First Person Singular by Wendy Braitman

Home Away from Home

I’m in San Francisco for the weekend, well equipped with a raincoat and boots. I’ve planned some of my most favorite things; hanging with old friends, dining at Delfina, Antica and Hayes Street Grill, Manhattans at the 500 Club, checking out the spring collection at Diana Slavin Womenswear, and highlighting my hair at Primp. While I’m carousing, don’t forget that today is the last day to add your comments to our contest, Why It’s Great to be Single on Valentines Day. Great chocolate awaits.

The Ineffable

Poetry intimidates me. Despite that or maybe because of it, I read a poem a day.  And occasionally, I find one that I can easily make contact with, and best of all, it moves me. Give this one a try.

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State of the Non-Union

It has been a year since I launched First Person Singular, which makes now the perfect time to get your feedback. What do you like about the site, what don’t you like (gulp, I can take it), what would you like to see more of? Most of my posts seem to fit into the following categories: dating, food, fashion, sex (yes, I’d like to see more of that too!), artifacts, getting through the holidays, getting through the day, awesome single women. Let me know your preferences. It would be great to hear from you!

(Image:  The Black Dress, painted by Alex Katz in 1960 was a visual inspiration for me as I started imagining this site. And I still can’t get enough of it.)

Ghostwriting Your Dating Profile

An eager publicist emailed me today about profile wiz, a new service for $4.75 that promises to ghostwrite an enticing online dating profile in under five minutes. That would have come in handy for Steve, a recent “admirer” from Match.com. Steve’s profile was sketchy, and a little sarcastic, and in writing about the last movie he saw, he mentioned Hungover, which I’m assuming is really The Hangover, unless he’s talking about some porn film. I recently posted about Dating Dealbreakers, and a typo is not one of them. But I find that profiles provide clues (whether intentionally or not) and the idea that a surrogate would tell our stories for us, misses the point.

Would you hire a ghostwriter for your dating profile?

(Photo: Laziness by Anton Senkou-Melnik)

Is Being Picky Genetic?

I’m a picky eater just like my Dad. Sugar, number one food group, followed by bread, pasta, corn, pizza, any variation of potato. No squishy food for us. My father’s perfect lunch was a slice of chocolate layer cake. I was not surprised to read that being a picky eater has more to do with genetics than environment (78% vs. 22%), because it’s obvious my Dad and I were bred from the same carb-addicted DNA. Some studies suggest that picky eaters could have as many as 1000 more taste buds per square centimeter of tongue. What a relief to think we’re not petulant, just sensitive.

I ponder this while gazing in despair through my “DAILY 5,” Match.com’s list of men they suggest I consider. I put most of them into the “maybe” pile, rather than immediately tossing them overboard (which is my real inclination), as if someone were looking over my shoulder, and I want to prove that I’m not too finicky. What can I say. It’s in the genes.

Mouth-watering and Pink

For those of you sitting on the fence, DON’T. Last week, I previewed a CONTEST and here are more juicy prize details from L.A. Burdick, one of the country’s premier chocolate makers:

Bottom box: Full one pound assortment including hand-cut chocolate heart bonbons.
Middle Box: 20 Sets of Champagne truffles, dusted with confectioners sugar.
Top Box: Caramel Collection including triple caramels of mocha, apricot and vanilla.

Come up with the top reason why it’s great to be single on Valentines Day, and all of this can be yours (or if you’re masochistic, give it away.)

Here’s a recap –

Under the Weather

Baby, it’s cold outside. It’s been raining for days in L.A, and we’re not equipped. Sidewalks are swollen with water, hills are sliding, the interstate is closed. My dog hasn’t had a decent walk all week. Between the weather and politics, it’s hard to stay buoyant, then suddenly a brainstorm. Book a massage. I can’t remember the last time I was touched, so why not just pay for it? I’m trying out Ona, a boutique-y neighborhood spa, and I hear that Daniel, the masseur, is fabulous. According to the menu, they’re serving botox, too, but that will have to wait for a snow day.

Update: Just back from my massage with Daniel, whose gifts were not exaggerated. Rain? What rain? This must be heaven.

The View From Here

In the last month, two friends in my inner circle have fallen in love. They’re gushing about it, and why shouldn’t they? This isn’t everyday news. What could be better than the first taste of a person who, at last, feels like a good fit? I listen to their love talk cheerfully, because this is what you do as a friend. You feel pleasure when someone close to you is in ecstasy. But it pierces me, too. And I wonder, how did I get left outside the party door?

Painting: I Wish I May, 2008, by Clare Grill

A Crash Course in Haiti

After last week’s devastating earthquake, I’ve been cramming to get re-aquainted with Haiti’s history, so as not to fall prey to spouting pundits who are probably just boning up as well. I’ve also been reading some wonderful short fiction by acclaimed Haitian-born writer, Edwidge Danticat.

Danticat immigrated to New York when she was 12, which was when she started learning English and by 25, her first novel Breath, Eyes, Memory was published. In 1994, she was hailed by the New York Times as 30 artists under 30 “likely to change the culture for the next 30 years,” Oprah selected Breath, Eyes, Memory for her book club, and last year, Danticat (who is 41 today) received the prestigious MacArthur “genius” award. Here’s an excerpt from Crabs, a piece Danticat wrote about her childhood for The New Yorker in 2008:       Continue reading »

When You Pray, Move Your Feet

Photo: The March on Washington, Aug. 28, 1963. Leonard Freed / Magnum Photos