Money, Money, Money

Monnnney. Can you name that tune? Ok, who sings it?

And, its the theme song for which show?

Ok, you're hired!

Well, love her or hate her, she's coming to a community center near you (that'd be the 92nd St. Y) real soon. Hint: I happened to be flipping through the channels late one night and the commentator said a little something like this:

So, let me get this straight. You had absolutely NO idea that you and your husband

were $60,000 in debt? No clue. No...inkling.

Ok, let me ask you this. Do you get mail? And, do you open and read that mail?

Who is that? Why it's Suze Orman, of course. Sharpen your money smarts when you go to hear her live and in person on September 9: Women & Money, 7:30pm, $26

Don't get me started. We just had our big 401K enrollment at work. You feel like you're signing your life away when putting pencil to the paper to scrawl in that little number. But, you've just got to do it, gang. Put it away. Don't think about it. Don't touch it. Let it steadily grow. The next step? Suze's going to show us the light. Bring your Steno Pad and your ballpoint pen. No, bring two -- in case the ink runs dry.

Now, all this planning leaves a grown Girl to wonder: Hmm, is it inappropriate to ask a man -- on a first date --what percentage of his annual he's putting toward his 401K?

Talk amongst yourselves.

YGAT

When You Least Expect It

Do you have a rug? We didn't have one for a long time. But, the moment we unrolled our blue oriental, our apartment became a little cozier, a little friendlier. Need a rug? Check this out:

Posted on Craigslists Freebies tonight (Sunday) at 6:45 p.m.:
UES Rug: Pretty clean. Needs vacuuming, but no stains, no spills. At 93rd and 2nd Ave.
E-mail: sale-406678040@craigslist.org

If you're rugless, worth looking into, no?

So, I was out listening to this live singer-songwriter Josh Ritter, who by the way is from Moscow, Idaho, at this new venue called The Box last week. Good show. You just can't fake face sweat -- or lyrics -- like that. A friend there was telling me about "Missed Connections," a feature on Craig's List. As if there wasn't already enough to love about CL.

How it works: So, let's just say you make eye contact with the same person every day on your subway commute. Finally, you can't take it anymore. You need to meet this person. You need to hear this person's voice. You need to know: Is this person single? But, you can't just chat 'em up in the packed subway car on the way to work. What to do? Missed Connections. Your ad might read something like one of these I found there tonight:

Entitled: L Train from Union Square to Bedford 4pm-ish
"You were so cute. High top white vans.. I wanted to say hello, but you were with a friend."

Another example to feed your intrigue:

Entitled: Whole Foods, Indian Food
"We had a short conversation at the Indian food section in Whole foods. I was in a rush, would love to meet up sometime. Me:Indian guy."

And, just like that, you meet your subway -- or grocery -- crush. If that person is reading, that is. A chance some are willing to take with love in the modern world.

Along these lines, believe your mother when she says: You never know when you'll meet that someone who makes you starry-eyed. And, you never know where. Gang, these things do still happen, and, yes!, when you least expect them.

So, I was riding my shiny new bike around the Central Park loop. Yes, riding my bike, it's true. Clad in paint-splattered stretch pants, hair pinned back, sweating up the hill with a heave-ho or eleven. There I was pedaling up that windy, steep hill past 110th St., determined to keep going. I stood up on my legs, I pushed every ounce of energy I could muster into those legs. My body weight, and the mountain bike, shifted from side to side.

I wanted to speedy-it up that hill. I reached the top, and as I did, the tops of my legs were burning and throbbing. At last, ahhhh, that sigh of relief. A flattening out of the path. A straightening out of the legs. I stood up on my bike. I started to coast.

On my right, a road biker passed me in a helmet, outfitted with gear and a team jersey. "No, you've got to keep pedaling now. That's how you'll get faster," he said, with a smile, as he breezed past.

"Ha!" I laughed, as in that's too difficult!, "I want to stop."

Riding around the loop I kept seeing this biker with his team jersey. "What loop are you on?" he called out as his teammate passed.

