Riding the New York City Subway at rush hour was, as my late aunt would often quip in her Irish brogue, “no cup of tea.” It was my second year living in the city, and by then I knew the ropes for raiding the rails: 1. Pray for a seat but realize God may be busy that day. 2. Do not make eye contact. This second rule was very important. People were crabby during those tight, pre-latte mornings. Any look could be misinterpreted. It was always best to bury your nose in a novel ra

I think it started in second grade. I wished only to sink deeper into my oversized paint smock as I watched my exuberant classmates splash rainbow colors on their papers. They were having the time of their life. I was beyond horrified. The creator of all this "fun" was a visiting parent teaching an art class. My mother. And so began the recurring fantasy of my early years...Why don't I have a mom that bakes cookies? This was only further cemented by my obsession with watching

The only thing I remember about that day is that my feet hurt. I was on my way to my appointment with my licensing agent, and I couldn't find a cab. So I walked. Never walk New York City in pointy, too short, too tight shoes. Never EVER. I met my agent the previous day at the Licensing Show (for those unfamiliar with the show, it is a worldwide event connecting manufacturers, designers, entertainment companies, agents and innovators all under one roof. Famous products often s