Just a post before I go...

As most of you know, I'll be off the grid for the next week, so I just wanted to say, Feliz Navidad and a wonderful new year to y'all. I promise to raise a margarita and toast you from the beach! (And come back with grinworthy stories!)

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow...

What a great day!

11 inches of snow! I was invited by two separate groups of friends to go sledding once the nor'easter was done, and I took Cliff and Tzyh up on it. We sledded! We flew! We inadvertantly knocked over lots of little children who didn't heed our "look out below!" warning! I particularly liked the gal who used a NY Lotto sign as a sled. (Hey, you gotta be in it to sled it!)

The parks department was giving out free hot cocoa and Cliff had the wherewithal to bring a flask of Carribbean rum which made the drink of the day, "Happy hot cocoa." (Ah, yeah!)

C & T have been living in Australia for the last 2 years so we had some catching up to do. I spent a few hours with them before I brought up the braces and they said that they hadn't even noticed them at all. I'm beginning to finally believe that they're not as horrible looking as I think.

I watched a documentary last night called Enlighten Up!

which was about trying to prove the transformative power of yoga. It was a bit petulant and the thesis was a bit lost, but I liked seeing how the "subject" Nick Rosen was open to learning about different types of yoga and never became cynical about it. His questions were always good, respectful and guileless.

I was particularly moved by his conversation with Gurusharananda, head of the Karshini Ashram in India, who gives wisdom, insight, inspiration and blessings to those who seek him. What I liked about him, was his kindness. It emanated off of him, and he explained that the highest form of enlightenment is to simply be the truest expression of oneself. This sounds overly simplistic, but I don't think I really understood this until I heard it from his lips, because he was being so obviously himself. There was no artifice, no razzle dazzle. Just pure joy and kindness.

I think I needed to see this, and realize once and for all, that external judgement really doesn't matter when one is being truly oneself. It doesn't penetrate the solidity of what is within. It simply can't. The truest expression of me wants to laugh and dance and be sassy and live out loud, the way I was before the braces...and the breakup.

In the film, they touched upon laughter yoga which I had heard about before. It's a bit silly and makes one feel dumb initally, but after a few minutes, it becomes genuine, and who cares how you look when you feel so good after bringing joyful energy into your body so viscerally?

For whatever reason, this is appealing to me with the new year soon upon us. My father made a plaque that read "Today is the first day of the rest of your life," which hung in my parents bedroom when I was young. Starting all of my todays off with a belly laugh would have made him very proud.

Yumminess

The way to a Bionic Grin's heart is through her stomach.

Yesterday, I went to my local smoothie/juice man to get some liquid breakfast. I told him about the braces and the fact that they're on for 2 years and he said, "man, that's intense," after seeing what these metal marvels look like. He gave me my very expensive juice for free, and kissed me on both cheeks to wish me a happy holidays.

For lunch I met my friend Francoise for lunch at a bustling Chinese joint, where I had a big bowl of broth and not much else. Frannie asked if she could have my fortune cookie, and I said, sure, if I could have the fortune. No joke, this is what it said: "Good timber does not grow with ease--the stronger the wind, the stronger the trees." That's one smart cookie.

I went to my brother's house for dinner, as I do most Friday nights. My sister-in-law is a phenomenal chef and I always look forward sitting at her lovely table, and eating her wonderful creations. So last night, imagine my gratitude when she made mashed potatoes, a very soft (and delicious) salmon, and a banana bread pudding with chocolate sorbet, all of which was divine, soft, and didn't really need chewing. All delicious and made me feel utterly loved.

This is to say, my friends and family are absolutely yummy. (And a special shout out to Cory--and Mick!--who got me a copy of Kafka's "Metamorphosis and Other Stories" for the holidays! Thank you, thank you!)

This Too Shall Pass

My mother likes to say, "This too shall pass," quoting that old parable about King Solomon. My father was a big fan of the Shelley poem, Ozymandias which utterly illustrates the concept of "this too shall pass."

I can't chew. My teeth hurt. My inner lip is torn up from the bottom bracket metal. I have more wax slathered on the braces than you'll find at Madame Tussaud's. In fact, I swallowed quite a bit of it. (Yuck!)

I'm a little miserable.

I have to go to the orthodontist AGAIN tomorrow (this would make 3 times this week) so that they can fix the broken bracket (yes, it came off again) which started all this trouble in the first place.

Each month I receive a newsletter from Awakening Artistry from Tama J. Kieves, and this was so apropos in her letter:

Your pain is your relentless guru. How do you gain instruction from the sting? How do you resist the urge to curse it, deny it, or lie down in a ball for a thousand years? How do you love yourself? How do you forgive yourself? How do you sit down right now and trust the perfection of where you are? This is the juncture of your freedom. This life is not about just sweeping the kitchen one more time, or sending in a resume. It's about feeding the wild blue bird in your heart on berries not of this world. It's about feeding the wild blue bird so that it flies free no matter what.

I do not wish you pain or suffering. But I know that pain will cause you to seek freedom and freedom will teach you who you are and why you're here. You are the light of the world, and you have love, talent, and healing to offer us. Because of the sand, the oyster yields the pearl. Peacocks grow their signature colorful feathers by eating thorns. "What is to give light, must endure burning," wrote Viktor Frankl, who taught about how he found liberation, through mental focus, in the harshest hours of living in a concentration camp. And Buddhist nun Pema Chodron says, "Only to the extent that we expose ourselves over and over to annihilation can that which is indestructible be found in us." You are the light of the world. And it's pain that reminds you, like a ferocious drill sergeant, to abandon your useless definitions of security, and penetrate the limitless grace within you.

We may not have easy lives at this time. But it's not because we're failing, falling, or inadequate. It's because our souls demand healing more than coping, soaring more than just reaching cruising altitude.

Yeah, what she said!

Remembering

It is the fifth anniversary of my father's death. He died on the 5th night of Chanukah or the 12th of December and I am remembering him.

If you knew him, you'll recall that he was always ready with a joke. When I started dating, his first order of business was to ask, "Has he read Kafka? He has to have read Kafka." Which is hilarious, considering the fact that I've never read Kafka. When I pointed this out to my father, in mock fury he would exclaim, "What!? Not read Kafka? And you're my daughter?? Child of an English major??" And we would laugh.

In seriousness, after the Kafka, he always told me to look for a man who was compassionate, because this, above all attributes was most prized. Gandhi says, "Be the change you wish to see in the world," and I have not been compassionate with myself at all, lately, so why do I expect compassion back? And I certainly haven't read Kafka, so with that double bind, tough luck finding a suitor who would have made my father proud.

Maybe it's time to take Metamorphosis out of the library...(or just use Google Books!)

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

It started out so well.

Last night, I joined two co-workers to take a tour of Dyker Heights and see the craziest display of Christmas lights this side of the Mason-Dixon. We started the night eating luscious cakes at the Little Cupcake Bakeshop (I had a huge slice of the Dreaming Princess cake--almond cake with raspberry filling and meringue icing. Oh yes.) and ended it eating squares at L&B Spumoni Gardens. I ordered an eggplant parm hero and took it home to savor. Brava, Parmigiana! Brava!

I think I might have known what was coming.

I had popped a bracket off on Saturday and things felt downright lopsided, so instead of getting my tightening on Friday, I went today so see if I could get the bracket fixed. Not only did he fix the bracket, but he also put new metal brackets on my lower teeth. The fact that my orthodontist was in a bad mood didn't inspire confidence, and neither did his somewhat inept assistant who was putting in the wire. (Case in point--I will have to go back tomorrow to have them cut down the wire because it's impaling my cheek and I just can't take it.)

Upside:

1. If I thought my braces were ugly before, boy, they're downright gorgeous compared to the metal on the bottoms. I'm actually smiling more easily because of that. It reminds me of that old Jewish folk tale about the couple that complains of too much noise in their home, and the Rabbi's shrewd advice for making it quieter. (Click the link for the story.)

