Extreme Sledding, Central Park

"We should get style points for that," cried Tim, as our sled spun a 360, and we watched the man we had nearly run over gracefully leap over our heads.

Naturally, Raphael had caught the whole thing on his Flip. Tim and I high-fived, grabbed the red toboggan and started climbing Plymouth Hill for another go.

Mary Elizabeth had started it all, with a message on Facebook: "New York Winter Society Goes Sledding, 5:30PM, Plymouth Hill, Central Park". That sounds like fun, I thought. I'll go, I'll still make my 8PM plans, and have dinner with Ben!

I arrived at the appointed place, a few moments tardy. Ben was stuck at work, one of few doors, besides retail stores and some restaurants, I felt, open in Manhattan. For public schools even, Mayor Bloomberg had declared an official Snow Day. But, my new Goretex pants seemed to be doing the trick so far; so, I was glad that EMS had been open! Not recognizing anyone, I decided to give an abandoned trash bag a go as a sled. I caution you to avoid protruding roots. Otherwise, good, cheap fun!

As I ascended the hill for the third time, I spotted Raphael. Over 6 feet tall with a white ski jacket, red goggles and a head lamp, he was hard to miss! Mary Elizabeth, on the other hand, was so buried under her ski mask, only when she spoke did I finally know she was there! And, she had a head lamp, too! And, then Tim showed up, a sight in an orange camouflage suit, with glowing devil horns perched upon his head. At least they wouldn't get lost in the crowd! With this crew, arrived four toboggans, two flat sleds and one Flip. I chose the bigger, red one, requested a co-pilot (Tim accepted) and, there is no better way to put this, then, "Let the Woo-Hoo begin"!

After our little stunt with the man and the 360 Degree spin, all felt empowered. First, there was the Double Stack, which was two bodies, face down, over "The Bump," i.e. the snow-covered tree root at the top of the hill's slickest chute. Second, there was the Triple Stack. One man face down, two ladies on top of him. Anyone else feel like we're at IHOP?

Third, someone discovered the skip jump a previous sledder had made. I'm not sure if Natalie or Brian went first. But, by the time Tim flew over, and Lenin and I wanted a turn, Natalie was offering us angling advice worthy of any pool shark!

Finally, there was Nine Stack, in two configurations. One was The Human Jenga, the other, a three man, six woman pyramid.

Our first three runs sent giggling bodies flying every which way, less than halfway down the hill. By the second three, we made it to the first tree before the whole stack unraveled. By the last few runs, shouts of "Grab shoulders!" "Hold my hand!" "Watch the man!" got us nearly to the bottom in one piece. Ben made it at the tail end of this. He got in three strong runs and even won a race!

Curiously no one complained of cold, even in their fingers. It was only rumbling stomachs that tore us from our little mountain!

The Controversy Caused By Four-Legs and Two-Feet High in New York City!

There are three types of dog people in New York City. There are Dog Owners. There are Dog Lovers who haven't become owners due to time, financial, and/or housing restrictions. And, finally, there are Dog Haters.

I begin with the final group. The Dog Haters of New York City can, primarily, be identified by "The Transformation". One moment, they are just other figures sharing your sidewalk, moving briskly between appointments in their day. Yet, one glance at you and your companion, and they seem to be tripping across non-existent hot coals! This is accompanied by a look of disdain, which says, "Dogs? You dare corrupt by pristine concrete with the paws of that filthy beast?" This expression appears, be the pup Bernese or Peakenese, teeth-bearer or teddy bear, on the end of a leash or in your purse. To the Dog Haters, neither size nor snuggle matter. Your companion is simply a yapping and crapping machine and he or she is to be despised.

Next, we move on to the group to which I pay my membership dues: Dog Lovers who haven't become Dog Owners due to time, financial, and/or housing restrictions. Before you say, "Well, I don't have enough time either, but, I have a dog!" I reply, "'Time' in the sense of owning a dog in New York City warrants its own, special definition."

And it is: one's ability to construct a schedule conducive to 6AM risings, and in the case of certain breeds, ball throwing sessions, managing to be at your desk on time, dashing home in the less than an hour most NYC Employees are allotted for lunch, and passing on staying late to complete a project or participate in X after work activity (and there really is something to do in this City every night of the week, the gym aside, if you just seek it out) to tend to your pup's natural needs. Add to this, the countless New Yorkers whose days don't begin until noon, and you begin to understand how finding rhythm can be problematic.

