First Day as "Martha" Intern

I was 30 minutes early… again.
Why I perpetually stress about exact times and subway hold-ups, I’ll never know. The first day of anything new (Bloomingdales, graduate school, Martha Stewart Living, etc.) I am almost always 30 minutes early.
And then, once I find out the latest possible time I can crawl out of bed without being tardy, I sleep in late and rush rush rush… but in that situation it’s for good reason. What an anxious insomniac I do seem.
Never the less, I promptly arrived at Martha Stewart’s corporate office at 12pm on Monday afternoon. After a brief tour of the 9th floor, I was sent to work on a few different aspects for the editorial department.
The space is beautiful, with multitudes of natural lighting and magazine layouts covering the walls like artwork. It's slightly odd being the only intern, since everyone else is a permanent employee working on their careers, but I like the challenge this presents.
Large Mac computers are organized into rows based on departments and publications, with me seated in the middle of the Martha Stewart Living section. Yes! I have a desk. And Martha mug? That's just too much...
Now this is when it gets tricky. I want to tell you all everything! What I did, who I saw, my daily assignments – but you know I can’t. Just like with Bloomingdale’s, I had to sign a confidentiality contract. Of course this makes sense with a magazine, and it’s an opportunity I’d rather not destroy. So for now, these lips are sealed.
But I would suggest following MS_Living on Twitter ;)

Getting coffee does not seem as though it will be the main aspect of my internship.
More to come.

The Great Gatsby's Breakfast

The dining area had an intricate glass ceiling, colorful and reminiscent of art from a previous time in history. Huge archways lined the parameter of the room, and grand columns with carved statues of ancient effigies greeted incoming patrons.

One of my closest friends was visiting New York for the holiday, and her family had given us the most marvelous gift: a fancy meal at the restaurant of our choosing.

And who wouldn’t want to try the Plaza Hotel?

After researching reasonable dinning options, scrolling through online menus, and completing reservations via an internet service, we finally decided upon breakfast at 10:15 in the Palm Courts Restaurant.

The posh 5th Avenue hotel is no stranger to the wealthy and aristocratic visitors of NYC. But locals also dine and divulge in the luxurious facility, giving the Plaza a unique feel of permanent, unchanging history as well as a fluid vivacity.

“Miss Fitzgerald, right this way.”

In the novel, "The Great Gatsby" two characters chat in the hotel's tea garden, so I couldn't help but smile as Alice and I were seated near a renowned palm tree, our table prepared with water and menus. She selected the delicious “Classic Eggs Benedict,” while I choose the immaculate “Plaza Omelet” complete the bits of salmon and warm goat cheese. To top our meals off, we drank warm tea with milk and devoured several crisp pastries.

Our dresses and drinks made me long to burst back into time—the horse-drawn carriages lining Central Park outside the building did nothing to mollify my overactive imagination. Thoughts of literary figures and movie characters who had frequented this very landmark danced pleasantly in my mind.

I can enjoy a peanut butter and jelly sandwich repeatedly, without much hesitation. And I hope I’ll always be able to throw back a $3 PBR. But the occasional interrupting luxury is much appreciated and of course, extremely memorable. In fact the rarity of the situation is exactly what makes moments like breakfast at the Plaza Hotel so entirely worthwhile.

Thank you again Ricks family! Alice and I enjoyed our adventure :)

Enjoying the tea.

Forget Eloise. Alice at The Plaza.

Classic Eggs Benedict.

The Plaza Omelet.

A staple of the Palm Courts Restaurant.

The Grand Ballroom.

Outside the Plaza after our meal.

Like a scene from a movie...

Thursday’s Things New Yorkers Say

I‘ve been all over New York throughout the last several days, and “The List” of what I want to experience while living in the city has taken a happy beating. But the topic of today’s blog post must, of course, be about what was heard amid the streets and boroughs of the concrete jungle.

New Year’s Eve in Park Slope

Marty Markowitz (pronounced something like Ma-ty Ma-kowitz with a Brooklyn accent) walks on stage and thanks the band for performing that evening. As the Brooklyn Borough President, he has quite a bit of status with the audience.

