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

©apple from their support page This is how I see it going down: "Goddammit," the Vampire curses. He's at the 24-hour Duane Reede trying to Apple Pay with his iWatch. He's all, "Again with the passcode!" and gnashes his fangs in frustration. The iWatch, in case you don't have one, asks for your passcode when you first put it on. Apple assumes it's still you hours later as long as your heart rate is uninterrupted. For those with a regular heart beat, this probably constitutes convenient security. But it sure sucks for the undead. Luckily most undead are immortal so an extra five minutes in a checkout line might not register on the old biological clock.

"Enjoy the little things in life because one day you’ll look back and realize that they were the big things."  -- Kurt Vonnegut Sometimes, people go by their middle name. My middle name is Lynn. What if I just all of a sudden told everybody to start calling me Lynn. Would they do it? This is an entirely rhetorical musing, by the way. As I told Tom, fiddling with my name would be taxing and unnecessary. Then I came up with a better rhetorical musing. Tom's middle name is Scott. His business partner is also named Scott. What if Tom went to work on Monday and told Scott that from now on, he also wanted to be called Scott. I suggested this consideration and pictured the scene: Tom's co-workers gravely absorbing this new wrinkle. Nodding and trying really hard to keep their eyebrows centered and level. Tom said, "That would just be really confusing. Someone would say, 'Hey Scott,' and we'd both would turn around." "They

My great-grandma with her ma and sisters in 1938. Over coffee on the upper west side, Ricki told me a long-ago memory about her two aunts. One of these aunts happened to be my great-grandma Minnie (“a piece of work, your great-grandma”). The other aunt was Minnie’s younger sister Sarah. Minnie and Sarah learned to sew in the old country.  We're from a long line of dressmakers, my mishpocha. And Minnie and Sarah— boy could they sew. Beautiful garments. To die for dresses.  Ricki was eight years old and she needed a fancy dress.  She told Tante Minnie and Tante Sarah her favorite color was blue so her aunts went out and bought some blue satin and white lace. Minnie and Sarah stood Ricki up on a milk crate and fussed. “She should have cap sleeves” said Minnie. “The lace collar should go like this,” said Sarah. “We’ll put the waist here,” said Minnie. Minnie’s words ran together, muddled and messy. She had pins clamped on one side of her mouth and a cigarette d