Waiting to Get There. Usually on the A/C/E in Chelsea, New York City.

I am taking a Jujitsu women's self defense class that pretty much has degenerated into an hour of flagrant street fighting. Yesterday, I got kicked in the face during a demonstration of The Best Way to Avoid Having Your Arm Broken. But that's not what concerns me; the sneaker really only grazed my cheekbone and it was only a flesh wound. I'm also not too worried about the enormous purple welts on my wrists from when we role-played Getting Dragged Into the Woods and the Full Nelson from Behind Bear Hug Problem. The incident that sort of concerns me is the one where we were practicing Getting Strangled by Someone Sitting on Top of You. The rule of thumb for that one involves flipping your attacker onto his back and ripping out his nads with a stylish twist. This includes balancing on one's head briefly. While so engaged, I heard a large crack on or about my brain. My grey matter has been throbbing ever since. But maybe I'm not concerned. Maybe I have tottled into vale

You also might want to look up inhumation, indefatigable and funerary. Yes. The exhibit signage at the New Greek and Roman Galleries at the Metropolitan Museum of Art completely baffled Kerry, Tom and me. Bring on the good news. We deduced the culprit: Smart ass bluestockings parading around stretch vocabularies and intimate understandings of the Intersecting Timelines of Human Civilization. The Met is on the Upper East Side, after all. The exhibit is beautiful, don't get me wrong. Bronze and stone statues and fabulous jewelry are displayed in a stunning gallery that's alone worth the trip. The Leon Levy and Shelby White Court for Hellenistic and Roman art... was designed to evoke the ambulatory garden of a large private Roman villa." (See what I'm saying? WTF is an 'ambulatory garden?' One designed for emergency vehicles?) So before you go, put on your thinking caps, normal people. Bookworm a little Greek and Roman history. Maybe waddle through some comprehen

New Pornographers played with the thoughtless competence that comes from lots of practice. A self-styled Bob Dylan In A Caftan randomly appeared throughout the set. Feedback followed the dude wherever he went, but the very tall people blocking my view cheered anyway. Neko took herself seriously. She had three monitors trained on her plus a wireless earpiece. She also carried on a lengthy conversation with the sound guy using a well-developed system of lively hand signals and irritated body tics. Based on her attire and general demeanor, she may have mistakenly believed she was in a recording studio, not on a stage. That would explain a lot. And there sure were a lot of people up there with indeterminate functionality. Two girls in the back kibitzed and hair flipped for maybe 40 minutes before one of them whipped out a flute and I realized her Previously Hidden Talent. I don't know what I was expecting and I think the soundman maybe should be thrown out on his petard because the vo

Benjy Ferree opened for first-string opener Emma Pollack. Red Bull bubbled from the lead singer's pores and permeated the air with the faint odor of a zealous manic fit. Meanwhile, the rest of the band remained curiously inert. Emma Pollock had no guts, according to Tom. She really didn't do anything for him. I liked her song Acid Test, but the rest of her tunes, no, I would not change them to a 'yes' because they were feisty. At the beginning of her set, I thought Emma made a point to showcase her polar icecap heavy-duty fixation with cool. I was on board with it for a while, but then I got to wondering if she might be suffering from fiber myalgia.

"Going hiking" is a totally different animal than "exercising" or "going for a walk." No need for break-of-dawn Armageddon shit, hiking has mellowed since the time of codpieces and poor personal hygiene. Yet, the action of "hiking" remains distinct and is characterized by three criteria: intent, food and footwear. Intent. Meaning one or more of the following: You procured a trail map. You've mentioned your commitment to "go hiking" in advance of setting out. You foresee an opportunity to whip out your buck knife. Food. You've rigged yourself out with a snack. Footwear. You are wearing hiking boots that snuggly protect your ankles from the hidden peril of rocks. * Additional Commentary as per Melissa : I think it is important that it also be recognized that if by chance one is wearing running shoes for any period of time during the alleged "hike", one is clearly not hiking as that fact alone is eviden

Motoring down Route 10 only one cup of coffee into my day, I stopped. Because of the red light at the intersection of Route 202. I glanced out the window and a telephone pole had flames shooting out of the middle of it. Driving in the car makes me think I can sing, so I usually do, and I was. Singing. While I watched the weeds around the burning telephone pole incinerate. It was right about then that the problematic nature of my observation began to coagulate brainwaves. I picked up the cell phone. "911. What is the nature of your emergency?" "The traffic island is on fire at the corner of Route 202 and Route 10. Southwest side." "What town is that in, ma'am?" "Umm. I'm at the intersection of Route 10 and Route 202. They only cross once." "What town is that in, ma'am?" "Ummm. Denville? Maybe Cedar Knolls? Let me think... Morris Township?" "No. You're in Parsippany, ma'am." oh... hang on a sec. Ma

"Why am I wearing this baby blanket like a cape? It's because I'm... I'm Star Wars Guy."

