Advice: What’s a Party Without Booze?

The Question: Recently, I decided to host an afternoon open house for my whole family; siblings, spouses, nieces, nephews. Open the door at noon, say final goodbyes by 4, eat something from the buffet table. No one was leaving my house hungry, I can promise you that. This is something I almost never do, maybe once every four or five years. We don’t see each other often, not as a large group, anyway. There are issues among us, and one of them is alcohol.

It plagues my family, deep.

Three of my six siblings have had a long-time struggle with alcohol addiction; one of them died from it just two years ago (she was only 59) and the other two are in recovery, after a pair of DUIs each. Alcohol addiction has passed down generationally in my family, too; several of my nieces and nephews now face the same struggle, though their problems have not crossed legal boundaries. Yet. In light of all of this, I opted not to serve alcohol at my brunch. I never said the attendees couldn’t bring their own (and one nephew brought beer for himself), but I wasn’t going to provide any, and I asked my husband of 22 years, who has watched all of this happen in my family, to not drink that day, either. And this caused a fight between me and my husband.

No, it's your fault, you big palooka.

No, it’s your fault, you big palooka.

 

My husband thought it was “unfair” to deny cocktails to the other guests at the open house. He likes to enjoy a glass of wine, particularly when my family is around. He thought it was unreasonable of me to level demands on the rest of the attendees because only two of them couldn’t drink. And he feels that since my brothers—the ones in recovery—will have to learn how to be around alcohol, I was coddling them with my decision. What do you think? Was I being unfair to my other guests with my decision?

The Bartender and the Priestess Respond:

Priestess: Wow! Barkeep? I’ll have two aspirin along with the club soda! ! There’s a lot going on here, and none of it easy. Let’s start with the simple: Hospitality. Here’s what Google has to say about that: “the friendly and generous reception and entertainment of guests, visitors, or strangers.” This is not to be confused with the hospitality industry, which means supplying what people want for a price. So, no, providing a warm welcome and good food at your house is a lovely bit of hospitality. You don’t owe anyone alcohol. I disagree with the original notion that you’re denying anyone anything by inviting them to your house for a party, even if alcohol is not served. So that’s the easiest part of the question dealt with. And staying simple, doesn’t anyone know how to use google to figure out some great drinks that are non-alcoholic? You’re not the only people in this boat, you know. Terri, how are you calling this…

 

Bartender: I feel like I should be all, “Step aside, people. I’m a professional, let me handle this.” But this is a situation that’s painfully fraught. Annie, my dear, I can’t do this without you.

First, let me make this ABUNDANTLY clear: if a person—any person—wants to host an event and not serve alcohol, that’s perfectly fine. Much like they can choose not to serve shrimp salad, or quiche. It’s just a thing, it doesn’t define an event. At least, it shouldn’t. I know that as far as parties and hosting go, it’s generally what’s socially expected. It’s also expected that people control themselves around it, which the letter writer’s family has proven they cannot do. But even without the tragic family history, it’s OK to not serve alcohol.

And clearly, the letter writer did not “deny” people their right to drink. She didn’t take away the six pack her nephew brought. She just chose not to provide it. Her house, her family, her right. I am completely in support of her decision to host her own family at her house as she sees most fit.

 

Priestess: The question of whether you and your husband can have a party without alcohol seems to be in play. Is the husband willing to talk about his need to lubricate the party? Especially, if it’s a party that happens very infrequently. And what you needed, it seems to me is support in a very hard circumstance. As a person who spends a lot of time doing ritual and celebration with people, if there’s anything that interferes with people’s ability to be present it’s alcohol. It sounds like you not only needed to control the event (the ever so infrequent event), so that people weren’t tempted, so that they behaved well, you also needed to be backed up here. You have a brother who died from alcohol related issues. That’s huge. And even if you’re skittish and a bit rigid about it (and I’m not saying you are)? So what? You’re his wife, who needed him.