Then, like something out of a movie, he says to a band member, “Ethan,” and kisses his fingers similar to an Italian mobster, “My fellow Jew, I love yeah.” Suddenly he gives a hearty laugh, clears his throat and continues his speech, with included popular catch phrases like: “Prospect Park is the most beautiful park in America. Who says so? I say so!” and “Forget Manhattan. Who needs Manhattan when you’ve got Brooklyn? Forgetaboutit."

Alice and I couldn’t stop laughing. Nor could we stop saying “forgetaboutit” in every possible situation all night long.

Waiting for the N train in Brooklyn on New Year’s Eve

Have you ever been waiting in the subway, and a train arrives on the platform opposite you, headed a direction you don’t want to go? After this happens twice, you begin to pace a little bit. Three times and you’re straight up angry. Four times and you think that the MTA possibly forgot your stop. Five times? If the train arrives 5 TIMES on the platform opposite yours, and not one train has even thought about stopping at your station, you might think the world is going to end.

So Alice and I waited. And waited. And waited some more. It had probably been 35 minutes of waiting on a platform with a growing number of aggravated New Year’s Eve goers, when a train FINALLY made an appearance.

Everyone shuffled about to get near the approaching transportation, when terror rapidly consumed our station. The horrific letters flashing across the top of the train read “NOT IN SERVICE.” Our collective hopes were crushed.

Then a yell abruptly broke through the depressing air. Police officers had been scattered through the subway all night, and finally someone needed their assistance!

A twenty-something girl screamed, “Officer! (pause for effect) Arrest that train!”

The majority of the subway station at least chuckled.

There's good ol' Marty. Photo courtesy of New York Magazine

Holiday

The blog has been on holiday.

Sorry that I’ve been away.

But my friend and sister are in NYC to play

Or maybe I’m just lazy in a way,

So there is no new blog post today.


Tomorrow. I promise.

Questions in the Air

The airport said that I could not fly,

Which was fine on Wednesday, so I didn’t ask why.

Because there was snow,

And I know,

That Delta was working on letting me go.

But then I was told there was only one flight out

Which kind of made me want to pout.

Because I have a job

And I felt robbed

But didn’t say a thing because they airports are a mob.

Soon I was to learn that my friend’s flight

Was, in fact, quite alright!

Which meant she would come to NYC

But completely without me!

And most importantly without my house key.

Where would she stay? Where would she go?

Now we are both in a horrible limbo.

Let’s just hope on the New Year,

Well both be together having a beer,

But, this is a difficult task I fear.

I'll Be Home For Christmas

I'm back in Virginia for the holidays, and made it just a few hours before the blizzard blanketed New York in flight-preventing weather. We were able to enjoy a white Christmas and I'm currently trying to see everyone in Richmond. Stop by the Fitzgerald house if in the area!

Hope you all are having a safe holiday :)
Milk and cookies for Santa
Sisters on Christmas
Spicer-Fitzgerald Christmas, as usual.
Snow! I haven't even seen this much in NY yet.
Dad surprises Mom with a trip to the city in April.
Presents and such.
All the girls.
Merry Christmas!

Thursday’s Things New Yorkers Say – Christmas Edition


I don’t know if it’s because of the holidays, or if NYC was just plunged into some time warp, but the inhabitants of the city has been surprisingly pleasant the last several weeks. So here’s a few of the amiable things I’ve seen and heard:

60-something year old woman in the Key Stone Grocery, shopping with an old friend.

Bam! She smacks her cart into the foot of a worker at the store, who was bent over placing items on the shelves. And this was a loud kind of bam that suggested immense pain. He stands up, slightly shaky. The older woman gasps and then begins to bounce up and down making an “mmmm” noise as her face contorted. Then man says, “It’s okay, it’s okay…” and then she says, “I’m so sorry!” and throws her arms around him. She hugs him for the so long that the solemn workers begins to laugh, and after a moment places his own arms around her in the most unconventional of embraces.

An older married couple (that had to be at least in their 70s) boards the 7 train in Queens.