2. It's easier to close my mouth, and that Cro-Magnon look is gone, so there is more balance.

And that's about it for the upside.

My teeth hurt. I can't chew. I'm back to only 2 points of contact in my mouth, and those two points hurt. It was our department holiday party tonight and of course, I was in charge of the food. I made a great spread--and could eat none of it. I came home hungry and ate Tom Yum broth from the Thai place around the corner. I am still hungry.

I do realize that this will pass, as it did with my upper teeth. But I feel once again held in and held back, as though these brackets are holding in my soul and my sensuality and my hunger in every sense of the word. I know that when one is faced with this much resistance, the answer is to surrender to it. But how do I surrender?

I read this today:

At each point in our lives, we are at a crossroads. We are the fruit of our past and we are the architects of our future. When we ask, “Why did this happen to me?” it is because of our limited view. If we throw a stone up in the air and forget about it, when it falls down on our heads, we shouldn’t complain, although we usually do. We have this notion that what happens to us is somehow independent of our own actions. We can ask, why did this happen? but the more important question is, what we are going to do about it?

If you want to know your past, look at your present circumstances. If you want to know your future, look at what is in your mind. If we know that our fate is in our hands, then the quality of our actions becomes a central issue. The whole point of karma is to recognize how our actions determine our future, so that we can begin to act properly. It’s not just a cosmological or philosophical matter. It’s entirely practical. The main point is not to get in trouble again.

-Matthieu Ricard, "Karma Crossroads," from the Fall 2006 Tricycle

Maybe there is a reason why it is my mouth that is being affected this way, that I need to simply keep it closed and listen, rather than speak. Maybe there is something to be learned in the silence, and something to be learned in observing. Maybe I need to be even more aware of what I eat, and therefore choose it very wisely, and to savor it. Or maybe it's simply time to be generous in my compassion for myself.

I swear, when this is all done, I'm going back to L&B, getting a tray of sicilian with a side of pretty much everything on the menu--stuffed shells, rice balls, fried zucchini, you name it. Who's with me?

Two Party System

I thought I had posted this on Saturday night, but alas, I did not, so better late than never. This is what I wrote then:

It's been an exhausting week. After the 4:30am start to my day work day on Thursday and more attempts at tidying things after the corporate shakeup earlier this week, I was simply worn out by the time the weekend arrived. I lazed in bed. I stayed close to home. I laundered blankets, and stayed close to the heat. I was invited to two parties tonight, but I was so tired, I was just going to fall asleep on the couch while watching March of the Penguins and call it a night.

But then my friend TJ called and said he was a few blocks away and he'd pick me up before going to party #1. This was the motivation I needed. I popped off the couch, tossed on some clothes and off we went into the cool night air.

I made a conscious decision not to be self conscious. I think I've been hyper-aware of meeting new people and the new possibilities that meeting them might carry. But for the first time in months I took the pressure off me and decided to just be myself. When a friend asked "What's new?" and I pointed out the braces he exclaimed"Cute!" without batting an eyelash. As I took the pressure off myself, I realized that I was having a really good time. I never made it to party #2.

I also ate all the cod balls and the Olive Oil Rosemary Cake (which is really a quick bread, but who's arguing?) Click the link for the recipe--it's from the Babbo Cookbook by Mario Batali. Leave it to Will and Kat for utter scrumptiousness!

Bewildered

It has been a truly bewildering day.

Corporate shakeup at my office at 11:30 am, which left everyone was so shocked, you could hear a pin drop for the rest of the day. (I still am employed.) Major meeting at 2:30 pm with 50 co-workers where I got a round of applause from the whole room for the work that I've done in the past year. It was a surreal opposite-of-The Office kind of moment. I honestly felt like I had won an Oscar or something.

I have written before about the concept of being seen, and I am not one to toot my horn or belt out "Rose's Turn." (I tried to embed the video but couldn't, so click the link.) And with braces, I am even more inclined to simply keep my head down for fear of someone forming an opinion--whatever that may be--only by what they can see.

Well, maybe it's time to pull the curtain up, light the lights and be unafraid of that opinion. Because it's becoming abundantly clear that I underestimate what can be seen of me not only by the eyes but the ears and hands and heart. And if I underestimate it, I reject myself before anyone else can. It's a neat and tidy strategy. Safe, but awfully lonely.

Marianne Williamson said, "Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, "Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?" Actually, who are you not to be?...Your playing small does not serve the world...As we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we're liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

Bionic Grin's gotta let go.

Here she is boys! Here she is world! My name is Bionic Grin! What's yours?

Jittery as a Junebug

It's an ungodly 6:30am on Sunday morning and I've been summoned by the siren's call to actually get out of bed and take to my computer. I don't know if it's because I ate so very much at a lovely dinner party last night--all of it braces friendly!--or because I've got too much on my mind, but to rid myself of the feeling, I figured I'd write it out.

I've been feeling jittery as a junebug. Conflicted. My boyfriend and I broke up just before I got the braces on and it has been difficult to separate out the emotions of the two. I've been in a prolonged state of purgatory, wondering when I'll both feel comfortable with the breakup and comfortable with the braces.

My friend asked me last night to let her know when I am ready to date again and it's a question that's left me full of questions. I want to be ready. I'm even thinking about it, which is a step further than I was even a month ago. As my teeth are getting straighter, I'm getting more and more used to the idea of dating with braces but there is something that is still holding me back, some interior wire attached to an interior bracket that says, "not just yet."

There is inevitably rejection involved in the dating game, and I understand that this is not personal, but with the extra layer of braces icing on top of the whole situation, I'm afraid that it will all get muddled in my head and I won't be able to separate out rejection to due lack of chemistry from rejection due to braces. And because I'm so sensitive lately, I don't feel strong enough to handle the latter, since I'm already rejecting myself day by day because of them. How can I possibly expect anyone else to treat me differently than I treat myself?

I can predict that this will change and shift as my teeth change and shift, thanks to the inescapable, seemingly innocuous atmospheric and seasonal forces that govern us all. The process with my teeth seems slow, but it is visible and surprisingly swift when taking into account the nature of the change. (We're moving mouth mountains here, people!) My friend in California told me not to rush the process, and she was right to say so. I'm not sure if she was talking about the braces, or the breakup, but either way it was wise advice. I've always been an outcome oriented sort, but the braces are teaching me to take things day by day, if not minute by minute. And this is a shift of its own in consciousness, so of course it's going to make me feel headachey, heartachey and restless (quite literally this morning) until it all settles and can, like a debutante at a coming out cotillion proudly present itself. (Accompanied by a fresh-faced escort, no less!)

Proud Teeth

"...see how the flesh grows back

across a wound, with great vehemence

more strong than the simple untested surface before.

There's a name for it on horses,

when it comes back darker and raised: proud flesh,

as all flesh

is proud of its wounds, wears them

as honors given out after battle,

small triumphs pinned to the chest--"

--Jane Hirshfield, from For What Binds Us

I find myself imagining that my teeth are truly at battle sometimes, as they are covered in metal armor, offering protection to dentin, enamel, and precious roots inside. Or sometimes I imagine my teeth as young soldiers on the front lines, tightly grabbing their bayonets with wide-open, frightened stares, not knowing what to do exactly. (And certainly not knowing which way to go.) If you replace the word flesh for teeth in this poem, there is something noble in the undertaking of any long term venture like traveling the world, or falling in love where you will ache, you will bleed, and yes, even as I wince writing the word, you can suffer, but you will also find hold your back straighter with your knowing proud flesh and its quiet dignity being given the gift of endurance.

Thanks!

Ok, let's put things in perspective on this Thanksgiving Eve.

I am thankful I have teeth

I am thankful to be cooking with my mom the night before the Big Bird Day

I am thankful, quite simply, for my mom

I am thankful for Penzey's spices

I am thankful for anything made with pumpkin

I am thankful for the smell of ginger on my fingers

I am quite sure there will be more that I'm thankful for tomorrow, but that about covers it for the moment. Enjoy your holiday y'all!

