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

I probably should find a gif of someone high-fiving herself. Or maybe a real quality dab or a Heisman maneuver. Meanwhile I'll crank up Ode to Joy super loud and the air shall erupt with sparkles. A smoke machine would be cool. Because this is -- drum roll please -- NaBlaPoMo #30. Count 'em kids. 30 posts, 30 days. *drops laptop and twerks twice*

Tom came home from work looking a little bewildered. I asked why. "Remember that guy, the one I kept seeing at a bunch of triathlons? He's a real Ironman muscle guy. Very fast." said Tom. I nodded and had no idea where this was going. "We were swapping messages on facebook about a workout plan. He wrote that he'd coach me and it would only cost $5. I wasn't sure if he was kidding." I uh huh'ed. Tom goes on, "I didn't know what to write back. Seriously, what if he's only kidding? But then again, what if he's not kidding? I thought about my response for a really long time." This had to be going somewhere. You'd expect there'd be a story arc of some kind. "Finally I decided to write back 'I'm In!' with a smiley face. Then I'd wait to see what he replied. At that point, I should know if he's kidding." Right, right, I said. You'd expect you'd know at that point. Is

It is true. We do play a lot of peggle on the big TV. Mostly when there's family and friends around because: When you achieve great Peggle success, it's better when people you love are all around throwing pillows at your head. I considered getting a game of some kind on my phone - not peggle because once you go big screen you don't go back - but like Tetris or something. I heard a podcast where an expert said that Tetris is great to play in 5 minute increments during the day as sort of mini-yogic retreat. Let me restate - as a don't-have-to-move-your -lazy-ass kind of mini-yogic retreat. Sounds fine. But I never did pull the trigger on the download because I was appalled by the privacy policy or lack of privacy policy on every single game I looked at. No, I will not give you access to my camera and microphone at all times, thank you very much game-maker person. And so, that is the end of this story.

A few years ago, my niece Ella gave me this necklace as a gift. A couple months ago, just after her tenth birthday, she walked by my dresser, saw the necklace and said, "I can't believe I gave you a necklace with my own name on it, Aunt Stacey." I said it's one of my favorite gifts because I smile every time I look at it.

Last week, we were at that comedy show-- the one with the twenty comics stumbling around in the zone called "not ready for an audience." The host of the show opened with a bit about how she is wildly annoyed by people sipping their coffee from mason jars on the subway. Not #1: Coffee in Mason Jars I am not annoyed by people sipping their coffee from mason jars. It's a little hipster twee... like I wouldn't be surprised if I saw a unicorn sticker on the mason jar or some homage to beardsmanship. Even then, I wouldn't care. Also Not #1: Slow Walkers You can't have a list like this without the chestnut of all annoyances to kick shit off: Slow walkers in the city. I could say I'm annoyed by people walking slowly on the sidewalk, but the target of my annoyance has shifted. I'm now less annoyed relative to the individual persons engaged in the slow walking and more annoyed by the entire scenario of being trapped in the middle of a short-legged horde

I get in the elevator with a guy and his dog. I've seen him before. The elevator doors close. I wait, because I know something's coming. It doesn't take long. He says, "That's a gangsta handbag. Gangsta." I nod my head. My handbag is kind of gangsta. It has silver studs. I smile. The dog inches a little closer to me. The guy goes, "She likes the ladies." I pat the dog on the head. I get out on my floor. I just started reading Motherless Brooklyn by Jonathan Letham which is great. The hero has Tourettes. So on that day I figure out the guy in the elevator also has Tourettes.

I think we have every set of Cards Against Humanity. Someone gave us the first few sets as a gift and then we bought a couple and then we got a few more as gifts. We have boxes and boxes. It's important that this be fully realized, because it's my main excuse. We have a pile of loosely child-friendly cards haphazardly jammed in a box lid. We break them out when we play with the niece, nephews, grandma and grandpa. These games are hilarious. The kids go giddy with laughter. One time Jack laughed so hard he went airborne. When he came back down, his little tushy crashed right through the bottom of a plastic lawn chair and he still has a scar. In other words, this is the perfect game for Thanksgiving family fun. However. As most know, neither Tom or I are known for our spectacular attention to detail. For example, today I inadvertently picked up the wrong box of cards for our game. Instead of the box of cards censored for the kids, I picked up a different one. It could have

