out of this world?

Okay, I have said for hundreds of years I wasn't going to weigh in on the frozen yogurt debate. BUT..I just can't take it anymore!

WTF Red Mango? What were you thinking. Building a "yolato" store in the heart of the west village across the street from your arch nemesis PINKBERRY???

You are ridiculous and I am embarrassed for you. When I saw the signs go up in the middle of summer advertising a coming soon sign for Red Mango...I thought okay this HAS to be some sweet new pacific rim foreign fare. But no...then you open in the middle of friggin winter as a FROZEN yogurt restaurant. and that would have been fine. ...If you had not opened ACROSS THE STREET from Pinkberry!

Note to investors:
When investing in a new property do the research on competitors. Find out if your red hot new mango is going to be able to compete with the most fashionable yogurt of 2007.

Let us recall the MANY celeb endorsements of that other berry restaurant.
---Lindsay Lohan
---Britney Spears
---Leonardo Di Caprio
---Kate Hudson
---Kirsten Dunst

and that is just to name a few. The pap have well documented this fact. Just google..pinkberry slash celebs and you have a laundry list of A-listers.

Google...Red Mango and Celebs....nothing.

Today I decided to put this whole mind boggling experience to bed. I had to try Red Mango. It is 23-C outside but today was the day. My only thought was if Red Mango was going to compete with its other Fro-yo friend it had to be ----out of this world.

On my way to Red Mango I passed by Pinkberry. It was packed. It's a Saturday afternoon and hip villagers are downing their probiotics. People are actually sitting in the store hats, scarfs('scuse-me pashminas) bound shoveling ice between the gap.

Red Mango is dead. I walk in and notice a pin drop would have been thunderous. I don't remember if I was greeted and if I had been I didn't notice. I walked to the counter and stared at the small assortment of fresh fruit and cereal. I asked what the charge for fruit was. The girl behind the counter said one dollar and it's one twenty-five for 2. Great! I thought.

I asked for a small with Mangos and raspberries. Then the girl asked for my name. I quickly glanced around. Is she kidding? Are they going to call my name?? I am the only one here. Surely it's impossible to lose my order amongst.......noone.

I gave it to her a little reluctantly. I have given my name at pinkberry but that is because it's such a jamfest in there you are lucky they write down Lindy instead of Cindy Mindy or once..Candy.

The girl handed the printout receipt to the guy next to her. I stepped down 4.5 inches to my left. He looked at me with a blank stare. Then he stared at the receipt. Then he asked the lady what I had ordered. He had forgotten the last 10 seconds of his life in a room full of nobody. She reminded him. Raspberries and Mangos. He looked at the receipt. Jesus. This was getting painful. So then I reminded him. Raspberries and MANGOS..MANGOS.

He made the order by picking up one berry at a time and placing it on the rim. (is he counting..I wondered) He didn't know whether to put a lid on it. He had to ask me. The girl asked me if I wanted a bag. I didn't. Then out of nowhere he hands me one. I felt like my life was in slow motion. I couldn't stand it. I had to get out of there.

Back at my apartment, I opened the contents and examined. Time for the truth. What were these people thinking? Could they oust the fashionista of fro-yo??

Well, it was out of this world.

By world, I mean U.S.

Red Mango is the original Pinkberry. It has been operating since 2002. It has over 140 locations in Korea. It made it's US debut in Culver City CA in 2007. It's rich and creamy and filled with live cultures..unlike its Pinkberry competitor.

I like it because it is actually sweeter and not as icy. It has that original yogurt flavor that can not be copied. And nutritional experts are saying it is less in calories, 20 per oz as opposed to Pinkberrys 25 per oz.

Okay Red Mango, you did it. I'm impressed. Now, let's pay some celebrities to eat you that way you won't get bullied out of the neighborhood.

Wait this just in....Leo D. just requested a Red Mango machine for his home. O. Pinkberry it's so over.

