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Wednesday
16Dec2009

karma is a beach, or, good things happen

DateWednesday, December 16, 2009 at 4:41PM

All that's missing are the animated bluebirds. Every once in a while, for days on end, perfect strangers are inexplicably nice to me.

I should make this more clear. I believe people are basically good. It took me years to reach this conclusion, and I can't say there aren't times—every single day—in which I despise humanity. I could, and do, rant furiously about dog owners who leave their animals' droppings on the sidewalk for the rest of us to step in, or New York drivers who actually speed up when a pedestrian crosses in front of them. Rudeness abounds in this city and everywhere.

And yet, I was here during the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks and have seen the way ordinary people pull together in a crisis.  Since then I have found myself on occasion looking around a crowded subway or a hot, understaffed store and thinking, If something unthinkable happened and I needed help, any one of these strangers would come to my aid. I know I would help them and have on many occasions—opening doors for old people, giving up my seat to moms with babies, running after someone who drops a letter on the street.

I'm not trying to paint myself as perfect, because I am most certainly not. But my faith in the people of New York is so unshakable, I guess I'm thanking them in advance. In doing so it appears I've built up a rather large stockpile of good karma, which seems to be coming back to me all in one week.

Consider:

1. I am doing a mountain of wash in our building's overburdened laundry room. There is a backlog of other people doing laundry. I am forced to wait for a dryer. I go upstairs and set the timer so my wet laundry doesn't lose its place in line. When I come back down 20 minutes later, an unseen somebody has already put my laundry into a dryer for me, and paid for it.

2. I get on the bus, only to realize my fare card is out of money. No problem, I tell the driver; I have an emergency fare card in my purse. The bus starts moving. I find my second Metrocard. It doesn't have enough fare, either. I'll get off at the next stop, I promise the driver. Don't be silly, says a woman sitting behind me, and pays my fare.

3. I am at the market. The cashier asks if I have a discount card. "I don't," I tell her. "You really should," she tells me. "I know," I tell her. "Do you mean one of these?" says the customer behind me, and hands her card to the cashier, who swipes it, saving me four bucks.

"It's the funniest thing," I say to the customer, after thanking her. "Inexplicably, people have been doing nice things for me all week."

"People are nice," she says, and wishes me a lovely day.

AuthorLauren Lipton | Comment1 Comment | |
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Sunday
15Nov2009

state of the procrastination  

DateSunday, November 15, 2009 at 8:32AM

(Object in photo is smaller than it appears.) I'm working on a third novel. It's a departure from the previous two. This one is "literary," not romantic comedy.

I'm excited about it and plan to show it to my editor (who will hopefully like it and buy it) after the first of the year. To do that,  I need to finish three chapters and an outline between now and Christmas.

I have the idea; I have the outline; now I just have to write the thing.

Sometimes that's easier said than done. Here's how my day went on a recent Friday:

 7:30 a.m. Wake up. Big writing day today!

8:30 a.m. But first, the gym.

10 a.m. Workout finished; time to go home and write.

10:05 a.m. But first, a shower.

10:06 a.m. But before shower, steam room.

10:15 a.m. Okay, now shower. Hurry! Big writing day!

11 a.m. Home. Time to write. After breakfast.

11:01 a.m. Which I'll make after I empty the dishwasher.

11:03 a.m. Boy, the kitchen cabinet doors are grimy. How did I not notice until now?

11:04 a.m. A quick wipedown with bleach and water should do the trick.

11:05 a.m. Wedding ring looks grimy, too. I'll put it to soak in ring-cleaning jar in bathroom. Everything will sparkle!

12:30 p.m. Kitchen cabinets look fantastic. Time for breakfast. Not so fast: Stove, dishwasher, refrigerator, coffeemaker and toaster look filthy compared to pristine cabinets. Bleach and water wipedown for them, too.

1:30 p.m. Kitchen is immaculate. Might as well mop kitchen floor to finish the job.

1:45 p.m. Might as well mop bathroom floor, too.

1:50 p.m. Bathroom walls are really grimy. How did I not notice until now? More bleach and water.

2:30 p.m. Bathroom walls look amazing! Time for breakfast.

2:31 p.m. Might as well clean the rest of the bathroom first.

3 p.m. Okay, now breakfast. Then novel time. 

3:01 p.m. Perfect kitchen and bathroom are putting rest of apartment to shame.

4:30 p.m. Apartment is now dusted, vacuumed, mopped. Ahh! Breakfast, finally, then writing.

4:31 p.m. Where is wedding ring?

4:40 p.m. WHERE IS WEDDING RING?

4:50 p.m. Dear heaven, did it fall off at the gym? Forget breakfast. Must go to gym to check.

5 p.m. Heart palpitations. Sweating. Wedding ring not at gym. Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no.

5:30 p.m. Oh, right. Wedding ring is at home, in cleaning solution. Heart attack averted.

5:31 p.m. Forget writing for the day. Too physically and emotionally drained.

5:32 p.m. Breakfast.

 

 

AuthorLauren Lipton | Comment1 Comment | |
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Tuesday
10Nov2009

how to get a literary agent

DateTuesday, November 10, 2009 at 11:49AM

Looking for an agent? Attention, aspiring novelists: I will reveal my secret diabolical find-an-agent strategy Wednesday, November 11 in my Mediabistro seminar, "How to Get a Literary Agent." To learn more/register, click here.

