I was in the car with Mom and Dad. Dad was driving. I was snuggled in the back seat with a blanket across my lap. I had a chill that wouldn’t leave my body. Mom was flipping through a brochure—a brochure that apparently had horoscopes.

“Cookie, are you an Aquarius?” she asked.

She clearly doesn’t know astrology at all if she doesn’t even know her own daughter’s sign. I know hers: Cancer.

“No, Momma. Look at my shirt.” I unzipped my jacket and puffed out my chest like Superman. I happened to be wearing a logo T that had a little cartoon goat on it. It said Capricorn.

Mom started reading my horoscope. “‘Don’t let a minor setback keep you from going after what you really want. Stay focused and determined. If you don’t get distracted, you’re sure to reach your goal.’”

That’s just good general advice, I thought. That applies to anyone. Horoscopes are useless. But a little good general advice never hurt anyone, I suppose. I looked out the window of the car. A flock of white birds took flight out of a green grassy marsh.

“‘Loved ones turn to you for advice about a family matter,’” she read. “‘Try not to get involved in the situation. If you do, you’ll be in over your head.’”

What?!

“Oh hahaha,” I laughed. “Can I have that please?” Mom passed the horoscope back to me and I tore the page out of the booklet. I’m glad she didn’t ask why I wanted it.

That’s some general advice I can use.

My parents still don’t know even a little bit about the Springer Scenario, so-called for its resemblance to the kind of lunacy you find on the Jerry Springer Show. This bothers me only because I think they could help. A lot. They would also freak out. A lot. And since this is not my Scenario to spill the beans about, I have kept my mouth shut, as I promised I would.

The shock of it is starting to pass. When I first learned about it, I was at work. I was shaking so much that I had to leave early. And for days, I couldn’t think about anything else. I cried. I couldn’t sleep. And I was helpless to do anything about it.

I’ve told a few friends about the Springer Scenario. Goober said, “If it was April, I’d think you were playing a joke.” That’s just how crazy this is. “I know this is just what I’d say if I was playing a joke,” I said, “but I swear I’m not. I wish I was.”

I had started to think I should stay out of it, as the horoscope also advises. It’s not bad advice. “In over my head,” certainly describes it well.

Worry won’t help anything. I carry around a quote about worry by the Dalai Lama: “If a problem is fixable, if a situation is such that you can do something about it, then there is no need to worry. If it’s not fixable, then there is no help worrying. There is no benefit in worrying whatsoever.” So wise, that Dalai Lama. And the Springer Scenario falls into the category of “not fixable,” by me anyway.

My heart has slowed out of the panic-mode that it was in for the days following the announcement of the Springer Scenario. I’m still monstrously freaked out by the whole thing, and I think it’s going to be a little while before I start to feel better. A few things need to happen before I reach that point, but hopefully it will be within the next month or so.

Unfortunately, the person really involved will take much longer to heal. Probably years. This is a life-scarring event that people don’t get over. My heart is with that person. I want to help shoulder the burden, but I can’t. I’ve made my offers of aid, and there’s really not more I can do.

So I’ll do my best not to worry. I’m taking it easy over the next few days, and when my mind wanders toward the drama, I’ll direct it elsewhere. Somewhere happy. Like a few days from now when I’ll find myself in M’s arms again. Mmm, yes. That is a happy thought.

I’m sitting at Gate 15. I’m on standby. Perry Como is singing, “There’s no place like home for the holidays,” and the irony makes me grimace. I make a phone call. Voicemail.

“Hi. It’s C. I’m just calling to say hi. It looks like I’m going to be spending Christmas day home alone, like you, so I wanted to say hi and just … talk. Call me.” I start to tear up.

If it was just one thing, this wouldn’t have happened. But there were two things.

First, I got to the airport this morning with lots of time to spare. But when I opened my wallet to check myself in, I realized that I had left my ATM card and, more importantly, my driver’s license at home. Yesterday when I was doing last-minute errands, I had stuck them in the pocket of another jacket. And left them there.

I panicked and went out to the curb. There was no line at the cabstand, and I hopped right into the one taxi that was waiting. The cabbie took me home, waited for me while I ran inside, and took me back to the airport. I tipped him well. All things considered, I still had plenty of time to check in and make it to my gate. Disaster: avoided?