 

Bartender: Did we answer what the letter writer thought was the actual question? Because what I really want to talk about is this husband. I’m kind of worried about him. I think he might have alcohol issues of his own.

I keep circling back around to the words “unfair” and “deny”. Unfair and deny. Alcohol. It’s unfair to deny me booze. When someone reaches that point at the bar, that’s when I cut them off. “It’s not fair because I want it” tells me that person has crossed the line from reasonable adult control to childish, id-based petulance. It’s taken on emotional precedence in the user’s mind. I feel like hubs is putting way too much emotional weight on the presence of booze. And, conversely, he’s not putting enough emotional weight on the struggles his wife and her family face. How many of her relatives have to die young before he accepts that, for them, alcohol isn’t all fun and games? There’s an unsettling lack of compassion here, for her, from him. Wasn’t he there when she buried her one sibling? Didn’t he see that affect her? Doesn’t the husband get that her decision actually has nothing to do with him and everything to do with his wife’s pain?

 

Priestess: What I don’t see in your husband’s conversation is the “honey, how is this for you? How can I help?” If this is a normal part of your pattern, then you may want to look at changing it? But since you’re both commenting on things it sounds like you work fairly easily together. Does he know how you feel beneath all the rational stuff about your family’s drinking problems? Do you know how you feel? What kind of counseling have you done about this? It’s hard as hell if you’re the sober one in a family full of people who are consumed by alcohol. And sober or no, alcohol affects everyone in the family.

 

Bartender: Of course, if the wife’s brothers are now in recovery, that’s where they will be for the rest of their lives and it can’t be expected that they’ll be sheltered from booze forever. They’re going to have to learn how to function around that, and in this one respect the husband is correct. However. Two years isn’t that long of a time in terms of getting past the untimely death of a loved one — from the very thing you want to serve at your party.

And, family holds a special place for people. I don’t mean that in terms of familial love. I mean, they’re really good at setting off emotional triggers. How many times have any of us been at a booze-soaked family event and thought, “You know…this is why I drink.” How many times have TV shows or movies used the sight-gag where a person is at a family event and swallows an entire glass of scotch in order to deal? A lot of the coping behavior we exercise in adulthood, we start learning in childhood, thanks to the interactions with our families. I don’t think it’s a bad thing for the letter writer to not endorse the sort of behavior that’s been demonstrably harmful to her family. Again: she is not Carrie Nation, breaking kegs of beer in the street so nobody can have any. She’s just not providing the thing that she feels is an emotional and physical detriment.

I mean, if one sibling had died of lung cancer and the other two were in chemo, would the husband insist everyone smoke inside because he wants it that way? Or would you be putting out large bowls of cigarettes and inviting people to take a few?

Is he willing to help or only willing to complain?

 

Priestess: You don’t ever say how the party went… Was it a good time? And if it was a good time, does that give you both some leeway to have more of the same? And before you do that are you willing to do just the wee-ist bit of work to figure out where you stand in this family of self destructive people — with a husband who is no where near as supportive as you need in these very painful moments. And if he’s unable to be supportive because of his own alcohol issues, don’t you want to know that the issue isn’t the party, but, once again, alcohol. And if that’s the case what do you need to do?

And to answer the question, can a party be a party without booze?? Betcha by golly, yeah.

Here. It's good for what ails ya.

Here. It’s good for what ails ya.

Got a question? Drop us a line at bartender priestess @ gmail .com (human non spam-bots, please remove spaces) and you may see it answered here on this very page!

Many thanks to Deb Slade for her Phantastic Photo, of the gracious and lovely models Marjorie and George.

And thanks to the good people of the Lewisburg Hotel for allowing us to shoot photos there.

See the original post at Sacred Village!

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Advice: Your Father Is Not Your Fiancé

Dear Bartender and Priestess: When I was in medical school I fell in love with one of my classmates, a great guy, I’ll call him “Bob”. We’ve been together for four years, but for the better part of a year it’s been long distance; my residency is in our home town, but he is doing his residency in another state. We see each other every month and are completely solid as a couple, deeply in love.

