Acupuncture for only $20!

I recently discovered an acupuncture place in New York City called "City Acupuncture of New York." Doesn't sound all that exciting right? There are probably a hundred places or more to go to get acupuncture in New York City? But how many of them cost between $20 and $40?

The philosophy behind City Acupuncture of New York is that acupuncture should not only be for the rich. It should be for everyone, and not only for just a few appointments but for as long, and as often, as people like. So, because they don't want money to keep people from reaping the benefits of acupuncture, they offer a sliding scale of $20 to $40. You chose what you can pay; they won't ask you to justify your choice.

To do this, City Acupuncture of New York provides acupuncture in a communal setting rather than a private one. Five to six people are usually being treated at the same time in an open space. There is no privacy beyond the fact that everyone there is in their own inner world, relaxing and concentrating on their own treatment and not interested in yours. Soft new age music does mask most of the conversation between the acupuncturist and the patient, so you really can't hear what someone else is being treated for and they can't hear what you're being treated for.

The acupuncturist on duty does not go into long medical questioning but instead asks a few questions about your main complaint, checks your tongue and pulse and decides on a course of action. This allows more people to be treated in a set amount of time. Rather than being at an acupuncturist for an hour to an hour and a half of which 20 to 30 minutes is spent talking about all your symptoms, you're there for an hour of which maybe 5 minutes is spent talking.

It's been more than five years since I was last at an acupuncturist and I've been wanting to go back to it for some time, but the price (and the fact that insurance doesn't cover it) have kept me away. But I have always found acupuncture to help me in the past and I always knew I'd go back to it as soon as I could. So finding a place that only costs $20 to $40 was all the excuse I needed.

I went for my first visit to City Acupuncture of New York two days ago and found it to be very relaxing. The atmosphere is very low-key, everyone speaks softly and the new age music and tinkling water fountain are soothing. My acupuncturist seemed capable and was quick and deft with the needle insertions. All the acupuncturists at the place are Licensed (L.Ac) and hold Masters' Degrees in Traditional Oriental Medicine.

It was strange seeing others getting their treatment, some reclining in suspended lounge chairs, others lying on tables. But I barely had time to register their presence before I was lying on the table with needles inserted and drifting off into my own space.

My biggest issue (and it may very well be just my "issue") with the place was its cleanliness. While the acupuncture needles were definitely sterile (one-use only) the coverings on the tables and chairs were not quite as clean as I would like. The pillow beneath my head was covered by only a new paper towel and I don't think the sheet I was lying on was being used by one person at a time. Of course I could be wrong about that; I didn't actually ask. And it wasn't that it looked dirty, it just looked worn, which of course could come from multiple washings I suppose. It just doesn't have the white, sterile feeling of a regular doctor's office that I usually find comforting.

However, two days later I'm feeling pretty good. I've had the most fantastic nights' sleep and am hoping the effects will stick with me. I've made another appointment for next week, though I had to switch to a different day and acupuncturist because availability fills up very fast.

If you've done acupuncture before but haven't been able to continue with it because of the $100-plus fees, I do recommend City Acupuncture of New York. However, if you've never tried it before and you're even just the least bit nervous about it, I'm not sure the place is for you. I'd probably suggest one or two visits to a private acupuncturist first to get used to the process before switching to City Acupuncture.

Book Review: The Magicians by Lev Grossman

I think it would be too simplistic to say that if you liked the Harry Potter books and/or grew up on C.S. Lewis’ Narnia series, then you’ll like Lev Grossman’s The Magicians, even if that happens to be true.

Instead, I would go one step further and say if you ever hoped, prayed, needed the worlds in those books to be true… If you ever sat on the staircase in your house as a little kid staring intently at a photograph waiting for magic to pull you into the picture and an amazing adventure (like I did when I was a kid)… If even as you’re entering middle-age, or leaving it behind, you still think a magical adventure is somehow waiting around the corner for you, then The Magicians truly is the book for you.

The Magicians is the story of Quentin Coldwater, a quiet, nerdy kid, who at age 17 has not yet found his place in the world. Instead, he lives inside his imagination, in Fillory, that idyllic, cozy make-believe land, where animals talk and orphaned children go on merry adventures. For Quentin, a magical life in Fillory is the life he was meant to live. So he thinks he’s finally on the right track when, on his way to a college admissions interview, he receives an invitation to test for and attend a magical college in upstate New York.

During his five years at Brakebills College for Magical Pedagogy, Quentin learns all about magic, including how to cast spells and shapeshift, while at the same time experiencing college just like every teenager does, making friends, discovering sex, and imbibing too much alcohol. But at the end of five years, he’s still unfulfilled, still searching for his place in the world.

Upon graduating, Quentin loses himself completely. He’s rich, powerful, living in Manhattan, what could be better? But under the almost frantic urge to satisfy every craving, Quentin still yearns for meaning. So when a fellow Brakebills graduate stumbles across the entryway to Fillory, Quentin is sure he’s finally found “it,” what he’s been waiting for his whole life.

