Table of Contents
Hi friends!
I wish I could make a career out of planning fun trips. When I was feeling depressed at my news job and had free moments, I went into a Google Sheet and planned out a monthlong road trip across the Southeastern U.S. (so many places there I want to see but cannot rationalize a standalone trip for) that I may never make the time to take. My friend Nat went to Italy this month, and, after showing me her mother’s crazily thorough proposed itinerary, I then created a separate itinerary based on a similar trip I took last summer.
My re-adjustment to urban life after two weeks in Western Pennsylvania’s famed suburbs had a joyful interruption this week that I helped create. I and eleven other friends spent a weekend in upstate New York. I think this would be categorized as upstate, but exhausted Hudson Valley natives always defending their homeland are welcome to correct me (and me calling the Hudson Valley upstate would also be so New York of me). So many trips with friends can be drama-filled and dysfunctional — just ask any Miami girls’ trip survivor. Thankfully, I had a killer weekend.
A weekend upstate
New Yorkers spend as much energy trying to live in the city as they do planning their escapes. The two most famous local journeys city slickers take are the Hamptons in the summer and upstate in the fall. I like to think of how they differ through a metaphor of clothing: Hamptons beaches attract swimsuit wearers, confident in showing off; upstate calls for cozy turtlenecks with introversion and introspection. My only experiences with New York sans City are touring Syracuse University and always using Fishkill as a pit stop on a Pittsburgh-to-New England drive. I’ve never been to the Hamptons, and finding a place to stay upstate is cheaper.
Friday was a big Meera day: her birthday and her last day of work at her first big-girl job. My friends and I in the Bailers’ Society have long attempted and failed to make an upstate trip work. I was determined to coordinate a celebration so special that my girlfriend who refuses to be a burden could not say no to.
Something that made this trip successful was how every person fit into a different role, providing different skills and abilities to make the trip functional and fun. I don’t have a car or cooking prowess, but I can get people on task and nag lovingly. I had to start the plan’s fire because I cannot start a real-life fire. I started asking various friends if they were interested in the middle of October, which seems early but is actually the perfect amount of time for northeastern ingenues in my circles.
I then stressed myself out with the burden I and only I placed upon myself. I made an extensive Google Sheet with Airbnbs across New York that could fit upwards of 16 people. I did this to answer as many questions as possible and leave little room for confusion. I tend to befriend very indecisive people. I’m not sure if this is because I like nice friends or if I like having the space to make my preferred outcomes possible. In a planning context, this can be frustrating…but less so if I prepare.
I used to like texting, and then I got a girlfriend. Texting is for horny yearners. Now, I’m bad at it (according to aforementioned yearners) and almost only text when planning something. I also try not to commit to something unless I am fully sure I will be there. Unfortunately 1. Not everyone is like this 2. Not everyone has the privilege to be like this. Making a mass text with numbers only I know all of and sending green texts to people was a necessary evil.
People commented their opinions on what they wanted from the location. People asked questions that were answered just three texts prior. Then, people started bailing. I knew this would happen, which is why I planned early — so I wouldn’t fear the cancelations. In a way, I welcomed them because it meant we had more options. I created an all-new group chat with around the same amount of people after bailers and joiners made their moves. One friend filled one of his roles by putting the reservation on his account. Whew…It’s booked.
A month passes. The twelve of us include the majority of my Bushwick core crew, two of their college friends living in Pennsylvania, and my Granite State lover, Cam. Basically, a group of urban insufferables made their way to the country, rambunctious due to their sheer size. Cam committed to taking days off to fill one of his trip roles, driver. I told him to come on Thursday a day before our departure so he could get a night in the city and the coziest air mattress in town.
Cam is one of those friends that I cannot imagine my life without, even though we met a little over two years ago. He is so special to me. I knew everyone who hadn’t met him yet would quickly fall in love with him. I enjoy showing him my life here because I can tell how much fun he has cosplaying a life more urban than the likes of Manchester, NH.
