“Washed” spinach – fine.  Beef – fine.  Kids’ toys – err, whatever.  But buffalo mozzarella?  That soft, spongy, creamy, deliciousness which my caprese salad could not exist without?  NOOOOOOOOO!!  Today, just four days after a police investigation of dioxin levels in Italian mozzarella, Reuters reports that the European Commission has asked Italy to officially rubber-stamp their mozzarella.  It turns out that the Italian mafia — the Camorra, specifically — isn’t as competent as we all thought.  Or at least, not as environmentally friendly.  Follow this if you can: the Camorra has dealt with their waste disposal responsibilities by dumping and burning industrial waste in the vicinity of agriculturalists who produce feed for the buffalo herds whose milk is used to produce the most important element of my caprese salad.  Can we go six months without being poisoned, please?  Stay tuned as I turn my apartment into an organic vegetable farm, and spend my winters subsisting on dried tomatoes and cilantro jam.      

Miss Bimbo, an internet game targeting girls aged 9 to 16, is an especially innovative way to promote body image issues and low self-esteem among young girls. Think I’m being too critical? Times Online reported that children compete against each other to create what Miss Bimbo calls “the coolest, richest and most famous bimbo in the world.” Players accomplish this by earning “bimbo dollars,” which they must then use to buy breast enlargement surgery, lingerie, diet pills, and clubbing gear, along with a host of other products and services that you wouldn’t even want your 9-year-old to know about, never mind compete for. Kind of like the game, Oregon Trail, players must monitor certain vital stats in order to win the game. But where Oregon Trail basically measures food, sleep and health, Miss Bimbo monitors weight, wardrobe, and wealth. Happiness is also thrown in for good measure. But really, so long as your weight is down and your wardrobe and wealth are up, who wouldn’t be happy? Right? *sigh* But I digress …

Continue reading ‘If You Think Pro-Anorexia Websites Are Cool, Check Out Miss Bimbo’

Finally, there will be change at Starbucks. Just when I thought I was going to have to take the three avenue walk to Bendel’s in order to get some quality coffee during my workday. So are they going to have their baristas actually make your coffee drinks, as opposed to just pushing buttons? Oh, what about quality coffee beans? Are they going to give us better beans, as opposed to the cheapest of the cheap, which they burn and then mix with sugared milk in order to conceal the taste? OH! I know! They’re totally going to … oh. They’re going to grind the bean in stores. Wow. As the Times put it, that is a … sweeping change. Revolutionary, even.

Continue reading ‘Starbucks Poised to Make Astonishingly Lame Changes’

I love the spring. It’s too bad that I’m always too sick to enjoy it. Among other family traits that I choose not to disclose here, I have also inherited a crappy immune system. Sure, the fact that I go out a lot, drink more than is healthy, smoke the occasional cigarette and have an irregular sleep cycle may have something to do with my susceptibility to illness. I do, however, think the weather is mostly to blame. Dressing for the mid- to high-40’s is an art form that New Yorkers with weak immune systems can’t afford to botch. One day you underestimate the temperatures and by the time you get to the subway, you’re sweating like a certain female Democratic hopeful in Pennsylvania. At that point, you think you’ve learned your lesson and leave your apartment the next day wearing nothing light fabrics and a smile. And then you freeze. The cycle repeats, with a certain amount of variation OF COURSE, and we all know how the story ends. Or at least I know how my story ends and it is inevitably with bronchitis and cold sweats. So, now that I have undermined any and all authority I may have had to give health tips, here are some suggestions on how to get better from someone who self-heals like its her job:

Continue reading ‘Springtime Sniffles’

Just when you thought that South Florida couldn’t be more like New York (save for the weather, the flora, and the Cuban Diaspora), UrbanDaddy reports that the Hotel Gansevoort is opening up shop in Miami Beach. Whew! In recent years, Hotel Gansevoort has taken a sharp turn down a San Franciscan street, despite Garden of Ono’s best efforts. Suffice it to say, the corporation could use a refresher. Not to mention, the Delano could use some competition down in sunny Florida, and Gansevoort is just the establishment to bring the noise. Creatively named “Gansevoort South,” the Florida outpost features the same brand of modernist décor, albeit with a brighter palate. Rooftop amenities are also available; however, cabanas are present only at Gansevoort South (the Gansevoort New York offers cabanas in Ono, but they are neither rooftop, nor poolside). The on-premises shopping and cuisine also invokes the New York scene, featuring Big Apple favorites such as STK and Big Drop. Opening Monday at 2377 Collins Avenue, Gansevoort South is located roughly one-half mile from Lincoln Road, the heart and soul of South Beach.

Well, Colorado was a blast. I have no late-night trysts with hard-bodied ski instructors to report, but despite that unfortunate fact, some good did come out of the trip, nevertheless.