Two years ago, Bob and I visited my father and stepmother. Bob likes to discuss politics and history and can hold his own in a discussion; my father has decided Bob has anger(Control) issues. Dad told me Bob isn’t affectionate enough with me because he and I didn’t have PDAs at Dad’s house. The fact is, I asked him not to mug me up too much in front of my dad. Then my stepmother said, “just so I was aware”, that my entire family hates Bob. I found out later this was a total lie, though not until after I (tearfully) confronted my mother and sister about this.

Dad refuses to give Bob a second chance. He won’t invite Bob back to the house no matter how much I try to reason with him. My mother says Dad secretly hopes our current long-distance status will dribe Bob and I apart. But that’s not going to happen. We got engaged in April. Since we’re bogged down with student loans and still finishing our schooling, we don’t have a ring yet or anything like an anticipated wedding date. The only people who know are his family and our closest friends.

We mean business.

We mean business.

I am terrified to break this news to my father and stepmother. My father is no stranger to cutting people out of his life if he feels it suits him. He didn’t speak to his own mother for five years. When I was 13, my father left my mother, abandoning the family to marry my stepmother. Since then I’ve bent over backward to be the perfect daughter. The tension that I feel about how he treats Bob completely stresses me out, but I don’t want my relationship with Dad to crumble. What can I do?

The Bartender and the Priestess Respond:

B: Ai yi yi.  What an emotional quagmire. Pull up a stool, this is going to take a while. Why did you bury a critical piece of information—that your dad left you—in the bottom of your letter, almost like it’s an aside? Oh, by the way, he abandoned us. Why is the relationship with your father so important? He’s the one who left you in the past, you didn’t leave him. And the fact that you’re bending over backward to be “the perfect daughter”—which is something that doesn’t exist—props the door open for him to leave you again. You’re an adult. Don’t be terrified that this mean, selfish person is possibly going to leave. Ask yourself why you want him in your life in the first place.

P: Let’s be clear, now he’s threatening to leave you again and he’s making the conditions for his love completely impossible. He’s working to cut you off from love so that he can tell you whether or not you’re lovable — as opposed to accepting the good opinion of the man who loves you. That’s scary. And it raises the odor of abuse. And what’s up with the family dynamic? You introduced your beloved to your dad and step-mom, and she then got in touch  — or said she did — with the rest of the family? Let’s take a wild flyer here. Your dad was having an affair with this woman when he left your Mother? Right? And you believed what she told you rather than knowing that she’d be trying to ruffle the waters.

And it doesn’t seem like you trust your Mom a lot — that would be your Mom who stood by you when your father waltzed — so that when she says, honey I never said that, why wouldn’t you accept that? What’s with the big fights? Is that common? It seems there’s miscommunication everywhere. I’m not sure why your your mom is being a conduit for your dad either. he said/she said is a lousy way to communicate.

B: Seriously. You believed your stepmom over your own mother? I’m curious as to why. Has she been a source of comfort in your life, or something divisive? Because in my admittedly limited experience, she’s pretty divisive. You seem to have learned to turn your back on things on a regular basis, my dear. You’ve abandoned responsibility for your own well-being in favor of an abusive relationship. You void positive interactions with her mother—who, we assume, at the very least didn’t abandon you too—after your father left. Do you think your mother’s worth is diminished because your father left her, too? Or does her feeding and clothing you in the time after he left generate any sort of present-day loyalty?

P: So how do you want to live your life? Do you want to be a happy, well-adjusted adult? Being a whole person, and present, as a doctor. Do you want a healthy relationship with your partner?  Stifling him isn’t going to bring that about.

B: Or do you want to live your emotional life as an abandoned 14-year-old girl who’s chasing her father’s affection? Because a pretty significant part of you is still rooted in that girl who got left behind.

P: Fear, which is what your dad raises in you, shuts you down. Love, which is what you have with your partner, softens your edges and opens you to the world.