But childhood dreams are often built on dark truths and Quentin is not prepared for what awaits.

I knew I was going to like, I mean really like, The Magicians when on page five (of the whopping 402-page book) I read the following:

He followed James and Julia past bodegas, Laundromats, hipster boutiques, cell-phone stores limned with neon piping, past a bar where old people were already drinking at three forty-five in the afternoon, past a brown-brick Veterans of Foreign Walls hall with plastic patio furniture on the sidewalk in front of it. All of it just confirmed his belief that his real life, the life he should be living, had been mislaid through some clerical error by the cosmic bureaucracy. This couldn’t be it. It had been diverted somewhere else, to somebody else, and he’d been issued this shitty substitute faux life instead.

Grossman hit the nail on the head. That is exactly how I feel most of the time, but I’d never seen it said so eloquently before. Of course, Grossman wasn’t talking about me. He’s describing Quentin’s feelings, who at the time of this paragraph is 17 years old.

But it didn’t matter that I’m a 37-year old woman and not a 17-year old boy. I related to Quentin almost from the get-go and even as Quentin gets older, more annoying, shallower, more hedonistic, shadows of “me” followed his story and kept me hooked. Even when I hated Quentin, I still saw myself in him because Quentin lives his life under the same “if only” philosophy I do.

If only magic were real, life would be perfect, Quentin believes, until magic is real and life still isn’t perfect. If only he could go to Fillory, life would be o.k. again. But of course, after tragedy life is never really o.k. again.

I live the same life. If only I could win the big Mega Millions jackpot. If only I could become a published author. If only I had two dogs and three cats. If only, if only, if only.

I suppose it’s fair to say that sometimes I accept that there is no “if only,” that this is the only life I get and I’d better start living it before it’s too late. Logically, I know that no matter where you go, there you are; there is no escape.

But deep inside I’m still waiting for “the life I was meant to lead” to be dropped in my lap, and that is why The Magicians was more than just a good story, one that pays homage to some of my favorite authors and fantasy stories.

Quentin is not a particularly likeable character, even if he is a compelling one. Nor is the end of the novel a very satisfying one. At the end Quentin has experienced some of life’s harshest lessons, and yet he doesn’t seemed to have actually learned anything.

On turning the last page, I found myself completely disappointed in Quentin, but perhaps in the same way I’m often disappointed in myself when I realize I haven’t grown up yet either, and that I’m still waiting for life to deliver happiness and fulfillment in a prettily-wrapped package to my door.

Writers have to know everything

I'm ashamed to say I'm having trouble figuring out how I'm supposed to obtain information I need to write my book. I'm ashamed because I'm a librarian (well I have an MLS even if I don't work as a librarian) and should therefore know how to obtain any information I need. But I've found when writing that sometimes it feels like I need to know everything, because I never know what the newest type of information I'm going to want or need to throw into my book.

But here's the thing. I do know how to obtain lots of information. For instance, I had to pick out which branch of the military a character of mine was in and determine which base he had been assigned to. I was able to do that without a problem; just took a little bit of research. When I needed to figure out who would investigate a death on a cruise ship, and what the basic protocol would be, a little research again dug up the answer.

But some of the information I need is so specific, and at such a small level of detail, that so far no amount of research is helping. Like right now I'm working on a scene where Abi, my main character, has to get lost on the streets of Dover, Delaware while looking for a restaurant. She gets lost because her GPS doesn't recognize that the street it wants to send her on is a one-way street, but as I was writing I realized I don't know if there are any one-way streets in Dover. I also need to pick a restaurant in a somewhat low-income part of Dover, but when I tried to find out which "neighborhoods" in Dover are low-income I couldn't find anything. I couldn't even find any references to neighborhoods in Dover at all.

So do I go on a roadtrip to Dover? For what amounts to four pages of my book? That seems a bit extreme to me. Sure, if I were setting the entire novel in Dover, then a roadtrip would be in order. But for a single scene? I don't think its worth it. But how am I supposed to find the information I need? Are there Dover, Delaware experts out there? Anyone reading this know anything about Dover?

This is what I mean when I say writers seem to have to know everything, because the type of information we need is so specific, so detail driven that it's hard to find through research.

And don't get me started on the crimes. I lucked out in finding a resource who could help me figure out how to poison someone, but now I need info on a few other crimes. I've even considered walking into my local police station to ask for help. But 1.) I'm afraid to sound like a nut job and 2.) the crimes I need to committ in my books are not the kind that suburbian police officers deal with on even a rare occassion.

But even if I'm often frustrated. Even if I sometimes spend hours searching the Internet for a tiny piece of minutiae that I can't find... I am not quitting. I'll keep searching, keep asking others for help, and, goddamnit, if I have to I'll roadtrip it to Dover.