Foolish Phoenixes

I had a friend tell me once that I would be better off if I allowed myself get vulnerable enough to appear foolish more often. I thought this was kind of funny, because I think I appear foolish more often than not. Shoot, you're talking to a woman who fell down a flight of steps at the Louvre (though truth be told the Parisians couldn't have given a rat's derriere), danced table-top on her 21st birthday at a roadside bar, and oh yeah, got braces at age 36 while still contemplating dating.

What's more vulnerable than hearkening back to the time in your life when you felt the most insecure? I feel like I have teenager stamped all over me with these braces, and yet I willingly put myself in that position. It wasn't some decree from a parent. It was all my own doing, thank you very much. I think I was prepared for the physicality of it, but not necessarily the emotional bit that has accompanied it. I thought I had reached that point in my life where I recognized that insecurity wasn't really serving me too well, and I had happily left it by the wayside. (Well, relatively speaking.)

But I suppose that life has a funny way of bringing light to the very thing you're so desperately trying to hide. "That which we resist, persists," says Debbie Ford. I think I've been trying to avoid this very situation my whole life, grateful that I've hung on by my fingernails to the edge of the inner sanctum of Edo. Now, I'm so...well, seen. I've always had a ready smile for both strangers and those I love dearly. Now I think twice before flashing it.

Maybe there's some truth to the fact that I do a pretty good job of trying to appear impassive and impermeable. I went to a career coach who said upon meeting me, "You're very powerful." I laughed. Out loud. (Can you guys imagine? Hardly the first adjective that comes to mind when describing me!) I incredulously asked him to explain the comment and never really got a satisfactory answer.

I'm listening to Joni Mitchell's "Down To You" as I write this:

Everything comes and goes

marked by lovers and styles of clothes

Things that you held high and told yourself were true

Lost or changing as the days come down to you

I get it, Joni. I get it. And I wouldn't mind a little court and spark, either.

Charles DuBois said, "The important thing is this: to be able at any moment to sacrifice what we are, for who we can become." So I took my moment, and I continue to continue to take my moment. The phoenix has to build a nest before it sets itself on fire, becomes ash and rises again. It's a process that is long, involved, painful and ultimately redemptive. And of course, phoenixes have gorgeous, shiny teeth, don't they? ;)

Ow!

I have reached the end of my first trimester with the braces. One quarter of a year. 90 days. I must admit, there is something triumphant about this, because honestly, despite the fact that it is ever present in my mind, these past three months have gone rather quickly. It makes me wince to think that I put this off for four years only to find how relatively painless this process has been.

Well, that is until now.

I went to the orthodontist's for my third tightening. In the past, this has been nothing to write home about--a process of changing the rubber bands, adding new ones, and feeling a slight squeezing sensation upon immediately leaving the office, soon to be forgotten. But on Friday, the orthodontist was so pleased with my progress (yay!) that he said he was going to put on a tighter wire. Cavalier, I said, "Bring it on! The tightenings never hurt! I like it when it's tight! I can feel it working, and anything that makes this go faster is most welcome!" I think I even unsheathed my imaginary sword, got all swashbuckling and sliced a "Z" in the air a-la-Zorro.

He put on the wire, and struggled to get the bands on, because it was so tight. This was a whole new ballgame. The teeth REALLY hurt for the first time since I started this whole rigmarole. Suddenly, my inner Zorro wasn't quite so brave, after being bested.

And yet. Despite the pain, there is some bizarre masochistic thrill from actually feeling the teeth move. There was a noticeable difference in my teeth from Friday morning to Friday night, and in this first trimester, one-quarter year, 90 days I can see how much has changed. That is nothing short of miraculous. If all that can happen in three months, I can only imagine what happens in six, or at the end of the year. (Pray with me now, y'all, that this whole process can be finished by then!) My inner Don(a?) Diego Vega will continue to flash this metal grin, so no one will guess that, at the very end, Zorro and I are one in the same, as we tame unruly teeth and flash that brilliant, Hollywood smile while riding off into the sunset! (And instead of being known as Zorro the Fox as is traditional, I'll happily settle for Zorro the Foxy!)

Biting Teeth

"Trying to define yourself is like trying to bite your own teeth," said Alan Watts.

I have been thinking a lot about identity within the context of my teeth. Who is this person who now looks back at me in the mirror? Trying to keep my upper lip over my teeth to close my mouth makes me look severe, like a pissed off school teacher or a mother who simply-won't-take-that-behavior-for-one-more-minute. I don't like it. This is not who I am.

I can see with my own two eyes that my teeth are indeed moving and changing--my chin and cheekbones are straighter--even my profile looks more aligned. I find that I even want to square my shoulders and my hips as I stand and balance myself on swift moving subway cars. I've upped the intensity of my yoga classes, as though the rest of me must keep up with the strong commitment that my teeth have undertaken.

They say that each tooth is energetically connected to the meridians and organs in the body. (Just ask any acupuncturist.) Here, have a look:

http://www.ravecoholistic.com/toothchart.html

Or try this one--I like how interactive it is--just click on any tooth!:

http://www.secretofthieves.com/tooth-chart/tooth-meridian-25.cfm

Funny, if I look at my missing teeth--the molars--and the ones that have moved the most so far--my two upper front teeth--it's remarkably accurate. So we can blame all of my *ahem* more human moods and emotions on the movement of my teeth, right?

I suppose that all this should be a comforting fact, that even after a mere three months the braces have had a tremendous effect, not only on my teeth, but on my whole being. But instead it just makes me realize how much more there is to go, and that gets a little disheartening.

I can think about it this way: It appears that my molars and bicuspids are into bondage lately. I realize it's only a two year phase they're going through and I hope they're getting a cheap thrill by it, because I haven't had one...yet.

Simple Pleasures

Here's what was absolutely grinworthy this weekend:

1. The fact that the rain frightened the soccer players, the joggers and strolling families away and I had Prospect Park almost entirely to myself on Saturday morning. I just opened up my lungs and digested the bright green smell of the trees, the newly seeded grass, and the steamy earthiness of the Fallkill and Amberkill waterfalls. So delightful to simply wander and feel my feet squish under the muddy ground.

2. My niece and nephew are the most precious things on the planet. They were both braiding my hair on Friday night--each on either side of my head. Feeling their tiny fingers in my hair was so surprisingly relaxing, I almost caught myself purring. I melted when my four-year-old nephew asked "Am I hurting you?" When I told him no, he replied, "Good, because I love you." Bionic grin to the nth degree!

3. I have not had one cupcake since Friday, and quite frankly, I'm feeling really good. In fact, I'm sitting here with a cup of Chocolate Raspberry Bliss Tea which I purchased at the Celestial Seasonings factory in Boulder, Colorado (one of my favorite cities in the world.) Sweetened with maple syrup, it's much more satisfying (and cost effective!) than the trendy cupcakes I've been seduced by, for the last few months.

4. Jehangir Mehta is still in the running to be the Next Iron Chef. I'll tell you from personal experience that he is one of the sweetest people I've met. I went to his restaurant, Graffiti, in the East Village a few months ago, and it was truly a wonderful meal. It's a tiny jewel box of a place, and what made it so lovely is that my dining companion and I struck up a conversation with Jehangir (as he served every course to us himself) and we discussed everything from wine to Martha Stewart to cookbook publishing. At that time, he told us that he was flying to California shortly to discuss a new show with the Food Network. Now I know that it was The Next Iron Chef. He embodied noble refinement and I left his restaurant delighted and charmed. (Particularly by the Seaweed Duck Roll with Onion Confit and the Tomato Tamarind Vegetable Buns with Fennel Relish and the Chickpea Encrusted Skate.) I just hope that it's still possible to get in there after the show! (And hopefully after he wins!)

Everybody Has a Hungry Heart

Remember those 10 pounds that I lost when I first got the braces? Well, let's just say, I found them.

