Go Bag

Well, well, well. Vindication is definitely sweet.  For months I've been talking up the idea of a "Go" Bag. You know, this would be a bag, at the ready, that contained a change of clothes, copies of important papers, extra glasses, non-perishable food, water and money that could be grabbed at a moment's notice should there be some kind of emergency.  My friends teased me endlessly about being Chicken Little, but it looks like Hurricane Ike has proved me right! The destruction started to hit before so many folks were prepared to leave. A "Go" bag might have proved useful. 

Indeed I have spent endless hours discussing possible escape routes and safe house possibilities with The Boy. I've wondered whether we should take our car or public transportation, or whether either would be futile. In which case I determined we should be ready to pack up our bikes and ride up to Yonkers. But that got me thinking about Meow - I couldn't leave her behind! I went so far as to decide maybe I should get one of those fancy cargo stroller things that you attach to the back of your bike, so I could stick the Meow in it. Finally I decided that the Meow might have to tough it out in a backpak. 

Chances are I won't ever have to use my "Go" bag, but it's nice to feel prepared. Just wish those folks at home didn't have to learn that lesson so hard.

Sober-fest

So we checked out the All Points West Festival last week. Our objective was to see Radiohead, and hopefully discover a few new bands. All we really discovered was that we hate standing in lines. 

The festival was at Liberty State Park in New Jersey, so we had to take that much-loved PATH train/Light Rail combination that we used to take when we lived in Jersey City. Over an hour later, we arrived. But the park was still a 30 minute walk away. Drat! By this time, my pre-event hydration therapy had yielded an imperative situation. I needed a bathroom fast!  Fortunately when we finally made it to the grounds, the line wasn't too long, AND there was toilet paper. A good sign.

Alas, that was the high point of the day. From there we experienced long lines to get into the show. By the time we got in, I just wanted a beer. My longing would not be satiated, however. At least not for the next hour. We waited for 45 minutes in a line just to have our IDs checked. Then we waited 30 more minutes in the beer line. For our trouble, we were rewarded the opportunity to drink our beers corralled in the beer garden. There would be no casual sipping of a luke warm frothy beverage while listening to any of the bands. Oh, and lest anyone got greedy, there was a 5 drink limit for the whole day, and beer sales ended at 8:30, the same time Radiohead hit the stage.

Mind you, I wasn't looking to get toasted.  But seriously. I'm almost 40 years old. I don't need to have my alcohol consumption tempered. It's just not Rock and Roll!

Anyway, by the time we drank our beers and got some grub, it was just about time for Radiohead to begin. So much for seeing new music.  And then the final coup de gras: after all that, when the band came on, I couldn't see.  I won't be checking out this ill conceived event again.

Gas Prices Hit Home

The Boy and I have been reveling in the fact that our move to New York has reduced our carbon footprint and removed the necessity to spend $$$ to fill up the tank of my SUV each week. So while we've noticed the increase in the prices for food and other things, the gas price crunch hadn't really affected us personally until yesterday.

I was traveling to Penn Station to catch a train to Boston. I grabbed a cab outside our apartment to get there. After a harrowing ride with no AC in sweltering weather, we finally arrived at the station. When I paid the fare, I gave the cabbie a dollar tip. In an ballsy move previously unprecedented, even for cab drivers, the cabbie stopped and begged for an additional dollar of tip because of gas prices, etc etc.

Now I know there are some discussions going on with the cab union to determine if taxi patrons should be paying a fuel surcharge. Some people say yes, in order to cover the cost of extra fuel. Others say no, afraid that the increase in price will deter customers. I guess this guy made up his mind. He's soliciting that fee after every fare.

Korean Barbecue!

My friend Little Roo is heading off to business school, so she held a week of celebratory events including a happy hour, prom (complete with prom dresses and 80s music), and Korean Barbecue in Korea Town in midtown.

It was loud and bright, and the barbecue chicken rocked! They also served some kind of shot drink in pure ice shot glasses. I thought they were just cold shot glasses until mine melted and the shot ran all over the table! 

The Bride Isn't Keeping Her Name Anymore

When I was living back in Texas, I would read the New York Times every weekend and dream about moving to the big city. I remember reading the Weddings section back in the late 90s and noticing how many of the wedding descriptions noted that the bride was keeping her name.

I compared that with the wedding descriptions in The Houston Chronicle. A note about the bride keeping her name was a rare occurrence. Even more telling, I was the only person I knew who had kept her name when I got married. In fact, when my 10-year class reunion came around, I had heard there was some speculation that I had divorced since I still had my maiden name.

Fast forward 8 or 9 years, and here I am in New York, still lovingly pacing my way through the New York Times each weekend.  But what I've noticed in the Weddings section is a change. It seems there are fewer notes about the bride keeping their names in the descriptions. 

Is it a sign of these turbulent times that people are going more traditional? Or are these young gen y'ers simply so secure with their standing in the world that this gesture no longer seems important or necessary? 

Summer Nights

Central Park features prominently in my tales of the city this summer. Indeed, one of the reasons we chose our apartment was its proximity to the park. Hardly a day goes by that I don't visit the park to run or cycle. It is an extension of my home. It is my backyard. 

We celebrated summer in our back yard the other evening with several thousand of our close new york friends, each vying for a square of grass to listen to the New York Philharmonic play.

It was a perfect night, a week or so before the searing heat and humidity arrived. The Boy and I, the Diva D, The Little Nolita Lady and Professor Yang all assembled for our night under the stars. I had planned my menu for weeks - fresh roast beef sandwiches with homemade blue cheese sauce and red peppers on rosemary-olive rolls, and raspberry and blueberry cheesecake bars.  Yum. Of course we also had the requisite bottles of wine. 

The music hummed, providing a moving soundtrack to the comfortable night. It was one of those nights when you felt very alive, and giddy, and glad to be amongst friends. 

The perfect evening was punctuated by fireworks which lit up the night sky above the skyscrapers in the distance. 

As The Boy and I walked home with our blankets and empty bottles, I was happy to be here. Last year at this time, we were still living in New Jersey, and had a long commute ahead after the performance. This night, it was only a few short blocks to home, the best ending to a lovely night.

Have Wheels, Will Disco

After catching Batman at a theater near Lincoln Center on Saturday, The Boy and I walked home through the park. We skirted the sheep meadow, and came upon the hippest and happiest spot in the park. The Skate Circle on Skater's Road in the park looks like an impromptu roller disco just sprung up out of the asphalt.  The dance skaters boogie woogie in old-style skates and short-shorts. Makes me nostalgic for the days when the roller rink was my universe. Of course, where I grew up, the roller rink was in an old barn about 10 miles outside town on an old farm road. 

Cat on a Hat

While sitting in a cab at a red light the other night, we saw the strangest thing - a guy walking through the crosswalk with a live cat balanced on his head. Really. We saw it. It was too dark to get a photo, but I SWEAR it happened. Those of you who know Meow understand that if I tried that stunt with her, I'd be taping my hair back to my scalp for a few weeks. This cat seemed perfectly at ease. Weird.

Night Lights

Traveled out to Prospect Park in Brooklyn over the weekend to celebrate Easy E's birthday.  As twilight approached in the beautiful sister of Central Park, I began to notice some strange flicker of light that I'd never seen before. At first I couldn't figure out what it was. I finally realized what I was seeing was fireflies. I have no memory of every seeing fireflies before, so it was a banner celebration event. 

