pour into their cotton candy machine, so that you can make your own complimentary bunch of cotton candy!

So that’s what's on my list of top ethnic restaurants so far. As I keep finding new places, I’m sure this list will grow. What has evaded me so far though is a great Indian curry house. I’ve been to a handful of recommended places, and I cannot find one that is on a par with the fantastic curry houses in London. So any more recommendations are more than welcome! HAPPY EATING!!!

copyright (c) 2010-2011 Celia Mei Rubin

Matchmaker, Matchmaker: Diary of a Single Woman on Match.com

Finding myself newly single at the beginning of 2010, I did something I never ever thought I would do -- I threw myself into the jaws of internet dating and joined match.com! Since then, I've become so apt at this whole dating thing, I feel like I can actually call myself a professional dater. Of course, it was only a matter of time before I turned my professional dating experience into a blog! Enjoy!

Having been a "match user' for a couple of months, I am pleased to report that this internet dating thing is not the sleezy, creepy world that it is sometimes perceived to be. I think everything is what you make it. Yes, I have been contacted by men who are obviously looking for that proverbial roll in that proverbial hay. But, I can almost tell now who has a decency about them and who has "moron" attached to their foreheads. Regardless of how my match.com experience ultimately pans out, if nothing else, it has been a fascinating study of human nature -- Not only have I learned alot about myself the "dater" (what I like, what I don't like) but I have also learned more about that not-so-mysterious race -- MEN!

People ask me -- "How can you tell a decent guy from a moron?" You know what? You CAN, and it is so so so EASY. Men on match.com fall into 3 categories -- 1. The Quick Fix. 2. -- The Alpha. 3. -- The Desperate Soul. Using emails that I have gotten from various men, I will now detail why and how it is so easy to know what sort of man you are dealing with just from a single email.

1. The Quick Fix.
These men are really just looking for something easy, and probably something fast. This is obvious when an email is so generic, you can tell that the guy has just copied, pasted, and sent the same message to a bunch of different women. For example, here's an email that I received:

"Hi. My name is [blank]. I like your profile. Please look at mine...what is your name? It would be nice to talk and make a plan to meet."

Um, would it, [blank]? Would it be nice? I mean, is it even possible to get more generic? First of all, he says he likes my profile. WHAT specifically does he like? Has he even read it??? Of course not! You know how I know for sure? Because my username on my profile is CeliaMei, and had he actually looked at my profile, he would not have subsequently asked me what my name is! These "quick fix" guys can't be bothered to even read a woman's profile. They must just go from profile to profile with a click, look at the pictures for half a minute, then click "send" with their ready-to-go copied and pasted "one size fits all" message. If it is obvious that a man hasn't taken even 5 minutes to look at my profile, or even 5 minutes to create an email specific to me, WHY would I waste my time contacting them???

2. The Alpha
The Alphas are so obsessed with themselves and what THEY want, they neglect to entertain the idea that maybe they are not actually what THE WOMAN wants. I was contacted by a man who calls himself Salsaseekschips (really), who asked me out for a "glass of vino," and I didn't respond to him. He was far older than my cut-off age (33) and not enticing to me in the slightest. And, I think asking someone out via a first email is tacky. He then sends me a second email:

"Did you get my email? I am usually a good judge of character, so if you're willing to risk a little (it is only a glass of wine after all) please write back."

Risk what, Mr. Salsaseekschips? That I might have to endure the company of an arrogant old man for a couple of hours? I think not.

Another "Alpha" email:

This email was titled "Someone said you were looking for me..." and the message said, "You're really hot. I know all about being hot and most women are intimidated by my looks, so it's hard to talk to them without scaring them off. I hope you'll be brave enough."

BRAVE ENOUGH??? I looked at this guy's profile, and he is absolutely deluded. he is old and unattractive, and the cockiness with which he writes is such a turn-off. I like an Alpha-male, but not one who is a self-obsessed chauvinist.

3. The Desperate Soul
Desperation appears in many forms. On match.com, when a man will say anything to impress a woman, it reeks of desperation. How about:

"What is your first name? really Celia or Mei (Chinese for beautiful)?"