I was feeling a bit sorry for myself that I couldn't have the foods that I used to eat, and so I have been loitering in what I am now calling a "cupcake depression." That means I have eaten cupcakes every day for about 2 months. (It's a great way to find pounds that you've lost. They come a-runnin' right back home!) I find myself craving cake, soft breads, anything that is literally providing a form of cushioning, a soft place for me to bump up against, whether that means me, or my interior self.

What seemed like a good idea at the time is now, quite literally making me go soft. I'm getting fleshy and round. I used to be so smart and so sharp, but I feel like I'm dulled around the edges. I know I should simply stop eating the cupcakes--problem solved!--but I cannot stop.

Today, I finally asked my stomach "Are you truly hungry for a cupcake?" and the interior answer was a resounding "NO!" Believe it or not, this surprised me. I asked myself, again, "Really you're not hungry?" I realized I've been trying to feed something in me--a definitive hunger--but apparently not for sugar or treats or soft, easily chewed food.

I started to take stock of my body to see what was really hungry and I finally saw the places that were compensating for the braces. It appears that I'm growing teeth in all the areas within me that are hungry. My feet for example, have a full set of incisors, canines and molars. They are starving to move, to feel grass, sand and dirt underneath them. They'd even settle for a good uninterrupted stretch of concrete. They are just so tired of being still, obediently arranged side by side under my office desk when they want to move! They want to dance! They want to jump like pogo sticks and downward dog. That dog wants a bone to gnaw upon so very badly.

I realized that my heart is growing teeth too. The heart is so close to the stomach that when hunger is concerned it's so easy to get them confused. I think this is why so many who are lonely are comforted by moon pies and ice cream. We think our bellies are grumbly for food, so it makes sense to up the food intake. But after I ate a full farmer's breakfast with eggs and potatoes, basmati rice and saag paneer, a veritable ton of girl scout cookies, a dinner of spaghetti squash with roasted pine nuts and home made cranberry cake (2 slices!), I realized I was full to the gills and with not a stitch of room and I still wanted to keep eating.

It was then that I knew that teeth are popping out all over my body, rising to the surface of my limbs, my organs, trying to sink themselves in, anywhere, because the ones in my mouth cannot do it. They don't want to go soft. They want to sharpen themselves, and crunch and chew, take in experience, break it all down, and digest it, making it wholly a part of me. Perhaps this is the way I have to feed myself now, but it's so new and so strange. I am like an adolescent going through puberty, amazed, embarrassed by all the changes my body is going through. Maybe, if I just allow these new teeth--in my feet, my heart, my lungs--to tell me what they want to eat, I can finally be sated.

This reminds me of The Waking by Theodore Rothke. This passage in particular:

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know

What falls away is always. And is near

I wake to sleep and take my waking slow.

I learn by going where I have to go.

Grinworthy weekend

Please forgive the lag in posts--my computer is wonky and I'm going to have to go down to the Genius Bar at the Apple store and figure out just what in the heck in wrong with it. The entire display--from the icons on my desktop to my webpages are all oversized and distorted. Has this ever happened to any of you? If so, what is to be done? I feel like I have some sort of eye disease--fish-eye-itis, where everthing is all big and googly and off kilter. Hmmm. Maybe my eyes are just matching my teeth and everything is getting distorted before it kind find its balance once again.

Just got back from Texas, and had a great time taking photos. This was one of my favorites and really feels like it captures the heart of Texas:I took this while I was on a boat ride on the San Antonio River. (As a matter of fact, the boat driver was a lovely woman who had braces just like mine!) I was just so charmed because this embodied San Antonio--friendly cowboys who greet you by saying "how y'all doing?" with ready smiles and all the time in the world. It was downright refreshing, and utterly grinworthy!

Hair and Hot Lava

This was the note from the universe that arrived in my mailbox today:

Any attempt to measure one's progress in life with an assessment of their present physical surroundings or even a panoramic glance at their life and times to date is just plain "whacked." The reason being is that each journey, kind of like a haircut, should never be fully appraised until it's complete. Otherwise, one might mistake a miracle-in-the-making for a setback, loss or "the wet look."

Oh how much sense this makes. A few posts back, I mentioned that my hair, recently cut, was utterly badass and Joan-Jett-ish. Now, it has grown in and though still nice, it's rapidly approaching a flattened version of "The Rachel" (as in from Friends) that was so popular in the mid-90s. Any interpretations of what that might mean, feel free to offer. But be kind.

As a New Yorker, I think I'm utterly amazed by how things happen incrementally. I am used to a quick pace, and perhaps I am more comfortable with a quick pace. That way, I can mash more into my day: meet more friends, have more conversation, more subway rides, accomplish more, see more, do more and plainly, have more stimulus. I'm not necessarily saying that his this best, I'm just saying I'm used to it.

So when I have to adhere to the natural laws, tap into the substance that turns a caterpillar into a butterfly, that makes a seed ever so slowly snake up through the soil and bloom, I am a bit confounded. I imagine that this substance boils hot as lava, but in such a tiny space, it cannot be seen or felt by us humans. The luxury of time, the need for patience is something so new, so radical (or so ancient and so radical) that I am not sure how to respond. I think like all people, we initally poke at it, push it away, shatter the mirror and say "this couldn't possibly be a reflection of me."

And yet, maybe that's what this process is all about. We put things in our path that teach us the lessons we need to learn. One of my favorite Buddhist maxims is "when the student is ready, the teacher will apear." Maybe I need this experience of getting back in touch with that cosmic goo that makes things grow, improve, and find their rightful place--dare I say destiny. And if that means slowing down in order to feel its heat, then so be it.

I have a feeling that all love affairs start with this same hot cosmic goo, too. Hmm...

Habit Forming

It has happened. I think I'm actually used to these things.

They say it takes six weeks to form a habit, so you can call me a late bloomer at 10. My teeth have shifted to a place where I can actually eat real food, and I have been doing so with relish. So much for the 10 pounds I lost when the braces were first put on! My second adjustment appointment came and went, and it just makes me love my orthodontist all the more. He said that he'll put on a stronger wire next time, which makes me wring my hands with glee. Yes! Bring on that tight wire! Makes this process over in one year! I will be invincible, join the circus and be one of those circus acrobats who twirl above the crowd attached by her teeth to a filament affixed to the Big Top. Kinda like this:

Can you imagine crossing Times Square like that in 1932? Faster than the subway!

Tooth Power, 2006

They (the man!) won't let me me embed this image, but in the theme of power through teeth, and the ability to transform the collective as one transforms, I thought you'd enjoy seeing this photo:

Aperture Foundation | Black Power, 2006 - Default Store View

Not exactly what I want my teeth to look like at the end of this journey, but man, the cojones on the person who did this! Respect!

All Together Now

I read this today:

"The more you can come to see everyone as yourself, the more you will be able to use everything around you to learn about who you are, and the more you will be able to transform yourself and be an occasion for everyone else's transformation. We are all sentient beings, and we are all capable of experiencing one another's salvation."

–Michael Wenger, from “Competing with the incomparable,” Tricycle

So in other words, all y'all need braces! Transform yourselves along with me! Salvation can be achieved through the teeth!

Et tu, Ugly Betty?

It was inevitable, I suppose. When ratings go south, pretty up some broads. Blow out the hair. Get a push up bra. Add some blush and gloss. And for God's sake get rid of those braces.

So yes, it's happening. Ugly Betty is getting her braces off. The Wall Street Journal says so. I can't help but feeling a little betrayed. Betty made braces part of the cultural lexicon, representing us diamonds in the rough. Those of us still in the cocoon. And I'm not ready for her to come out yet! I need some sisterhood here!

The powers that be still can't decide if the braces will be entirely off: the article tells of a rather cruel plot line where Betty finally gets them removed and two steps outside of the orthodontist's office, she trips and hits her teeth, requiring them to be put back on ASAP. (Am I evil because I'm secretly rooting for this?)

