I rode the Robo-Pony

What I did: rode the Robo-Pony (not its trademarked name), a mechanical horse with computerized controls and feedback, available for one-on-one lessons with a professional instructor. 

Who went with me: S. and K., my barn friends. We took turns. 

What I did beforehand: watched the FEI Grand Prix CDI 5* at the AGDF Wellington, Florida 

What I wore: new running bra and breeches, purchased for the experience.  

How I got tickets: we just, like, you know, walked up to this vendor’s tent, and saw a woman having a lesson on the Robo-Pony, stuck our heads in and started asking questions.

Why I tried it: it looked like fun.

Where I sat: slightly left, as I do, according to the sensors, and spent at least five minutes getting used to the terribly uneven feeling of sitting symmetrically in the saddle.  

Things that were sad: someone had yanked the left rein and broken the sensor, so the Robo-Pony was completely dull on the left side of its mouth. Also, I forget its name. Also, we had to pay the full amount, even though the Robo-Pony was kind of busted.

Things that were funny: I clucked at the Robo-Pony to get it to go. K. patted it. 

Things that were not funny: we were not supposed to kick the Robo-Pony to make it go. K. struggled because her long legs were below the sensors on its sides. Both S. and I kicked the Robo-Pony to make it go.

Something I bought: new Pikeur breeches in a lovely shade of French blue

What it is: an opportunity to ride an equine simulator and see on seven sensor screens some feedback about your position when riding, but probably not a substitute for real riding. The Robo-Pony revealed many of my known positional flaws, including my tendency to drop contact with the bit when I ask the horse to go forward; dropping the reins made the Robo-Pony stretch out and down and the computer screens filled with red bars of failure signals. Of the three of us, I am the least experienced dressage rider, and probably the only one interested in trying it again. I thought it was fun.

Who should see it: bored and curious visitors to the 2017 Adequan® Global Dressage Festival 

What I saw after: 2016 Rio Olympic Games bronze medalist Laura Graves riding her 2002 Dutch Warmblood gelding Verdades, in the “Friday Night Stars” FEI Grand Prix Freestyle CDI-W, with the winning score of 80.728%.

I burned the bread

What I did: soaked 125 grams of whole spelt grain in 125 ml of water for two hours; rinsed, aerated, and rested every 6 hours until it sprouted (about 18 hours); mixed it into a batch of sourdough bread dough, let it rest overnight in the refrigerator, got up in the morning and baked it, and burned both loaves.

What I did beforehand: took pictures of the cat 

What I wore: "MAYBE I LITERALLY CAN EVEN" t-shirt, pajama pants, Birkenstock clogs

Who went with me: the dogs

How I got distracted: looked at the news

Why I saw this show: you bake enough bread and the stuff you can buy will never be as good as what you can make.

Where I sat: just out of earshot of the oven timer.

Things that were sad: no bread for dinner; no bread to take to the barn.

Things that were funny: my brother suggested I cut off the crusts. What remained looked like a crouton the size of a large eggplant.

Things that were not funny: the burnt crust shattered when cut, and black crumbs large and small flew in several directions.

Something I ate: not this bread.

What it is: 200 grams home grown sourdough leaven, dissolved in 800 ml water, plus 200 g spelt flour and 800 g bread flour, plus 25 g fine sea salt in a almost-no-kneading technique. 

Who should see it: fans of rage cooking.

What I saw at the end:

spa days

What I did: spent a day at an upscale spa in an uncomfortably Trump-y part of Florida (Air Force One sat on the tarmac of the local airport while we were there, and can you believe that 45’s had it trimmed in gold leaf!? #FAKENEWS). And then, when our flight was cancelled by a snowstorm, we went back for a second day.

What I did beforehand: the heavenly theme of this spa requires that you have a near-death experience to visit. It’s ok, though, because as long as you exit through the gift shop you can resume your life. You’ll just be all refreshed and shit, and maybe have a fresh coat of turquoise toenail polish.