New York Triathlon - Check

Checked off another milestone yesterday. The Little Nolita Lady and I competed in the Flat as a Pancake Triathlon in Staten Island.

It was my first in a while - definitely not my best - but it did trigger the tri bug.

It was a warm day, but a great race - quarter mile swim, 12 mile bike and 5K run. The swim was in Raritan Bay on Staten Island, and the run ended on the Raritan Bay Board Walk.

We celebrated that night New York style with dinner, drinks and dancing.

One Of Those Days

It was one of those days when everything just didn't go quite right. I had the 'great' idea to do a long bike ride from our place in Manhattan to Coney Island. So we rode downtown via the West Side Highway bike path, and met The Little Nolita Lady at the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge.

From there, we rode into Brooklyn, around Prospect Park, and then down Ocean Boulevard all the way to the boardwalk.

Along the way we encountered heavy traffic and bumpy roads, and The Boy was almost sideswiped. The bike path along Ocean Boulevard was puncuated by stop lights every 400 yards or so, so it wasn't a relaxing ride. Just a long and dangerous one.

The best part of the day was stopping on the boardwalk and having a hotdog at Nathan's Hot Dogs.

On the way home, The Little Nolita Lady had a minor crash that resulted in an impressive and colorful bruise. We got lost - several times - and I was reminded why i don't want to compete in any reality adventure shows. I don't handle stress on the road very well. Not pretty.

When we finally made it back to the city (a nice lady let us follow her to the Manhattan Bridge after we made yet another wrong turn), we got rained on all the way up the West Side Highway. Wet but relieved that we were almost home, we were cruising on 72nd street near The Dakota apartment building, when the ride turned almost catastrophic. On the nearly empty street, a car with out of state plates made a crazy u-turn in the middle of the road an nearly took The Boy out. Yikes! Then I don't what they were doing, but somehow I was in their sights and I was backed against the curb screaming, "Stop, Stop!" Fortunately, they moved away, and I escaped unharmed.

But The Boy had had enough. He went up to the driver side window and rapped on it. "Roll your window down," he said. The driver had both hands on the wheel and looked straight ahead, as if The Boy wasn't there. "Roll your window down," The Boy demanded. And you know what? The crazy guy did.

The Boy proceeded to tell the man, "You can't just come to New York and make crazy turns in the middle of the street. You almost hit me and you almost hit my wife. You have to be careful."

The man, older, traveling with his wife, said evenly, "Thank you for that information," and rolled his window back up.

We peddled away and finally made it all the way home. If we ever go back to Coney Island, we're taking the train.

Give Her Regards To Broadway

One of the great things about moving to a new place is meeting new people. The Boy and I have met a number of cool people over the last year and a half, and it is exciting to continue to learn new things about them. 

I thought I knew it all about The Little Nolita Lady. Like how much she likes participating in - and excelling at - sports. Like how she likes composing her own music. Like how she loves karaoke. This last one really made no sense to me. The one and only time I had experienced karaoke was New Year's 1992. I was visiting a friend. Our New Year's plans fell through, and we ended up at a sushi restaurant where some untalented bloke was singing a Mac Davis song at midnight. Now maybe it's because I had never eaten sushi before, or used chopsticks or slurped sake, or that my date was a jackass, or maybe it's just that the Mac Davis wannabe was really, really bad, but I didn't have a good time that night. My perception of karaoke was forever tainted.

But because The Little Nolita Lady is my friend, The Boy and I acquiesced last night to hit one of her fave karaoke bars - 2nd on 2nd - after dinner.  When we arrived, the cheese factor was circa my 1992 experience. The skill level was about the same, too.

Now, The Little Nolita Lady shared with me that judging karaoke performances has 3 dimensions.

1. Song Selection
2. Performance and Charisma
3. Vocal Ability

To her, the first two are most important and can make up for deficiencies in actual singing ability. At least that is what she told me when trying to persuade me to try my hand at the microphone.  I always have contended that the only people who like karaoke are the ones who can actually sing. My hypothesis was borne out, allright.  About 30 minutes into the scene, The Little Nolita Lady was called to the stage where she belted out a Proud Mary that gave me goose bumps. She chose a great song. She chit chatted with the crowd. Danced with drunk revelers. And those pipes. Seriously, I'm embarrassed even to SPEAK in front of her after that. The chick can really sing! And perform. And pick cool songs. She is the karaoke trifecta.

So while I am elated at having a friend who is so talented, I'm also feeling a bit vindicated. No wonder I don't like karaoke. I don't want to expose my screeching instrument to the world! The Little Nolita Lady can and should do karaoke every night of the week. In fact, she is one of those few people to whom you would never mutter, "Don't quit your day job," after a turn at the mic. Indeed she SHOULD quit her day job and go sing on Broadway or try out for American Idol or start her own band. I, on the other hand, will stick to writing. It is soundless.  : )

Crane Your Head

I think many of you heard about the crane collapses here. I still can't believe they made national news, but that's another story.

Anyway, when I was walking around today, I saw this big bad boy, and it really blew my mind. I think because this building is so narrow itself, and the crane is so high - probably 50 or 60 stories. It inspires awe at both the ingenuity that enabled cranes to be developed, as well as the potential for disaster we now know is possible. They are doing new construction on my street, but thankfully it's only a 5 story building. Like many in other neighborhoods, I would be less than thrilled to have this in my back yard.

Education Transportation

Was on the subway in late morning today because of a dentist appointment. There was a group of jr high or high school kids on the subway with their teacher - on a fieldtrip perhaps? Anyway, there was a load of them, and they were being loud and obnoxious, so at first I was annoyed. Then I realized that the teacher was quizzing them on geometry rules and theorems. They were clamoring all over each other to be heard shouting out the answer. It was the coolest thing ever. In between the answers, they were cracking wise, and the teacher was completely non-plussed and just kept going. He helped steer anyone who gave a wrong answer to the right conclusion. I felt really lucky to see something like that in action.

Later, I was walking through City Hall Park. They have tables set up with checkerboards on top. There were a couple of dudes playing chess - an old grizzled dude with a jaunty hat on his head, and a younger, taller, beefy dude. They were going at it, clicking the timer and making their moves. Unfortunately, I couldn't stick around to see who won, but my money's on the older dude.

Which is interesting. Apparently I'm not really in sync with the "inexperienced" whether they are chess players or mathletes. Guess that's why I was supporting Hillary, even though as a Gen Xer, I should have been turned on by Obama's subtle message of hope. Maybe I'm so cynical I don't really believe things can change, and just want someone I know can play the game. Like the old grizzled dude.

Market Mania

One of the benefits of living in the city is the variety of specialty shops - the butcher, the cheese shop, the bakery, the fruit stand. In my idealized view of the city, I would make time each week to visit these vestiges of the past and thoughtfully select my groceries for the week. 

The truth is, I hardly ever do this. There is a butcher who rents space in the bottom floor of my building, and I rarely visit! There are at least 4 small, New York style groceries on my way home from the subway, one right on my block. However, I usually forgo all of this to exercise one of the other benefits of the city - they deliver everything. Therefore, just about once a week, I receive a thoughtfully-selected bounty from Fresh Direct. It is more convenient, and I'm actually less apt to buy a bunch of stuff I don't need - or worse - forget to buy the stuff I do need.