Ahhhhhhhh!! It still makes me cringe. This same man also included a link to his photos on flickr and his email address. Why, after receiving one email from him, would I look through his entire photo album or contact him via his regular email address? What about letting things take their natural course instead of rushing everything?

A man calling himself Firstsmooch (!!!!) wrote this:

"I moved from germany to NYC a year ago and working in research, wanna explore the city and spend good times with my date while I am cooking her a yummy dinner and watching a movie and cuddling with her. On the weekends we go for a walk in Central Park and eat out and dance into the night or go for a movie. Interested?"

Well...I wonder if Firstsmooch would like to know what sort of food his date likes before he offers to cook for her. And doesn't he want to meet her before deciding to cuddle with her? As for dancing into the night, if he means dancing at a club until 3am, that's really not my scene. So, maybe it would have been better for this desperate man to email with a woman, then subsequently meet her, then subsequently date her before deciding that they were ready to eat, cuddle and dance together. He is probably lovely, but just clueless as to how a woman thinks when it comes to good old-fashioned dating. Ah, me.

Which brings me to the actual "dating" part. What I haven't included in this blog are the many really great emails that I have received, and there are certainly alot of really intelligent, witty, interesting men on match.com, some of whose emails to me have led to dates with me. I have had lovely match.com dates and awkward match.com dates, but I am happy to report that my experiences have been more lovely than awkward. In fact, I have been dating a match.com man for over a month now. Is it serious? No. Do we have a good time together? Yes. Am I still "single?" Of course!

So has match.com been a success? I would say that, given that I've met even one awesome guy who I enjoy spending time with, it has absolutely been a success, and I recommend joining match.com without hesitation to all you singles out there. As for my continued "single" status -- as I was saying to a dear friend the other night -- there's no better time to be single than NYC in the springtime! On to the next date!

copyright (c) 2010-2011 Celia Mei Rubin

Eating's Cheating: 3 Ways to a Flat Tummy

Disclaimer -- Fact: The author weighed 105lbs in June 2009. Fact: The author now weighs 93lbs in January 2010. What follows is NOT advocating weight loss or unhealthy eating habits, it is merely the author's observations about the life circumstances that have made HER tummy flatter and more toned, and should be read with a pinch of salt (even though salt is, in fact, bloating).

I have spent my life in ballet class, jogging outside and on the treadmill, doing regular bikram yoga, dancing 8 shows a week, and eating a balanced diet. You would think that all that would be enough to maintain a flat tummy. In my case, NOT SO. I have unwillingly lost 12lbs since moving to NYC 7 months ago, and, in my observations, this is due to 3 major factors OTHER than diet and exercise. So step aside, Atkins diet. Move your tush, Jenny Craig. CMR is about to spill the beans on 3 ways to getting a flat tummy.


1. MOVE ACROSS AN OCEAN BY YOURSELF
DO IT. It works. TRUST me -- 12lbs! I am poor, nervously anticipating booking my first NYC show ALL THE TIME, walking everywhere, and out of my comfort zone constantly. When you make a huge life-change, you experience FEAR, ANXIETY, HOPE, JOY, DESPAIR, and moving across an ocean by yourself means that the support network you usually have to help you face all of life's challenges is...well...across an ocean! Not right there in times of need. (I cannot let this moment go by without thanking my family and friends in London for indeed "being there" so unconditionally during my time of change). But, you know what I mean -- no one is THERE. To top it off, unless you're moving across an ocean to start a new job, you probably, like me, don't have enough money to eat properly. I'm certainly eating better now, but when my family came to NYC in August, they kept telling me I was too skinny, and I kept telling them it was because I didn't have time or money to eat properly. Setting up a life an ocean away from "home" was very scary, and I cried ALOT in the first couple of months, and was desperately lonely...of course I lost weight! I defy anyone to do it and NOT have a flat tummy as a result. Go on, try it! And let me know how it goes! No quitting after a few weeks, though!!