He arrived Thursday afternoon as Meera and I wrapped up work, and we proceeded to have a night that felt so great in the moment, but we almost forgot about it due to how intense our weekend was. We got dinner at an incredible restaurant near me I’ve always wanted to try before heading to Rockefeller Center to check off Cam’s bucket list item of seeing the Christmas tree there. I never had an interest in seeing such a landmark for capitalistic Christians, but my cynicism dropped as soon as we arrived. There were floods of people from around the world crowding to take pictures, even if they weren’t taking in the tree, which was massive and beautiful. Many people paid lots of money to skate on the ice rink below and somehow looked bored. We watched them and laughed.
As we traversed through the crowd, Meera said something that changed my perspective on being a transplant wannabe-hater: We’re where so many people want to be right now. She’s right, and isn’t that the New York experience I love so much? We stopped by Bryant Park and its “free” ice rink (note: skates are listed as costing $18–55), taking in the Christmas music, closed stalls, and drinks that would be overpriced in any other city. It was just fun to stand there with two people I love.
Friday arrived, and I almost regretted taking the day off since we would be departing around 6 p.m. However, this was the perfect time to finish final errands before leaving and treat Cam to real bagels. Our lives were altered by the Brooklyn Special at Greenberg’s Bagels, which includes avocado, hash browns, and other fun components. We went up in three vehicles: the PA crew (who filled grocery-getting roles), Cam’s new used Jeep Cherokee, and a Kia Soul rented from LaGuardia Airport (bless them).
The five of us including Cam made our way up to our Airbnb in Wurtsboro, NY. It’s at the foot of the Catskills, a region that used to be a Jewish vacation spot and the setting of Dirty Dancing aka my favorite movie. Wurtsboro was recently voted one of the lamest towns in New York or something similarly sad, but we weren’t here for the town. In my planning, I like picking places in good locations, but a group of twelve is staying put. We settled on a large, secluded barn with a silo and walking trails on the property. Our ride there was rainy, and a car lightly doinked the side of Cam’s Jeep in upper Manhattan. The majority of the drive was around the city, but we eventually started zooming down tree-lined streets.
The country doesn’t intimidate me. I grew up fifteen minutes from some form of it. I love sitting by a fire and hearing buggy, birdy noises in the distance. Nature, however, is not really my thing. I like being adjacent, but I am too much of a diva to immerse myself effectively. No matter what strength I build in the gym, I will always be a wimp in the woods. Our Airbnb perfectly exuded feeling rustic but not actually, maybe even a form of glamping for gentrifiers like us looking for a weekend retreat.
Twelve sounds like an overwhelming number of people, but it was actually the sweet spot of having unified moments as well as segmented activities. I never felt stuck. On the first night, we exchanged white elephant gifts (I stole a walkie-talkie, then got a pretty ashtray set I only see myself using as decoration) and celebrated Meera’s birthday. Multiple people brought cameras, including Meera’s old camcorder that we took turns using. We set off the smoke alarm twice. A few of us watched an episode of Seinfeld before bed.
Saturday began with a big breakfast and then one of us led a yoga class for the group. After what eventually turned into a group hug, we consumed substances and went on a hike. We eventually started scaling this steep-ish hill, and I decided I didn’t want to continue. My mom always said part of why I had trouble keeping friends during childhood was my inability to compromise with what other people wanted to do. Not that that’s always a bad thing. I do think it lines up with making more indecisive, sweeter friends as an adult. Thankfully, three others joined me in what became an extremely slow descent.
We had the camcorder, and around 12 uninterrupted minutes were recorded. The conversations had were absolutely hilarious. Meera discussed an invention idea that the three of us laughed at because it probably existed (a watch but instead of it telling time, it’s just a compass) and then us all apologizing profusely despite her telling us we were not mean.