Click here for the pic. The corporate giant that is ABC won't let me embed it:

http://abc.go.com/shows/ugly-betty/photos/309274/309323

What's funny is that the prettified version of UB kinda looks like me now! Whaddya think?

Dancing in the Streets

This was so grinworthy that it made me cry. In the most beautiful way.

This was such a delightful reminder that our day to day troubles are small. The world is so big and lovely, and so easily, joyfully accessible. Thanks, Matt. I needed that.

Coffee Talk

This is how I feel today:

I do love Cafe Grumpy, and usually this little bean logo never fails to make me smirk, (and the decaf cappuccinos are like buttah, as Linda Richmond would say...) but man, I can't take any more shrimps on the barbie. I swear. Nothing at all is going right, so just stop the world, I want to get off.

I am trying to inhabit this:

Our lives, like the ocean, constantly change, and we will naturally face great storms and dreary lulls...An ocean swimmer is loose and flows with the current and moves through the tide. When tossed upside-down in the surf, unable to discern which way is up and which is down, the natural swimmer just lets go, breathing out, and follows the bubbles to the surface.

–Sensei Pat Enkyo O'Hara, from “Like a Dragon in Water,” Tricycle

I am making a great effort to be like swimmer, but honestly, I'm just getting farklepmt in the process. So, talk amongst yourselves. I'll give you a topic. (The chick pea is neither chick, nor pea. Discuss.)

At least I've got it better than this little bean. Forget braces--it looks like he has no teeth at all!

Ch-ch-ch-changes

I swear, it's always something new with these teeth. They actually hurt today, and I don't understand why. People keep telling me that they see a difference--my teeth look straighter, my chin looks straighter, my whole face looks thinner. I would like to believe these observations, but I can't yet see it myself. I do know that things are moving. I can feel it, but I can't quite chart it yet. I'm Lewis and Clarking all over myself, but haven't yet found my Sacajawea who can help me make sense of it all.

Since I can't show you anything too different about my chompers, I figured that there's nothing more fun than making fun of a celebrity. So here goes:

http://allieiswired.com/archives/2009/06/celebrities-who-fixed-their-teeth/

Some of these examples are not that big a deal. But man! Catherine Zeta Jones! Celine Dion! Nicolas Cage! Elliott Yamin! (Looks like he fixed more than just his teeth!) Such drastic changes. It gives new meaning to "self improvement." More like reinvention. I always suspected that some actors have trouble with their centers of identity and that's why they need to inhabit characters--because they cannot firmly root themselves in who they are. (I've noticed this same curiosity about therapists and psychologists.) I went on a date with an actor once and asked him about this idea. He got insulted and took it very personally when I brought this up, when really I just wanted his opinion. The tenor of our date changed dramatically and I knew that it was going to be our first and last outing. So imagine my surprise when he gave me one hell of a kiss as we parted--and then not so surprisingly never called again.

I think perhaps that was his way of answering my question.

National Noodle Day

My friend Jen gave me a great honor. She told me that she used my blog last week in her classroom at Brooklyn College. This is from an email she wrote me today, when I asked her to explain:

Your blog/my class: A couple of weeks ago the memoirs my classes read were an excerpt from "Autobiography of a Face" by Lucy Grealy and "My Face" by Robert Benchley. I gave them a writing exercise to write their own autobiography of a body part, and since both pieces we read were face-based, I wanted to give them some other examples.(And, since Grealy's memoir is pretty heavy, some lighter examples. Plus, teeth are not necessarily the first thing you might thing of, so it gave them other ideas to consider.) Your blog was the perfect thing to bring up--you're writing an autobiography of your teeth, and you use your teeth to examine all kinds of other topics, ideas, and identities.

I had no idea my blog was so intellectually potent. Imagine these people in the same sentence, Lucy Greely, Robert Benchley and me. Since Jen is now my unofficial writing coach, maybe this is a sign that my novel will actually get written.

You may not know it, but today is the most auspicious National Noodle Day. I am charmed by this for a few reasons:

1) An old boyfriend used to call me Noodle as a term of endearment, and I did love this. It encompassed so much--my love of food, our many trips to Chinatown, and how I was so cozy that I was as relaxed as a noodle.

2) Noodles are actually a food I can eat with these braces, not "al dente" of course, which literally translated means "to the tooth." No, these "tooths" cannot take the Italian treatment, even if they were bathed lovingly in gorgeous olive oil and roasted garlic. Even if.

3) The fact that noodles and pasta are not the same thing. Vermicelli is pasta. Fettucini is pasta. Bow ties and ziti are noodles. Ramen are noodles. Spaghetti is the bridge between pasta and noodles. You can use your noodle. You can't use your pasta. Mac and cheese is always a noodle dish, even if, as on Ina Garten's The Barefoot Contessa show the other day, she made it with truffled sherried mushrooms. (Oh man, I would so pop a bracket for that!)

4) This quote: "A little more of the possible was every instant made real; the present stood still and drew into itself the future, as a man might suck forever at an unending piece of macaroni." --Aldous Huxley

In honor of National Noodle Day, I would like to share one of my treasured noodle dishes. Two years ago I made Tuna Bolognese for my dear friends on New Year's eve. It was one of the my most magical New Year's and I think that's why this tasted so good. The recipe is based on one from Dave Pasternack's The Young Man & The Sea (A beautiful book, I might add.) This is my version of the recipe, rather altered, but I was happy to have his lovely book as a guide.

Ingredients:
One large can of Italian tuna
A good drizzle of olive oil.
1 onion, diced 4 cloves garlic, crushed
One bottle of red wine (oh, yes!)
1 bay leaf
A few dashes of good cinnamon
1 tsp. red pepper flakes
1 28-oz can of whole peeled tomatoes and their juice
Sea Salt
Black pepper
1 pound pasta (He likes rigatoni, I did spaghetti. If you're going to celebrate Noodle Day, use the spaghetti or noodle of your choice as specified above. Wagon wheels are noodles according to my unscientific classification, and that might go nicely too.)

Heat the oil over medium flame. Add onion and garlic and cook until translucent, 3-4 minutes. Add the tuna and cook stirring with a fork until all juices are dry, about 7-10 minutes. Add the whole bottle of wine (except for the bits that you've already sipped), bay leaf, red pepper, cinnamon and cook until dry, about 15 minutes. Add tomatoes, crushing them by hand, their juice, and 1/2 cup water. Season with 1 tsp salt and 1/2 tsp pepper. Simmer uncovered for 1 1/2 hours. (I did it for longer, much longer--about 4.) The sauce should be moist, but not wet.

Discard the bay leaf. Cook the pasta and divide it into serving bowls. Top with sauce and dollop with marscapone. As a variation, you can use goat cheese, and add some parmesan, which I did and both were luscious. This sauce was even better the next day if you let it sit.

Pair with good wine, good friends, and New Year's fireworks!

Eat Mangoes Naked

I picked up Eat Mangoes Naked, because really, who can resist a title like that? There's this great part where the author says that she'd like to write a letter to the concept of change, and that it would go something like this:

Dear Change,

I've previously been very afraid of you. You weren't welcome in my home, and I spoke badly about you behind your back. I resisted you, avoided you and made fun of you. I want to change our relationship. I want to learn to cultivate and respect you, dance with you and take you out to dinner. Let's travel together! Will you be my everlasting friend?

Love,

Susan

I like this, even if I'm not exactly living it yet.

But I do a have a mango in the fridge...

Ah, James Brown

James Brown said, "Hair is the first thing. And teeth the second. Hair and teeth. A man got those two things, he's got it all."

Thanks to Ali and my three hours (!) last night at Astor Place, I've got good hair. I've been told I look very Joan Jett. No complaints there! (Ali knows my not-so-secret joy in looking like a badass.)