Last week, Tom says he wishes his jeans were shorter in the legs, but he can't figure out where to get them hemmed.  I say go to the dry cleaner we always go to for pant hemming.  He says he does not want his jeans to look like they're hemmed. If the bottom seam isn't there, his jeans will look like denim slacks. That would be horrifying. Jeans should not look like denim slacks.  I say she has a trick, that old lady in the dry cleaner. She cuts off the bottom seam, clips a couple inches off the pant leg and then sews the bottom seam right back on. She’s fucking ingenious. I show him my jeans she hemmed and they definitively do not look like denim slacks.   Ten minutes later, Tom comes out of the bedroom wearing his too-long jeans, with another pair of jeans slung over his shoulder.  He says, “see how efficient I am? I’m going to wear these long jeans down to the dry cleaner. Then after the old lady does her measurements, I’m going to take them off and p

I got these svelte new blacksmithing gloves the other day. Cool design, lots of black. Most of the blacksmithing gloves I've burned to a crisp during my tenure have been really industrially radioactive shades of blue, green and orange. These are certainly a step up. In the top photo above, you will notice my new gloves artfully displayed on my anvil. My anvil is a 150lb English Anvil. Tom got it for me for Christmas years ago and she's a beaut.  Photo credit: http://www.blackiron.us/anvil-types.html I was glad Tom found me the anvil that he did because before that, I had made a terrible and super embarrassing error. I ordered an anvil online. There were problems right out of the box. Literally. Shipping tip: It's really hard to send an anvil in a cardboard box. I received an anvil, and then kind of separately, a beat up box with an anvil-sized hole in the bottom. Anyway, I was up at the Pig Iron Pig Roast and I happened to mention to one of the smith

We were out to dinner with Wanda and Derek and I mentioned probably my favorite TV show ever. The entire show was one camera angle. Just a video camera sitting there. In a pen with a whole bunch of puppies. And in the back of the pen was an old school TV playing music videos. So you'd watch the music videos, but mostly you were watching the puppies doing puppy things and climbing around on the TV. It was great. It was on from maybe 3:30AM to 5. I watched it all the time. Wanda and Derek both agreed it sounded like terrific television. Tom calls 2000-2002 'the adrenal years.' I had two adrenal glands back then, one of them going full throttle 24/7. Basically this amounted to not sleeping much. I got a lot done, but the neighbors didn't like me. There's only so many nights they'll stand for someone being up at 4am drilling holes in boards and hanging up shelves or something. So I started watching a lot of Fuse TV. They had this "Up All Night" progr

Some big news today and I'm not talking about how it snowed some in New Jersey this morning. And I'm also not talking about the bottle of Heinz 57 I found jammed in the back of the fridge which expired in 2007. I'm talking about the t-shirts that me and Derek made which are now on sale at your friendly local webstore:  https://teespring.com/stores/scandinavian-social-club-of-ny These t-shirts have been in the works a super long time. It all began when I was in Gothenburg in  Sweden in 2014. I wanted to buy a t-shirt with the city emblem on it-- a really cool lion. Except I did not want a "Gothenburg" shirt. I wanted a "Göteborg" shirt. Gothenburg is the tourist name. I wanted a Swedish t-shirt. Not an American tourist t-shirt. No. Where. To. Be. Found. So then I poked around in Stockholm for something cool. The only t-shirts I could find in Stockholm had New York City on them. Then, back home, I saw the "Keep Calm and Carry On" shirts

We have a modest collection of laundry detergent. Tom says we're set through 2019. Such are the dangers of Amazon Subscribe & Save. If you plan ahead and order on a schedule, you save like 15% off normal Amazon prices. You pick whether you want something delivered once a month or once every two months. In theory it's really quite terrific especially if you're somewhat of a serial obsessive. Think about it: * You save 15% * Good for environment, lots of stuff comes in one box * Like magic, things you need show up * Save time, you only have to click to buy once instead of repeatedly Let me offer some advice: you don't want to be all hasty and slapdash when contemplating your household needs. I was feeling all Frau Badass nailing that submit button and now we have a closet full of moisturizer and nineteen bars of soap. Also, we're out of tea and vitamins and I staunchly refuse to pay full price mid-month. I can wait two weeks. It's the principle of

One guy totally forgot his set. Another dude had a red hat at the ready for his lengthy "Donald Trump On The Campaign Trail in 2016" impression. An ophthalmologist rattled off a series of retina-based puns. There was an excess of rhyming spoken word poetry that was possibly supposed to be accapella rapping. I'd estimate 12-20 people took the stage. Three had potential. Another one dropped the mic, but it was an accident. Under no circumstances am I implying that we witnessed a mic drop. I said the whole thing felt like a non-gentle anthropological probe that I needed far more whiskey to understand. Tom described it as "A talent show with a two drink minimum and really expensive drinks." If you put these facts together, your conclusion should be that two drinks was not sufficient but we were not going to belly up for more, given the outrageous price point. Thus the ensuing consternation. Dangerfield Comedy Club Takeaways Dangerfield Comedy Club does not