"This is my 12th" said the rider who flew by, wearing the same jersey. Yep, that'd be twelve times around the CP loop that is some six miles long.

I had to slow to a snail's pace to get up each hill. Then, I'd burn rubber on the downhill.

Somehow, I kept seeing this guy. Sometimes, I'd even pass him. I'm thinking he maybe let me pass him, and of course, he was on lap...nine.

As I veered right just past SummerStage, he rode up alongside me. And, he struck up a conversation. "When did you start riding? How often do you ride? Why the heck did you get a mountain bike? How many loops have you done?" A barrage of questions, aimed directly at me.

"This is my second loop, and, two's good for me," I said, breathless and gripping the handle bars, trying to keep pace. I was only hoping I wouldn't run into a curb, or a little kid chasing a ball into a cross-walk, because I was looking at this biker in the jersey for too long instead of the road.

What a smile. I'm not kidding here when I say it was like having my own little Prince Charming ride up alongside me...straddling a bicycle. I was smitten. And, wow, that hasn't happened in a while. He said he's a consultant. He coaches a women's soccer team in his free time. And, races with his biking team.

Before we knew it, we were nearing the Guggenhein. And, that's my exit.

"This is me," I said with a wave.

"What's your name?" he blurted out.

I said my name, asking in return, "What's yours?"

Just then, a horrendously loud trash truck passed by on our right. It was as if he was miming his name.

"What?" I said.

He said it again. Still, the raucous trash truck was drowning out his voice.

Sounded like Ermu or Ermin, or something like that?

I slowed down. He rode on. And as he did, he reached back his hand, and with a sparkling twinkle in his eye, he said to me, "So nice to meet you."

Yeah, I'll say -- nice to meet you ,too, Mr. biker with the snazzy team jersey. I just knew I could get into this bike riding thing.

Think I'll ever see him again in this concrete jungle?

I was thinking back to what I learned at The Box, about this Missed Connections thing.

Then, I thought, well no. You know what? It would be nice to meet this man again. But really, it doesn't matter if I do or if I don't. Just fun to meet someone new, in an unexpected way, at a surprising time and place. That's the beauty of it all. Besides, I know where he bikes...

They are out there, ladies. These men. Get yourselves some bikes. Get yourselves some Lance.

Live from New York City, alive and kickin' it on the Upper East Side.

YGAT

Hey, It's the Weekend!

Cool stuff going on I thought you should know about:

Ah, Smooth Jazz:

What: The Charlie Parker Jazz Festival
When: Saturday, August 25, 3-6pm & Sunday, August 26
Where: Marcus Garvey Park: 124th St. & Mt. Morris Park
Musicians: Sat: Abbey Lincoln, Chico Hamilton, Marc Cary, Lezlie Harrison Sun: Chico Hamilton, George Coleman, plus
Cost: It's free


You like to reggae, reggae:

What: Reggae Caribfest 2007
When: Saturday, August 25, 2-11pm
Where: Randall's Island Park
Musicians: *Buju Banton, Third World, *Lucky Dube (Big fan)
Call: 212-307-7171 Cost: $47

Enjoy!

YGAT

Heat, Breeze,Tenderness

Are you hooked yet? Well, if you're at all warm to world music, I think you'll like this:

Artist: Youssou N'Dour

Album: Coono du reer (Nothing's in Vain)

A good song: Tan Bi (Heat, Breeze, Tenderness)

And, an even better song: Il N'Y a Pas d'Amour Heureux (There's no happy love)

I frickin' love it. And, it's a happy love. It lights up my spirit. It spreads a smile across my face. I get the urge to play the air drums. And, you know that's a good sign. It's my late-night chill-out sound. I can put this second song on repeat and listen to it some 15 times -- in a row. Like I said, I frickin' love it. And, it's a happy love. Learn more about Youssou here. But, listen to the tunes there with my standard caveat: The older stuff is much, much better.

