The Last Brunch in MA


This is a picture that our wonderful friend Amy Cooper took at our last brunch at Upstairs on the Square, our most favorite place in Cambridge, MA. I just posted it to see if I could figure out how to post pictures. It doesn't really have anything to do with our new life in New Jersey except that we still have those clothes we wore in the picture. So, same clothes, new life. We look the same, except that my hair is now friggin' chestnut.

Oh, no SoHo

My husband Nick, bless his heart, was unsure of what to get me for Chrismukah. In the past, Nick knew that anything from The Cambridge Artists Co-Op would warm my heart and tickle my fancy.

So, Nick, like any smart person from this century, went to the internet to find such a gallery in Princeton. If you want Talbots, J. Crew, Starbucks, or Banana Republic - then downtown Princeton is for you. If you want little shop to buy handcrafted pottery, funky jewelry, or blown glass - then downtown Princeton is NOT for you.

One of the places Nick found in his gallery search was called Oh no, SoHo. Yesterday we set out to find the gallery. We started down (you guessed it) Route 1, made a few twists and turns, thought we were going in the wrong direction, turned around and went in the opposite direction, hit a dead end, turned around and went on in the original direction. And on, and on.

Now, one might think that a place which includes SoHo in it's name would be in a hip, funky location. When we called the store from our car, the woman on the phone told us to "Keep going past the corn fields, and we're in the seven year old strip mall on the left." We turned into the strip mall, and following her directions, drove to the far end of the mall. On the way, we passed a liquor store, a dance school (or should I say, School of Dance?), an Indian restaurant serving an all-day buffet, and, you guessed it, a supermarket.

We pulled into a readily available parking spot, and as we got out of the car, a cold rain started to fall. We peered into the window of Oh no, SoHo and it was clear that a gallery, this was not. It was a high priced gift shop with both Judaica and cat sections. We walked into the overly bright store with jazzy Muzak playing and heard two women giggling in the back of the store.

The thing I don't understand about stores in the suburbs of Jersey or Philly is that they all look the same. They all have those white laminate wall units with horizontal grooves running from floor to ceiling. Display rack that hold hanging clothes hook into the grooves. I suspect the idea of the grooves is that you can change the displays by hooking the racks into different grooves, making some very high up and others lower. I can just hear the wall unit sales person making his pitch to the manicured, face lifted new shop owner "See you can change things around to create Visual Excitement for your frequent customer!" The shop owner, opening the store as a new hobby because her children won't let her dress them anymore, nods in agreement.

I wandered to the back of the store to look at the counter of uninspiring beaded necklaces and charm bracelets and the two women were sitting behind the counter. From the looks of the hair and plastic surgery, one of the women was clearly the owner. They looked up from their giggley conversation and the older of the two said to me "We're sort of on a break." and they went back to giggling and conversing.

Nick and I continued to browse through the store when a fifty-something man with hairplugs and a teenage girl walked in to the store. The two women rushed out from behind the counter and gave the newcomers big hugs and kisses. It turns out that the man was the husband of the owner (read, funder of the store) and the teenage girl was her daughter.

At that point, Nick and I left and walked back to the car. I sat down and a wave of nausea came over me. Then, it dawned on me. We had read the name of the store wrong. It's not "Oh no, SoHo!" it's "Oh, no Soho." As in "On, no Soho here, only the crappy ass suburbs with rude people."

If you are keeping score, put one in the Reasons Not to Move to New Jersey Column.

Reason One to Move to New Jersey: Supermarkets

While I have discovered many reasons NOT to move to New Jersey, there are a few reasons to move to the Garden State. The first reason is Supermarkets. If you like to grocery shop, then this state is for you. I've only been here 18 days and I already have discount shopper cards from 4 different supermarkets, and there are at least 4 others that I haven't even been to yet.

First, there is a charming little Wild Oats right in the center of town. Now, for those of you who know me well, you will remember that I have a huge fear of contracting a serious disease from food gone bad. I interpret expiration dates on food to mean:throw food away 2 weeks before the date stamped on the item. My experiences with Wild Oats in Medford, MA had not been pleasant. Every time I would shop there, I would inevitably bring home (inadvertently) something moldy - fruit, bread, veggies... it was totally gross! I often referred to the Wild Oats in Medford as Wild Mold. So, I was pleasantly surprised when we found this quaint little Wild Oats on our 2nd day here. It's small, clean, and the folks were very helpful. It gives me the impression of what the original Bread and Circus in Central Square must have been like when it first started out.

But, this Wild Oats surprise was just the beginning. Next, I found the Super Stop and Shop, a mere 5 miles north from our house. It's big, clean, and shiny. And, surprisingly enough, there was PLENTY of parking. I went there late afternoon on a Wednesday. The place was empty! I asked the cashier if there were any days to avoid shopping there and she told me that you can always find parking and that there's never more than 2 people ahead of you in the check out line. When I looked at her in disbelief, she told me that a brand new Super (Duper) Stop and Shop just opened 5 miles up the road and that everyone is going there. But, it turns out that the store I was in, has been opened less than 8 months.