2. GET YOUR HEART BROKEN
This, unfortunately, is something I'm quite familiar with, and I'm always saying, "if you want to lose weight, just have your heart broken!" See, I'm the opposite of a comfort eater -- when I'm upset, stressed, or nervous, I lose all appetite. This is the reason I assumed why I always lose weight when I am heartbroken. However, a friend of mine told me after my most recent break-up that in such situations, the body effectively reacts with Fight or Flight Syndrome -- your organs shut down to enable more blood to flow to your muscles in order to "fight" or take "flight." FASCINATING! So I googled www.thebodysoulconnection, and here is their description of Fight or Flight Syndrome:

When our fight or flight response is activated, sequences of nerve cell firing occur and chemicals like adrenaline, noradrenaline and cortisol are released into our bloodstream. These patterns of nerve cell firing and chemical release cause our body to undergo a series of very dramatic changes. Our respiratory rate increases. Blood is shunted away from our digestive tract and directed into our muscles and limbs, which require extra energy and fuel for running and fighting. Our pupils dilate. Our awareness intensifies. Our sight sharpens. Our impulses quicken. Our perception of pain diminishes. Our immune system mobilizes with increased activation. We become prepared—physically and psychologically—for fight or flight. We scan and search our environment, "looking for the enemy."

As I read more, it became clear that "The Enemy" used to be the likes of saber-toothed tigers, but today, it can be something like sitting in traffic and being late for an appointment, being reprimanded by your boss, AUDITIONING, relationship issues, and a whole plethora of everyday circumstances that causes stress -- conscious or subconscious. We all know that stress may cause weight loss, but I always thought it was due to lack of eating...now I know that, in stressful situations, the body prepares us for battle to survive! How clever!!!

The question is: to be heartbroken with a fabulous flat tummy, or not to be heartbroken with a fabulous flat tummy?

Just a little aside about coping with heartache -- I picked up a book called "When Everything Changes, Change Everything" by Neale Donald Walsch. It is a WONDERFUL read that reminded me of my (indeed all of ours) amazing, unending capacity to love, ability to choose HOW to respond to change, and therefore be the master of my own peace and happiness, and awakened me even more to my soul and life's pure joy. I remembered WHAT I AM DOING HERE. I HIGHLY recommend it to anyone who may be dealing with, stress, grief, turmoil, or who just enjoys constantly being in touch with the deepest level of their soul. Spread the word of peace and love, my friends!!!!


3. DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES EAT
Controversial, VERY controversial, but true. Now, I have always been very active, always stayed away from too much carbs, always ate alot of fruits, veggies, and fiber. None of this ever made a difference. Yes, it helped me MAINTAIN my figure, but there was a time when I was dancing "Guys and Dolls" 8 times a week and running on the treadmill for 45 minutes 3 times a week, and I STILL stayed the same weight. I did a Bikram Yoga 30-day challenge where I practiced 30 days without stopping and sweated so much, I must have been sweating out pee by the end, and I STILL stayed the same weight. The times in my life that I have noticed my tummy change and get flatter are the moments like points 1. and 2. that I mention above, when I lose appetite due to stress and don't eat for a few days -- THAT'S when I see the difference. Please please please note that I am NOT an advocate of not eating (I took a ballet class recently after not eating properly for a week and was so weak that I started getting dizzy and seeing stars, so I took myself to have a big Chinese meal afterwards!), BUT if, in desperate times, like you're due on the red carpet in a week, or you are going to be a bridesmaid soon, or you have to dance semi-naked or nude onstage, the surest, quick-fire way of achieving a flat tummy is to not eat for a week. Maybe a piece of fruit and some cereal so you don't collapse, and always drink water! We are 80% water! While I was on "West Side Story," the cast developed a motto: "Eating's Cheating!" Just remember those words next time you reach for the cake 3 days before you stand in all your glorious nakedness in front of a packed house!


CONCLUSION
I believe all healthy minded people should choose to be happy and bigger than unhappy and smaller. I certainly would. However, I am admitting right now, that after my heart was broken a week ago, I woke up to a flat tummy 2 days later and was filled with a sick pleasure. I am from a world of ballerinas...we are who we are, and I do not judge myself for wanting a such a tummy. I will now attempt to maintain my 93lbs by healthy eating and healthy exercise. Life is good, life is love, life is richer because of good food and watching the seasons change when you jog, and dance classes and happy tummys!

copyright (c) 2010-2011 Celia Mei Rubin