B: Because really, if you’ve found The One, the person you think will make you happiest above all others, then you should be only too happy to shout it from the rooftops. There’s no nobility in staying in a relationship that makes you suffer. There’s only suffering. You need to figure out how to allow yourself to go out in search of joy.

P: If you’re worried about honoring your father, you have to honor the man he is rather than the man you’d like him to be. He’s never been particularly fatherly, is borderline abusive, and unlikely to change. On the other hand, Bob seems like a keeper, a man willing to work toward a life utterly unlike the one your father offers. I say what I always say… choose Love

Prescription.

Prescription.

Have a burning question you need an answer to? Write us at bartenderpriestess@gmail.com — Smart Women: Here to Help!

Phabulous Photography by Deb Slade. Many thanks to the Lewisburg Hotel and, of course, thanks to our glorious Model Marjorie.

To visit the original post see: http://sacredvillage.org/your-father-is-not-your-fiance/

Go here to find out about The Bartender and The Priestess

The ’80s Pin Project: Katrina and the Waves

For an explanation of the 1980s Pin Project, go here.

There were plenty of female, pop-oriented performers who staked a claim on the 1980s music scene. Madonna is, of course, the biggie, the trailblazer, the trendsetter. Lots of pretty, blonde-ish, mostly forgettable singers danced along in Madge’s footsteps, ones like Stacey Q and Taylor Dayne. There was the sugar-sweet teen bop of Tiffany and Debbie Gibson, and infectious bubble gum from bands like The Go-Gos and The Bangles. Every one of these musicians were fun and dance-friendly, but (with the possible exception of The Bangles, and of course La Madge) suffered for the want of an individual musical fingerprint. 

I hate to sound like I’m being mean to The Go-Gos–God knows I enjoy “Our Lips Are Sealed” as much as the next guy–but they hardly broke new ground. And I feel for Debbie Gibson, because she seems like a nice person and I think she really tries in her music. But. Ahem. I digress.

In the midst of the vast array of ’80s-era, shellacked-hair and fishnets-bedecked chick pop, Katrina and the Waves came on the scene. What? Who? Driving drums? Great guitar hooks? Punchy horns? Where in the hell did this fit in?

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RAWK!

Fronted by American-born Army brat Katrina Leskanich, Katrina and the Waves were a UK-based power pop band whose self-titled US debut album was full of well-crafted songs and Katrina’s soaringly huge voice. Was the album dance-able? Sure. But their music also flat-out rocked. Imagine if you took Joan Jett‘s energy and party-ready attitude and and stuck it in a blender with Southside Johnny, the frontman for New Jersey’s greatest rock & roll bar band ever, and then threw in some serious high-fives for good measure.

That? Hell yeah! That’s what I’m talking about.

I ~~~loved~~~ Katrina and the Waves’s first album. The fact is, I still do. I think it’s strong and holds up against time and changing musical sensibilities. And there wasn’t really anyone else doing pure, good-time rock and roll with a strong female taking the lead. At least, not like Katrina & Co., and not like the rock-pop fusion they put out on their debut album. There was Lone Justice, I suppose, though they were more country-folk-rock. The Pretenders clung to their punk roots; believe me, I’m not saying that’s bad. I’m just saying Katrina’s sound was different. As for performers like Pat Benatar…full disclosure. Pat Benatar has always been a little too strident for my liking. I wish her well, as I appreciate what she’s done, but if I never hear another Pat Benatar song again my life will be just fine.

I saw Katrina and the Waves way back in the day, opening for Don Henley at the Garden State Arts Center. (Yes, I saw an inordinate amount of shows at the GSAC. Moving on.) For those of you who know my reactionary dislike of The Eagles and might be surprised that I would go and see their drummer’s solo concert, let me explain: I had not yet worked in bars enough to have heard everything off The Eagles’ Greatest Hits, over and over again, sung loudly and off-key, late at night, by a thousand different patrons, from New Jersey to Boston, to Texas, and back again. Simply put, I hadn’t been taken to my Eagles limit. And I still stand behind Henley’s solo work. But it’s true, these days, I am like The Dude from The Big Lebowski.