Vanguard Valentine's

It’s Valentines Day. It’s actually 75 minutes past Valentines Day. I don’t miss it, but I won’t forget it either. It was my first Valentines Day as a lonely New Yorker. There are 21 Million people living here and I wonder how many spent this day alone. A lot.

A lot of people have lost out on the companionship of this city. I’m not talking about the people anymore. I’m talking about New York. I’m talking about the history, the sites, the sounds, the energy and the view. People start viewing it like a post card and forget they are living in a real city.

I was feeling a little bit down tonight. I was going to meet up with my roommate and finish off a nice Bordeaux we have been waiting to crack open. It snowed in New York today. Several inches. I haven’t seen snow in New York yet. The streets were a bit of a mess and caused problems for parked cars stuck behind walls of plowed snow. My friend offered me a ride. I accepted hoping I wouldn’t have to shovel.

We had a little trouble getting the car out but after a little coaxing the snow finally gave in and let us out of our snowbox. We drove along talking about regular work stuff. Our usual complaints about people and every news story we hated. I followed with my usual sentiments towards New York—the transportation, the dirt, the cold. Mind you it has been snowing.

My friend finally interrupted me and said let me show you something. I was hesitant because I knew I had that Bordeaux and I forgot to mention the box of Godiva chocolates my mom sent me waiting at home. I said “fine but it better be quick.”

“You haven’t been down to the promenade have you?” He asked.

I always hear people mention it, like it just might be the greatest thing, but strangely only Brooklynites have.

“Yes, it’s like a secret. We want to keep it all to ourselves. It has the best view of the city,” he gushed.

Fine. I didn’t have a problem going. I just didn’t want to get out of the car. The promenade might be nice, but this wasn’t the night to be hanging out there. I mentioned it was snowing and it was also midnight, not exactly the conditions for waltzing around the promenade.

We made it to the upper level. I got out of the car and walked to the sidewalk. I couldn’t tell it was the sidewalk. It was covered in 6 inches of snow. I had to sort of guess. I had rain boots on, not SNOW boots, so my feet were freezing. I was looking down the whole way. It was cold out and the snow had turned to ice. It made for a rocky trip. I rounded the corner and was caught by a gust of wind. I had to button my hood on. I was so lost in the process of staying warm I had forgotten to look up.

“So, what do you think? Have you seen anything like it?” He asked.

My eyes quickly moved from the snow to the skyline. I was taken aback. Maybe I had seen it on postcards or in movies. Maybe someone once spoke of the New York skyscrapers or I had glanced at in a taxi or an airplane but it wasn’t what I saw tonight.

I was standing IN the postcard. I was IN the movie. It was the most amazing site. I felt like I could reach out and touch it. The empire state building, the Manhattan bridge, the Chrysler building, and if you looked closely the Statue of Liberty waving from the horizon. The sky lit up like a separate city. The Hudson was lapping up against the pier but even hid a city in it’s reflection.
It wasn’t cold to me anymore. It had unusual warmth to it now. It had a visceral glow that was inviting. I wanted to be apart of it. I wanted to get to know it. How can you be lonely in a city like this?

Living in a Crime Scene

Every night when I get off the train and walk down my quiet street to our apartment the least of my thoughts is terror --until I started living in a crime scene.

I awoke this morning to barrage of cell phone calls. It was around 10a.m. and I knew no one in their right mind would wake me before eleven.

Before I could check my messages or answer my roommate’s third attempt to get a hold of me there was a knock at my door.

I NEVER answer the door. I live in constant fear of my landlord. He doesn't know I live there along with like ten other people. Today was different though. He was out of town and I thought it might be our neighbor concerning the doorbells down stairs. They are broken.I swung the door open and was met by two gentlemen in long overcoats and NYPD badges. All I could think was… great we've really done it this time. Can they even arrest you for not being on the lease?