And while I do appreciate the benefits of getting my groceries delivered this way, I sometimes wonder if I am contributing to the demise of "New York City - the hard-scrabble land of dreams" and contributing to "New York City, the Disney theme park."

Texas-Style Weekend

Temperatures soared into the 90s in NYC this weekend, and along with high humidity, brought a profoundly Texas feel to the weekend.

I paid a visit to the Union Square Greenmarket on Saturday morning, while the oven was just pre-heating. Picked up some beautiful beets and lettuces and cheese from nearby farmers which made a delightful salad later that evening. There were vendors with all kinds of herbs and plants for sale, making me wistful for my mom. She loves that stuff and would have enjoyed the morning.

Later in the day, The Boy and I met up with The Little Nolita Lady at the Big Apple Barbecue Festival in Madison Square Park. I wanted a taste of Texas 'Cue, and there were two vendors on hand from the Lone Star State. I wanted to hit The Salt Lick Barbecue from Driftwood, Texas for the beef brisket and beef sausage and slaw.  It had passed the 90 degree mark by then, and to my dismay, the line for The Salt Lick was at least an hour long and snaked around the sweltering pavement of Madison Avenue and 26th street.  2 people fainted while I was in line. With sweat rolling down my back in rivers, fainting seemed like a reasonable plan for fast-tracking the line, and getting a frozen washcloth and some free food. 

Finally, after the long wait, we settled on the grass in the park with wisps of live music drifting our way, and communed with several thousand of our fellow New Yorkers. The Lady Lawhorn will be happy to know that we spotted several proud displays of horns amongst the crowd. It was a day well-lived, and a nice reminder of home. 

A River Runs Through It

Ventured out with The Boy last weekend on a great adventure on two wheels. We rode our road bikes through Central Park, to 72nd Street, then by the Dakota Lofts, where John Lennon famously lived and died, west to Riverside drive and then north about 90 or 100 blocks to the George Washington Bridge. From the bridge, as you can see, is a great view of the Hudson River, with New Jersey bordering the right, and the island of Manhattan on the left.

From there we ventured to Palisade State Park in New Jersey, where we rode up and down the rolling hills bordering the river.

It was a challenging and sometimes nerve racking ride, but a great way to spend a sunny weekend morning. 

That Stinks

My friend La Bitcha from Houston works for Aramark. Looks like her brethren here in NYC are skeeved about something. They've been on strike for at least a month, lorded over by a giant inflatable skunk. I walk by them each morning on my way to work. They always have 2 foil serving platters full of breakfast. I wonder who is providing the catering. Surely not Aramark?

Chicks Flick

Set out with my girlfriends on Friday night for the 11:30 showing of Sex and the City, the movie. Full of anticipation, we dined at Citrus before we headed to the theatre at Lincoln Center. Women were dressed to the nines - including one who had a feathered bird in her hair -  for the chick flick of the year. 

Little did we know that chicks would actually be flicking, and shoving, and cutting, and cursing, and running to get into the theatre. 

After waiting in a line as long as Samantha's list of sexual conquests, we began moving forward amicably. But then all hell broke loose and large hordes of women began pushing their way forward as if Manolo Blahnik himself was crafting customized pairs of shoes just beyond the double door entrance.

It was a low point in womendom.  And, because of all the craziness ad ruckus, I didn't even dare venture out for popcorn, MnMs and a cherry coke, my movie staple.

Fortunately, the movie itself provided that salty and sweet combination. I just wish there had been a little more sweet and a little less salt within the movie viewing public.

On The Boardwalk

Completed the Brooklyn Half Marathon last week with my friend Hot Brooklyn Mama. The race began on Coney Island on the boardwalk. It was cold and overcast - not good picture weather - so I just took a photo of my feet on the boardwalk. Hot Brooklyn Mama and I ran all the way from Coney Island to Prospect Park - 13.1 miles. What a blast! Afterward, The Boy picked me up in the car. Yes, we still have one car in the city. I was relieved not to have to truck the subway home. Especially after a crazy early morning bus ride out to Coney Island in a ghetto school bus with no shocks!

Seen on the commute home

Girls Gone Mild!

I'm not embarrassed to tell you that I can be a little shallow. I like a nice bag and hot shoes. I adore my diamond wedding ring. And I love reading about celebrity exploits at all the cool clubs around town. Between that and Sex and the City reruns showcasing the breathy excitement of what's inside, I decided it would be a neat idea to have a club night with all my gal pals.

The key to club night is actually getting into the club. I have heard countless stories of cranky and demented doorment who execute a perplexing decision-making process to determine who gets in. I abhor waiting in lines. I was willing to pay a little to get on a list or have some assurance of VIP treatment.

We first made some calls to the Pink Elephant, but it was going to cost us something like $300 a person. I wasn't sure if I actually wanted to pay that much. Fortunately the Little Nolita Lady had some connections, and we were able to secure our names on a VIP list for the opening of a new club called The Mansion.

Club night started at about midnight (gasp). The line to get in the door wasn't really a line at all, but a mob scene. Exasperated club staff hulked up and down the sidewalk yelling at all the frivolity seekers to form one single line. Which they didn't. For awhile, we couldn't even find anyone in charge to confirm our VIP status. Then it seemed like EVERYONE in the line around us thought they were a VIP too. We thought our whole plan had gone down the tubes. But a few recon missions later, and we were in, baby. And while it was good to be in, it wasn't what I expected. The idea of it was much better than the reality. Nevertheless, we had a fun night dancing and getting wired on vodka and Red Bull.

At around 4 am, we tried to change the scenery a bit. But after waiting in another line - one in which there was no VIP pass waiting for us at the end - we decided to hit the road. Our Sex and the City night was a blast. But I'd rather cuddle up with my greatest accessory - The Boy.

Flying through the air with the greatest of . . . please.

So I had another Sex in the City moment recently. An acquaintance asked me if I wanted to accompany several folks to the trapeze school that Carrie immortalized in one of the episodes.

I was so excited to go, but didn't know quite what to expect. I had visions of gracefully catapulting through the air looking both athletic and relaxed.

What I got was quite different. Turns out I'm afraid of heights. Very afraid of heights.

First I wouldn't jump off the platform (even though I was protected by a harness and a very forgiving net). Absolutely refused. It was starting to get embarrassing. Finally I aquiesced (mainly because I didn't relish the prospect of disembarking the platform via the rickety ladder.). Then, once I made the leap, I wouldn't let go of the bar. No way. Not gonna do it. I was just hanging there, eyes closed, refusing to let go, while all of the other students looked on. They had to manually lower the bar down toward the net before I felt comfortable. Did I mention this was in front of a few people that I work with? I'm still embarrassed, but relieved I never have to do that again.

My sister, the Dainty Drug Dealer, wants to try it when she comes into town next month. I'm doing her and the rest of the class a favor. I'll be taking photos on the sidelines.

Adventures in Powerlessness

The universe had something to say today. Time can't be controlled, it said - not by me and not by the chick with the jingly hair who shared the subway with me from 125th street. This was after the subway we were on passed up the stop we were supposed to make. Instead of stopping at 96th street, it went on, passing 103rd street, 110th street, 116th street, finally stopping at 125th. The jingly-haired girl and I were both relieved. We weren't any more in control of our destiny at that point. But as we waited assuredly for the next train downtown, we pretended we were.

