I'm going to need a bigger pan

I was at Whole Foods today when I came across some ostrich eggs for sale, nestled in a straw-lined wooden crate. Holy smokes, they were huge. I picked up the biggest one and cradled it in my hands -- it was like holding something primeval. They were going for $29.99 each, which is astronomical in my opinion, especially since one 3-pound egg is the equivalent of 18-24 chicken eggs, which go for $3.79 a dozen. I didn't buy any, but I haven't stopped thinking about them all day. I'll try and take pictures next time.

More lights and cameras, no action

They're at it again. What began last week has developed into a full-blown shoot; film crews closed off Mott Street to vehicular traffic and rolled in their equipment this morning, chief among them the awesomely named SuperTechno camera crane. [I looked it up -- the SuperTechno 30 costs well over $2000 a day to rent, and hiring the guy who operates it costs another $550 per ten hours.] Tonight, they strung up lights in the trees and are filming a night scene on the corner of Mott and Prince. I can hear the Paramount Production Support trucks outside my window right now.
I went home for lunch this afternoon, hoping to catch a glimpse of actual filming, but was disappointed. This is common, of course. Very little "action" happens on film sets; most of the time, you sit around and wait. And no, no sightings of stars Isla Fisher or Hugh Dancy, though I didn't try very hard. I did, however, brush past the director sitting in the proverbial director's chair on my way back to the office. Boy, did he look bored.

To be honest, I'm not much a gawker. Will Smith filmed parts of I Am Legend outside my office in SoHo, and although I heard that there were throngs of people hoping to get an autograph, I was not among them. If I were a celebrity, I'd want to be left alone. Do unto others, I say.

Rare Air

When I was a kid, I really wanted a pair of Nike basketball shoes. I never got them because they were expensive, and a growth spurt meant that my feet outgrew new shoes in mere weeks, a fact that my parents took pains to drill into my 13-year-old head.

Remember back in the late '80s and early '90s when Air Jordans were just about the coolest things you could put on your feet? I'm not much of sneakerhead, and I never gave Jordans much thought until a couple of years ago when the red Jordan XX1 came out and floored me with all that beautiful suede. It's funny how you can develop an appreciation for a certain aesthetic if you are open-minded enough. I used to think Air Jordans were really funny-looking; now I think many of them are fantastic.

So that's why, today, I finally got my first pair of Air Jordans ever, the stealth XX3, and thanks to SoHo shoe retailer Michael K, I got them two days before their official release. Ah, to be an adult making his own financial decisions...
Like I said, I'm no sneakerhead, though some of my co-workers happen to be very serious about their sneakers. I mean, if they were looking for a new apartment, one of the requirements would be enough space to store at least a hundred pairs of sneakers, in shoe boxes. They are the reason that limited edition sneakers sell out fifteen minutes after they are released. I, on the other hand, own a grand total of six pairs of sneakers, three of which are so ratty that I wouldn't wear them in public. I also have one pair of Nike Air Max 360 running shoes, which are slightly, ah, under-used. So it's a big step for me to own a pair of Jordans, which is why I'm happy I waited until the XX3, the twenty-third iteration, came out (23 was Michael Jordan's jersey number, in case you somehow missed the '90s).

Now, while I love my new sneakers, I can't decide if I should wear them or leave them in the box. After all, what's the point of buying cool shoes if you don't wear them? These things are beautifully crafted; the pattern on the side is hand-stitched. On the other hand, Air Jordans generally appreciate in value over time, but only if they are deadstock (never worn, kept in the original box). Plus, there's no way I'd wear these to actually play basketball in. I'd be laughed off the court, but only after I get thoroughly schooled and the shoes get thoroughly stepped on due to my utter lack of game. So it may be a better idea to leave them in the box.

On location

How do I know the WGA writers strike is really over? Because they're shooting movies in New York again.

Remember this post from last September? That's when I first heard about the movie Confessions of a Shopaholic. I guess the location scouts decided that the street I live on would be a good place to shoot part of the film, because there was a film crew out on the street this morning. I wanted to take pictures of the real action -- they had Panavision cameras rigged to the sides of yellow cabs -- but I'd left my camera in my apartment and couldn't get it until lunchtime. By then, filming had ended and all that was left was a massive collection of lights arrays, tripods, and other important but ultimately boring things being packed up.It's not likely that I'll see the film when it eventually comes out. But if you do, and you watch a scene in which a character steps out of a cab and into a boutique with beach balls in the window, you'll know where it was shot.