My friend Allie eventually turns the camcorder towards me, high off of the day, and asks What have you learned from this journey? While I thought about my refusal to finish the hike with the majority of the group, I immediately responded, I am uncomfortable every day, which then led to a laugh/cry mix. My friends who watched this video later said this moment was genuinely beautiful, but that’s because they’re sweeties. I think it’s really funny. I’m lucky to be in a group of other snowflakes who let me quit an activity and don’t call me a p*ssy. But now and again, they do, which I also like because I know it’s out of love. Sometimes I think that if people aren’t poking fun at me at least a little bit, I think they’re lying to me. I’m working on this.
Our friends join us back near the end of the trail, and we begin our cozy evening. I ate pita chips while I watched two of my more outdoorsy friends make a fire. This trip was truly just an opportunity to constantly do what I wanted. We eventually made our way inside and had a singalong, hosted by our resident virtuoso. Even the tougher ones screamed the lyrics. I think of the saying I am cringe, but I am free. It was a lot of I love yous mixed in with bits. People sharing themselves authentically, but we are all genuinely performers.
What I like about this crew is how every person challenged me on both the smartest and silliest levels. We had deep conversations before dancing around the sunroom. Inside jokes built upon each other. I hope no one felt left out. I like to think this is a feely enough group that everyone could be rescued.
The morning after. We groggily make our way to the local diner, staff absolutely gobsmacked by this slightly adult version of high school theater kids descending upon Denny’s after a show. I demolished my challah french toast, which I haven’t found in diners outside of New York. I worried about us being too loud, but at least we tipped well. Until they thought we didn’t — a server came outside to talk to part of our group after not seeing cash on the table. The server didn’t realize we tipped with our cards at the front countertop. Even when trying to be hospitable, the Bushwick losers fail once again to understand how communities work.
Cam’s car zips back to Brooklyn, and we stopped at Trader Joe’s to get groceries for the week. What a fun idea. Function after the fun. We had a cozy night debriefing and looking at media from the weekend. Meera’s camcorder provided such an insight into our dynamic. Each clip was captivating, maybe even to a non-crew audience. That might be a stretch, but it’s close. There were so many silly moments, and it reminded me of how cool every person was. That seldom happens — most trips have at least one buzzkill. My friend Allie said in multiple videos that this could be for ourselves or even our kids someday. I started looking at the videos with that lens. Such joy. What a privilege to unplug and realize the joy in it while it’s happening.
Back to the reality of adulthood. I’ve spent the whole day at my desk, first working then writing. Not sure if this stream-of-consciousness debrief for you all is an interesting read or not, so let me know if it is.
How to plan a weekend away with a big group
Have a non-text project management space. I love Google Sheets, but really any type of document people can access and update live that isn’t over text can work. This makes your plan feel legitimate.
Don’t fear nagging. You can’t expect people to do something after telling them once. No matter their ages, you are wrangling kindergarteners. Just ask them kindly again and again. No one will think you’re annoying because you’re the one getting things done.
Kill your darlings. God, I really wanted a hot tub for this trip. I even had a Does this place have a hot tub? in my Google Sheet. But the places that worked better for the group didn’t have a hot tub, despite all of us hoping the perfect place would. In the end, it’s just fun to be with your friends somewhere cozy.
Plan transportation thoroughly. I knew I would be in Cam’s car, so once the Airbnb was booked, I checked out of planning. A whole contingent had to scramble for travel. I assumed they could take a bus or train since it exists, but those don’t run super often. They rented a car, and it worked out. But think of all possible outcomes at the very beginning.
Think of a few structured group activities. Simple things most people will like. Having hiking, yoga, and a white elephant on the docket gave us stuff to look forward to and anchor our days.
Be transparent about your shortcomings or discomfort. If you feel weird, chances are that someone else feels even weirder.
Have a core within the core. Everyone’s fun, but having Cam and Meera as my roommates the day before gave us that checkpoint to always come back to each other when we got sleepy.
Always offer to help pay. Money is weird, especially with a big group. If you’re the first person to offer help, hopefully, others will follow suit. It also isn’t weird to suggest that people do. Unless you’re going on a trip with annoying people.