Lessons Learned

Sometimes, the city surprises you. Whether it's a blowup doll sitting prone in the window of an apartment building you pass everyday, or the delivery of a brother in arms who sets you on the path to rightousness.

I joined a writing group to meet other writers and hopefully, find more writing discipline. At the first event, I found the bottom of two martini glasses. Since I had an almost empty stomach, it wasn't really a good scene. Is it a coincidence that no one I talked to at the last event made it to this one? I don't think so.

Anyway, at this evening's event, I met Mr. Corporate Whore, who toils away for an insurance company in Tarrytown. When I shared my challenges getting into a writing regimen, Mr. Corporate Whore took me to task. He urged me to write not because I felt like I should, but because I enjoy it. A good lesson.

In Search of The Real

The Boy and I went to see Passing Strange on Broadway Saturday night. I totally love love loved it, but The Boy was a little more non-plussed. Nevertheless, the real show was on the subway after. A homeless guy who deconstructed a meat on a stick, then threw the hunks of meat onto the seat next to him, and then picked at them as if they were a bowl of peanuts at a cocktail party. Then there were the hispanic teenagers who kept bending over and inadvertantly showing off their purple and orange grany panties hanging out the top of their low slung jeans. Finallly there was a pimp wannabe in a gray suit, red shirt and aviator sunglasses primping his reflection in the subway car windows, who, ultimately, gave us a little dancing with the stars action, tripping the light fantastic to his own personal soundtrack. Or perhaps just tripping.

Saturday Sightings

Set out for my weekly long run with The Little Nolita Lady, armed with camaraphone, should we see any interesting sights. We were almost home after an uneventuful run when we spied the actor Ron Rifkin of Alias fame at a restuarant on Madison Ave. We chose not to take a photo of him - too cheesy.

It's Official

It's official. I am tired of winter. Of wearing heavy coats and dark colored tights. My hands are desparate to be free of claustorphobic gloves. Spring! Release me!

Sunday In The Park

Did an early morning run with The Little Nolita Lady this morning. Here's what we saw:

1. A jogger juggling 3 red balls
2. A high school orchestra rehearsing in a small outdoor ampitheatre in the park
3. A priest handing out palm fronds for Palm Sunday
4. A woman leading a donkey in a Palm Sunday procession
5. A choir and bell ringers in same procession

Snow Day

Snowing out my window.

Spotted on the Lower East Side

Spotted on the Lower East Side Friday night - Leerone giving one of her few New York performances - at The Living Room. Later in the night saw her canoodling in the corner with a rep from Epic Records. Go Leerone! Rock that shit!

The Zoo

I saw a model in her native habitat today. She was tall, willowy and blond, and doing her time behind the register at Anthropologie unti she gets her big break, I guess. I really knew I was experiencing something unique when she turned to her associate and asked, "What is $19.90 divided by two?" Then she stared at the person, bored, and annoyed that her head had to do anything other than sprout golden locks of hair. I looked around for the cameras, but they weren't there. I was going to help her, but on all the nature shows, they say the first rule is not to intervene and just let the scenes play themselves out naturally. It was truly moving. I felt almost like Jane Goodall.

Old Dogs

Overheard in the Starbucks down the street from our apt.

Scene 1: Two older gentlemen at adjoining tables are enjoying their coffee and a lively early morning debate. One man is tall, with a head of thick, silvery hair, and smartly dressed. The other man is short and slovenly, with an old ratty t-shirt hanging out the bottom of a too-small hoodie. His hair is wirey and attempting to allight off his head.

Mr. Slovenly
I believe that men and women can talk and be friends without it being all about sex.

Mr. Smart
Yes.

Mr. Slovenly
I mean, I don't know what that writer was talking about. I don't think about sex 100% percent of the time. I can be talking to a woman about politics or books or the weather or whatever, and I'm not also thinking about sex.

Mr. Smart
Well, maybe subconciously.

Mr. Slovenly
Well, subconsciously! That's a completely different issue. That is for Sigmund Freud to work out.

Footwear Phenom

You may be familiar with the Morton Salt image of the young girl walking in the rain spilling salt as she goes. She has an umbrella and a cute yellow dress, but no galoshes. Well, I can tell you that I'm one step ahead of her! I am certain that the backs of her legs are getting splattered with mud, and her shoes will be worse for the wear - soaking wet and miserable on her feet. Cold feet and wet trouser bottoms are no fun. That's why on rainy days I've got my Hunter Galoshes (http://www.wellie-boots.com/) - or wellies, if you want to get British about it. I'm quite dashing in my hunter green wellies and my green raincoat. I certainly never needed anything like galoshes in Houston - I was never out in the rain for more than minutes at a time. But I spend at least 40 minutes walking outside each day - 20 minutes each way. So my galoshes keep my feet dry and my heart warm.

Safe Sex

On the way home tonight on the subway, The Boy and I spotted a condom jammed under the seat in front of us. I tried to get a photo, but some people sat down, and I felt kind of like a jackass to ask them to move so I could take a picture of a condom. So I didn't. Then I was going to "reenact the scene" once we got home, but as old married people, we don't have ready access to condoms. So you'll just have to take my word for it. We saw an unleashed condom on the subway. Made me wonder - how did it get there? Did someone think it was funny to leave the little guy behind, or was someone (two someone's I guess) getting it on during a late night Risky Business reenactment of their own? The Boy posited that it hitched a ride into the subway car stuck to someone's shoe. Whatever the reason, I've got just one word for it. Yucky.

Dogged Optimism

While out in the nabe the other day, I came across an interesting site - a trio of dog walkers wrangling their charges. The dogs were in groups - big dogs, medium dogs, and small and geriatric dogs. Each dog walker was responsible for a passal of at least 6 or 7 dogs. The dogs were all quite well-behaved - no infighting and no unscheduled stops. It was quite a spectacle watching three such large groups of canines galloping down 3rd avenue! I got tsk-tsk-ed by an old couple when I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to take a photo. Bad form. But the dogs brought a smile to my face. It's just not the kind of thing you see in downtown Houston.

What A Drag

After the West Side Beauty's Birthday dinner, we did a little monkeying around of her own at The Randolph at Broome http://newyork.citysearch.com/review/45697379. We went down to the basement, where the "cool people in the know" go. Guess what we found? A basement reminiscent of "That 70s Show." And - SMOKING! I guess it's some sort of modern-day speakeasy for smokers. But there was no ventilation, and drippy pipes. Gross!

On the positive side, we did get to meet Fast Fingers Yang's Dallas-based girl-no-space-friend. Cute as a hiccup!

Monkey Shines

Attended the official celebration of the West Side Beauty's birthday Saturday night. We started the evening with an ill-fated dinner at Monkey Bar. Intrigued as we were by the coat-check guy's boast of a $3 million renovation in the dining room, we were still hard-pressed to get service at the almost empty bar. But it was a night of celebration! We let it slide when we finally received our wine, traditional martinis and lychee martinis. The West Side Beauty (with two friends in tow - one real and one imaginary), the Little Nolita Lady, and another newcomer to our girlie foursome - Ms K 2 U - all toasted with The Boy and I.