But, I digress. What I really meant to say was: Don't miss this tomorrow night!

The Sound: Philharmonic Orchestra of the Americas ('cause we're Renaissance like that)
The Place: Fifth Avenue at 104th ('cause we do venture beyond the nabe from time to time)
The Hour: 7 o'clock p.m.-ish ('cause this is not a meeting)
The Shell-Out: Freebie ('cause we're not too cool to roll like that)

Beethoven's Seventh Symphony performed by the Latin American ensemble led by Mexican conductor Alondra de la Parra. Keep your eye out for Puerto Rican tenor Joel Prietro Leon.

Got to get your big-C somewhere in there.

Working. Biking. Music. Running. Big C? Eating. Music. Reading. Sleeping. Music. Working again.

Never a dull moment ... on the Upper East Side.

YGAT

Sage Words: Your Horoscope

It's still stuck to the fridge. It stares at me. This tattered slip of newsprint torn from the Village Voice. It was as much the timing, as it was the message. Still, every morning, as I reach for the carton of orange juice, it glares at me. I do not want to read it every day; but, I read on anyway. Something about it spells New York City. Something in it reads: here, now. We don't stay here for the fresh air. Nor -- let's be honest -- do we stay for the stunning views and sweet fragrant air. As Liz Phair puts it "Nothing feeds a hunger...like a thirst."

And, as that message on the fridge, that expired horoscope from six months ago, goes:

""People rarely succeed unless they have fun in what they are doing," said motivational author Dale Carnegie. Those should be your words to live by for the rest of 2006. It's time for you to become almost ruthless in your intention to enjoy yourself as you carry out your life's work. I'm tempted to go as far as to say that you should disentangle yourself from any commitment in which duty overshadows pleasure. Your drive to do good deeds and be of use to people will ultimately fall short, unless you love what you do.""

Love what you do. Do what you love. Take risks. Have a voice. Give it your all.

On the Upper East Side.

Now, don't go getting performance anxiety on me here.

If you don't believe, who will?

YGAT

All She Was Saying...

"There's no smile like the smile on your face"

Lyric from "Salala" with Angelique Kidjo and Peter Gabriel

"We are all one humanity," said Angelique Kidjo into the microphone at Central Park's SummerStage, "Music has made that possible. Africa is everywhere."

Unicef would have been proud. With Angelique's song came a powerful message of peace, love, and tolerance. The crowd clapped and rooted for her.

Angelique radiates spirit. She was sprightly, jumping around the stage, dancing. And, she repeats her message tirelessly. "Love is the answer," she said, adding, "While we're all here and healthy, let's have some fun!"

The crowd did not roll their eyes. There was something in her so authentic. She pretty much had the world up there on her stage with her, introducing band members from Suriname, Senegal, Guinea Bissau, South Africa. Then, she waved members of the audience on-stage. What an eclectic group. A break-dancer broke it down to applause rippling across the crowd; a white little boy looking about 8, clad in a woven African shirt, was hands-flying, legs-pumping getting his dance on, hair flopping every which way; an Upper East Side Mom shimmied to and fro. A threesome of teenage girls bounced about and sang into the mic when Kidjo proffered it.

Man was the sound good. Crisp. Pure. Lively. Sometimes taking it soulful (that prayer song).

Yeah, Angelique, that's the way to do it. Welel Wele, Sister. In the face of all that bitterness and biting cynisism out there, Agolo (Fon meaning, "move out, make room"). Yeah, that's right. We are all one. We. Are. All. One. Woo.

YGAT

Angelique Calling

Wooo! This is last-minute indeed, so I hope you get it in time. Just got word that Benin, West Africa's own Angelique Kidjo will be playing Summer Stage today.

You may know her from when she opened for the Dave Matthews Band. It is going to be hot in the most fantastic, nostalgic way. Well, for me at least. I think, no I know, you're going to love it.

When: 3-7pm, Sunday August 12
Where: Enter c.p. at E 69th Street
Sample the sound: Here...