AuthorLauren Lipton | CommentPost a Comment | |
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Wednesday
04Nov2009

adventures in dyeland

DateWednesday, November 4, 2009 at 1:27PM

I'm concerned about my hair.

I write this while waiting in my living room in trepidation, my hair coated in dye. Bluish-gray dye, to be specific.

I would not have admitted I dye. (A woman's beauty rituals are her own business, no?)  But the fact is already patently obvious, what with my hair regularly mutating from dark brown to auburn to copper and back again. In a city where salon color can cost hundreds, I also consider it a point of pride that even in a good economy I do it myself for $10. (I also do my own pedicures and my own eyebrows. And sometimes, out of desperation, I cut my own bangs, though I suspect it makes my stylist snicker.)

But this time, I'm not sure how things are going to turn out. You see, I did not set out to color my hair blue-gray. I intended to color my hair Clairol Perfect 10 shade 6.5A, Lightest Cool Brown. In dye parlance, "cool" means a shade without red or gold tones. I chose this one because I like to go darker in winter, and I wanted to cover up the aforementioned coppery blonde, which was starting to look alarmingly like this.

I'm hoping the only reason the dye looks blue is because it's cool. Not because, say, somebody in the factory accidentally put the mixture for "Crazy, Unnatural Slate-Gray" hair color in my "Lightest Cool Brown" bottle.

Okay, my 10 minutes are up. Please excuse me while I rinse out...

...

Whew! I like my new color. It's not blue at all. Here's the best photo I can manage, taken from my computer camera (note the self-cut bangs):

I will not be quitting my day job to go into professional modeling. Or the photography business. However, perhaps I could be a colorist? 

Ladies, if you would like to try dyeing your own hair, here are some tips I've learned over the years.

1. Choose a natural-looking shade very close to your own color. Don't go more than two shades darker or lighter. If you have brown hair and want to go platinum blond, that's a job best left for a professional. Trust me.

2. If you want highlights, it's better to skip those two-step highlighting kits and go to a pro, unless you have infinite patience and unlimited time to individually paint on the highlighter ten hairs at a time. Otherwise you'll end up with broad, stylized stripes that are only flattering to a rare few.

3. Follow the package directions to the letter.

4. If you color a lot, the ends of your hair are probably darker than your roots—not good. Keep things even by putting conditioner on the ends of your hair while it's still dry, then coloring. The conditioner will help keep the ends from absorbing too much pigment.

5. If you hate the oversaturated look your hair has right after coloring, shampoo with your regular shampoo immediately after rinsing out the dye. (Then use the conditioner that comes with the dye after you rinse out the shampoo.) Your hair will come out more natural-looking.

6. A lighter color conceals gray better than a darker one does.

Happy coloring!

AuthorLauren Lipton | Comment2 Comments | |
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Friday
23Oct2009

fireman playing volleyball, or the benefits of going on vacation every once in a while

DateFriday, October 23, 2009 at 9:24PM

I went away on vacation. I don't do this often. For one thing, I'd rather spend my disposable income on clothes. For another, I don't like to fly.

Make that "hate to fly." I find it terrifying. Once I get on the plane I am usually okay, but only because I've worn myself out after days in a state of weepy tension, envisioning my own demise. Yes, I know I'm being ridiculous. I know the plane ride is statistically safer than the cab ride to the airport. But the prospect of dropping 35,000 feet out of the sky is more alarming than any potential fender-bender on the Triborough Bridge. So, the statistic doesn't help.

Nor does the 4 a.m. wake-up time, the bleary robot shuffle through airport security (bare feet on cold floor, unpack laptop and place in bin, haul suitcase up and wrestle it onto conveyor belt). Nor does the bad airport coffee, the inhumane seating arrangements (good morning, sir, you don't know me, but for the next 6 1/2 hours I'll be sitting in your lap). Nor does the crush to get out of the plane; nor does the bus to the rental car, the rental car to the rented accommodations. By this point I'm cursing my decision to take a vacation, and questioning exactly why vacations are considered pleasurable and relaxing in the first place.

So, although I'm embarrassed to admit this, I rarely travel anywhere unless forced.

But I had to be in California on a weekend that coincided with the annual October get-together of my core group of former college sorority sisters. In recent years I haven't gone to our girls' weekend so often (see: Terrified of Flying, above), and I missed my friends. On the other hand, I also worried how, and whether, we'd get along. Over the years politics have become extremely important to me, and many of my sisters' views fall on the opposite end of the political spectrum. Our lives, too, have diverged; I live on the East Coast, most of them live on the West, and a couple live in the middle. I wondered if we would have anything in common.

Well, it turns out we did. In fact, all political and cultural differences vanished as we hung out together in Hermosa Beach in this beachfront cottage for three days, drank my friend Blythe's fizzy vodka lemonade, ate a lot of Mexican food, and relaxed while staring at the ocean. It turns out there's not much to be upset about in such circumstances.

Oh, and one more thing. On the first morning of our vacation, we awoke to find a group of Hermosa Beach firemen playing beach volleyball not twenty yards from our door. Yes, that's right: Firemen. Playing volleyball. I took this photo of them, which, though hardly reflecting the true gorgeous volleyball-playing fireman awesomeness of the scene, at least proves I'm not making this stuff up. 

 What could be more appealing to half a dozen vacationing sorority sisters?

I'm already looking forward to next year's vacation.

 

AuthorLauren Lipton | Comment1 Comment | |
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