And the teeth--well, that's getting there. We're at 7 weeks now. I think about all the things that get accomplished in 7 weeks. They say it takes 6 to form a habit, so I should be used to these suckers by now. Tree shrews apparently have a 7 week gestation period. And according to Joan Matthews Larson, it only takes 7 weeks to get sober. Wrigley Field was built in 7 weeks (in 1914!) and the Yiddish musical comedy classic "Yidl Mitn Fidl" ("Yiddle With a Fiddle") starring Molly Picon was made in 7 weeks in 1935.

So James, if a man's got it all with hair and teeth, what's a woman got with hair and braces?

Making the Bionic Grin

So this is what is grinworthy on this dark and rainy day:

I think a little pink is in order, and it goes so well with gray, don't you think?

I do believe I shall try to have a pink day. Pink clothes, pink salmon for brunch and perhaps a blush wine for later on. Let me know how you'll be pink today!

Get Funky

So, I've been in a bit of a funk.

The Jewish New Year just passed and normally I find this to be an inspiring holiday. We truly get the sense of a fresh start. We wear new clothes and eat apples dipped in honey so that our mouths taste only sweetness, so that sweetness will feed the cells in our bodies and permeate our being. For this coming year, we will share sweetness with all we meet and allow it to infuse all that we do. This is a ritual that I prize at this time of year, when school is starting, and the energy of change, the energy of becoming is palpably present. You can see it as the leaves color and hue, how they blaze into beauty, and find their moment of fullest potential. I love the autumn for this very reason.

But this year, I did not feel that energy. I felt still. And this is not necessarily a bad thing, because stillness is not the same as stagnation. But stillness in NYC is a difficult state. If we indeed need to "go with the flow" being still gums up the works. Stillness stops traffic on the street. It ignores the rules of the land.

And yet, as uncomfortable as I am being still, I know I cannot be any other way right now. This is not a quick process that I am engaged in. Teeth are not text messages or microwave dinners. They adhere to the natural law, which takes its time.

Time, it seems, is reserved for those of a meditative nature. I am reminded of the term, maha-kalpa, a Sanskrit work indicating a very particular unit of time. If every hundred years a mountain is brushed with a silk scarf, the time it takes for the mountain to be eroded by the scarf is known as a maha-kalpa. (The Buddha could not speak of it in exact years, so this was the explanation he gave.) I've thought of this so often ever since I learned the phrase in college many years ago. And, as you might imagine, I've been thinking about this unit of time, since the braces went on.

I was reading Just Over My Shoulder, a dear friend's blog today, and this is what she wrote:

Do you have the patience to wait
till your mud settles and the water is clear?
Can you remain unmoving
till the right action arises by itself?

-Tao te Ching

I've been battling against the stillness all week, feeling defeated by it, and saddened by it. And yet, this passage from the Tao te Ching was so useful, like silverware, or a ballpoint pen. It turned my thinking on a dime, and as impatient and melancholy as I am with this process, I do know that I have to wait until the right action arises, and it cannot be forced or cajoled into being. It simply needs to sit, cross it's legs, rub its Buddha belly and take its time

Overzealous

So, I got a little overzealous.

Since the braces were tightened on Friday, I was actually able to CHEW with confidence for the first time in 5 weeks. I went out to lunch with my friend Cory. I ate a rather conservative fried rice, and even chomped a bit on salad. No issues! I took the spring rolls that came with our order in a takeout container, presumably to eat for dinner tonight.

Except that I got a little peckish at around 3pm and I tore the spring rolls into pieces and ate them. Apparently they were just too much for the braces, and I popped a bracket off. Even within just a few minutes I could feel the difference in pressure and I knew I had to get it fixed. I called the orthodontist's office, and the receptionist said I could come on down, but that my usual doctor was not there. That was fine with me. I figured it needed to be attended to right away.

I get to the office, the doctor on duty asks what the problem is and I tell him. He removes the bracket and simply bends the wire back where the bracket once was and tells me to go on my merry way. He said that it's "not their policy" to replace brackets when they break off, but that they will do it when I have other brackets that need to be put on.

I was appalled.

Are you kidding me? I'm paying this office thousands of dollars, and they won't fix what's broken? I stood my ground. I told him that this didn't make sense when I was here in his office right now when I could have it fixed now. It didn't make sense that I should go with lopsided brackets when proper tension is so important. And then I played my trump card: that as AN ADULT with teeth that move slower than children (and a mind that isn't easily trifled with) fixing a broken bracket has the potential to make it move even faster, and that was reason alone to get it attended to now.

Seeing that he was not going to win this battle, he fixed the bracket. It's tighter than it was before, but you know what, I'm happier. I like it tight. It lets me know that it's working and if I just shaved off a month more of braces time, then score one for the Bionic Grin.

I had been worried that I wouldn't know when to advocate for myself since so much of this process is beyond my control, and I have to let myself trust that I am in good hands. But this was just proof that I'll know when things aren't right, and my mouth works just fine when I need to set things straight! (No braces necessary for the words!)

Is it wrong to love my orthodontist?

I have to admit that I was full of dread, thinking about today—my very first tightening appointment. And whenever I get truly nervous about something I take pen to paper and write down all the questions I have so that my fears can be eased. “Is it terrible that I only have one point of contact in my mouth with which to chew? Is it a problem that I’m still gumming at my food after 5 weeks? Am I grinding my teeth at night?” I think of that song from Gilbert and Sullivan’s Mikado: “I Have A Little List” in which Ko-Ko, The Lord High Executioner of Titipu, rolls out this enormous scroll for his “little list.” I had a rather fashionable little notebook, but it did take up 3 pages, so Ko-Ko and I are nothing if not thorough.

Despite all of my qualms, my sweet orthodontist approaches me with a smile, patience and good answers to my questions. He is reassuring and supportive and makes me understand that he does indeed have a plan, and that I am quite literally safe in his hands. The only time I saw him stop smiling was when I told him that though I’m concerned, it’s not because anything was hurting. “Good,’ he said seriously. “It should never hurt.”

This is my kind of doctor.

The teeth are tighter, but in a solid way, not an uncomfortable way. Where this sensation made me feel unhappy over the past week, now it makes me feel secure. Funny to think that I have my own personal shepherd for my teeth—one who is making sure that my molars and incisors do not wander off into directions that might harm them. He said that the teeth want to be where they were before, and the change is strange and uncomfortable to them. But they’re moving, and they’ll find their way. And you know what? I utterly believe him. I almost skipped out of his office because I literally felt…well, loved. I don’t think I’ve ever had this kind of experience with a doctor before, but maybe that’s why our healthcare system is in such disarray. We should feel loved by those who are trying to heal us. We should feel nurturing energy, not the beaten-down ennui of bureaucracy. I feel like I’ve been given a gift today to experience a doctor who believes in the Hippacratic Oath. I find it fascinating that this is part of the modern translation of the Oath used in many medical schools today:

I will remember that there is art to medicine as well as science, and that warmth, sympathy, and understanding may outweigh the surgeon's knife or the chemist's drug.

Sing it loud and sing it proud, my medical brothers and sisters!

"I'm a model, you know what I mean..."

Maybe it was all of my fashion week postings that made it happen, but I got invited to an actual fashion show at Bryant Park at the last minute by one of my friends. On Friday, I went to the Twinkle By Wenlan show, and it was delightful. Lovely clothes, and a nice low-key crowd. (Alex McCord from The Real Housewives of NYC was there, but if my friend hadn't pointed her out, I wouldn't have known who she was. I don't watch the show!) I was rather amazed by how chill it was--I had expected that there would be fashionistas with 'tude, judging my obviously un-couture duds, but I felt every bit as fashionable in my H&M outfit as the other ladies in the runway's front row. I took some photos, and I love this one:

I love seeing all the photographers in the background. I was struck by just how many people are employed by one 10 minute long fashion show. There were at least 20 models, the photographers, the editors, the security, the stylists, the makeup artists, the hair stylists, the publicists. All for a 10 minute long show!

Here are a few more shots that I liked:

Check out the model in the viewfinder!