But why, why a second thing?

I had come to the United Airlines ticket area. That’s what my Travelocity reservation said: United. When I slipped my credit card into the self-check-in, I got a message saying I should see an agent. My flight was a United Airlines flight—operated by US Airways. I missed that part. US Airways is on the other side of the airport, at a different terminal.

I hoofed it. My heart was doing all those cliché things—racing, beating, pounding, whatever. It was not possible I would miss Christmas. Not possible.

I finally get over to US Airways, and I am too late. They closed check-in for my flight.

Because of my carelessness, I’m not going to be with my family for Christmas day.

And now I’m crying again.

My parents are driving from Missouri to our holiday destination. They have been stuck in interstate traffic for over seven hours. They are miserable and aren’t going to make it on time, either.

I do have a plane reservation for early Sunday morning, and I want to double-check it before I leave the airport. Now, they’re boarding the plane that I’m standby for. Even if I get on it, there may not be a connection to my final destination available today. But I won’t; this flight is overbooked and they’ve been begging for volunteers to get off the plane. I’m only still sitting here because I need to catch my breath and regroup.

And I don’t think I’m quite ready to admit that I’m not leaving New York today.

I do have a reservation for 5:30am on Sunday. I told my mom that we can celebrate Christmas then, that it’s not the date, but being together, that’s important. We all know that’s true, but it’s still disappointing that we won’t be together on the 25th. Just seems wrong.

My mom said, “Sounds like this is going to be a Christmas to remember.”

She has no idea.

There’s a Jerry Springer scenario afoot that my parents are not aware of just yet. It is the most unbelievable betrayal I have ever heard personal account of. If they find out some of it, they will be pissed but they’ll get over it. If they find out about all of it, I can’t even imagine what this Christmas will be like. (My travel flubs will certainly pale in comparison, I tell you.)

The stress of the Springer Scenario (I haven’t slept well the last few nights) plus my brainless travel flubs have me very … uneasy. To say the least.

The plane has departed, and I am still here typing. I’ll wrap this up and take myself home.

I hope you have a merry Christmas, and that you tell your family how much you love them. That’s better than anything you picked up at Barnes & Noble or Best Buy.

Live from LaGuardia Airport, with the power of WiFi. Peace.

More:
* Christmas: A Bad Daughter
* Air Travel: Plane Jane
* Air Travel: Natural Beauty

I went to Brooklyn with Lisa and Mark, two engaged friends of mine. Like, really in Brooklyn. We could see the Verrazano from the end of the block. We had come to Dyker Heights to see the famous holiday light displays. We took the D train and walked a good number of blocks in the cold. And Mark just had his card eaten by the ATM machine. We were beginning to doubt whether this was going to be worth the trip.

I can tell you now that yes, it was definitely worth it.

This was one of the more toned down homes we saw in Dyker Heights. Compared to the other decorations we saw, these people should have been ashamed of themselves for having so little holiday spirit. Bah humbugs.

This is one of the first homes we saw that made us really scratch our heads. Every single branch of this tree was covered in lights. "How would you do that?" ...

... You pay someone to do it, of course. In this case, DiMaglio Christmas Decorations.

This house called itself "Toy Land." It was creepy, like a lot of other houses on this block. Of Toy Land in particular, though, we wondered, "Where do they keep all that?" There were two working merry-go-rounds (one on each side of the lawn). There were two characters on horses that were being mechanically manipulated by a large metal arm. On the upper balconies were two rows of reindeer that would sway back and forth. And those rows of reindeer were bordered on each side by an animated elf. Really creepy. We decided that the house was large enough that they could keep this Christmas fright fest in storage, or they're rented. We didn't ask.

This is the Santa that "Toy Land" had in front of their house. And to think, that was not nearly the creepiest Santa we saw all night.

Even if I'd taken notes, I don't know if I would have been able to completely inventory all that was in front of this house. There were dozens of angels lining the sidewalk and up both sides of the staircase. People were going up the stairs and looking into the front windows. At first, I thought that was tacky, but then I thought, "These people didn't decorate their house like this so people wouldn't look at it." So we went up. There was a large nativity scene in the front window. And looking through the front door (which was open), we could see presents all over the floor, nutcrackers going up the stairs, where a Santa met them on the landing. A dining room table was all set with festive flatware.

