Pass GO. Collect $200.
- The mister and I like to talk about our get-out-of-jail-free picks. You know, like, if he ran into Cindy Crawford tomorrow, and they had a wild tryst, he'd get out of jail free. I could never fault him for going even part of the way with Cindy Crawford. My list? Well, it's a lot longer than his. Herewith, the men of my unfaithful dreams:
- Andrew M. Cuomo, governor of New York
- Nick Fouquet, milliner
- Oscar Isaac, actor and musician
- Rory McCann, actor
- Emilio Muñoz, torero
- Patrick Rafter, tennis pro
Happening! Just registered Patty and myself for the 8th annual Hamptons Marathon on September 27, and I cannot wait. Last time I ran this route in 2009, Kate and I both qualified for Boston, and our post-finish celebration party was epic. (Like burn-all-the-photos epic.) Lord knows what we’ll get into this year.
Anonymous said: Hi Cary!- I'm in search of some advice. My boyfriend of 8 years just asked me to move in with him (high school sweethearts). I'm a little hesitant to do so, partly because he still hasn't asked the BIG question and partly because both of our families are extremely traditional so I'm sure you can expect the hoopla that would ensue. I know you don't know all the details but what is your advice?
Easy answer: Don’t move in. Not because your parents would disapprove, but because you have doubts. Sharing a home with your boyfriend will not guarantee that he asks the BIG question, and take it from me—there is nothing worse than moving out. Also? If both sets of parents would be unhappy with their precious angels living in sin, why risk those relationships? I assume things are already great with your man if he’s inviting you to cohabitate; tell him thanks but no thanks, enjoy your independence for a little while longer, and save that call to U-Haul for another day.
Anonymous said: I'm an introvert, but I'm also very social - I faked my way through for years before I finally got to know myself well enough to understand I was so damn burned out if I went too long without alone time. But now that I know this about myself and am sick of forcing myself to fight it, how do I still grow my social life while still maintaining some quiets nights in for just myself? I'm always either in a phase of overstimulation due to FOMO or accidentally isolating myself too much! Help?
Start by making one plan a week with a friend or small group. Keep it intimate—dinner and drinks at a favorite restaurant, a jog in the park followed by mani-pedis, etc. Then set aside one or two nights for spontaneous socializing—a college pal is in town on short notice so leave work early to meet for a drink; a coworker has an extra ticket to a concert, etc. The remaining nights you can fill as you please, but be sure to fill them. Volunteer at an after-school program, book a cooking class, take yourself out for sushi, hit back-to-back barre classes, etc. As you grow more comfortable with a packed schedule, you may grow to better appreciate your quiet nights in and more social activities. Don’t force yourself to troll crowded bars just because everyone else is doing that. There’s no faster train to Unhappyville.
Fresh names, every day.
- No pets until I can pay someone to care for them, but in the meantime it's fun to play "name the puppy" (and is slightly less creepy than naming my unborn children, which, you know, I still do from time to time).
- Ham Sandwich
- Stephen Washington Fuller II
- Christie Brinkley
- Ronald Reagan
- Jane Junior
"Positive thinking, Cary. Positive thinking."
Anonymous said: Hi Cary, what is the place to be these days for a drink with girlfriends that is below 23rd and where a typical male crowd is 30ies rather than 20ies? :) thank u!! xo
Rose Bar is a favorite. Up & Down for a late night. And on game days, my friends like to hit Ainsworth Park for the man candy (and multiple TV screens). WXOU Radio Bar for dirty dudes. ACME, maybe? And if you’re hungry for more than male attention, try Diablo Royale, where the Patrick Bateman protegés are as hot as the micheladas.
Anonymous said: Advice for recent grads? Of the spiritual, emotional sort. In a way, I have the kind of job/relationship/life I dreamed of as a kid, but it's a roller coaster over here and I can't stop questioning myself or turn off all that other neurotic STUFF swimming through my head now that I'm fresh in the real world. I live in NYC, if it makes a difference (I think that makes the neuroses worse). Oh, and I've decided I need more close friends, but don't know where to start.
Patience, grasshopper. Your early- to mid-twenties will be rife with angst and self-doubt as you settle into your new city life, but I promise you will emerge on the other side of (approx.) 27 with a clear sense of self. To quell the beast inside, sweat. Run in the evening to catch a sunset, hit a pre-dawn spin class, turn off the A/C and dance with a pair of five-pound weights in your hand—whatever will work your heart rate. Still have nerves to spare? Keep moving! Take a sailing class or sign up for a tennis clinic. Help out with this organization after work or this non-profit on a weekend afternoon. Road trip with a friend to DIA:Beacon and Storm King, tackle your reading list, call your parents every day and say, “I love you.” Scribble at least one line in a journal every day. Then fall into bed at night too tired to think about that STUFF swimming in your head.
Oh, and get a therapist. That’s a New York mitzvah.
Summer is cooler…
My family doesn’t really do Father’s Day; I find myself saying this every year yet still make a public declaration of love for my dad. Well, this year I rebel by marking the occasion on Monday. Watching him sit in the front pew at my sister’s wedding ceremony, his eyes aglow, his chin quivering, calm and strong yet so deeply moved, I realized how hard it must have been to give Jane away to her groom, how much easier to keep her for himself. I thought of all the times I’ve made him proud, how I never cease to seek his approval. Loving my father is an ultramarathon with no finish line.
These are flask bangles by Cynthia Rowley.
Feel free to toss all your other jewelry.
"At the beginning of my life was a forest."
When I was small—a time that grows more rapidly far away with every blink—my favorite picture book was Once Upon a Time by Pamela Prince—a collection of short stories inspired by the artwork of Jessie Wilcox Smith. The idea that a picture could inspire a story was then new to me, and I pored over each page for hours, creating my own little worlds peppered with water fairies and seashells and children in sailor suits and pageboy haircuts and beautiful Edwardian mamas who wore dresses to the seashore and hung the laundry out to dry. When I stumbled upon one of Ms. Smith’s illustrations the other day, it took me right back—I jumped in my mind to that garden above—hiding, imagining, so tiny I thought I’d never grow up. Well, I grew up.