What I wore: a black lady’s bathing suit with a built-in bra and a shirred bodice that I bought from Nordstrom years ago when I was a loyal customer, long before the latest kerfuffle where people were all pissed that like Nordie was carrying the Pussy Grabber’s Major Love Interest’s clothing line and so I and a bunch of other pearl-clutching, freaked out  ninnies got all upset about the Dignity of the Office and cancelled our accounts with them via unnecessarily tart emails but then I guess like Nordie figured out that their customers don’t buy Ivanka’s crap anyway so now the Moneyed Liberal Ladies of America have released their collective grip on the pearls and are shopping at Nordie’s again. I mean, who can keep up with this shit? But also, the spa provided white robes to wear, and wear them we did.

It was fizzy. And pink.

Who went with me: my barn friends S. and K. our new German friend D., and S.’s old friend L. We were supposed to make this wish and put a floating candle in the little pool and stuff but like I threw my wish away on someone else the first day so it was a good thing we went back so I could make that wish just for me me me.

How I got there: the first day was planned, the second was on account of weather-related re-grouping.

Why I saw this show: I’ve been thinking about the Welcome to the Afterlife Teas my mother has been hosting with Oliver Sacks, and thought this might be where she sees Julia Child for planning meetings and then gets a facial and a manicure with her signature clear polish.

Where I sat: on a heated chaise made of tile, on a swing over a fountain, on a pile of green throw pillows, in the steam room, and on a pedicure throne.

Things that were sad: that it had to end.

Things that were funny: the Self-Centered Garden. Staff wearing fairy wings. 

Things that were not funny: there is no longer truth or fiction. There is just alternative facts. 

Something I ate: a lobster roll on the beach, with Due South Brewing Caramel Cream Ale 5%.

What it is: a deluxe resort and day spa called Eau Spa, in West Palm Beach. Right on the ocean, with several restaurants, and a pool, this hotel looks pretty luxurious (we didn’t see any guest rooms on our visit). I did see the gym facilities and take a yoga class by the beach, which was well-attended and skillfully led. I found it challenging to hear the instructor over the roar of the surf (this is actually praise and not criticism). The spa is a world into itself, with a women’s side and a men’s side (that one of my friends wandered into accidentally and was escorted out of). They have a full-service salon, hot tub, steam room, sauna, relaxation garden, and cupcakes.

Who should see it: babymooners, bachelorettes, reunion attendees, equestrians, and spa aficionados who expect the fullest of service experiences.

What I saw on the way home: one last look at the ocean.

I saw "Dear Evan Hansen"

What I saw: "Dear Evan Hansen," a new Broadway musical, at the Music Box Theater on West 45th near like, I dunno, 8th Ave.

What I did beforehand: saw this guy worshipping the clothes in a store, and then met up with my friend Bill from the Internet, and we had drinks. It was hard to feel like we weren't toasting the life of our dead friend, America. RIP, America. We knew you when.

What I wore: two black shirts with jeans, hiking boots, big parka, the earrings before I broke one.

Who went with me: white people.

How I got tickets: just a couple of days before, online, for about $400.

Why I saw this show: I wonder if the world is divided into the bullies and the bullied, with some overlap. 

Where I sat: Row H seat 106, between this guy whose plane from LAX was three hours late making him miss the opening song so he had to sneak in courtesy of an usher with a flashlight and slide past me with his butt in my face after the show had started and, oh, him, and a group of three empty seats on the other side of me that were sold when I checked online. 

Things that were sad: I cried all the mascara off my eyes in the first act.

Things that were funny: people checking their phones at intermission, during a play (partly) about the power of social media.

Things that were not funny: I took off my glasses at intermission (to look at my phone) and they fell off my head and I didn’t notice until the lights dimmed for the second act, so I had to sit there, not able to see perfectly, waiting for the end so I could turn on my flashlight and crawl around. I started looking as soon as people started clapping, but couldn’t find them, and as poeple left the theater a few of the people around me noticed I was looking and pitched in. The person to find them was a house manager. I thanked him, but it felt like it wasn’t enough. 