First, skiing is my newfound favorite winter sport. Sure, I used to ski when I was little, but then there were broken knees, divorces, and the like. For clarity’s sake, I have to add that my mother didn’t beat my father and break his kneecaps, precipitating a divorce; the divorce and the knees were completely unrelated. Anyway, despite my prior experience with the sport, for all practical purposes I now consider skiing a newfound sport and myself a new skier. And what a new skier I am! I must take this opportunity to pat myself on the back, as I am natural skiing talent. That’s right, my instructors bumped me up to a level four (intermediate) after only two days of instruction. Personally, I think that qualifies me to share tips with other beginner skiers. Here’s a must-read:

Continue reading ‘Back to Reality (Again): Colorado’

So, life has been woefully stressful lately. What with the flu, the Mr. Zegna situation, and the struggle to maintain a work/life/blogging balance, I’m fairly burnt out.

Just a post-script on the Mr. Zegna situation, for those of you who are tuned in: we have since reconciled on the butterflies issue and forged ahead. But now my loose affiliation with the Jewish religion has become a problem. Like I said, I fear there will always be something. So, it’s time for me to take a holiday and forge ahead solo. And call back Mr. Lead Singer Man (LSM), who I was stupid enough to tell about Mr. Zegna when turning down Mr. LSM’s drink invitation. Damn that honesty!

For the next 7 days I will be at a friend’s vacation home in Vail, Colorado. We will cook, we will read, we will exercise — a lot — and we will consume mass quantities of wine and champagne both in and around the jacuzzi. In addition, there will be oodles and oodles of attractive men, so I plan to have some good stories for you in the relatively near future.  ;)  I may not write every day, but if anything particularly interesting comes up, I’ll be sure to “holla.”

I haven’t been shy about my love-hate relationship with Starbuck’s. This, however, may tip me over the edge. See, I lead a busy lifestyle. I love that I can go to Starbuck’s and get a somewhat healthy (albeit highly processed), $5.15 meal supplement in the form of a venti, two-pump, sugar-free mocha, soy latte. I’m a little embarrassed to admit that, but there you have it. Anyway, somewhere in the very back of my mind — wedged between denial and hope, I suspect — were suspicions about my “healthy” meal supplement. Recently, I was brave enough to approach the counter and ask to see the nutrition facts on the back of their soy milk container.

Continue reading ‘Starbuck’s Soy: What You Didn’t Know’

If you caught the premier of “The Real Housewives of New York City,” you would know that, according to Real Housewife Bethenny Frankel anyway, owning a Ferrari is clutch for many a wealthy Manhattanite. And just when we thought that a Birkin bag and a closet of couture were all we needed to be valuable people.  Well, now that we are clear on the necessity of owning luxury sports cars, it’s time for some bargain shopping.  We can’t go for a Corvette, since we are all-too-aware that it is the “poor [wo]man’s Ferrari.”  We also can’t get a bottom-of-the-line Ferrari, since we know how sad it is when people scrimp and save for a Mercedes C-class.  We’re not going out like that.  No, what we need is a Fakari.  For one-tenth of full retail (so for €20,000, or approximately $31,000), we too can score a fine rendition of a classic Ferrari.  Sure, our Fakari would be a collage of aftermarket parts, original parts of other automobiles, and original Ferrari parts, but surely they would be nowhere near as conspicuous as the fake handbags (formerly?) sold on Canal.  So tell Bloomberg to keep closing down those handbag peddlers to make room for some Fakari dealers.  What with my $4,000 handbag, heaven knows I don’t have the money to fly to Rome and comb their back alleys for counterfeit automobiles. 

So, we all now know that young Elliot isn’t really the moral crusader he has appeared to be.  I know, it’s shocking.   A politician involved with prostitution.  Who ever heard of such a thing?  Anyway, debates on morality, prostitution, and politics aside, can we focus on wifey for a moment?

Silda Spitzer, graduate of Havard Law School, founder of Children for Children and, um … HOT??  HELLO!  OK, so even if Silda had been “less” of a woman, she would deserve the same kind of treatment as the Silda we Googled for the first time today.  And that treatment,  my friends, is not what young Elliot proffered.  Sure, for all we know Silda could be a rancid, cold-hearted bitch that drove her husband into the arms of a prostitute at the bargain price of $5,500/hr. (chargable to the City of New York).  Or maybe Silda knew exactly what she was getting into and made a conscious trade-off — wealth and power for integrity of the home and the marital relationship.  No one knows what goes on behind closed doors.  That being said, I still can’t help but feel that if a woman like that gets treated so badly, the rest of us should start saying some prayers.  Or maybe we should be sure to marry good men.  Like, those not involved in politics.  Or law.  Or business.  Or restauranteering.  Err … nevermind.  Start praying.  

Anyway, I want to tell young Elliot — our poor, misguided, guardian of ethics and morality – that if he is lucky enough to keep his (presumably) virtuous wife, he better clean up this mess and resume his post kneeling behind her, head bowed, kissing the ground she walks on.  Smart, beautiful, well-pedigreed, philanthropic (although, as far as I’m concerned, she doesn’t get full points on this one, since it’s like a job requirement as a politician’s wife), and mother of three beautiful (or, one beautiful and two solidly above-average) girls (who will now each require more than their three college educations combined in psychotherapy) … pucker up, young Elliot.  Pucker up.