It’s unfortunate that Katrina’s follow-up album bombed and the band sort of disappeared off the US music scene after that. I still have a copy of the second album–I think I kept it out of first-album loyalty–but I haven’t listened to it in years. They are not the first band ever to fall victim to the sophomore slump.

Is it possible that the song “Walking on Sunshine” has been out for thirty years? And that I’ve had this pin for thirty years? And that I’m…and yet, I remain 29, I’m not sure how that works. Good lord, time has a way of moving past a person, doesn’t it?

Anyway. Here is Katrina and the Waves, and the glorious “Walking on Sunshine”. I defy you all not to get up and dance.

See you at the next pin!

 

The ’80s Pin Project: Special Guest Mother’s Day Pin

For an explanation of what the Pin Project is, go here.

When I started working on the Pin Project, it jump-started a fun little conversation between me and my friends and family about pins that we had, or have, and what they may have meant to us at the time we bought them. My sister mentioned having a “Shut Up and Dance” pin (which I may also have but you know…I don’t know. Time will tell!), and a friend reminisced about how she, too, used her pins to go up one side of her purse strap and down the other. Because we’re cool like that, right? 

Then my mother–my adorable Mom-o-rama–said, “You know, I have a pin like the ones you’re posting. Your aunt sent it to me while I was in the hospital.” When I visited her recently, she’d already dug this pin out of her memento box and had it sitting front-and-center on the dining room table. Bright yellow pin, dark wood table, bright sunlight. I couldn’t have missed it even if I wanted to.

Truth.

Truth.

There’s an inescapable poignancy to this pin. Because the fact of the matter is: she has survived damn near everything.

Cancer. Survived.

Heart attack. Survived.

Broken neck (what? Really!): Survived. (That’s when this pin came on the scene.)

My father’s long, slow decline thanks to Parkinson’s disease: Survived (and, she even managed his care while healing from said broken neck).

When she was in the rehab facility, early on in her neck recovery, my mother (obviously) wasn’t allowed to smoke. And she had been a smoker for decades. After her release from the hospital, Mom continued with her campaign of not-smoking, which kind of surprised me because nothing else had deterred her before. I said, “I’m glad you quit, but why now? I mean, you had cancer, you didn’t quit smoking. You had a heart attack, you didn’t quit smoking. But a broken neck makes you quit? Why?”

Gesturing into the air, my mother shrugged her shoulders and said, “Eh…I feel like I’m using up too many of my lives.” 

Did I mention, she’s funny?

My mother is an inspiration for what to do when you feel like life is kicking you in the ass. Because what the hell else are you going to do? Give in? Or get back up and keep living?

Me and la Mom.

Me and la Mom.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. Thanks for setting the standard.

XOXO

The ’80s Pin Project: Hooters, #1

If you’re wondering what in the heck this “Pin Project” thing is, please go here, then meet me back at this blog. ‘kay? ‘kay!

The pin that I pulled out of my little box of treasures (dumped into a bag, reaching in blind….”You certainly are being random, aren’t you?” asked George), was a pin–first in what will surely be a series–for the band The Hooters.

Oh my word, how I loved The Hooters.

hooters1

Not to be confused with a certain wings-and-boobs-centric “family” restaurant.

What wasn’t to love? The Hooters of the 1980s were a five-piece power pop band out of Philadelphia. They were cute! They were dance-y! They were color-coded!

Cute, and harmless. What's not to love? Image from the80sman.com

Cute, and harmless.
Image from the80sman.com

The boys were all razor-cheeked and hairsprayed, and appropriately collared and slouchy. They made (make, actually, as they’re still together) music that fuses pop, ska, folk, and reggae. In the early-to-mid-1980s, this meant they created a decidedly different sound that stood out from the pop-synth ’80s electronic boom. Often their songs were flavored with unexpected instruments. They made a lot of use of the mandolin, which at the time was generally used by art-rock bands like Jethro Tull, or easy-breezy twee-folk like that given unto us by Seals and Crofts. The other instrument that set The Hooters apart from the ’80s power-pop pack was…

A melodica.