"This is detective so and so and I'm detective so and so with the NYPD. We don't mean to startle you" too late "But we just want to ask you a few questions regarding your neighbors."

I'm really wishing I had picked up my phone earlier.

"Okay, I don't know them, but okay," I said.

"Are you aware of what happened last night," They asked.

"No...I was asleep," I said. "What happened." My mouth was gaping.

"Did you hear any noise or see anything suspicious here last night through early this morning?" They asked.

"No...why what happened?" I asked starting to worry.

"Mam...did you see any suspicious cars parked outside your door lastnight?" They asked.

"Uh ..No excuse me what happened?" I asked.

"We can't release that at this time, but if you can think of any thing further please come and let us know."

Are they kidding? They are just going to leave me hanging here. Was there a shooting, a stabbing, was I in immidiate danger, forget immidiate. Was I EVER in danger? Are they going to actually act like.."good morning, how do you like your coffee, did you know you might be living next to a killer."

I closed the door and ran to the window. Cops lined the street. There was yellow caution tape marking off our building from the rest of the world, orange markers, sat trucks, reporters, cameramen, photographers.I took a moment and closed the shutters. Am I dreaming?

I grabbed my phone and dialed numbers. No answer. Dialed other numbers. Icouldn't think. What the hell? I called myself. I knew some kind of answer would lie in my voicemail.

"Damnit Lindy answer your phone.” It was my roommate. “I know you’re there. Look something’s up. There are cops everywhere, reporters… the whole nine. I was on my way to work this morning and I had to be escorted to the end of the block. Call me.”

I went back to the window and pushed the glass up. I squeezed my head up against the screen in hopes of catching any lingering conversation below. No luck. It didn’t produce any new information. I knew I had to go down there.

I’m a reporter. This would be easy. I could at the least pry something out of the other news junkies. People talk at crime scenes. It’s how you get leads. I threw on my coat and a fresh coat of lipstick and left my apartment. I descended my steps to our landing and paused.

I’m not sure why I hesitated. I wanted to think of some good questions to ask people. I was wondering if other neighbors had said anything. I wanted to know what police were telling the reporters. Was there a press conference? Should I look for our Sat truck and if I saw anyone from our newsroom should I say hi? What if they think I know details? Should I pretend like I know nothing? Should I show the officers my press pass? I was still standing at the door. I shook myself out of it and turned the knob.

Clicking of camera shutters was all I heard next. There were reporters yelling over reporters tuning each other out. “Did you know your neighbor?” “Did you hear gunshots?” “How did you find out?” “Have you seen the car?” “What was your reaction?” “Can you tell us the last time you saw Riviera?” Detectives turned. On-lookers stopped. I was standing on the podium of the crime scene poised for a news conference. My mind went blank.

I had to get out of there.

I ducked under the yellow tape and faintly said, “I don’t know anything.” I scampered down the block. One reporter actually followed me to the next avenue. I finally had to tell him, “Look, that’s enough. I don’t know anything.”

My dry cleaner sits at the end of my street. I knew going in there was a poor excuse for hiding but at this point I needed a little comforting.

“Sarita, como estas? Que Sabes?” my dry cleaning lady asked.

She is this short fiery Dominican lady with a thick accent and a big heart. I would be lying if I said she only knew people by name. She could tell you their name, their address and what shirt they wore to church on Sunday. Lets just say she kept her ear to the ground all day.

“Can you be-live” she said.

“No actually I can’t? I can’t believe anything because I don’t know anything.” I said.

So, there I was in my dry cleaners about a hundred yards from the crime scene. A hundred yards from my apartment listening to my dry cleaner tell me the whole story.

An unmarked police car with three undercover cops stopped two men this morning a few blocks away. The driver opened fire and shot one of the policemen three times. Once in the neck. The other policemen then fired 13 times. The suspects and the car sucessfully fled the scene.

A short while later the vehicle in question was spotted. Police pulled the car over.

