The sun is shining, the spots are smiling and I am looking forward to my Doctor's appointment.
I check the net for some Broadway show that will light up the season, and I find that Irving Berlin's *WHITE CHRISTMAS* is on. I love the movie and the music and I would love to see this spectacle.
I blackberry the Prince to check if we can make it for 7pm, at the Marquise theater.
Time to take a stroll around the hotel, I fill up on bargain price cashmere items at a place called DAFFY'S and head downtown for the Derm.
The office is stunning.
A cool loft approach with floor to ceiling windows, gentle music and a soothing atmosphere, I am assured this must be good and my Doctor must be god.
I change my opinion when I get instructed where to sign on the 4 page folder, by a very unhappy, but perfect smooth skin, assistant, who seems to be unable to smile. (botox overdose? Could it be?)
Or maybe she has her period.
I join the waiting lounge, where a handsome tall men and a perfect skin lady are leisurely browsing through beauty magazines. They both look faultless and I am smiling, dreaming of the road to my own perfection, just a minute away. Called by another un-smiling nurse, I am escorted into the Doctor's office. My attempt to make her smile fails miserably and wins me a poor puppy wink instead.
Damn, I am so UN-NEW-YORKIE! I must start frowning..Oh no, I can't, wrinkles! Okay, I can look serious, maybe? Feeling stupid I fall into the chair.
"He will be with you shortly", she announces with pure dislike and with that smashes the door shut behind her tiny white frame. So I wait, reading leaflets about the need of beauty and perfection.
This place makes you feel ugly I think, and even if you feel pretty when you come here, you will be convinced that there is plenty wrong with you, once you leave.
But, no worry.
You can be perfect, if you only pay...
I think our world went very wrong in this sense!
Beauty should not be rated by the minimum of wrinkles and lines. Beauty should be a shining thing, that only comes from within. From personality, from kindness, from wisdom, from humor and from the never-ending movie called LIFE.
We created a monster called Beauty.
And who I am to philosophize, sitting here, looking to be de-spotted and de-blotched.
I am part of that monster and I try so hard not to be.
I am...
"Hello I am Doctor Lyer, how can I help you today?", smiles the good looking Doc.
" Well", I stutter, "I am blotchy and spotty, is there some magic cure?"
He at least smiles and seems human, while the humorless nurse is standing there, studying every detail of me. The good Doctor takes a mirror, studying my skin and tells me that I have Rosacea, a condition many fair skinned people get after their 30's.
It means flushing, redness and spots, because of it.
He tells me to hide from the sun, always wear sunscreen and to try some cream for a while.
On my request of erasing the evidence of my past sun-adoration, he explains about laser and peels. But he says, the cream will do some work in time.
If I am not happy next year, I could still consider harsher options.
No magic trick?
No instant relief of my insecurities?
NO!
NO!
NO!
Not too convinced I pay the hefty 200 something Dollar fine and search for a pharmacy, to pick up, yet anther cream. I am once again surprised, when the bill comes to 180$, for a tube of fatty liquid.
New York is expensive.
For 180$, this ointment better be a miracle.
But somehow I am not convinced.
Because I know, that I flush when nervous. And I flush extremely when afraid. And so you know, anyone wearing a white or green Doctor's coat gives me shivers and makes my heart rate go up.
So when Dr. Iyor or Ivy or whatever met me, I must have been tomato red, and he took the easiest and most obvious explanation.
One more cream to fill up my bathroom cupboard.
Guini pig, again.
www.nydermatologygroup.com
Prince calls to confirm our Broadway show. One of his colleges has arranged it all.
That is lovely news and I catch a cab to return to the hotel. The lobby is very happening, oh, I forgott, complimentary wine tasting in the afternoons. Free drinks are certainly a people magnet.
I decide against the temptation to join and do some googling on Rosacea instead.
After reading, that this condition does not include blackheads, and very oily skin, I am sure the Doc was wrong.
4 Doctors so far and 4 opinions. (5 with the facialist)
Who am I to trust?
1. Accutane!
2. You got nothing! Use this anti biotic creme when you get a spot!
3. Laser will make you perfect!
4. Use this rosacea cream!
5. (ENVIRON)! and electric facial brush
I will give it a few more shots and stick to Environ and antibiotic cream for now.
And the blues...
Prince returns shiny and glowy, ready to sweep me off to the musical.
8 o' clock he ushers, we must rush.
8?
"But the show is at 7"
"You must be mistaken"
"No, no, 8" he says
"Oh no, it is the wrong show"
"Radio City?" he asks panicking.
"No, Marquise, at 7"
It is 6.30 and we wonder if we should just go to the Christmas spectacular, since the tickets are already paid for. I do pout, I think, and Prince suggests that we try to make it to the MARQUISE and try our luck.
No chance to wear my new beloved heels (from Dubai) then, I think, as I envision us running down Broadway.
Here we come, rushing downstairs, looking for a taxi.