Maybe the universe is telling me that despite the feelings expressed in the last few posts, I am pretty sassy in my city. Can I say that braces are on the forefront of fashion? (Oh, what the heck? Tin grins are in!)

Fashion's Night Out

I've got to hand it to the fashion industry. Instead of whining about the fact that people are no longer plunking down $1000 for a pair of fur lined gloves in our sluggish economic times, they concocted Fashion's Night Out--which was tonight--where shops all over NYC (and in 12 countries around the world) stayed open until 11pm to fete customers and entice them to spend a little--if not a lot. Honestly, it was the brainchild of a marketing wizard. Everywhere my friend Francoise and I went tonight, we were offered wine, champagne, free makeovers and, best of all, genuine smiles from excited shopkeepers.

Though I did not partake of the champagne, I did indulge in a makeover at the Union Square Sephora. Fresh was doing a promotion, and as I was getting prettified, one of the founders of the company came over to say hello. He was lovely and had the most perfect skin I'd ever seen. I wasn't sure if he was just doing good business when he told me that I have fabulous skin, but something about him seemed very sincere so I graciously accepted the compliment.

I have been wallowing in feelings of unattractiveness due to the braces for the past few days--an indulgent fact I'm not proud of. But having a makeup artist that close to my face, daintily applying masks and creams and shadow and liner and gloss restored something. And the smile on my face was as genuine as the NYC shopkeepers'.

As we left the store, I looked up to see the Tribute in Light already in place. Every year on September 11th two beams of light rise into the night sky, originating from the spot where the Twin Towers used to be. I remember when they first appeared a few months after 9/11/01 and how comforted we all were to see them, to see the space honored and remembered. And though it sounds strange, it also served as a beacon, directing all the confused souls of the dead who were most certainly wandering around the city, not knowing what had happened on that day. They finally understood that they just had to go UP. There was a palpable difference in the air after those beams of light appeared. And I remember that sense of relief that was collectively felt in the city, by both the living and the dead.

I suppose this is a reminder that we all endure. The economy will bounce back. Gucci will once again sell $1000 fur lined gloves. New York is still its vibrant, energetic, pulsing self, despite the amputation of its twin limbs, and I can still smile, genuinely, even with a mouth full of metal.

Braces In the City

I'm thinking about that episode of Sex and The City where Miranda gets braces because she's a "tongue thruster" which means that when she sleeps she pushes her front teeth with her tongue, so her bite is off. She meets the girls with a mouth full of metal (which, as a lawyer, she could have afforded all kinds of clear, Invisalign lingual options, but hey, the power of the visual gag reigns supreme on the almighty TV). I loved this exchange when I saw it the first time. Little did I know how much it would hit home a few years later:

Miranda: This is what happens to tongue thrusters. I have to wear them for a year. Am I hideous?
Carrie: No. Hey... no. No, they don't look so bad.
Miranda: Really? You mean it?
Carrie: That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.

Charlotte: Are you in pain? I'm in pain just looking at you.
Miranda: I'm a 34-year-old with braces, and I'm on a liquid diet. Pain doesn't begin to cover it.

My 10 pound weight loss has been nice in the last few weeks. The lisping not so much. But let's just say lesson learned, Miranda. I will never eat olive tapenade on a date. (If I ever go out on a date again.)

Margaritas and Fashionistas

I'm sitting here sucking on chocolate chips, which I think is probably bad for the braces, but it's good for the soul, so who cares?

This is what made the Bionic Grin smile this Labor Day weekend:

I went to Fonda and enjoyed more than my fill of margaritas which made me forget all about my teeth. (It was a triumphant moment when I realized that I could eat the beans, which were delightful and the sauce on the enchiladas suisas made me absolutely swoon.) Apparently it's the place to be--even Nicole Miller was there trying out the vittles. Ah, Fashion week hipness! Thy name is Brooklyn? (Who knew?)

Here's the other highlight of the weekend:

I visited with two week old Zack, and his sweet mom, Ella. As you can see, Zack knows it's Fashion Week. Look at the outfit! The ennui on his face! Models can be so trying, can't they? And Anna Wintour? Whatever shall he do about her? Maybe he should just let the fashionistas fend for themselves this year, and just take a nap instead...

Let Me Entertain You...

It's my three week anniversary with the braces and for the first time, they hurt. My teeth feel like they're falling out. I am unhappy and I don't want to talk about it.

Here's what I do want to talk about:

As you know, it's a holiday weekend and I found myself on Bleecker Street in the mid-afternoon since I skipped out of work a touch early. This is what greeted me as I walked down the street:

It was a gaggle of models outside of Cynthia Rowley. I immediately thought that there was some kind of sample sale, but those have people who look like ME on line, not these earnest glamazons with legs like ladders. I passed a German photographer who was also just as taken with the scene as I was. She told me that all of the girls were waiting to audition for the runway shows next week. (How could I forget about Fashion Week?) She had a bewildered smile on her face when she told me that all the models were wearing sandals or flip flops, but once they were in view of the Rowley window, they put on their high heels--and all the same pair, apparently.

I was fascinated by the shoes:

What do you even call these things? High heeled booties? They make feet look vaguely witchy, but with those legs, I don't think anyone cares. I did feel a little bad for them. They all looked so young and uncertain...and like they had plantar fasciitis.

Looks like it was a good day for painful body parts!

Let's Get Visual!

I have just spent the last half hour trying to take a photo of the braces to share with those of you who haven't seen them yet. But quite frankly, it ain't so easy to take a clear photo of one's mouth all by oneself, and after seeing the final product, I realize that I cannot subject y'all to the way my gaping maw looks right now. Let's just wait until these teeth fix themselves a little better. For the first time, I'm actually ashamed. Good lord, why didn't anyone tell me how jacked up my teeth were?

I suppose it should make me feel better, after a realization like this, that I've taken action to remedy the dental situation, but quite frankly, it's rather disheartening.

So instead of looking at my gaping maw, look at this guy's:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6IuHV7xh2L4

(Sorry, Kira, I really did try to embed the video, but to no avail!)

At least he had the Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor braces thing going on, which is totally fun, but sheesh. If this is what I have to look forward to, I'll shut my trap with the complaining right now.

But! To rescue us all from a fate worse than a depressing posting, I'll put a lovely photo that I took here instead. I like the idea of posting photos that make this Bionic Grin, well, grin, so here we go:

I took this picture when visiting the Canadian Rockies a few years ago, and it's kinda how I feel right now--a little misty, but very clear about the situation, just like the water. And if you look where the land meets its reflection on the right side, it almost looks like it forms an arrow, pointing me forward, and urging me to simply move ahead.

Onward ho!

Foodie Status Restored!

The Bionic Grin is smiling.

For so many reasons!

First of all, I am smiling because my sweet friend Kira had made things not-so-technical for me! She taught me how to properly embed images into the blog (yes, I know you were all tittering about the fact that I was all proud that I could do it two posts ago, and really, it was a complete failure. But if you look back now, you'll see the image there all nice and proper!) So get ready! More photos to come! And I might just move on to video if you can handle it!

Secondly, I am smiling because my foodie status has been restored! Dinner at Cookshop! (One of my favorite places!) I ordered fish and I could eat it! It came with okra stew and it was delicious! And it didn't feel strange or difficult in my teeth! It's nothing short of a miracle! All is right once again with the Universe!

Thirdly I'm smiling because I'm sitting here with a slice of banana cake from Billy's Bakery and loving every minute of it. (Thanks to you, Michal!) Because I can eat it! My teeth still feel chalky and strange, but I'm learning to be true to myself once again. So much for those 10 pounds I just lost...

Just mere days ago, my friend Betsy, in honor of Ted Kennedy's passing made her grandmother's Hermit Square recipe, a lovely spiced cake, much like a blondie, dressed in autumnal finery of nutmeg and cloves. This recipe is a true New England original, first noted in cookbooks in 1860. It smelled divine, the butter absolutely filling the air. I cut it into tiny pieces and tried to gum at it, but simply not being able to sink my teeth into them, made me feel so disenfranchised. It was downright unAmerican not to enjoy Betsy's cake and give Ted a proper sendoff in the best way I could outside of Hyannis Port.