Later, we were shown into the cavernous - and empty - dining room. Sometimes when a restaurant isn't busy, you are lucky enough to get that extra bit of care and attention that makes an evening memorable. This was not one of those nights. While the food was good, it was promoted as "family style." The only way that food could have been conceived as family style is if you defined family as a couple of thumbless vegetarians. Seriously, I could have shoveled through the majority of the plates myself and only been mildly full. As it was, we ordered 3 appetizers and 4 entrees for 6 people, that left me dreaming wistfully about the delicate bouquet of a sidewalk cart hotdog.

We waited about 25 minutes for our appetizers, and about the same time for our entrees. (This was what made us begin to wonder if there honestly were monkeys in the back slinging hash for this joint.) Honestly, the service was so lacking and the food so small I just wanted to leave. So when the dessert menu came, we decided to skip it. (Note: even though there were only 2 or 3 other tables in the restaurant, they didn't have enough dessert menus for the six of us at our table. I was denied a menu of my own because it was "dirty". Hmmm.

So we decided just to pay the check.

Silly silly people.

The Boy and Ms K 2 U pored over the check and figured out the per person total. Six credit cards were offered, and the waiter and our credit cards disappeared behind the red curtain. We waited. We waited. We cracked jokes and waited some more. FINALLY the waiter reappeared.

He handed out each of the credit card receipts to be signed, and disappeared again. So we all went about signing our reciepts with the 2 pens. We had finished up and were gathering our belongings to leave when the waiter comes back and says, "Thanks and have a lovely evening. OH BY THE WAY, there is $97 that still remains unpaid on your bill." Wha?

Apparently we had inadvertently missed the bar tab on the bill. The imbecile (was he a monkey in a man suit? Perhaps.) didn't have the wherewithall to inform us of our error before he ran all of our credit cards or prior to all of us signing the receipts.

We were so pissed, whoever had cash just threw it in the pile, just so we could get out of there!

Monkey bar, indeed! The whole place is a zoo.

Youthful Indiscretions

Celebrated the West Side Beauty's triple decade last night at Ulysses in the Financial District. Then it was off to Brass Monkey in Chelsea. My assessment of the night? Another clear indicator that people over 37 shouldn't be allowed to drink to excess in public.

Only in New York

So I saw this guy when I was walking to work last week - dressed in white from head to toe, with even a white leather backpack and a white umbrella.

Spotted at Lincoln Center . . You Know You Love It

Spotted at Lincoln Center - Serena van der Woodsen. The Little Nolita Lady called me, breathless with excitement. XXOO, kids.

It Takes A Village

It takes a village . . . to raise a Meow.

We needed a cat sitter for the Meow while we're home in Houston for the holidays. So I put up a sign in the basement offering $30 to anyone who would come visit the cat and feed her a few times while we are gone.

FOUR people in the building called and offered to take care of the cat - FOR FREE!

Whoever said New Yorkers were a mean lot was wrong.

The Doorman Dilemma

It is the season of giving - giving tips to Doorment and Super's, I mean. We had heard about this tradition of annual giving to those folks who help you out each year. And what a great idea! Saves you from having to dig in your pockets each time someone does something nice for you.

While the sentiment is certainly very clear, the reality of how to go about giving the tips is not. Do they get pooled together? How much is enough? If I don't give enough, will I get bad service the rest of the year?

It's a big question, and a big deal for these guys. If each one of my doormen gets an average of $50 from each resident in my building, that's $3000. The doormen in the West Side Beauty's building stand to make $5000 for their efforts.

I tried to find some guides to tipping, but I mostly asked around. The consensus was to give a range of $25 to $50 depending on how much interaction you had with them throughout the year, and how helpful they were.

Still, we spent a lot of time thinking and talking about how to handle this whole thing. It's another of those unique New York rites of passage.

O Christmas Tree

So it's our first Christmas season in our neighborhood, and the most magical thing is happening. Overnight, small enclaves of Christmas tree vendors have appeared on a number of streets. They've got small trees, tabletop size, perfect for small New York apartments. They've got large trees, for the wealthy and rent controlled who have large apartments. And wreaths and garland for the festive who don't want to commit to an arboreal display. I LOVE walking by and inhaling the scent of pine; it's the smell of Christmas really.

On Sunday, it's supposed to snow, and I'm planning to pull a "When Harry Met Sally" move.

NOOO! Not that one! Dirty mind.

I plan to recreate the scene where she drags the Christmas tree down the block in the snow. In fact, I'm waiting UNTIL it snows, just to be more festive.

Then, The Boy and Lady Lawhorn are going to help me trim the tree, and I'm going to make wassail and christmas cookies. Jealous?

New York Perceptions from the Lady Lawhorn

My sister, the Lady Lawhorn, is still visiting and has had enough time to notice several new and different New York ideosyncracies:

1. Excessive honking. She hates it! All the cabby and limo drivers are OBSESSED with honking. Even if there is really no reason for it.

2. Walking strategy. The objective in New York is never to stop. So if you get the "walking man", it makes sense to cross the street and meander your path in order that you never half to slow down. Even for a second. Sprinting in front of a cab is preferred in order to shave a mere milisecond off your travel time.

3. No Dr. Pepper.

4. Plain Baked Potato. When she ordered a baked potato, they brought it plain, with no butter, cheese, bacon bits, or sour cream. When Lady Lawhorn asked for some cheese, the waitress acted like SHE was the crazy one. Who wants to eat a plain baked potato? What's the point?

Please Don't Hurt Me

What is going on? Isn't the holiday season supposed to bring out the best in folks? Yesterday, two women on my subway sparred verbally for 10 minutes. "You don't TOUCH me, honey." If one of them hadn't finally exited the train, I think they might have wrestled on the floor, pulling hair and spitting. Then today, I crossed my legs as I was watching Mad Men on my Ipod Nano, and then I heard it. A low growl eminating from the woman next to me. "Don't. You. Ever. Touch. Me. Again," she clipped. Her eyes looked crazy. Apparently I had grazed her knee with my foot when I changed positions. I mean BARELY grazed. I didn't even feel it! But I said I was sorry. What i really wanted to say was, "If you don't like being jostled around by humanity on your way to work, maybe you should buy a car and drive in." Instead, I moved to a different seat at the next stop, and gave her a look of huffy defiance. Like she cared. But if she had had a fork, I'm pretty sure she would have stabbed me with it.

The Sisterhood of the Traveling . . . sister

I am elated to have my baby sister visiting. It will make Thanksgiving even more thankful.

Saturday Night Fever

The Boy and I partied like real New Yorkers on Saturday night, as guests of The Lovely Miss M's birthday party at The Delancey on the Lower East Side. The Lovely Miss M celebrated a quarter of a century, while The Boy whooped it up for two score. It was great to see everyone dressed up, and awesome to go to a real New York party at a night club. Fast Fingers Yang kicked it off with Patron shots for everyone. The Boy sewed up the evening by finagling my coat from coat check after he misplaced the ticket during the night. His fast thinking ensured I was warm for the cab ride home!

Dealbreaker?

Seen on the Subway: Man wearing surgical gloves. Why? Is he a germophobe? A surgeon in a hurry? A serial killer? If you got set up on a blind date and the guy showed up wearing surgical gloves, would that be a dealbreaker?

Spotted on the Upper East Side

New York's financial elite - including Diva D, the West Side Beauty, the Little Nolita Lady, Fast Fingers Yang, the Lovely Miss M, the Dashing Duo and the Debonaire Daddy - slinking to the home of The Boy and his Texas Lady for a night of Fashion and Gossip. The Lady Lawhorn made a special appearance as well.