This is the NaBloPoMo rough patch, these middle-of-the-month days. My entire stockpile of ideas is tapped, but I'm not yet at the place where it's ok to post whatever the hell, like I'm totally fine with at the ass end of the month. But let's fast forward shall we, because it's 11:47PM and we just got back from dinner at Kubeh and drinks at Analogue with Helen and Matt.

The facts are, it's pretty impossible to win the lottery to get into the NYC Marathon if you live in NYC. Or anywhere else that is not exotic, at least in the eyes of race officials. The workaround is to do a "9+1." Meaning if you join the New York Road Runners club and, within one calendar year, run nine of their races and volunteer at one more, you auto-qualify for the marathon the following year. Tom decided he wants to run the marathon next year, so he signed on for the 9+1 plan. Last Saturday was Tom's "+1". He volunteered to help out at a pretty massive 5k in the park. This 5k is kind of a tradition. It happens the day before the marathon, so finishers cross the same finish line as the marathoners and run through the stands and all the hoopla set up for the marathon. Except they only have to run 5k instead of 26 miles so by all accounts this is a very clever maneuver. Tom got down to the race area at some ungodly hour. They gave him a fluor

Photo of poop I texted out to the family I knew exactly what would happen as soon as I took this photo. Poop is subject matter certain people find mesmerizing. Everyone in my family, you see, fancies themselves an amateur scatologist . Moments after I hit send, my sister-in-law is on the scene: "Fox or a large cat." Pop steps up: "3:1 - Fox, Raccoon." Mom elbows in: "It’s not pointy enough to be fox poop." Dad, with the rebuttal: "But it’s divided and rounded. Could easily be fox poop." Mom comes back: "Coyote poop is a pretty good size." PS: In case you didn't know, the scatologists have a theme song. Here's my pop with a rendition:

photo credit: https://www.123rf.com/ photo_45691404_credit-card-phishing-attack.html Someone ripped off our credit card and had a fun day in Manhattan. First, they picked up a terrific new pair of expensive sneakers. No sense slumming around in crappy treads when you have big plans the afternoon. After that, it was off to Shake Shack for lunch. While enjoying a $50 mound of burgers and fries, it apparently seemed like a great idea to book an AirBnB out of town and hook the fambo up with some Amtrak tickets. Godspeed, sticky fingers.

I was running on the Hudson River path. Turning in respectable sub-10s, jamming with my tunes, feeling pretty good. It was 2012,  right after they canceled the New York Marathon in the wake of Hurricane Sandy. Suddenly, I felt a whoosh. Two ladies blew past my ass like I was standing still. And not only that, they were chatting, in normal voices, while they did so. I know one of them was Kara Goucher and I think the other one was Shalane Flanagan. I guess the two were out for a little jog. They had some time on their hands, being in town with no marathon and all. Photocredit: http://www.zimbio.com/ Kara+Goucher+Shalane+Flanagan/pictures/pro My only point is that I ahead of Shalane Flanagan. Briefly.

On Friday, the temperature plummeted. And the movie theater was the whole way down by Battery Park, almost on the water. Meaning one cold-ass trek overland after we got out of the subway. During the frigid journey, I overcame potential frostbite with mittens, a scarf, my winter jacket and NSFW language. Despite arctic conditions, it was pretty cool to walk by  One World Trade all lit up I didn't bother to ask why Stacie and Andy wanted to see Thor all the way down in the hinterlands of Manhattan. It's not exactly like that sassy savage Chris Hemsworth cannot be found on the big screen in midtown.  I figured Stacie and Andy had a reason. And sure enough, it was a good reason. You should have seen these theater seats. Totally plush. They had buttons for varied reclining and a lot of square footage. Plus a tray with a cup holder. If this place ever needs a new business model, they could rent out for naps. Plus the lobby of this joint looked like this: Very fancy l