Living in two states

I've lived in New Jersey longer than I have in New York, so it's not surprising that most of my friends still live across the river from me. It's a strange set-up. I live and work in New York, but on weekends, more often than not I'll be in New Jersey (church is also in Jersey). We spent this morning (Saturday) at home, but we'll be taking the train in this afternoon to hang out with friends, Susie and Dusty.

Many have said in passing that "New York has really changed" me. It must be true to some degree. Here are three things I am doing now that I wasn't doing when I lived in the Garden State:

• Listening to New York bands. One of my favorite new bands is The National, based in Brooklyn. Battles, about whom I've written before, is based in New York. Hem is from Manhattan. Still, not all New York-area bands are worth my time. I still can't listen to Interpol, and The Bravery is one annoying band.
• Shopping for clothing at Bloomingdales. This one needs some explaining. For most of my life, I had a $30 limit on single clothing items. I never bought a pair of jeans that cost more than $30, nor a shirt, nor a winter coat. But at Bloomingdales, you'd be hard-pressed to find an umbrella for less than $30. I'm not saying that there aren't good clothing deals in Manhattan, but I have begun to see the value in buying quality threads that fit me properly (you can partially blame my fashion-industry wife for this awakening). There is also the fact that I work at a Manhattan ad agency to consider. But I'm also a notoriously picky shopper -- even my wife, who buys millions of dollars of clothing for a living, loses patience with me on occasion. This means that even though my jeans budget has gone up, the number of pairs I buy has gone down.
• Being environmentally conscious. It's not that I wasn't before. I was buying compact fluorescent lamps and turning down my thermostat even before moving. But city living has taken that to the next level. Here, there are restaurants for locavores, and just by moving to the city, you are reducing your carbon footprint. The truth is, it's easier to be earth-friendly in New York. So why not be?

So long, and thanks for all the turkey

Today is Thanksgiving, a uniquely American holiday that, to the outsider, appears to celebrate the deliciousness of turkey. In reality, it celebrates gluttony, the four-day weekend, and pre-Christmas shopping. Or something like that.

In keeping with recent tradition, we hightailed it to central New Jersey to have a Thanksgiving meal with Sarah's family. This year, due to my new interest in football, I actually enjoyed watching the Thanksgiving Day football game on Fox, in which the Green Bay Packers beat the Detroit Lions. Brett Favre was not the first football player I'd heard of while growing up in Malaysia (a gentler land where "football" means soccer and American football is about as popular as getting punched in the face). But Brett Favre and the Packers won the Superbowl the year I came to the United States, so his name is, to me, synonymous with Americana. Favre is 38 years old now. He's still the starting quarterback for the Packers. It's actually sort of amazing.

Here's the other thing about Thanksgiving: it's the day before Black Friday, ostensibly the biggest shopping day of the year. Today, apart from the areas surrounding the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, Manhattan was a ghost town, the calm before the storm. Tomorrow, I expect pandemonium.

"But we just went grocery shopping!"

If you live in the suburbs and need to go food-shopping, chances are you get in your car, drive to the supermarket, and buy a few days' worth of groceries. It's also increasingly common for people to join a members-only "warehouse club" and buy food in bulk. But in NYC... let's just say that there is a reason why you probably have a 10 lb bag of chicken wings in your freezer and I don't.

There are three sources for 98% of our grocery needs in Manhattan, and they are all within six hundred feet of our door. Whole Foods is where we buy chicken (naturally raised, air-chilled chicken breasts), eggs (Omega-3 enriched), and virtually all our other groceries. The Met is a NYC-based supermarket chain that has a branch around the corner. On days when I really, really have to have cilantro and Whole Foods doesn't have any, I'll go to the Met. Finally, the local Korean-owned deli, SoHo Garden, is where we get kimchi and dried seaweed in a pinch.

There are no warehouse clubs in our area; thus, no 10 lb bags of wings.

Not surprisingly, having three grocery stores within walking distance has changed the way we shop for groceries. For example, we usually only buy enough groceries to last us a day or two. While this was initially a weird and wasteful practice to me, the wife tells me that this is what people in France do all the time. French people will buy one loaf of bread for the day. The next day, they'll buy another loaf of bread. By my complex and esoteric calculations, that means stopping at the local bakery 365 times a year, or so. [To be fair, baguettes in France don't last longer than a day anyway because they are made with no preservatives.]

Obviously, the moral of the story is that by living in New York, we are becoming more and more French.