Fummer

The Little Nolita Lady has coined a new term - Fummer. That's Fall Summer, which is what we've been experiencing the last few weeks due to the warm temperatures and humidity. All the warm dampness in the air is making my face break out. I call it the Fummer Bummer.

Not So Free Samples

Experienced my first sample sale adventure today with my friend the Diva-D. A sample sale isn't a sale of the tiny clothes they make for models like I thought. It is actually clothes of all sizes that weren't sold out in stores--and they are usually 50% to 75% off! So when Diva-D mentioned she was going to the Chaiken and Elie Tahari sample sales after work today, I was in.

Time was of the essence, she scolded me, as I loped along. I had to channel my inner New Yorker for this shopping trip. (For my guerilla shopper inspiration, I thought of my Mom).

Sample sales aren't just racks in the back of nice stores, like the sale rack at the back of Banana, either. They are located in nondescript office buildings, usually on the second floor or above. When you reach the space, the first thing they ask you to do is check your bag. Then you walk into a huge room with different types of clothes on racks and signs listing the price of each type of item.

Along with the other shoppers in the room, you are hunting, not gathering, looking for that one great deal you can brag about at parties. Once you've collected your prey, you're whisked to a draped off area to try it all on. No separate dressing rooms. Just a big open space, some hooks, a few large mirrors and lots of flesh and age inappropriate underwear.

I didn't find any steals, but the show was great. Tons of cool, stylish people watching. And, Diva-D brought me a size 2 dress to try on because she thought I could fit into it. Awww. Love you, D!

Underworld

One of the charming things about New York is the restaurant basement bathroom. In Houston, of course, there are no basements, and the restaurant bathroom is just around the corner. But in New York, the restaurant bathroom is often down a nondescript staircase in a dark corridor. Most times, the basement bathroom is just as uninviting as any. But sometimes the virture of that extra space means an unexpected bathroom oasis.

Birthday Over And Out

Perfect birthday week:
o New Macbook
o Surprise Sister Visit
o Pizza
o Jogging around the reservoir
o Brunch with eggs and big BOWLS of coffee
o Shoe Shopping!
o Great gifts wraped in love from Houston
o Dinner at Nobu
o Celebrity sighting (Benjamin Bratt)
o Team birthday lunch
o Tarts from Once Upon A Tart

You Say Tomato . . .

The Boy, The Dainty Drug Dealer and I were at a diner. The Dainty Drug Dealer asks for some salsa for her omelette. They bring her a glass of selzer and lemon. Priceless.

1 Year Anniversary/Happy Birthday

It's easy to keep track of the anniversary of my move to New York. I flew up the weekend before my birthday and started my new job ON my birthday. I remember that even though I was excited, it was all a bit overwhelming. I was wicked sick, away from my family, displaced, and The Boy wasn't here yet to share the challenges. There was no celebration, no cake, no special dinner. As birthday's go, it was a bit of a bust.

So this year was a HUGE improvement. First of all, The Boy is here and that makes everything better. Second, we have our own place. Third, my sister the Dainty Drug Dealer came to visit! And it was a surprise! The Boy told me his friend from college was coming in unexpectedly, and we had to pick him up at the airport at 1 am because his flight was delayed. I had NO IDEA that something else might be going on. Both my sisters, the Dainty Drug Dealer and The Lawhorn, had cooked up more than one scheme to push me off the trail of their deception. After a near slip and a great recovery by The Lawhorn, the Dainty Drug Dealer even called me up crying with shame about how she didn't even consider coming to visit me for my birthday. I bought it all--hook, line and sinker. No idea at all!

So it was super swell to pull up to the airport and see my sister's smiling face rather than one of The Boy's stinky friends.

Plus, I received some rather handsome gifts.

But the best gift is family. Awww.

No turning back now . . .

I "surrendered" my Texas driver's license and now hold a valid New York State driver's license. I also got a new cell phone with a new New York phone number. These changes feel significant. Next month it will be one year since I arrived.

Our New Kitchen

Dig our new kitchen with the rockin' glass tile back wall!

The Gross Whisperer

Walking to the subway after work today, a guy passed me. As he did so, he whispered "sexy lady." Wha?

Tuck and Roll

Our moms recently paid us a visit. We spent several action packed days acting like tourists - visiting the Statue of Liberty, Canal Street, Times Square and such. It's times like that when you really come to appreciate public transportation and the tranquil adventure of exploring the city on foot.

Of course, it also has its drawbacks - ill-fitting shoes can make even a short trip a painful one. And if you aren't used to it, sheer exhaustion simply takes over. The optimistic assurance from the leader, "It's just a few more blocks!" might make you cry. During our first months here, The Boy and I fought exhaustion each and every night. After our mobile commute, we had no additional energy left over.

But the commute can be fraught with other dangers. The West Side Beauty recently found this out when we were walking along the West Side Highway running/jogging/biking path on our way to the gym. An oncoming cyclist zigged and zagged, yelled something incomprehensible, and FWUMP! He took out The West Side Beauty and they both came crashing to the ground.

He, without a helmet, no less, began to berate her. Unapologetic and indignent, he tore into her as she struggled to get off the ground. Unapologetic and indignent, I tore back. "YOU are responsible for controlling your bike around pedestrians! YOU are responsible for keeping your line! It was your fault you ran into her. Now get out of here! And next time, wear a helmet!"

He didn't say another word as he rolled away. Unfortunately for The West Side Beauty, the road took another bite out of her a couple of weeks later. On her way to work, fresh and looking lovely, her shoe got caught in the cuff of her pants as she descended the stairs that cross the West Side Highway to our office. Ass over teakettle she flew, and this time the road won. Hobbled and bleeding, she strode into work. It was no way to start the day.

So yes, whiling away the time strolling through Greenwich Village is great. Just remember to tuck and roll if you make a mistep.

Fall into Fall

While everyone at home is fighting hurricanes and 90 degree heat, New York is experiencing the first twinges of Fall. That means light sweaters and a brand new search for winter boots appropriate for walking the city.

For us, it also means visitors. We are expecting Daryl's Mom and stepdad and my Mom next week. It will be great weather for them to experience the city.

As an added bonus, I somehow scored tickets to David Letterman for all of us. Stay tuned on our star turn.

Sept 11 Blues

I'm afraid to ride the subway tomorrow. I'm going to work from Home. Daryl is driving to connecticut.

The New York-Mobile Phase 1

Since we are about to officially move into the city, and since both the inspection and registration on my car are expired, I've begun the process of trying to register my car in the state of New York.

Sounds easy, right? Well, it's about as easy as catching a greased pig. Perhaps it's because they don't do that much here in The Big Apple that this process is sooo convoluted.

In order to register the car, I first have to have a New York driver's license. Easy enough, as long as you have an out-of-state drivers license with an issue date on it AND a copy of your social security card. And I have neither.

So, the first thing I had to do to prove my drivers license issue date was to order a copy of my driving record.

Check.

Second, since I haven't had a copy of my Social Security Card for years, I had to get a replacement. Thankfully, since I have a valid passport, this wasn't too difficult. But I had to take time off work to schlep up to the Social Security office in Spanish Harlem. Oh what a joyful time I had waiting in line with my fellow Americans for the doors to the office to open! One of them felt the need to share what I think was a diatribe about US immigration policy at the top of her lungs for about 10 minutes.

