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

 The Metropolitan Museum of Art started allowing visitors again a couple weeks ago. I decided to wait a few days to visit. I wanted to allow ample time for them to get their shit straightened out.  By the time we got there, it was all good in the 'hood. I was impressed. The whole checkpoint charlie took 2 minutes. It may have actually been faster than pre-COVID because there were so few people around with the zero tourist situation and the timed tickets and all. Tom and I ended up dawdling by the naked Greek sculptures waiting for Bente and Charlie to turn up. We were way early because we'd planned for a far more elaborate on-arrival time suck. The tea pots were so cute. Plus the "shopkins" from the 17th century. I loved them when I saw them in March in the new British galleries and yup, they're still there, right where I'd last seen 'em! Getting up on the roof involved a line longer than the line to get in the joint to begin with. But the site-specific in

Alejandro goes to the doctor. Photocredit: Octoclean Our friend Alejandro is kind of a hypochondriac. Just because he freely admits it doesn't reduce the number of fatal maladies he may be suffering from at any given moment. Luckily, Alejandro's partner Bruce is a doctor who probably manages to prevent at least 50% of the unnecessary ER visits and batteries of bloodwork and nuclear scans.  But this time, Alejandro was definitely going to see someone.  For a few weeks, he'd been smelling smells that weren't there. Cigarette smoke mainly. He'd smell smoke, in the park say. He'd look around. No one smoking. Then he started to smell cigarette smoke in their apartment and other places where for sure there was no cigarette smoke. Alejandro looked up 'phantom smells' on the internet. It could be a stroke. Maybe he had a stroke. Bruce said he had not had a stroke. Bruce talked Alejandro out of seeing a neurologist but Alejandro wanted to see somebody so they com