But the action was all out on the sidewalk.

"C, want to go sit in Santa's lap?" Lisa asked. I looked at the "Santa." This 400 lb. man was perched on some sort of throne in front of the house. "He doesn't even have a lap," I said. Thankfully, no children were climbing on this man's lap. Now that I'm writing about it, it could be that he's a neighborhood guy who people like and there was nothing threatening about him. But as an outsider, I found it pretty funny and weird. Sidewalk Santa Claus. I mean, he didn't even have candy canes to give out!

We also saw "Traumatize Me Elmo," as Mark called him. At one point, we had to walk down the sidealk right between Fat Santa and Traumatize Me Elmo. We were scared, but our giggles got us through alive.

All photos by Lisa and Mark.

These pictures only touch the tip of the iceberg. I encourage you to click on the links below to see more of the horror and delight that is Dyker Heights in December.

More Holidays in Dyker Heights:
* Photo: Fat Santa and Traumatize Me Elmo
* Photo: Lots of angels
* Gallery: Mark Lentz The Lights of Dyker Heights
* Gallery: Dyker Heights Photo Page
* Gallery: Bluejake Dyker Heights Christmas Lights (2003)
* Gallery: Satan's Laundromat A very Brooklyn Christmas (2003)

Karol's rounding up bloggers!
Come out tonight!

Monday, December 13 at 9pm
RIFIFI, aka Cinema Classics
332 E. 11 St NYC (btwn 1st and 2nd Aves)

Pass it on.

10 Life or Something Like It I hadn’t ever planned on watching this movie, but I caught it on TV recently. I was pleasantly surprised.

9 Shattered Glass The Stephen Glass scandal broke when I was a journalism student. “Don’t do that,” the professors said. Good advice. Hayden Christensen is pretty annoying, but then again, I think I might have found Stephen Glass annoying too.

8 Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas Johnny Depp is excellent as the gonzo journalist. So many great and scary images stick out in my mind. Great supporting performance from one of my personal faves, Benicio Del Toro, and cool cameos from Tobey Maguire, Cameron Diaz, Katherine Helmond, and Penn Jillette. Definitely a trip.

7 The Paper I love this movie because it reminds me of what it’s like to work in a newsroom. I love a newsroom. I’ve worked for magazines and web sites, mostly, but I also worked for an independent daily paper in college. That frantic pace of getting the layouts to the printer every night was exhausting and exhilarating. And I feel that way when I watch The Paper, the last Ron Howard movie I liked.

6 To Die For Nicole Kidman is insanely good in the movie about a crazy woman who will do anything to get into the spotlight. Great supporting cast: Joaquin Phoenix, Matt Dillon, Illeana Douglas, Kurtwood Smith. But it’s Kidman’s character that you’ll remember.

5 Almost Famous I was an intern at Rolling Stone one summer, and I like to chuckle when I see a sly cameo of RS founder Jann Wenner in the back of a cab. And Jason Lee is in it. I love Jason Lee.

4 The Insider As many people know, I hate Russell Crowe (almost as much as I hate Ray Liotta, but that’s a topic for another day). But I do love this movie, and I think Crowe is good in it. And Al Pacino is a personal favorite, and I love seeing him as a journalist.

3 Veronica Guerin I just watched this last night, and it inspired this list. What an awesome movie. If you like (a) Cate Blanchett, (b) character-driven thrillers like The Bourne Identity, or (c) movies like those I’ve included on this list, you will like Veronica Guerin. I liked everything about it: Blanchett was incredible, as always; haunting score; and an amazing and inspiring story.

2 Network “So I want you to get up now. I want all of you to get up out of your chairs. I want you to get up right now and go to the window. Open it, and stick your head out, and yell, ‘I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not going to take this anymore!’”

1 All the President’s Men They brought down the President of the United States! Deep Throat! So classic. Go rent it if you haven’t seen it.


Guilty Pleasures:

* Zoolander “Well, fortunately for you, not too many people I know read your little Time magazine, or whatever it’s called.”

* I Love Trouble This movie is not good, and I don’t recommend it. But for some reason, I love it. Shut up. It's my list.

* Fletch My list got so serious, I didn’t feel any of these comedies really belonged on there, but I wanted to post about them anyway.