A what?

firemel

A melodica. Image from buttonbox.com

 

A melodica. Maybe you know it better by its nickname.

A hooter.

(Side note to Hooters fans who call themselves “Melodicans”. Stop that. You are not “Melodicans”, and you need to get over yourselves. You are Hooter Heads. Deal with it.)

Indeed, The Hooters named themselves after an oversized harmonica and took early-1980s Philadelphia by storm. They broke nationally in 1985, after signing with Columbia Records and producing the album Nervous Night. It’s a well-constructed album full of pop hooks and great harmonies. It’s an album I will stand behind to this day. Mostly. With one caveat.

It is entirely true that on every Hooters album, there is one song that I find unilaterally unlistenable. Dreadful. I find myself asking if their producers were on crack when they let this song through, or maybe their producer has some kind of terrible secret about the band and makes them perform one abysmal song per album, one that is atonal and completely lacking in style, or hook, or musical sensibilities. On Nervous Night it’s their cover of Love’s “She Comes In Colors” (note: watch the Love video at your own risk; NSFW or kids). I love all the rest of the album, but that song, their cover? It makes me want to burst my own eardrums. We can talk about their other albums’ misery songs, “Hard Rockin’ Summer” and “Mr. Big Baboon”, another time. And I digress.

One of the highlights of my misspent youth was an invitation I received from a friend to accompany him to a listening party, celebrating the 1989 release of The Hooters’ album Zig Zag. Swoon! Do I want to go listen to the new Hooters album and meet the band in the process? Swoon! HELL YES! Here’s a little photographic evidence of me and swoony blond Rob, hooter-playing Hooter and scalawag, who asked the friend I went there with if I was single.

Please note: my suspenders? Are paisley.

Please note: we had matching poofy hair volume.

Eagle-eyed readers: yes, my suspenders were paisley. I blush at the sight of that acid-washed jacket. And I wish I’d known my collar was turning upward. But I digress.

As I was not single at the time, that ended my potential for dating said Hooter. In one of the least-expected coincidences I can imagine, I discovered that two different women I have become friends with over the last bunch of years were also hit on by swoony Rob. I will say this for him: I know these ladies. He’s got good taste.

Ahhh. The Hooters. Everyone I know, knows who they are. Most people have disavowed fandom of them; they’re not cool any more, they’re not color-coded, they haven’t really changed their hair and that’s kind of weird. (OK, I’ll grant that retaining ’80s hair is an unwise business decision in terms of staying pop-relevant.) It’s too bad, because their music is still fun. 1980s nostalgia isn’t always a bad thing. Not when the music is great. Imma leave you with “And We Danced”. If you’re looking for me, I’ll be be-bopping at the union hall.

What’s That Thing On Her Head?

I know, I know. I like to start the week off with a recipe, but I don’t have one. Mea culpa. I plan on getting into the kitchen later to do some cooking so I can share it all with you, but it was a weird weekend and when I did cook, I didn’t have the luxury of time to take photographs. Which is a little bit of a drag, but, silver lining! I’ll be forced to make yummy food all over again.

In the meantime, I want to present you with….this ad. I have carried this ad with me for years, it’s survived two moves, through Texas and back east to my little home in central PA. After a decade of puzzlement, of staring at this ad and shaking my head, I confess I am no closer to comprehension than I was ten years ago. I’ve spent more time trying to understand the mindset of the advertising agency that gave this the green light, than I have most pieces of abstract art. I still have no idea what this ad is getting at. Ok ok ok, here. Feast your eyes. (Identifying details removed. Mostly. :))

Hey...what's that thing on her head?

Hey…what’s that thing on her head?

In case you’re staring at this ad in stricken disbelief–which is totally understandable–I will explain. This is an ad for stores that sell jewelry. A jewelry mall, if you will. Glamorous, high-end jewelry, not the “Buy three pairs of earrings, get the fourth free” kind that I usually buy. And the model, in her LBD and thick golden rope of a necklace, is wearing a cat on her head. A cat. On her head. Here’s a closeup.

