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

Corridor to Midsummer in Battery Park, NYC After we left the Midsummer fest on Friday, we marched up to El Vez for corn tacos. But we only made it half way there. Someone spotted a half empty patio with twinkling Christmas lights and Casey had us a table in T minus 20. Personally I couldn’t keep my eyes off the party of six next to us. Two gentlemen took turns slapping each other across the face for about ten minutes. Then a skinny Asian girl fell underneath the table and simply could not escape. The table legs were like the bars of her personal prison, impossible to circumvent when you're flat on the floor. Finally she managed some sort of yogic sunrise and rejoined the world of chairs. After that, they all did body shots of tequila. Earlier, at the midsummer fest, Anna Karin told me her American husband got the Swedish Rosetta Stone but he quit because he was learning sentences like “The girl is under the table.” Whoever would need to say “the girl is under the

It all started when my mom dropped the s-word in front of the kids. My bro tells grandma she could certainly come up better word choices. Almost immediately afterwards, he sends this text:

Coming home the other day, I ran into our neighbor Marilyn outside on the sidewalk. Her sad, matted little dog slumped over in one of those dog strollers while Marilyn chatted with a young woman I had never seen before. "This is my niece Dara. She's visiting from Virginia," said Marilyn. I said nice to meet you or something. Then we all stood there uncomfortably, like you do when you run into someone on the sidewalk but can't think of anything to talk about. "She's 17 and completely arthritic," interjected Marilyn. "She can barely walk." My eyebrows probably disappeared into my hairline. I looked at Dara the niece. "My goodness," I said. "That must be a challenge." "She's talking about the dog," said Dara.