Apple, Cinnamon and Listeria Bar from Amrita Erin suggested I actually accomplish something useful with this NaBloPoMo timesuck. She pointed out that I could write a blog post documenting my queasy summer as a public service announcement: For like two solid months, I had this flu that wouldn't quit. It was a real bitch of a flu featuring electrifyingly terrible headaches, dizziness, nausea, and super stiff muscles. The worst part was, just when I'd start to shake it, there'd be a relapse. Over and over again.  Finally I went to the doctor. He said I did not have the flu. He said it looked to him like a food-borne illness. He scribbled me a prescription for antibiotics. Maybe a week later, I get this email from Amazon: Greetings from  Amazon.com . We have learned of a potential safety issue that may impact product(s) you purchased through  Amazon.com : HIGH PROTEIN Variety Pack - Pack of 12 bars by Amrita More details:   https://www.fda.gov/Safety/Reca

We walk into the restaurant-- Kristina, Alex, Petrina and me. Probably, it's at least 10pm. The hostess asks, "How many?" I reply, "Three." We get to the table and the hostess has three menus. Four of us sit down. The hostess looks confused. Like maybe our party picked up a stray on the way across the dining room. She says, "I thought there were three of you?" I say, "Oh right. I took a visual headcount and so I forgot to count myself." The hostess has the grace not to roll her eyes. She goes and gets another menu.

This is probably my favorite photo burst. Or maybe favorite would be a little strong. Maybe I should say the photo burst that most memorably starts out all smiles but ends in a an ewwwwww face. These three photos were taken within seconds of each other. First, we have Ellie watching how Uncle Tom rides the Subway and imitating everything he does. She had been sitting on one of the seats, but bustled right up to the pole with big eyeballs. Ellie sees me watching her. She turns quickly. ...and drops her pacifier on the subway floor. What is not pictured, because it happened so damn fast, is Ellie picking up the pacifier and sticking it back in her mouth. Hopefully the five-second rule applies. This all went down back in 2010, which was a long time ago at this point.

Today I visited Grammy at her assisted living domicile. When I got there, she was in the dining room munching on a piece of fried chicken. Okaayyy-- I'd told her earlier on the phone I was coming to take her out to eat, and from the looks of it, she'd really dug into that chicken. Grammy and Grampy 10 years ago. Vaguely, while she introduced me to her friend Pearl (again) I wondered if she remembered I was coming and/or if she remembered the part of the conversation where I told her I'd take her out. It wouldn't have been the first time she'd forgot some key information. Maybe last month, after about the ninth time she'd asked me if this was the first time I'd seen her new apartment at the assisted living place, I told her she should keep a notebook and write shit down. She became furious with me for suggesting she write things down WHEN SHE ONLY HAS ONE GOOD EYE. At least she hasn't lost her ability to give you the what for. Grammy told me t

At the polling place, I moseyed up to the table for my district but someone with a last name beginning with N-Z was in front of me. So I talked to the volunteer doing F-M. I thanked her for volunteering and then asked if it had been busy so far this morning, like had lots of people voted? She lifted up her little receipt book and poked her index finger at the page number. "39," she said. "39 people have voted this morning so far." I must have looked dismayed so she continued, "But it's early yet." She also kind of neglected to reinforce that her receipt book only included voters in my district with last names beginning with F-M. When it was my turn, the N-Z guy handed me a piece of paper to "give to Jean." I turned around and Jean was right there, at the ready. I said, "This is for you, Jean." I know for a fact Jean liked me after that because when I came out, she asked super chirpily, "Do you want a sticker that says you

I was outside, walking up a flight of stone stairs in New Jersey next to a patch of grass, wearing a pair of clogs, holding a glass of water, and trying to text with one hand. As it turns out, this was overly ambitious. My toe clipped the next step up and I knew I was going to either fall on my face, break a glass, a wrist or smash my phone. In a split midair second, I became super depressed about the possible outcomes. But next thing I recall,  there I was in the soft grass next to the stairs. I was just kind of peacefully staring up at the sky holding my unscathed phone, with the water glass safely nestled safely nearby. I got up, looked around to see if anyone had seen my awkward romp (they had not) and walked back to my clogs which were still poised on the stairs where I'd flown right out of them. All I can say is, thank you muscle memory. I haven't had anything to do with Jujitsu for like eight years, but in that short airborne moment, I found myself angling to lan

It all started when I got a whole bunch of angle iron from Bob the Welder that I never wound up using. I decided one afternoon to pound four three-foot lengths flat. Then I decided to check if I could draw down the ends into a nice taper. This proved to be about as taxing as I thought it might be.  It took a solid six months of banging away in the garage... when the weather was nice and I felt like it. This is my hobby for chrissake, I'm not going out there in the rain or if the temperature is not what I consider pleasant. Four pieces of 1/4" angle iron, hammered flat and tapered It was about this time that I realized these were some pretty hefty slabs of steel, and would weigh a respectable lump sum if I welded them all together. Hmm, I mused. A nice base for something large and top-heavy... Welding the flattened angle iron together Burned the shit out of the iron after so many heats in the forge. But I think it looks super cool. Welded up nice Top