She stumbles in, slightly ahead of her older partner. A young woman sees them and stands, giving up her seat. The older gentleman is now trying to make it to the vacant seat beside his wife, but the train starts and lurches violently. He almost tumbles, but is caught but a man, who escorts him to the seats. The woman smiles to her husband and says in an accent that sounds slightly foreign, “They are watching out for us.” She doesn’t stop smiling the whole way to Grand Central Station.

And then there’s always this… I leave you with the next comment from the Bloomingdales break room.

Obama had just finished a speech, and we were all starring at the TV waiting to see what would come on next.

“I hate when like political people talk, you know. They talk sooo long… and always right in the middle of important stuff… like Jeopardy. I mean come on! I’m tryin’ a get my study on!

Okay, I don’t think she was entirely serious. But she was a little bit. About the whole political thing. And the Jeopardy thing. Yeah, she was serious. But I know she was looking out for all of our best interests ;)

My sister Grace, seemly transfixed by the Christmas magic in NYC.

Eric also quite excited.

Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb...ops. Just kidding... Mom and Becky visit and buy matching earmuffs.

Anna and I do a Christmas night celebration with a movie and holiday inspired treats.

I watched it for the first time this year. And then I was like, "Why haven't I watched this every year??"

Of course.

The Sleeping Game

“Britney, go to bed,” my mother would say at half past 10. Reluctantly I would stash a book under my pillow and smile innocently.

“If you keep reading, I’m going to take your book!” she would say. While this was a vile threat, I hardly much cared if she took my novel or not. On the occasion that I was actually caught twice in one night reading (which, with my clever ear for footsteps, was not often!) Mom would simply take the book and toss it on the floor of the hallway.

I would hear thud, thud, plop…thud, thud as she walked into her room and closed the door.

Wait 5 minutes, I would think to myself, manually counting the seconds. Then get your book!

Some books that followed me to NYC

The clock on my wall had died months ago, and I had never changed the battery. Nor did I for the majority of my childhood. That way I would never know exactly how much sleep I was or wasn’t getting, leaving my reading time plagued not by time restrictions, but rather complete exhaustion. Only when I nodded off mid-page did I know I was done for the evening.

Apparently parents do not follow the same rules.

Craaaaack…. The door to my room opened slowly and I would hear my dad breathing. He was watching me, looking for the smallest movement in my facial expression or the faintest flutter of my eyes.

This is the performance of your life! I would repeat over and over again in my head. The melodramatic actress inside myself tried to fool my mouth into not moving. Don’t smile. Don’t smile. DO NOT smile. Most nights I passed the test.

You see, it was far worse for Dad to take my book. An insomniac in his own right, he would wonder downstairs to the television with my story in hand. Retrieving books from the hall was a sinch… but from the kitchen counter? That was a much more difficult mission. Not to mention putting it back without waking up the dogs!? No, if Dad took my book, recovery efforts were often foiled.

I find now, when I am much older, I still procrastinate going to sleep with a page-turner. Even as I complete this blog post, it’s nearly 4am. One of the clocks in my room is wrong – not that I need it anymore. My internal clock knows the truth about my horrible sleeping habits.

But a new book has been calling to me, like a siren at sea. You'll agree when I say I was lucky enough to stumble across the 767 page “Chronicles of Narnia” by C.S. Lewis at the Strand Bookstore yesterday while shopping near Union Square. And the price for this classic, one might also ask?

$1.00

I couldn’t resist the temptation, even though the day was about buying Christmas presents for others. You can’t even call that a splurge!

Unfortunately, new books have unhealthy side effects such as: distraction from everyday life, restlessness, sleep deprivation, anxiety, loss of short-term memory, and more. See doctor for details.

Anyways, I just finished the first 150 pages. Maybe it was healthier when I had parents to interrupt my escapism?

Then again…

I could always justify “breaking the rules” when Mom snatched up my novels. She made it far too easy for me to get them back. Except for the extremely rare occasion when she would take my book into her bedroom, she must have wanted me to keep reading. Why else would she have left forbidden passages about fairies, detectives, and imaginary worlds within my grasps?

The answer is obvious.

Yes. We’ll go with that.

Believe it.

Looks like its previous owner left a mark.