The driver-- a NYPD police woman.

The police escorted her to her Apartment. My building.

Waiting there was her husband, suspected shooter, and the other suspect.

Officers deployed to the scene. Helicopters circled the sky. NYPD shut down the whole block. No one in. No one out. Detectives questioned everyone. They set up orange markers up and down the street from broken glass to shell casings.

All of the policewoman’s weapons were quickly accounted for. But when it came to the weapon of interest it was missing. The search continued behind our building. It’s an unattended yard between two brownstones overgrown and messy. Although there are no fruit trees back there the search did not prove fruitless. Stashed under some knee-high weeds—A gun.

The three were taken into custody and escorted to the precinct. Melendez-Rivera, who was suspended from duty, was charged with obstructing governmental administration and unlawful possession of marijuana. Her 31-year-old husband was also charged with reckless endangerment, defacing a firearm, tampering with evidence, menacing and criminal possession of marijuana, according to police.

I also found out that they are known crack dealers in the neighborhood but that is all speculation.

Enough speculation to make me think twice before coming up the steps of the platform.

So, I’m not sure what was going through my head when I came out of the trains tonight. I live in New York. It’s what you can expect. But with headlines like “Hail Of Gunfire Blankets Park Slope With Bullet Casings” Its hard not to be skiddish.

I woke up in a crime scene and now I’m scared.

Trash Causes Crash

A bizarre accident in Cape Cod Saturday (02/10), where police say trash caused the crash.
Police in West Yarmouth say there was so much trash in 53-year-old Ann Ann Biglan's Ford Focus that some of it fell onto the gas and brake pedals causing her to lose control.

While losing control, Biglan backed out speeding from a post office parking space, over the curb and across a freeway.

She then hit a Ford Explorer and backed over another sidewalk before finally crashing into a flowerpot in a gas station's parking lot.

Biglan was charged with negligent and impeded operation of a motor vehicle, failure to use care in backing, and operating with a rejected safety inspection sticker.

Panda's Top 10

This is a list compiled by my favorite Panda and roommate of 2006.

top 10 lindy 2006 memories:

10. pondering how many copies of "an inconvenient truth" we need to get for our loved ones. (10? 20? it IS the best holiday gift of '06)

9. coming home to the lindy thanksgiving dinner! (I SET THE TABLE!)

8. covering my face when lindy walks out with three dozen roses from the Valentino party!

7. asking that random man to take our picture next to the Valentino screen (and having him say "no," followed by Lindy yelling at him.)

6. reaassuring lindy that i DID NOT care about her borrowing that damn shirt!

5. the following convo after every day at work:
(when lindy got home at midnight...or 5 p.m....or 8 p.m...)
me: "what's wrong?"
lindy: "nothing. i'm just tired."
me: "are you suuuuure?"
lindy: "YES!"
me: "i think something is wro..."lindy: "nothing is wrong! i don't want to talk about it anyway!" me: "TELL MEEEE!!!!"

4. our pedicures! (me and my ticklish feet and you, taking the recent issues of People for the ENTIRE time!)

3. taking our christmas pictures outside random strangers' doorsteps, and trying not to get embarrassed by the lindy st. marks ave photo shoot.

2. the following conversations:

lindy to nurse 1: "do i have e. coli?"
nurse 1 to lindy: "no, we don't think so."
panda to nurse 1: "does lindy have e. coli?"
nurse 1 to panda: "yes, we think so."
lindy to nurse 2: "are you sure i don't have e. coli?"
nurse 2 to lindy: "probably not."
panda to nurse 2: "are you sure she has e. coli?"
nurse 2 to panda: "probably yeah."

1. "I CAN'T READ!!!!"

honorable mention: losing the tivo, the bachelor, macys at closing time...so many memories!