Then, I accidentally found McCaffrey's. It's located in the town of Princeton, at the Princeton Shopping Center - a high end shopping center that looks like it was built in 1962. Again, tons of parking. Again, friendly staff. Again, bright and clean. Fun gourmet and prepared items. McCaffrey's seems to be the place for people who live in Princeton Borough, the real heart of the town. The only draw back about McCaffrey's is that the aisles seem to be a little narrow. But there was lots of town gossiping going on in town.

Down Route 1 (more on Route 1 in a later post) there is strip mall heaven, if you like strip malls, strip mall hell if you don't. There is a Whole Foods on Route 1, a Shop Rite, and a Pathmark - all within a 15 minute drive. I was going to check them out, but, then I found Supermarket Nirvana...

Wegmans

It's unbelievable.

When I was in Mr. Altadona's 5th grade class, we studied about "Mega Cities". In the future, Mega Cities would be these huge buildings where people would live and work and shop and do everything that we did back in 1979 (except I imagined everyone wearing jet packs). Well, Wegman's is as close to a Mega City as I've seen yet.

First, it's beautiful. The lighting is really soft and warm. The whole store has a sort of orangey, sunset glow. Great music plays constantly, the staff is super helpful (almost cult like), and they have every food imaginable, all at totally reasonable prices. They have one whole section that feels like a high end food court. They have a liquor store, a photo store, a totally impressive cheese shop... I could go on and on. Then, upstairs is the "Cafe" where you can eat whatever you just bought. Even the restrooms are spotless! People flock to this place. Yet, there's always parking.

Wegman's shares a strip mall with Kohl's, Target, and Michael's. There's a Home Depot, Comp USA, Borders,Sam's Club, and Walmart across the street. And yes, there is ALWAYS parking.

So, the first lesson for today is: if you like to grocery shop, come to Wegmans (yes, I've definitely joined the cult).

The second lesson for today is: strip malls that only have big box stores totally suck! It needs to be all about mixed use development. Princeton is proof of what happens when it all goes (terribly) big box.

Finding a New Hair Salon, otherwise known as THE MOST IMPORTANT TASK OF RELOCATION

Anyone who is slightly fanatical about his or her hair completely understands the importance of finding the right hairdresser. For the past few years I had been going to Mario's Salon in Davis Square to see the master of long hair, Umberto. Umberto understands that "I really need a haircut", means "Hey buster, if you cut anymore than a quarter inch off, I'll sue your ass." Not only is he a great stylist, but he's really funny too and knows all of the Somerville gossip. And, he's pretty cheap - I think a haircut and tip is under $40.

As a diversion from unpacking 237 boxes, I spent a few days scouring the Princeton yellow pages, wandering the streets, and looking in the windows of various hair salons before making my big decision. After viewing some websites, I finally decided on B and B Color Studio because I really needed my hair colored (OK, I really wanted my hair colored). I was lured in by their website and the fact that the salon, whoops, color studio had been featured on A Makeover Story. When I called to make the appointment, the friendly woman with a British accent was very helpful and calming. She gave me excellent directions and assured me that Tim, the owner, would do a fantastic job.

So, on Wednesday, I went for what I thought would be your basic one process semi-permanent coloring and a teeny tiny trim. 3 and 1/2 hours later I walked out with permanently "Chestnut" colored hair that was at least an inch shorter (which of course feels like 10 inches when you are a little obsessed with your 'do.).

Tim is the owner and apparently the only person who works there on Wednesdays. He had four clients going at once and left the color on my head a bit too long, so that after I had been washed and dried, he had to put a toner on it to make my hair look like a color that you actually can find in nature. Then I had to be washed and styled again. Oh, in between he also put a "protein pack" on my hair.

Tim was very nice and the other women getting their hair done were very friendly (one just had her first baby a week ago and she is 48!). I wasn't worried at all until I saw the "finished product" of two other women. Not that their hair was awful, it just isn't really my taste to have my hair look like 1985. Yikes... but when you're strapped into a chair with a huge plastic smock around your neck, you feel sort of vulnerable. So, of course I agreed when he asked if I wanted a cut. I made him swear that he would only cut off a 1/4 an inch.

Then, it was time for the blow dry. The thing about blow drying is that it can go either way. I mean it can either be a gal's best friend, making your potentially big hair smooth, shiny, and small. Or, it can be your worst nightmare, making your big hair quite enormous. Let's just say, I had to walk through the door sideways as I left. But, I was much lighter as I left because all this beauty cost about the same as a year's tuition at a small liberal arts school.

So, the moral of this story is - don't trust websites and friendly British women when it comes to finding a good stylist. For the next few months I will on the lookout for women with great hair and begging them for the name of their stylist.

My new dear friend Greta, an 85 year old retired professor and subject of the excellent documentary Watermarks, just got her hair done at Salon Vis a Vis and it looked lovely. So, maybe I'll try there next time.

The Master Plan Revealed

Well, folks, the truth of the matter is that Nick and I concocted this plan when we decided to move to New Jersey. It's really quite simple, now that we've moved to the Garden State, all of our friends need to move here as well. So this blog will give you all of the incentives you need to make the decision to become a New Jerseyite.