Oh, the anticipation. A bientot, mes amis.

YGAT

Spammer Camp

Just who are these spammers, and who gave them my e-mail?

No matter how many e-mail addresses I create -- one for this, another for that; one that is new, another outdated (did I really go by that nickname?) -- they find me. They locate me on gmail. They find me on Yahoo! They have even chased me down at work.

They try and tempt me with their subjectlines. Thinking I will fall for their schemes, they type their subjectlines in all caps. They include words they think I will like, with their "You've Won!" and "Collect Your Prize!". What they do not know, is that their key words will not work on me.

Sometimes, their headlines are alright and I wonder how they were trained. Was it headlines boot camp? And, how do they decide what the most-clickable headlines will be? Was there a man wearing glasses with a clipboard in hand reading off a list of research-based, can't-go-wrong headline words -- Jott this down, class: Collect, Prize, Win, Urgent -- with two exclamation points!! -- as little spamalots feverishly copied them into spammer boot-camp Steno Pads?

Most days I laugh. Some days I wonder who these crazy people are, and why they have so much free time with which to send me ridiculous e-mails. Occasionally -- yes, I admit it is true! -- I get the urge to open one just for kicks.

One time, I did. I opened it. The body of the e-mail was irksome. Garbled gibberish. I sent a reply message just for the satisfaction of it: "Please do not ever e-mail me again." It bounced back.

Do not make my mistake. No matter how strong the urge or how your curiosity soars, whatever you do, never open spam. Even if you think you may know "Hi! Long time no speak!" you do not. And, I can assure you that "GOOD DAY URGENT RESPOND" will survive if you choose not to.

The worst thing you can ever do is open. Just one, and you're done. You creak open the door and the onslought begins. The loudspeaker at Spammer headquarters crackles. On comes a voice:

"Attention All Spammers: An e-mail with the following subjectline has been opened:

CONGRATULATIONS YOU ARE A WINNER!

Note: one exclamation mark, not two.

Here is her e-mail address. Go, spamsters. E-mail her. In droves."

Now, I delete on-arrival.

I strongly suggest you do the same.

Silly spammers. Get some lives, will ya?

Yours Truly,

YGAT

Dance Fever

All that excess energy. What ever to do with it? Watch this sure-to-be-exuberant dance performance Friday night al-fresco and conjure up some ideas. This dance performance will not disappoint. It's going to be explosive. Of course, keep in mind that these are professional, skilled dancers. So, don't try these moves at home unsupervised. Seeing is believing is feeling is getting some sparkling-fresh ideas and the inspiration to do something with them.

What: Complexions Contemporary Ballet & TAKE Dance Company
When: Friday, 8-10pm
Why Not to Skip: Way better than happy hour. We're talkin' inspiration here.
Where: Enter C.P. at E. 69th

See ya there? You betcha!

YGAT

Backyard Brazil

It's reggae ease with Rio edge. Where roots and techno meld. AfroReggae is an electric mix -- funk, mangue, raga, samba-reggae, xaxado, capoeira, candomblé...rap? -- set to spur up your senses tomorrow. It's Manu meets Marley. Yes, that hot. Are you getting me here?

See this spirited band, a product of the favela shantytowns of Rio de Janeiro, at Summer Stage's fete for all things Brazilian...Sunday night.

If the music isn't enough to rouse you, perhaps the film screening will trigger a little movement. Director Sergio Resende’s Zuzu Angel (2006) tells the touching true story of a 70s Brazilian fashion designer whose son died at the hands of a military regime.

When: August 5, 7-10pm
Where: Enter Central Park at E. 69th St.

See you in Rio, babies.

Well no, it won't be Rio. It will be Central Park.

But, we can stir it up like it's Rio de Janeiro...circa 1999.

YGAT

Park East Serves Last Meal

Today! Park East Grill (Second Avenue b/t East 82nd-83rd) will serve its final meal tonight.