Shmexy.

Shmexy. Hey, wait. Is that terror I see lurking in her eyes?

Indeed, this is certainly all I’ve imagined and more. I know that when I think about which lovely lady ought to get the fancy jewelry, it’s almost always the one wearing an animal on her head. 

Only opposite. “Give in to the luxury”, the ad says. But how does wearing a cat on one’s head indicate “luxury”? Or something that should be given in to? I fight the urge to accessorize with my cat every day, and I feel like I’m a better person for it. Because if she were wearing pajamas–and you know I’m right here, people–she would be a crazy cat lady. This should be instant birth control. Instead, this ad was meant to create allure.

Herein lies my befuddlement. I don’t understand. I mean, if I want to buy shoes I don’t look for someone with an egret perched on her head so I can think, “Oh, wow, that must be a great shoe store I can’t wait to shop there.” Maybe I just don’t grok high-end jewelry in this way, but…why is this lady wearing a cat on her head? And what does that say about…oh, good Lord, about any and everything that’s weird about the advertising business?

Please, internets, if you can explain, I would be most grateful.

NYC 4-D Puzzle and Sammy, Master of All He Surveys

George’s father died two years ago this month. He was a good man, and nice, and whenever George and I went to visit his parents, his father and I would inevitably end up working a puzzle together. It was a gentle, charming way to bond with his family and I keep those memories close. It was sweet. After he passed away, and because I was a puzzle-buddy, George’s mother gave me his father’s New York cityscape puzzle to complete. It’s 4-D because it also looks at New York through the lens of time. The base, a standard cardboard puzzle cutout, shows New York in the 1700s, huge expanses of farms in what’s now midtown, the already-emerging alphabet city on the east side. The base is far and away the most difficult part of the puzzle, with a lot of incredibly similar-looking pieces and not a whole lot of distinctive features to work from. But eh, I got it done. I regret now that I don’t have any pictures of that layer. Hindsight is 20/20.

The second layer of the puzzle brings you into the modern NYC layout. It’s made from thick foam with heavy paper overlay, and has pre-punched squares to accommodate various NYC landmark buildings. Buildings are color-coded to indicate the era in which they were constructed, so you can see the spread of vertical development over the course of 200 years. Plus, it’s super-cool. And it’s done.

To you historians and nit-pickers who claim that this puzzleis not entirely accurate…I understand, I get your point. But it’s also a puzzle, a toy meant to spark interest, not something meant to be sourced for a dissertation. Get over it.

So. New York City in 4-D.

Be real, people. The first thing you’ve got to see in New York is the Statue of Liberty, amirite?

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Hey, whassup, you tired, poor, huddled masses?

Then we go up around Battery Park and check out the gateway to the Financial District.

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Personally, I dig the lineup of bridges in the background.

Have a look straight down Broadway.

Give it my regards, will you? And remember me to Herald Square.

Give it my regards, will you? And remember me to Herald Square.

Get an aerial view. (Uh…seems that a building got a little wibbly-wobbly….whoops!)

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Go home, Chrysler Building! You’re drunk!

And check out Manhattan from the other side.

Surprise! Not all of Manhattan is pure skyscraper.

Surprise! Not all of Manhattan is pure skyscraper.

While I was doing this, Sammy–who is without question the boss of this house–jumped onto his loveseat to acquaint himself with all goings-on. Sorry to break it to you, New York, but Sammy is the master over all he surveys.

All shall love him and despair.

All shall love him and despair.

 He is an imperious task-master, but not tyrannical. There are worse gigs, so long as you keep him in a steady supply of thyroid boosting cat food pellets. You’ll get used to it.  🙂

So there we have it! This was a lot of fun, and sweet and poignant for me to complete. And it’s good to let the world know Sammy is bent on world domination, one puzzle-city at a time.

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