We wave down a towncar and tell him to rush us over to Broadway.
Prince tells me about his day and only than we realize that our driver is heading downton.
21th street, I look up in disbelieve. But...but..
The driver had gotten the place wrong and with squeaking tires he turns and we head back up again.
Stupid, the theater is so close to our hotel, we now lost precious minutes.
Like a madman our driver, probably feeling guilty, flies through Manhatten's congested roads and we jump out, once the traffic gets too clogged.
Time to run.
I am happy for my foresight.
We are sprinting towards Times square, like children, once again.
Storming up the escalators to the theater entrance, we are told that the tickets are sold outside, on the street. No, really, this is not our day. One more time.
5 minutes to go, but we get the tickets and make it upstairs, in time for my beloved "WHITE CHRISTMAS".
The show is magic.
We are sobbing, singing, smiling, hugging, dreaming and giggling.
The cast is amazing and the music a time machine into a land of swinging skirts, romance and innocence.
Of course, it is not pulled like in the old days, but by a bicycle. Still, it has a taste of the past and it is very environmentally friendly. Funny to think, that once upon a time, all cabs where like this, so proudly we went into progress-future- and motorized machines took over. And here we are, future is with us, but we choose to go back to such humble way of transport.
I think it is great!
Ours is a luxurious one, as it has a plastic cover, which shields us from the rain. Our driver today is from Turkey, in NY to study and to make some money. Or better, to make some money to pay for the studies. He is handsome and smiley and extremely well mannered. Nothing to do with the strange and scary breed called yellow cabbie. I feel sorry for him, paddling in the rain, slight uphill. We are not thaaaat heavy, but Prince is not on the skinny side and build rather strongly.
20$ and 20 minutes later we arrive at my dinner choice for tonight. AUSTRIAN!
Yeaph, I really said Austrian.
I am in the need of a dose of home. And I imagined it perfect after the musical. Because my imagination is colorful and wild, I had envisioned a chalet style place, with gingham cloth and maybe some cow bells at the door. The smell of fondue, next to the fireplace...
You know, Austrian.
With one Michelin Star.
We arrived to a rather un-romantic, minimalistic place, with music a bit too loud for dining.
"I am not sure"...I already was turning on my heels when Prince said: "Let's give it a shot, they have SCHNITZEL."
A Prince and so easy to make happy. He lovvvvvvvves Schnitzel.
The food comes to a pleasant surprise from the beginning to the end.
The Amuse Bouche, an interesting go at an octopus, followed by a potato soup that made up for all my HOME-LONGING.
Remember Ratatouille? When the skinny, dark glooming critic tastes the ratatouille and is transported back into mama's kitchen... Into a life of safety and home-cooking? Well, this potato soup is very close, even though, my mom never made such a soup.
Meanwhile the Chef is giving an interview on a table next to us, a pretty lady, getting to taste all his creations.
Oh, I want to be a food critic!!!
To try all those delicious foods and to meet all thoooooooose chefs... Ahhhh, a dream life!!!
We get the Chef over for a few minutes and he is young, easy going and just a cool guy, nothing to do with the imaginary MICHELIN STAR. Eduard Frauneder. May be worth to remember his name.
And of he runs, clad in jeans and well-used leather jacket for some mysterious date...(ahhh)
Schnitzel time, happy time... Prince is beaming from Schnitzel heaven and it is, of course delicious.
There is not much that can be done to a Schnitzel, but it can be GOOD or BAD or AVERAGE.
This one is way above good, and so are the spaetzle, a typical Austrian and Bavarian kind of gnocchi.
Yummmmm...
The waiter brings the dessert menu, but I feel so full.
Just a little taste, he teases. I resist, as I am too stuffed.
A kind of modern apple strudel arrives anyhow and it is orgasmic. Floating in the creamiest apple-mash I ever tasted, it is different from your everyday strudel, and just heavenly divine.
Was I full???
I guess not, or where did all that apple stuff disappear to?
Apple... once again it is apple.
Anyone notice?
We are in the BIG APPLE, we watch APPLE MOON on 5th, we buy APPLE to check our email and later on we eat heavenly APPLES.
And I am not EVE and PRINCE is no ADAM, but maybe NEW YORK is the place where sins opened up and humans became bad?
When I lived here, about 11 years ago (that long?!) I used to believe, that because the city is only made from concrete, the energy of earth-nature, can not flow, can not be cleansed and released freely, it just bounces of the grey grounds, eating up all the pain and sorrow, and staying there, pregnant with fear and anger and frustration and hunger.
It is simply put, like a dirty bathtub without a working drain. It fills up on junk and some good stuff too, but even good gets bad, if kept enclosed with junk over lengthy time...
Philosophizing time over!
I am sorry, I do not want to bore anyone too long.
Time to head home and NIGHTY NIGHT...
I AM DREAMING OF A WHITE CHRISTMAS...
Here is the link to the Xmas "Magical" : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mgvuWaFJbN8
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