Bring your own snacks. Just in case and just for you. But I never ate any of mine. On the way back, I bought a bizarre gas station snack I still haven’t eaten: Funfetti Muddy Buddies. Try saying that five times fast.
This week’s photo is from the very end of our trip. My friend Gabby took this on a disposable camera in the rain. Most of us were reluctant to take this rainy picture, but of course it turned out adorable.
Olympic Coaching
Y’all I need new entries or I’m gonna stop doing this LMAOOO
Want advice from someone as unqualified but possibly more confident than you? Send in a question for Olympic Coaching.
Current fixations I want to mention
Food & Drink
The Bushwick/East Williamsburg border is teeming with killer restaurants that I am ever so slowly eating through. When I first moved here, my friend Jordan told me about this intimate bar/restaurant Otis as a cozy date spot. When Cam came Thursday and I asked what he was craving, he replied, I want to spend $50–100 on dinner. I immediately thought of Otis and am so happy I did. Cam, Meera, and I sunk into a leather couch, ogling at the drink menu while waiting for our table. It’s a real Bushwick crowd (derogatory) wearing turtlenecks and enjoying a sophisticated night out in their neighborhood. It’s packed but not in an overwhelming way and easy to feel like you’re on your own island. There was even a couple near us making out for the majority of their table tenure. We ordered our first round of drinks, and I got to sip one of my new favorite espresso martinis. We chose four dishes for the three of us and were worried that there wouldn’t be enough food, but enough time passed between courses that we hit capacity at the right time. I hate having to pay for bread, but warm focaccia with spreads of baba ghanoush and a puddle of chili oil on ricotta for the choosing was worth the spend. The three of us were so excited to be continually impressed. Next up, we shared shrimp pipián, which is basically charred, full shrimp with a chili sauce. I’m not a big shrimp girl, but I liked this dish. I then got my second drink — a margarita with a more upscale name I forget — and savored it while tearing through roasted squash (best part were the random candied peanuts). The last course was the landslide favorite, a braised pork pasta that brought us close to a primal scream. It was the coziest, most flavorful pasta and felt like a home-cooked meal (but certainly not my mom’s kosher-ish home). As if we needed another reason to love Otis, one of the multiple servers dealing with us that night gave us a free drink for being cool. Perks of not being an a**hole in public! If you want to impress your parent or partner, Otis is the perfect cave to escape the bitter cold.
Music
I was never really a Sims girl. Many people I love are or were, but my Sims experience is pretty minimal in comparison. I do remember my cousin showing me Katy Perry Simlish songs in his basement many years ago but never thought I would listen to music in a video game’s made-up language ever again. On our way upstate, friend Aimee queued up a Simlish song her roommate indoctrinated her into loving: Podie Tie. This song sounds like an early-2000s pop-ish, singer-songwriter girl bop, akin to “Suddenly I See” by KT Tunstall. The song was actually not bad with a catchy chorus. Watching Aimee jam in the backseat knowing the fake words made me laugh, and a few other passengers began getting the words by the end. We continued quoting the song throughout the weekend, and I was tickled that a Simlish song captured our minds. Eee wubbazee buh pa podie tie…
Internet & Pop Culture
I don’t really have many insightful things to say about Wednesday’s Spotify Wrapped x Kissinger Death day on the Internet, but I do think it should be marked here. First of all, my Spotify Wrapped is mostly not embarrassing aside from not beating the reggaetón gringa allegations and hyperpop “mos thoser” being one of my top songs. We had that single day of talking about what each college town you were assigned based on your taste meant (I got Berkeley with a lot of other gay people). From my own judging of the friends I follow on Instagram, I got to see what kind of sad everyone is. Or if they just listen to Taylor Swift. Or if the Spotify algorithm decided to make Drake someone’s top artist despite barely listening to him. The worst thing I saw was someone’s Close Friends story showing that Panic! At the Disco has been their top artist six years in a row. We were having such a fun Internet day…and then Henry Kissinger died. And we thought Wrapped was the Internet’s unifier! The death of a war criminal brought on a plethora of takes and observations, my favorite being that a New York Times writer of Kissinger’s obituary actually died first. Great day to be an Internet user…and the next best one will be when Ziwe interviews George Santos.