But now, there is so much for this bionic self to smile about. More grin-worthy posts to come!

Pregnant Pauses

Thanks to one and all for all of your electric toothbrush suggestions. Despite my best efforts, it is still too technical for me. It might be more useful as an *ahem* "personal massager." :)

I am surrounded by pregnant women lately, or women who have just had babies, and everything is counted in weeks or months. "The baby is 3 weeks old." Or "I'm 16 weeks pregnant." I've been knitting up a storm lately for all of my fertile friends.

Well, you know what? I'm two and a half weeks along myself. And at the end of my 2 year gestation, I get twins--a row of top teeth and a row of bottom teeth. They'll be perfectly healthy with a bright and shiny future ahead of them.

And the best part is, they don't poop a diaper.

(In fact, they smell rather minty fresh. )

Technicalities

Despite the fact that my brother and my old college roommate insist that everything is too technical for me, I decided to embrace the 21st century and buy an electric toothbrush. It's so shiny and clinical and it has all these buttons and knobs! I charged the sucker up and was so excited when I turned it on! The high pitched hum! The green glowing LED!


Lord, the thing is too technical for me.


Does anyone know how to use a sonicare? It seems awfully powerful and it vibrated the toothpaste right off of its head, the second I turned it on. I think it's good for my gums, but I haven't figured out how to use the thing on my teeth. Is there a trick to this? If anyone can advise, please do!

I was told by my friends who had worn braces in the past that I would soon get obsessed with teeth--and notice things that I never would have noticed before. I hate to say it, but this is true. I saw The September Issue tonight and both Anna Wintour, Vogue dominatrix extraordinaire and Grace Coddington, Vogue's Creative Director and my new favorite person both had teeth that could have used a bracket or two! I was amazed at the beauty and power that these women represent, and yet, they themselves are not at all picture perfect. I liked this about them, though. My days in magazines have taught me well, that you don't have to look like or live the fairy tale, you just have to be able to know how to sell it.

Talk about selling the dream: I loved this layout from Vogue's Sept. 2007 ish. And look! Inserting images into my blog aren't too technical for me!

And I utterly loved the scene where the model, after her photo shoot, still strapped into her corset like a punked-out Victorian, bit into that chocolate cherry pie with such obvious, honest relish! Oh honey, I know the feeling! I miss it!

I was also utterly amused that, upon exiting the theater, I got a dirty look from two girls behind me who said, "Let's get out of here, there are too many hipsters here" and with upturned noses, they stormed off. Well! Girls! You're in the East Village! What did you expect? And secondly, I'm a hipster? Well, all right! I guess I was lookin' good in my shorts and winter boots! Andre Leon Talley has nothing on me!

That just torques my jaw!

First of all, I am pleased and honored to have been tagged in another blog! And so sweetly, too.

http://kivawa.blogspot.com/2009/08/new-bionic-friends.html

Thanks Miss K!

I have a friend from South Carolina who has all of these great Southernisms that she uses to very eloquently express herself. One of my favorites--which she exclaims whenever she is outraged or fed up--is "Well that just torques my jaw!" I thought this was downright quaint, and wonderfully descriptive. However, it takes on a whole new meaning now that quite literally my jaw is in a perpetual state of torque.

Case in point: This morning, I went back to the orthodontist yet AGAIN. It was feeling too darn tight on the left side of my face after they fixed the wire, and I couldn't imagine that this was right. So I went to see my orthodontist, a dapper man with lovely teeth (of course) an open face, salt and pepper hair, and and an expensive, luxurious silk tie always around his neck. Today it was a white tie with a floral pattern, one that was very popular among the glitterati a few years ago.

He explained that my teeth are constantly moving, and this is why the teeth don't meet properly. He said it's ok if they feel lopsided, because I have a "very unusual crossbite" which has to be fixed. He said that it's a funny situation, but that "you're funnier than most."

A statement like that should have made me shake my fist at the sky and rue my mouth, but really, my doctor is a most benevolent man, and his good-natured way of saying this made me feel oddly proud that my teeth had amused him.

Teeth as court jesters! Imagine that! I'll rent them out to dental conventions! I'll put them on trading cards! Next stop: the Coney Island freak show! There's millions to be made with these puppies!

I Am Not An Animal!

I mentioned before that food is one of my greatest pleasures--and that the fact that these braces have curtailed that pleasure has made me feel small and vulnerable, unsure how to inhabit this altered body of mine. It has been a wonderful side effect that I have lost weight (noticeably, in almost 2 weeks) but it represents a loss of sensuality to me, and I have been a bit mopey about that. I met my friends Louise and Jackie for dinner tonight--lovely ladies who I haven't seen in quite some time. We went to Blossom, a place I chose since Jackie's a vegetarian and Louise is a big ol' foodie like me. The food was great--the whipped sweet potatoes made me think I was enjoying a Thanksgiving dinner and the risotto with peas and artichokes was wonderful--once I got it home and put it in my blender so that I could eat it. (Ah, to spend $20 for an entree of mush!)

But as I was blending, I looked at the takeout container of mini spring rolls that had been a part of the Chinese soup special that I had ordered for lunch. I couldn't bring myself to throw them away, so I took them home with me. And as I blended, I had this animalistic need to gnaw on those rolls like a dog with a bone. I wanted to try using the teeth. Just try! The sauce that they had been bathed in all day had softened them up, and for the first time in almost two weeks, I used my front teeth, my back teeth the ups and downs of all my teeth. I felt food getting caught every which way they could squeezing my teeth even further than the braces, but I was unstoppable--I chomped on that spring roll like a predator on prey, and it tasted damn good. I have teeth! Hear me roar! Aslan ain't got nuthin' on me!

It took me about five minutes to brush and floss all the spring roll debris out of my teeth, and they feel so odd now. That clay-like feeling is back but I think this is a good thing.

That queen of the jungle act is not something you'd want to see me do in public, but it's a start.

In Yo' Face!

First of all, I have to give a shout out to Cory and Mick, who not only read my blog, but read it at the same time in the same room on different computers. THAT is dedication, folks.

Cory and I actually met for lunch today and it took about 10 minutes to explain to the waitress that I wanted soup. Despite the fact that we found many ways to convey this, we unfortunately could not convey this in Thai. If I am an X-men mutant, then Cory indeed should be wearing a cape, (and a most fashionable one at that) because she turned into a Superhero coming to my culinary rescue when the plate of...obviously not soup was set down in front of me. I felt very loved--thanks, C!

I'm having one of those "what the hell was I thinking" days with the braces. A week and a half was enough. Joke's over. Now let me get back to my real life so I can stop thinking about them ALL the time. The distraction, and the tiredness I feel from giving this all my energy has reached a breaking point. I'm sick of soup. I can only anticipate going through this again when they put the braces on my bottom teeth in a few months--and I'm not happy about it.

Now I really understand where the phrase "In Your Face!" comes from. Man, these things sure are in my face.

A few days ago I got this note from "the universe" in my inbox:

The real reason so many have trouble with the baby steps--doing all they can, with what they've got, from where they are, no matter how humble or seemingly futile--is because they haven't yet grasped that the baby steps trigger unseen forces that throw wide the floodgates of unstoppable momentum, infinite abundance, and eternal life. I understand that braces are an oral version of baby steps, and that the molar shifts can only be felt in teeny, tiny ways. I know that look on a baby's face when s/he is old enough to understand, but not old enough to speak, and the frustration that accompanies that feeling, is what I feel right now. I think I have that look on my face all the time. This slow pace is so demoralizing to a New Yorker who is used to having everything at lightning speed. Trusting the process is just not feeling easy or fun or...ah, here's the word, palatable today. If I allow myself to think of me at 38 happy that I've gone through this, that is some consolation. But right now, these things are just too much "in my face!"