Something I ate: homemade chips at Joe Allen.

What it is: a fine, energetic musical about a lonely, anxious teen. With moments of great truth about trying not to suck as a parent and featuring a cast that seems to embody their roles, every one of them. Highly recommended. 

Who should see it: liars, teens, parents, people who cannot imagine that social media has a positive impact on the world. People who can't imagine what a middle class white kid in America might be anxious about. Fans of American musical theater. 

What I saw on the way home: too many ads, which is to say, nothing. 

I stayed at the Waldorf Astoria

Elevator Selfie Ceiling 

Where I stayed: the venerated art-deco icon Waldorf Astoria. On Park Avenue at 48th Street in Manhattan. 

What I did beforehand: baked and didn't burn the bread, riding lesson,  shower, dog walk, drove to town, dragged a wheelie bag along the freshly salted sidewalks, made the train with seconds to spare. 

What I wore: James jeans, black shirt, gray cardigan, Danner hiking boots, big parka, antique earrings that I broke when I took them off.

Who went with me: the Bacon Provider (see photo, top)

How I got there: walked up the Northwest Passage from Grand Central, taking two elevators up, one down, and a huge flight of stairs.

Why I stayed here: the Bacon Provider had an action-packed schedule in the city this week, with meetings starting at 7:45 a.m. and lasting until after dinner. 

Where I slept: here.

Things that were sad: the carpets are tired and stained. The lobby is poorly lit. Once, this was my father's favorite high-end hotel in New York. I stayed here with him on the college visiting trip he took me on in 1980. We ate dinner in the hotel and there was a woman in a gown playing the harp. It had never occurred to me that anyone other than cartoon angels and Harpo Marx actually played the instrument before. Also, people looked at my dad and I kind of funny, not like we were a dad and his college-bound kid, but like he was a creepy 40 year old, and I his jail-bait girlfriend. 

Things that were funny: paying $25 for a champagne cocktail, and even ordering a second one. 

Things that were not funny: the serious guy carrying his fancy poodle to breakfast in a suitcase; the lack of outlets; finding a charge for a $36 shoe-shine on our bill at checkout. The Bacon Provider is extraordinarily particular about caring for his shoes, takes great pride in doing it himself, had no such shoe shine (which I knew without asking him), and when I disputed the charge the receptionist did not believe me, said that a charge like that could only appear on the bill with a manager's approval, and did not remove it, despite telling me that she would.

Something I ate: continental breakfast

What it is: a fine, old, fancy hotel that will close in a few weeks for remodeling; most rooms are expected to become condos. The hotel was purchased for almost $2B by a Chinese insurance company. 

Who should see it: anyone who wants to reminisce about what seemed like classy, old-money luxury in the 1980s. Hurry.

The painting has a hole in it

What I saw on the way home: the bright winter sunlight made me carsick on the train. Or maybe I was just hungover. When’s the next election?

I stayed at the NU Hotel in Brooklyn

Where I stayed: the NU Hotel, in Downtown Brooklyn at 85 Smith Street, amidst the bail bonds places serving the nearby Brooklyn House of Detention. 

What I did beforehand: tried and failed to sleep in, had bad feelings about things, put pajamas and a toothbrush in a bag, did some driving, arrived and shit.

What I wore: a feeling of dread.

Who went with me: the Bacon Provider. 

How I got reservations: online, a few days in advance. 

Why I stayed here: we had tickets to "The Beauty Queen of Leenane," at BAM.

Where I lounged: the room had a hammock. 

Things that were sad: I have had to learn to drink scotch.

Things that were funny: sleeping in a leather upholstered compartment.

Things that were not funny: how happy I was that there were two sinks.

Something I ate: brunch including Eggs Louie and duck fat potatoes at French Louie, around the corner.

What it is: a more stylish hotel than the nearby Hilton, at a deep discount compared to a similar place in Manhattan.

Who should see it: folks in need of a downtown Brooklyn hotel, easily accessible to many subway lines into Manhattan.

What I saw when I got home: my job as toilet paper replenisher is secure.