Television & Maybe Movies
I haven’t had an It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia phase like some of my friends have, but I enjoyed watching S10 E8 “The Gang Goes on Family Fight” last night with Cam and Meera. Family Fight is a parody of Family Feud with Keegan Michael-Key serving as a skinner, ‘stache-less Steve Harvey. The gang is just the cringiest and worst juxtaposed to the traditional game show set and their nice, normal competitors. Frank saying Shabooyah and dancing around, Dee answering a question with cock instead of chicken, Mac not knowing how the game works at all, the gang angering the host by illustrating their fake family lore ad nauseam…it’s just perfection. I don’t think you need to know the show super well to laugh at the episode.
Journalism & Literature
We drove through a few rural, single-stoplight towns on our way home from upstate. While looking out the window in Bloomingburg, NY, I was surprised to see a building with a sign fully in Hebrew. Then another. Then a whole apartment complex with ultra-orthodox Jewish families hanging around. I knew about a few New York and New Jersey Hasidic havens but was surprised to find one this rural in the United States. I got home and dove into articles. Here’s an investigation from a few years ago in the Jewish leftist magazine Jewish Currents: “Welcome to Lammville.” Bloomingburg only recently became a Haredi refuge after property developer Shalom Lamm poured tons of funds into the worn-down town. Like most longtime Brooklynites, the Satmar Hasids are being priced out of their apartments; however, it’s harder for them to move somewhere else if there isn’t community infrastructure built to specifically sustain them. Lamm’s funding of apartments with kosher kitchens, kosher grocery stores, and more helps ease the Hasidic housing crisis. Here’s the huge catch: the people who lived in Bloomingburg beforehand are obviously freaked out. The fabric of their community changed, their houses lost value, and elections were no longer won by longtime residents. There was actually a massive voting fraud case that yielded jail time for Lamm and two of his associates. Residents, many being secular Jews, were rightfully confused about how their village abruptly changed. Unfortunately, Hasidic businesses dealt with antisemitic graffiti and lots of angry confrontation. Lamm denounced most criticism of his plans as antisemitic, but I’m of the opinion that just because community influx is Hasidic, not all disdain for Bloomingburg’s changes is rooted in antisemitism or xenophobia. When people like Lamm cry antisemitism at anything that has to do with a Jewish person, it cheapens the very real concept and instead breeds even more hatred from goyim. I read a lot of interesting stories about Bloomingburg yesterday…almost like a verrry different kind of Gentrifier Olympics case study?
Something I Saw in the Wild
Since graduating, I have had a hard time getting in the spirit for winter holidays. In school, it felt like everything around you was decorated festively or blasting Bing Cosby. Now, you have to find your own holiday cheer. I usually don’t mind this because Christmas especially can feel overwhelming and unavoidable; however, all cultures love having holiday lights as an antidote to winter’s darkness. Although I’ve been out of town or hermit-esque, I’ve enjoyed seeing lights hanging over roads near me. A few weeks ago, I saw lights newly set up in Ridgewood, holiday messages and graphics hanging above roads for cars to drive under and drivers/pedestrians to gaze up at. Christmas, Hanukkah, and wintry sentiments abound! I saw even more in Maspeth out of the Uber window on the way home from the airport, a neighborhood I previously thought was 100% warehouses. As it gets harder to motivate myself to go outside, I’ve found a lot of joy in the lights near me — blue snowflakes hanging over Knickerbocker Street. Of course a place as lefty as Bushwick gets the snowflake lights! Meera and Cam made that joke earlier; I can’t take credit.