But after I got inside, I only had to wait a very short while. I already had my paperwork filled out (I thought! At the last minute I looked over the form and realized I needed my Mom and Dad's social security numbers. Fortunately Dad was home and was able to give me that info before they called my name.) and when my number came up, I was ready to go.

A great little guy helped me out and I was out of there in a snap. AND the card came in the mail just one week later.

Phase 1 complete.

This week, I'll make the trek to the DMV to get my new license. Hopefully they don't have too many greased pigs there. Wish me luck . . .

Moving Day Is Set!!!!

We've inked the deal. We are MOVING IN on July 6!!!

Yea!!!

Parking Ticket Update

Remember that unjust parking ticket I got a while back? (see "The Injustice" from March.)

Well I challenged it online, taking advantage of a program that allows a judge to review a statement that you type up.

A few days ago I got a letter in the mail stating that they had received my challenge and they wanted to offer me two options:

• I could go ahead and pay it, and they would knock off $20 bucks (um . . . thanks a lot)
• Or I could do nothing and it would proceed to a judge for review

I chose to do nothing. I figure it's a long shot that it will get dismissed, but it's a chance I'm willing to take, and it's worth an extra $20 bucks to have my voice HEARD!

Memorial Weekend Madness

I had a fun-packed Memorial Day Weekend. The Boy was out of town, so I kicked it off by going out with The West Side Beauty and The Little Nolita Lady.

We started out trekking down to the end of the island to Battery Park Gardens bar/restaurant for a hurried and hot cocktail on the veranda. (Just as soon as we sat down, they began shooing us out to make room for their dinner reservations.)

We left there for the coup d'etat. Dinner at The Waverly Inn. You know the Waverly Inn - it's tres exclusive with no published phone number. Only A-listers apparently have the phone number intel. The only other way to get a table is to go there in person to make your reservation. So The Little Nolita Lady did, and so we did.

It's a great little spot - very old-world European, with murals on the walls and atrium seeting in the back. Food was just so-so, but we developed a riotous rapport with the waitstaff, and fueled by a few cocktails and a bottle of wine- we had a great time!

Our next stop was Diablo something in the Village for margaritas. We talked a little, drank a little. Then it was time to go. Thank goodness for public transportation!

I got home safe and sound about 1 am, and spent all day Saturday paying for my transgressions.

Later, it was off to dinner at Varietal with some H-town friends. The fixed-price ($39), 3-course meal was divine! Service was also excellent. Probably my best meal yet.

By Sunday I was my old (very old) self again and drove into the city by myself for a little run in the park, a little paint shopping for the apt and a little brunch at a place nearby called The Island. I tucked into some eggs and bacon and my New York Times and enjoyed the wafting breeze through their open doors.

I wished The Boy was with me to enjoy. Thankfully, I was picking him up at the airport later that night, and we were able to celebrate Memorial Day together picnicking with friends in Central Park.

Apartment Update

New walls should be up today. The existing walls and trim should be finished next week, and the floors the week after that. We're just able to measure for the kitchen cabinets later this week, so that will take a little longer to complete.

I'm planning to move in at the end of June, but our stuff probably won't follow until July. Ugh.

H-Town Visit Highlights

Went home a few weeks ago to celebrate Brooke's graduation from law school. Here are the highlights.

5. Seeing family and friends.
4. Mexican food and margaritas at El Tiempo.
3. Walking around Rice University with Courtney.
2. Introducing Stacey to my loud family.
1. Witnessing this interaction at the West Alabama Ice House:

Brooke (to hot guy): I graduated from law school today. What did you do?

Hot Guy: I graduated from medical school.

Ouch.

(But he did call her after.)

Hope Lives!

After months of waiting, biting our nails and cursing the system, the apartment renovation is finally under way with a vengeance! Walls have come down, and new ones are starting to take shape. Even the offending pole that we found inside the wall of what is to become our new kitchen doorway has been deemed safe to remove.

The move in date of mid to late June is looking more and more feasible all the time. We might just make it in before next Christmas after all.

Tribeca Film Festival Ups and Downs

After a positive first outing at the Tribeca Film Festival, we were pleasantly surprised when Live! turned out to be deliciously provocative. So, with high expecations, we walked into the screening of Taxidermia.

Well, all I can tell you is that the scene where he shoots a three-foot stream of fire from his penis was the high point. From there, the movie explored masturbation, competitive eating and vomiting (lots of vomiting), and auto-taxidermia and suicide. I don't know why we stayed to watch the whole movie. I think we were in shock. When we left, we felt assaulted. And though I had initially impressed Daryl with my movie choices, he once again judged me a bad movie picker - Taxidermia being so bad, that it completely overshadowed the two earlier picks.

Heard on the Street in East Village

From one man to another, "Hey man, Jesus loves you, even if you do have a small prick."

Finally!

The Board finally approved our renovation request. Yea! Now, barring any issues with our contractor, who has been patiently twiddling his thumbs waiting for the OK to get moving, we should start the demo on Monday. (audible sigh of relief)

Experiencing New York

The Boy and I had a great New York experience this weekend. First, we went to visit the apartment and had lunch at EAT, Eli Zabar’s fancy upper east side diner/picnic food extravaganza. The food was good, but pricy for what it was. Better than most diner food, but we were left unsure whether it was worth $40 bucks for a steak sandwich, soup and sliced cucumbers. However, the people watching was great. Lots of rich UES ladies with perfect hair and hip ensembles.

Later, we headed downtown for a movie. I had gotten tickets to see some movies at the Tribeca Film Festival, and we went to the first one on Saturday.

I picked 3 movies – one I thought The Boy was sure to like, one I thought we’d both like and one for me.

The one I picked out for The Boy was a low-budget horror flick called “Mulberry Street” which is about a rat-borne virus that turns people into giant, rat-like zombies who go around attacking and eating each other.

The movie was OK—not too scary but kind of gross—and the writer and director get extra kudos because it provides subtle commentary on the war, government management (or mismanagement) of emergencies, and greedy landowners.

The best parts of the evening, though, were (1) the anticipation leading up to going into the movie – standing in line with the other people with special tickets, waiting for the theatre to open, and (2) that they had MnMs, so I was able to enjoy the movie with my favorite movie watching combo of popcorn and MnMs (3) listening to the Q&A after the movie with the director, screenwriters and members of the cast. The theatre was packed, but it felt like you were part of something small, cool and creative.

The funniest part of the Q&A was when someone asked what was the most expensive part in making the movie. They said that the rat, shown in the movie’s beginning, was the same rat that appeared in the end of the movie “The Departed.” Renting that rat for a few hours was the most expensive part of the project. “He was the highest-paid actor in the movie,” deadpanned the director.

After the movie, we walked uptown a bit to have drinks at The Modern, the next-door bar and restaurant to the museum. We've had bad service there before, but tonight they were on their game. Some cocktails, a little bread and cheese – it was all good. Then we took a $9 cab ride back to our apartment and dreamed about the days to come when that is the end of our journey. Alas, we picked up our car from the parking garage and drove back to Jersey.

HISTORY Lesson

So I'm a bit of a history buff, and I try to collect history books about places I am visiting or, in this case, places I have moved to. I've been hankering to dig into the Big Apple's lore.

New York has such a rich and fabled history, so imagine my surprise when two trips to the bookstore turned up almost nothing. In fact, the hilarious irony was that I found at least half a dozen books on Texas history!