While writing the headline of this post, I sat for a second figuring out what day of NaBloPoMo this is. And then I realized there’s a formula. It’s the date. Welcome to Day 4, November 4th. Last night I was talking to Jens about the roughly 11 words Tom knows in Swedish. Or knows in Sort-of Swedish. One of Tom's top words is “smyglistna” which means literally to sneak a listen. Eavesdropping, if you will.  photo-credit: englishandculture.com/blog/bid/87505/ Getting-Around-Town-Advice-on-Transportation-in-the-U-S Except Tom could never remember smyglistna so I gave him a helpful tip, “Just think of Smegel from Lord of the Rings.” So now Tom says, “Smegel-listna.” I’ve stopped correcting him. Jens was like, “Of all possible words, why smyglistna?” Excellent question with an even better answer. Tom and I spy on strangers. A lot. We sit in restaurants or walk down the sidewalk and Tom leans over and says very very quietly (even though no one else in the known unive

I just rushed home from Greenpoint to write this post under the wire. It's only Day 3 of NaBloPoMo, I couldn't let things go south while still in the single digits. That would be embarrassing. Photo credit: https://nikkisimages.wordpress.com/tag/furniture/ Just now, when I said I "rushed home from Greenpoint," I meant that in an aspirational way. By no transportation means can one get from Greenpoint to Manhattan in a fashion that does not feel somewhat unnecessarily excruciating. Earlier this week, I began thinking about how I might get over to Greenpoint. On Tuesday or Wednesday, I remembered the new water taxi that goes from 34th street right over the river and bam, drops you off on the shores of Greenpoint. And definitely, I decided, this would be the way to go. The water taxis are sort of new and I like a shiny penny. As another example to prove my point, I'm still not over the 2nd Avenue Q train. Sometimes I find reasons to go to the UES just to ride

I almost ditched on National Blog Post Month (NaBlPoMo) this year, but last night, blinded by a flash in the inspiration pan, I decided to go for it. 30 blog posts in 30 days is a solid commitment. It was a bold and risky move. This year, I don't have a theme (like I did in 2015) and I also don't have a little stockpile of saved up ideas (like I did in 2016). It also appears that the NaBloPoMo sponsor of years past is MIA. I'm flying by the seat of my soft pants here. A while back, I listened to a podcast featuring the Moth Story Slam founder and he said that every day, he looks around for a story-- something that happened during the past 24 hours. Then he records his random story thoughts in a spreadsheet. One row per idea. He might have offered up some tips about how to spot a decent bit to throw in the story-starter Excel petri dish, but I can't remember. He said it's an art and skill to see the story nestled in between the detritus of day to day bullshit.

I sit in the sauna at the YMCA, staring out the steamy little window. Through the glass, I see the locker room in all its yellow tiled glory. And a naked lady runs by. And then she runs by in the other direction. I glance at the clock. Seven more minutes in this hotbox. The naked lady slows a bit on maybe her forth or fifth pass by the sauna. Now she's looking fully exasperated. I check the clock. Three more minutes. It's pretty late, almost closing time. The door to the sauna flings open. It's the naked lady. Her English isn't great, but I make out that she took a shower and somehow lost her locker key. Could I go up to the front desk and ask them if a member has found the key and turned it in; and if not, could someone come in with a lock cutter so she can get her stuff and get dressed and go home. As it turns out, we're the only two people in the locker room, so I'm her last hope. I go out to the front desk. I feel the steam coming off my Tshirt a

    Recently, I was sucked into a whirling vortex called 'I really think we need an air purifier.' I shopped endlessly on Amazon while breathing stagnant bacteria-ridden oxygen, I'm sure. Despite learning more and more about the stanky horrors floating around,  I couldn't pull the trigger because all air purifier options come  with backstories that rival Dune for their unnecessary complexity. Much to consider with these Air Purifiers Then I got to thinking if I put maybe a half dozen of these air purifiers in my Amazon shopping cart and left them there for a few days, the price might go down. It's happened before. Amazon hates abandoned shopping carts.  But clearly they don't hate them enough to drop the price in the air purifier department, the bastards.  Maybe they could smell my desperation. It was just a matter of time, their data concluded. Correctly. Finally, the air purifier showed up . I was away, so Tom did the unboxing and se