In case you make a misssteak

I was on the way home tonight. I was taking the ever-punctual 2 train. I notice as I stepped off the platform of the 1 train that the last 2 train whizzed away with blatant disregard for transporting anyone else. I LOVE that feeling. The one where you SEE the train you need to catch about 4 yards away. The only thing that is stopping you is a pair of glass doors and that conductor that can’t wait THREE more seconds before dashing your hopes of EVER getting home.

The next train would be 20 more minutes. I had nothing to do but wait. A middle-aged woman was standing in front of me equally perturbed. I can see why. Okay, she told me. …several times. She had to go home and study. She was carrying several armloads of books and notepads.

“Big test tomorrow?” I asked.

“No, just lots of work. Lots and lots of work. I had two classes today, two tomorrow three the next day and two on Friday,” She said.

She was very anxious to talk about her work, and her hernia. So, I let her. I thought, it will pass the time.

Little did I know. ….

45 minutes later this woman had officially talked her way through a 20-minute period on the platform and 7 stops on the two train.

Jesus, I thought.

She might keep talking to Kentucky if you let her. But I shouldn’t be silly.

The 2 train doesn’t go to Kentucky.

I should give her credit though. She was excited. She was in school. She was doing something she was proud of. She was accomplishing something. Something I had done a year ago. Something I used to feel wasn’t that big of a deal, but now feel differently about. Graduating IS a big deal. Getting a degree IS a big deal. Education IS important. And here I was with a woman that had spent 45 minutes telling me EVERY detail about EVERY class and EVERY assignment. Do not kid yourself. She got out her syllabus. She got out her books. She showed me her notes. She showed me her schedule.

Then I realized, why she was gushing. This was her first day. Her first day of college. And she just couldn’t stand it. She wanted to tell someone. She wanted to tell someone every detail. And that lucky someone was me.

I let her. Sure, I had plenty to read on the way home. My eyes were tired I could have slept. I had my cell phone. I could have listened to music, but instead I listened to her, an entire 2-train ride. So much so, if she missed class tomorrow I could have filled in for her.

I looked over her Spanish work. Told her the difference between Spanish 101 and 102. She showed me her sociology book and as soon as I saw the shrink wrap, I said “take it back.”

“Take it back,” I said. “You have got to buy your books used. How much did you pay for that?”

She took me seriously and said she would return it tomorrow. We went over her work schedule program and just about everything else. Before long I was nearing my stop. I could tell she wanted to ask me one last question.

“Do you think I should use a pencil?” She asked.

“A what?” I asked.

“A pencil, do you think I should use a pencil for my homework? I don’t have any.” she said.

The glass doors were about to open right at my stop. Except this time, I wasn’t hurrying to get off. I was fumbling through my black purse. I knew I had thrown a few in my bag at work once. I’m not sure why, I never use them. I’m a journalist I use pens. I just had them in there waiting to be taken out.

Finally, I laid a hand on one.

I handed it to her as I stepped out the glass doors.

“Yes, use a pencil. Incase you make any mistakes,” I said.

I heard a muffled thank you as the train whizzed away.

a lousy attempt

I am going to try to explain why I haven’t written in this blog for a little too long.

a. I forgot how to write.
b. I write too much during the day.
c. I think no one cares
d. I am afraid of making mistakes
e. I am tired
f. All of the above.

Read the following except from my non-existent blog to determine some type of answer that might resemble one that is next to a letter above.

“No really, it's unfair to the people (both of you) that I don’t write in here anymore.

Mom, Dad, I am just really busy. (Damn, did I include that as a multiple-choice answer? It should have been one.)

Okay, I am tired. There I said it. I am young and I am tired. Sometimes I feel like I write too much during the day, but then I realize I haven’t written anything ALL day. I have been just reading ALL day. So then I always feel I forgot how to write. I don’t really know if I forgot how to write, I just don’t want people to read this and think I am an idiot (someone muffled “too late” I know I heard it.) I am afraid of making mistakes.

You probably aren’t reading anymore because you don’t care.