Borat Buying things I don't really like Anti-perspirant Dry bagels ATMs Benchpressing with plates Sodium laureth sulfate Putting plastic in the microwave Satin Diet soda Boxy crew neck t-shirts with droopy sleeves Unwashed fruit Hoboken Chicken roasters from Acme Criticizing via email Diners Shiny objects Anything requiring assembly Pleats Saving wax paper bags from inside cereal boxes Plastic shoes

This kind of lifestyle - hard drinking, late nights, studying the bronze bull's asshole in Bowling Green Park - takes its toll on your body. I was exhausted all day on Friday after our big night in the Financial District. Diana works in the Chase Manhattan building. She invited us up to the 60th floor for some wine tasting hootenanny. She said you can look out over the whole city from up there and it's really something. True Fact. Although I wish I would have more thoroughly inspected the panorama possibilities. I was too busy drinking. And kibitzing with our new insta-buddies, Jerry and Carol. In the spirit of teamwork and like-minded goals, we drank right up until they flashed the lights and kicked us out. Shrugging off the Lack of Venue Inconvienence, we headed south. To Stone Street. Quaint, cobble-stoned, and peculiarly situated in the middle of all the sky scraping Gotham City glass and steel. We chomped pizza and Jerry and Carol ordered another bottle of wine. So much

Deep green moss, more plush than velvet The smell of new fallen snow. A full moon in a midnight blue sky. The blood red glow of the sun behind closed eye lids. Rough gnarled bark on a tree that sees with eyes as ancient as the earth Catching a falling leaf in autumn Your first glimpse of the ocean Slippery lichens on a black rock beneath your feet and an ice cold swirling brook Fireflies at dusk Blog Action Day : October 15

Monday is Linda's first day at her new job. She's going to show up with a giant stuffed parrot. Oh, it's not for my office. It's for the lobby.

You’re shorter than the last time I saw you!” - Grammy T. to Grammy R. at family photoshoot.

The black tar blisters dotting the road were caused by a Scorching Indian Summer Global Warming Heat Attack and also by the sparks our breakneck pace kicked up. Sethie and I blazed through the first mile in 9:06. I instructed Sethie to jog backwards up hills and point out fat people ahead that we really shouldn't let beat us. I thought it might help him avoid the unpleasantness of sweating. I was right on that. At almost every water stop, I had a drink mainly because the boy scouts passing out the beverages looked so earnest in their little brown uniforms and matching turbans (if applicable.) It was heartwarming. We finished in 1:01 earth time. Due to the unforeseen twist called The Race Started Early, our synchronized iPod mix misaligned with current goings on; I missed my grand finale tune, Before I Forget , by SlipKnot, possibly the most ass kicking awesomeness of all time. Sethie thinks it's a lame-o-rama when two songs by the same artist spin back to back on a pla

"Ouch. Shit." "I was just sleeping here and I punched myself in the head." "I grabbed my pillow and my hand slipped. Pow. Right in the chopper." "That's gonna leave a mark."

“Remember those Power Pancakes Seth used to make? I think the last time he cooked up a batch was maybe a year or two ago.” “I have one in the freezer if you want it.” "No thanks, Grammy."

Grampy Thomas repeated the tale many times while my brother and I crowded around the brick fireplace where the old wooden ship wheel rested on the mantle. During the Hell called WWII, Grampy captained a PT boat. In the Pacific. Until the day enemy fire came ack-ack-ack. Snapped the ship into pieces and flames poured over the deck. The boat keeled starboard and buckled wildly and choppy water washed over charring smoky timbers and the boat slipped low into the sea. Toward Davy Jones Locker. Grampy knew it was hopeless. He clenched his teeth and wrestled the steering wheel off its mooring. He recited the Lord’s Prayer and jumped overboard, clutching the wooden wheel like a life preserver. Grampy paddled across the cold black ocean toward an island he had spied in the distance. He punched sharks with his bare fists while darting between stray mortars and fiery kamikaze planes and shrapnel. It was harrowing. Reaching shore, he hauled the wooden wheel across the sandy white beach and into t