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

When it comes to babysitting sleepovers, I go pumpkin at say 8pm. It takes me about six hours to get ready for bed and handle critical tasks like playing Angry Birds. So when I heard my five year-old nephew had a thing for ringing in the wee hours, I immediately crafted a plan. Although beautiful in its raw simplicity, admittedly the plan lacked a more detailed timeline and rigorous statement of purpose. Mostly I just figured we'd head out into the backyard and do tiring things. I told Mark that we were going on an adventure in the forest. Where the terrain is savage and requires a lot of running to and fro. Specifically for the under 10 set. My nephew nodded in what I mistakenly assumed was mild-mannered acceptance. Then he declared, "While we're out there, we need to hunt down Werewolf Boy. My arch nemesis." Oh. Indeed. Game on. I am so in. Given the change in overall mission, proper equipment was of course required. We shambled out to the garage and collected the b

If the time I almost beheaded the midget in Whole Foods didn't tip me into the abyss, it's now a done deal. I am going to Hell. I did not actually run over the blind lady with my new scooter, but I did get tangled up in her cane. Since it was only a near miss, I thought I might have dodged the damnation bullet, but then Mary informed me that, "To blind people, a cane is like another finger." I'll be spending the weekend working on scooter speed and endurance in case the townspeople chase me around with torches.