Least Favorite:

* Up Close and Personal This movie drives me up the wall. I don’t think Michelle Pfeiffer has ever been more annoying.

What is your favorite movie about journalists or reporters? Should I have included Citizen Kane or Roman Holiday?

I was the lucky winner of Anna Broadway's November contest! (Question: What did Anna do at Andromeda? Answer: Got pierced! Lucky guess.) Hurrah!

And the prize? This kickass Vinnie's Tampon Case! Whee! How can you make your period more bearable? Accesorize.

That Vinnie is on to something.

It was just a regular Monday morning. I was standing at a Jackson Heights intersection that’s decorated for the holidays. There are strands of white bells and tinsel that stretch from each of the four corners to meet at the traffic light in the middle, where a tinsely snowflake hangs. It looks pretty when it’s all lit up at night.

The woman who crossed the intersection in front of me slowed as she strolled up the ramped curb. I almost ran into her and scooted to the left to pass her. I had a subway to catch.

But as I moved to the left so did she. She moved her shoulder into me and started to speak. I was in Commuter Mode and am not used to talking to anyone at all. You know Commuter Mode. You do it too. It’s startling to be shaken out of Commuter Mode. A few times, I ran into Heather while changing trains at Grand Central, and it always threw me off so much to see a friendly face at such an impersonal time of day.

“We are the most sophisticated women on this block,” this woman said to me.

Sophisticated? I had to laugh. I am a lot of things, but sophisticated isn’t one of them. “Sophisticated” is a word my dad would use to describe me after I got a haircut, and I always put down any compliment my dad gives me. We even got into a fight on the golf course this summer when he kept telling me my shots were “great,” even when they were sinking into bunkers.

I was really confused as to why this woman said we were sophisticated. I think the look on my face said as much.

She held up her shopping bags. One was from Barnes & Noble and the other was from Ricky’s.

Ohh, is this about Shopping Bag Status? I was using a Metropolitan Museum shopping bag to carry my lunch and subway reading. I guess that’s what she was looking at when she started this conversation. I had bought a few presents from the gift shop when I was there with my parents over Thanksgiving. The bag was right next to the door when I was getting my things together that morning, so I dropped my commuting essentials into it before heading out.

“We know,” she said, “you have to get out of this neighborhood to do any decent shopping.” She emphasized the “we.” I didn’t know we were a “we.”

There are no Gaps, Banana Republics, Starbucks, Victoria’s Secrets, Body Shops or anything of the sort around here, if that's what she was talking about. But I have found a bunch of shops that I love in my neighborhood. I like the stationery store run by a very nice Indian man who thinks that the customer always comes first; there are lots of crafty supplies, and I have a hard time sticking to my budget when I shop there. There’s the discount fabric store down the block; I’ve gone there so much recently that the owner, a friendly Asian man, knows me now. I also love the fruit stand, and I eat so much healthier the more I shop there and stay out of the grocery store. Even the shop I call the “ghetto Victoria’s Secret” is great; stocking up on undies and socks is so much more fun when I can get 20 pairs for $20. And, of course, there are more shoe stores than I count.

“I’m not carrying this to look sophisticated,” I told her, feeling uncomfortable that she brought up this subject of Shopping Bag Status.

“Oh, of course,” she said. “I won’t tell anyone. It’ll be our secret.”

I sped ahead of her on the sidewalk, embarrassed, and hoping no one else around heard that conversation.

Isn’t that weird?

“Ready?” Cypher asked.

He’s a petite and very fit man. His long hair is held back in dreds wrapped in red threads. This is day two of an aerial dance class. Cypher Zero, who I met for the first time earlier in the week, asked me if I’d like to take his class. I couldn’t think of any reason not to (not any rational reason, anyway), so I agreed. You know I like an urban adventure.

“Ready,” I said.

A purple silk sling hung from the dance studio’s high ceiling. Resting, the silk is a long loop of fabric, secured to the ceiling with expert hooks and knots. I held the silk loop apart, with my elbows at right angles even with my shoulders.

I showed up in this SoHo studio yesterday with no idea what to expect. I was supposed to wear a leotard, stretch pants, and a long-sleeved shirt. I brought an apple and a bottle of water. The class was small—just five of us—but two women had done this kind of dance before and one was a member of the dance company that Cypher directs. Just two of us were newbies, and she and I bonded quickly.