The official message posted on their web site reads:

"To Our Valued Customers,

It is with great sadness that we announce the closing of Park East Grill. -Our Last Lunch & Dinner Meals Will Be Served On Thursday August 2, 2007-Our Last Meal Ever Will Be The Shabbat Dinner on Friday August 3, 2007Our building was recently sold, and we have accepted a buyout offer from our new landlord for the eleven years remaining on our lease. Since the managing partner of Park East Grill will be starting the full time MBA program at Columbia University next month, we have decided against the lengthy and timely process of building and acquiring the necessary permits for a new location.

The catering division of Park East Grill will continue to operate at Park East Kosher located at 1623 Second Avenue between East 84th and East 85th streets with the same executive chef. The catering division is available to cater all types of functions from 2 to 2000 people, as well as provide certified Glatt Kosher Meals on china or disposable plates for anyone attending a function at a non-kosher venue. For catering inquiries, please call Murray or Michael at 212-737-9800.Thank You for your patronage over the past four years.

The team at Park East Grill"

Read more at Chowhound and Eater and on their Web site

YGAT

Cabbies' Revolt

"They treat us like slaves," said the Cabbie of garage managers.

I was leaving Felix in Soho, heading uptown in a cab, and we got to talking. What can I say? It's a long ride. One question leads to the next. You get to chatting. And before you know it, Mr. Cabbie is speaking his mind.

I would think nothing of it (we all need a little vent once in a while) except that this was the third Cabbie in the course of four days who was telling me there was going to be a strike --a Cabbie Revolt, if you will -- in September if not before. They are not happy, the Cabbies.

Why the angst?

Well, it started with GPS. The city has mandated that every yellow cab have it installed by Oct. 1. Wasn't it nifty, I said innocently to a Cabbie Tuesday when I hopped a cab uptown on my break to pay for my new bike. Here I was in the back seat of a cab, hearing investment advice from CNBC's Jim Cramer.

"Cash and sitting on the sidelines," he blared. "Wait for the market to come back down. It's Ok to sit back on the sidelines." As he said the word back, Cramer jolted his body backward and motioned with his hands as if he was pushing against a wall, adding dramatic effect to his message.

Cool, cool I thought. Now these were New York minutes. I could pick up a quick tip or news bit, perhaps a story idea, on a speedy five-minute jaunt.

The Cabbie was less than thrilled with the technological advancement. So long, he said with a huff, to off duty. The garage would now be tracking his every move. No more driving his family somewhere on a Sunday. No more pulling an 18-hour shift in order to take two consecutive days off. Uh-uh-uh, not with Big Garage Manager monitoring his every mile and route. And, now tourists could pick their routes. And, what do they know?

Tonight, it was hyrbid cars. Everyone is pushing these hybrid cars, my driver told me. Yes sure, he said, he'd pay $15 a night in gas with a hybird compared to the $40 a night he now spends.

But, he said, -- cue lurking, slimy garage manager -- if the Cabbies used hybrid cars, they would just be charged higher upfront fees or something and managers would somehow weasel them out of any additional profits.

Oh, and the credit card machines. Cabbies are not wanting them in their cabs, either. I had to stick up for the customer on this one. I often don't carry cash and therefore have to ask a Cabbie, on dropping me off, to wait while I get money from the ATM. I'd love to have paying for a cab ride be as easy, and fee-free, as buying a coffee at the Buck. Slide my card and it's done. Paid for. In exact dollars and cents.

But oh, said the Cabbie, the traffic jams it will create. And...the 10 percent charge on every transaction he'll have to pay.

I let him gripe. I feel for the Cabbies. They want their autonomy. They want their off-duty.

They want their voices to be heard. And, it's America. Let them rant and rage.

The one thing I love about New Yorkers: They're expressive. They yell all the time but never seem to mean or take offense. They get their ideas across. That's just how they communicate. They get it off the chest, on the table...and let the damn things go.

My prediction? Cabbie Revolt in September, if not before. Get your metro card ready.

Want to place bets?

YGAT

Read more here or here