But, again, I know, some of you will continue to insist that it can be done. To this, I now reply, "I guarantee that you are lucky enough to have or pay for one of the following: patient and working from home or nearby roommate or partner, childcare giver/dog walker or occasional Doggy Daycare, or Gentle Octopi." I was the first during my second year in the city; I got calls at least twice a week from my roommate. I am now that pup's official aunt! The second and third are among the Puppy Financial Restrictions. And the third definitely requires a definition!

The Gentle Octopi of New York City are its dog walkers. Characteristics of these caring souls include durable outerwear (particularly colorful Peruvian hats and made-to-be-trampled-on-and-easily-cleaned walking shoes), a beaming smile, and a minimum of six additional appendages, in a rainbow of canvas and those little clips that create that tinkle telling of a pup's approach. Naturally, the Gentle Octopi must be respectfully compensated for their time and dedication. After all, aren't they caring for your best friend, or in some cases, your 'child'? Sentiments expressed to me include, "my husband wants another child; I told him we can get a dog" or "we discussed adopting or getting a dog, and decided a dog better suited our lifestyle."

Finally, there is the housing issue. Contrary to "Sex and the City," and 75% of apartments portrayed in New York City set films, not all New York 20 and 30-somethings can afford copious one-bedrooms in Soho with walk-in closets! 6-Floor Walk-Ups, Shoebox Studios or Three-Way Splits in "Chelsea" or Brooklyn, some a half hour ride from one's job in Midtown Manhattan and you can forget any semblance of a backyard, are most of our initial realities! Into none of these situations do I consider it fair to bring in a dog! And, in many cases where you happen to have enough space, you are met with a big X next to "Pet Friendly" on your lease!

The final group, the Dog Owners, are the simplest to explain. This is a rare breed of human being who, in my opinion, really has it all: the time, the partner or money, and a happy and large enough home to welcome their beautiful bundle of choice. Members of this group are also fully aware of all of the issues faced by Group #2. In most cases, they have probably been members. Thus, to the thrill of Group #2's members, if you ask nicely and offer a big smile, the Dog Owners will happily allow you to stop them on the sidewalk and give their treasure a scruff.

In the Name of, well, Sisterhood!

As I stepped into the aisle, two things made my heart sink. First, there was a woman waiting at my destination’s door. Second, was the thought that the person she was awaiting, the one who had turned the happy, green “Vacant” sign into the dreaded, “Occupied” red, was also a woman. Because, in my experience on international flights, it is women who hold the dreaded Red in position for so long, that I am at a loss to do anything but ask, with all due respect, lack of malice, but just utmost curiosity: what the heck do you do in there?

I mean, really, it’s the size of an outhouse. And, there’s really not that much to do, but either take care of...business... brush your teeth or wash your hands!

Let’s break this down, hmm? The first, bladder relief: even if you have had five cocktails, this does not take five minutes. The second? All I can say is, if I can do this while upon the throne, so can you! The third? Well, the water, in my experience, doesn’t run for more than five seconds before automatically shutting off. I understand that international flights can get boring, especially when the movie selection sucks or in the absolute worst case scenario, your video console is the only one around you that does not work (flashback nightmare, flashback nightmare), but pushing a few levers to see if the water will run longer? Now seeing how many ‘free’ feminine products you can take without getting noticed on the way out? That sounds like fun! But even I would not do that, out of just pure, ol' fashioned sisterhood!

Finally, I hope that your nicotine addiction is not so great that you would risk either a. the smoke detector going off (I’m not sure what the punishment for this is; but, I betcha it’s not pleasant!) or b. being being arrested and/or fined $2,220 for disabling the smoke detector!

So, I ask again…what do you do in there?

Makeup, you say? Yes, I too am guilty of wanting not to look like I have been punched in the face either! Believe me: I win in the sleep-induced dark circle department. But, ladies, I have a secret for you. Everyone around you is too spaced out to care that you are putting it on at your seat. And, psst…terminals have bathrooms too, really big ones with huge mirrors that are much better lit.

In sum, from one woman to another: next time you are squeezed between the miniature sink and the plastic wall, think. Wouldn’t it be much more fun to go hang with the flight attendants and see if you can score a free drink? Might be worth it for the U.S. 6 bucks In-Flight cocktails cost these days!