I did finally turn up a gem - New York, An Illustrated History. I have been geeking out on for the past few days - and LOVING it. It is fantastic. And, to make it even better, the book is a complement to a multidisk PBS series. (Attn, Santa!)

Anyway, I've learned about the lineage of Wall Street and Water Street, the original name of New York and where the name Bronx came from.

Curious?

New York was originally settled as a business colony - not a religious colony like the other colonies in the New World. From the get go, the main objective, was to make money. Under Dutch rule as part of a Dutch Trading company scheme, the area spent the first 40 some odd years of it's life known as New Amsterdam. In order to keep themselves safe from the native Lanape peoples and from the increasingly greedy British explorers, the colonists built a wall around their new community (Now known as Wall Street). Being Dutch, they were also partial to canals, so dug a few into the interior of the colony so it felt more like home (canal st. and water street). When the British took over, they changed the name of the city to New York. The Bronx was named after the man who settled the area - Bronck.

Belly and Burger

It was a beautiful weekend - breezy, sunny 70s. The whole city took on a whole new feel as people previously locked inside ventured outside to enjoy the sunshine. The Boy summarized it like this, "The clouds went in and the belly's came out," referring to the abundance of women we've seen the last few days showing off their mid-drifts.

To celebrate the good weather, we waited in line for an hour and a half at the Shake Shack in Madison Square Park. It was long - but worth the wait. The Boy recommends the Shake Burger, cheese fries and the strawberry shake.

Seen and Heard

Heard in the elevator at work:

4 co-workers enter the elevator.

GIRL 1

(to Girl 2)

Where are you running off to?

GIRL 2

I've got a date. A first date.

EVERYONE

Cool.

GIRL1

(to Girl 3)

What about you? Aren't you going somewhere?

GIRL 3

Yes. I am going somewhere, but it's not anything as exciting a first date. I'm getting a masage.

The group ponders her statement. Then GIRL 1, a conservative looking type, breaks the silence.

GIRL 1

Well, at least you know you're gonna get touched a little.

BOY 1

Yes! Isn't that what everyone hopes for on a first date?

(the whole elevator laughs)

Seen on the subway:

A large troll enters the subway and sits down next to me. He has a bag from Wendy's full of hot, smelly, food. He proceeds to first pull out a cheeseburger and eat it in a loud, smacky style, licking his fingers and sucking his teeth all the while. When he's finished, he rolls the wrapper in a ball, grabs the subway's back door handle by his seat, opens and throws his trash out while we are moving.

Then he reaches into his bag, opens another cheeseburger, eats it loudly, and again throws his trash out the back door of the moving train.

Finally he fishes out a chocolate milkshake, sucks it down, smacking and licking, cleaning his fingers as he goes. He throws it in the bag, throws it out the door and sits there continuing to smack his lips, lick his fingers and suck his teeth until we, thankfully, reach my stop.

I contemplated telling him what a foul and inconsiderate litterbug he was right as I jumped off the train, but he was kind of big and clearly brutish, so I just stewed about it all the way home. What a loser.

Visitors from the Big T

The Boy and I were excited to host a couple of visitors from the Big T, former co-workers of mine in town for a conference.

Martha Stewart's Rival and the Mary Tyler Moore Girl joined us for dinner at Cookshop on Monday, probably one of the better meals we've had in the city. The service was great, my martini was good, The Boy and I shared a great wine called Maverick something, and the food was decent - not as good as The Chef's, though.

Speaking of the Chef, he's offered up a quick tour of his work digs tonight, and then we're all heading to the East Village for dinner at EU.

It's good to see and talk to folks from home!

Umbrella Wasteland

The nasty weather pummeling the country resulted in the deaths today of dozens of innocent umbrellas. The umbrellas, already weakened by cheap plastic, were no match for the swirling sustained winds in a vortex between buildings in downtown Manhattan. The umbrellas were huddled together in their last desperate attempts to stay alive, resulting in a macabre scene of death and destruction. The umbrellas are survived by dozens of wet humans.

Patience

"Shed a tear 'cause I'm missing youI'm still alright to smile.Girl, I think about you every day now.Was a time when I wasn't sure.But you set my mind at ease.There is no doubt you're in my heart now.Said woman take it slow.It'll work itself out fine.All we need is just a little patience. Said sugar make it slow.And we'll come together fine.All we need is just a little patience(inhale) . Patience...Ooh, oh, yeah"

I used to love listening to Guns n Roses. As the days of waiting to start construction on our apartment turn into weeks and months, I'm reminded of their song "Patience." Indeed, I am learning both how to have patience and how to give up a certain amount of control. We waited months to close on the sale. It took weeks and weeks to find a contractor that we trust, 2 weeks to get approval from the building architect, and now as we push into spring, we are waiting still for the building's board to take a cursory look at our request before we begin.

I've had to just resign myself to the process. To take deep breaths. To drink martinis. Nobody is going to rush this process, and emails, phones calls and tantrums aren't making it go faster. Looks like a June move in.

It's kind of ironic. We tried so hard to speed up our apartment buying process on the front end in the hopes we could spend Christmas there. We'll be lucky to celebrate the 4th of July!

No Service, No Sale

As many of you know, The Boy began wearing glasses a few years ago. While his vision isn't that bad - he only really needs them to drive, etc. - he has come to rely on them quite a bit. So after accidentally throwing away his glasses [we think! still haven't found them at any rate!] he spent several days squinting his way around the city, walking into posts at train stations, etc.

So, late last week he had had enough. He made an appointment with an optometrist and asked me if I would meet him later to pick out frames.

Since we moved here, The Fashion Mister and The Chef have been gently trying to resculpt The Boy into a fashionable New Yorker, providing commentary on everything from his shoes, jeans, shirts, underwear and hair. Eyewear was not missed by their discerning gaze.

So The Boy was a little nervous about choosing his new face. He needed an objective third party.

I met him at his office early Thursday evening and we walked over to the store where he had gotten his eye exam. We looked around for a few minutes. I didn't really see anything I liked, but it was hard to tell. See, in New York, they don't have all the frames sitting out where you can just pick them up and try them on at your leisure. They were all in cases and required a salesperson to bring out each pair to show you.

Problem was, the sales person really wasn't interested (or able) to help us. She had another customer. We hung out for about 15 minutes. She finally came over and pulled out only the few frames we asked for. She didn't make suggestions or try to be helpful in any way, and eventually wondered off again, so we did too.

We found a place down the street that had a very helpful sales lady, but even though we found a pair or two that The Boy didn't hate, he got cold feet at the end so we left.

We saw another store right near the Path station - the door was open wide, so we walked in. Their selection looked cool and groovy, and I thought this might be the spot for us. That is, until the salesperson behind the counter coolly told us that they were closing in three minutes, so basically, to hurry it up. He brought out a couple of frames, then wondered off. Another sales person came up and said, "Look, I'll show you just one more pair. We're closing and I want to go home."

Needless to say, we didn't need that attitude! I couldn't believe it. I know New York rents have to be high. And it's not like glasses are a high volume business. One more sale that night could have made their evening.

Instead, we took our business to Hoboken on Saturday to a store called myoptics that was recommended by both The Fashion Mister and The Chef. They had a great selection, fairly helpful service - providing both recommendations and funny commentary. The Boy ended up buying two really great pairs of glasses - just in case he throws one away again!