“One-two,” he said and held my hips as bounced off the mat. I flexed my abs and pulled my knees into my chest before shooting my legs between the ropes of silk. Now I was on my stomach, several feet off the ground, resting my body weight on the silk sling that was now across my belly.

“Great. Reach up a little higher,” Cypher directed.

I have one hand on the silk, the other outstretched in front of me, the position of a frozen freestyle swimmer. Or a flying Supergirl. I shimmy my hand higher up the silk.

“Now, slowly and with control, turn over.”

In the sling, I rotate my body so that I’m facing the ceiling, like a steel beam being raised to the top of a skyscraper.

“Good. Rock back into star position.”

I separate my legs and let my weight take my torso toward the floor. I’m hanging upside down, arms and legs outstretched like a human starfish, supported with the silk wound around my middle. I know my face must be flushed with all the blood flooding my brain. Actually, I know it is. I can see myself in the dance studio’s mirror.

“Frog position, and hook your knees.”

I grab the silk between my thighs and point my feet toward the ceiling, which is getting closer and closer the more wound up in the silk I get. The silk is around my waist and between my thighs. I touch the bottoms of my feet to one another: frog position. I point my toes into the silk, separating it into two strands. I wiggle to get the silk securely hooked under my knees. I’m still upside down, and I let my arms hang loose.

“Beat! One-two-three!”

I rock my body back and forth, advancing to and receding from an upright position. “Lead with your chest, not your arms,” Cypher says. I try to adjust, but it’s hard. I’ve been upside down for about a minute or so. Rock again, rock again.

“You can do it.”

I swing myself up and grab the silk above my knees. Since I hooked my knees around the silk, that’s where it is now, and I’ve got my knees tight to my chest.

“Straighten your legs and push them down.”

I straighten my legs as he directs, so I’m in a tight pike position. I don’t have much upper-body strength, but I muster what I can to lift my body higher in the air while opening my pike. I climb up the silk and align myself.

I’m upright. The silk is now wrapped tightly around my thighs and I’m holding it with my hands in front of my chest. From all the work we did yesterday, I have bruises on my thighs. And now the silk is back to where it was when I got the bruises, which will look worse tomorrow. All my body weight is supported in my upper thighs, and they’re burning. When I walked in earlier, I told Cypher about the bruises I’d gotten the day before. He put an arm around me and welcomed me to the club of aerial dancers. Bruising and toughening up are just part of it. I earned those bruises.

I push through the pain. I won’t let some discomfort—OK, a lot of discomfort—keep me from this unique experience.

“You’re almost there.” Cypher’s been a great teacher. I’d never done anything like this before, and he’s been a great instructor to a beginner: patient and encouraging.

“Now come through.” I lean my body forward through the two silk bands and slide my hands up so they’re above my head. I lead with my chest—leaning, leaning forward. The silk slips around my hips and is now behind me.

“Arch! Arch!”

I arch, arch!

Cypher spins me slowly so I can see what I look like in the mirrors.



Priceless.

But it got better.

“You ready to dive?” Cypher asked.

“I think so!”

“Let go!”

“Let go?”

“Let go and keep your arms outstretched. Keep them out!”

I started to laugh and giggle, which was strained because my body’s limits were being pushed pretty far.

I let go! My head and chest fell forward, taking my body into a 360º flip, finalized when I found myself upright again, much closer to the floor, supported by silk hooked under my arms and shoulder blades.

What a rush!

At the end of class, I didn’t wait until I was outside to start eating my apple. I was exhausted. Cypher addressed us newbies. “I am so proud of you guys,” he said. “I am always amazed by people who are willing to take a risk and try something brand new. I know you hadn’t ever done anything like this before, and you were amazing. Great job.” We couldn’t help but smile.

“They say it takes 15,000 touches of the silk to perfect a move,” he said. “Just think! Only 14,992 left to go!”

* FireFlyDance

Print out this voucher and bring it to Barnes & Noble on W 82nd St and Broadway on Friday, December 3, 2004 between 9am and 9pm.

A percentage of your purchase will be donated to MS 256, a New York City public school where my friend is a teacher. They can use all the help they can get for books and supplies.

Come on. You're going to get some holiday presents at Barnes & Noble anyway, why not help a school while you're at it?

* Print out this voucher now!