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

 As a sequel to my earlier reporting on the  Restaurant Land Grab  transpiring in and about Chelsea, Manhattan, may I present an update on current curbside goings-on in the area of fine dining. First of all, the field of play has leveled up. The ramshackle tent cities are a thing of the past except at the most Jesus-take-the-wheel establishments.  I also appreciate the variety in both architecture and decor. You have your woodsy "cabin" styles, juxtaposed with kind of fresh greenhouse looks and then your more thematic construction efforts. Here's a bunch of photos I've taken lately: There's a whole sushi bar in there. Each little compartment has a table and old-timey photos on the divider walls It kind of looks like a doll-house from this angle. Except for the cone. This is a gigantic establishment, amiright? It being situated right on the bike lane could get interesting. Hopefully everybody has insurance. Here's another "both sides of the sidewalk" ...

 As a sequel to... Movies I - Mom, Dad and Tom discuss Steve McQueen on the porch Movies II - Dad's Top 3 Favorite War Movies  ; and Movies III - Favorite Fights! . ..may I present  Family Favorite Escape Movies *As discussed during Family Zoom Nite* Great Escape Shawshank Redemption Escape from Alcatraz Stalag 17 The movie where Sylvester Stallone is a soccer player. Mom notes for the record: "This was the worst movie I ever saw." The movie where Woody Allen is in a chain gang. They escape and tell people they are a giant charm bracelet. The movie where Paul Newman escapes with 50 eggs.  The movie where Paul Newman escapes with 50 eggs.  "No, wait, he eats 50 eggs." "It had a weird title." "Technically, if he ate the 50 eggs, he did escape with them." "It was Cool Hand Luke." "Whether he escaped or not with the 50 eggs would really depend on the timing." "Oh right, Cool Hand Luke."

 My mother gave me an actual, non-kindle paperback book for Xmas by Jonathan Safran Foer : A real paperback book by Jonathan Safran Foer I was finishing up reading The Warmth of Other Suns and also Den Jag Aldrig Var  as well as some stories by David Sedaris so I only cracked open the book a few weeks ago. On the left inside cover I noticed an adorable note from my Mom: "I thought you would enjoy this book, Love Mom." Aww, hearts and warm smiles. On the right hand side on the first page, a red rubber stamp said, "Property of the Community Library."  So there's that.  I read the whole book in record time, as I am not daunted by questionable provenance. I loved it, as my mother suspected I might. I liked it so much, I suggested to Tom that he should read it too. I must have sounded convincing because he took me up on it. He opened the book and stretched his arms out to maximum length. "This type is really small," he said. Tom refuses to get the reading...

 As you probably may have guessed given my general dislike of damp socks and broken bones, I'm not the best cross country skier on the planet. Not the worst... It would take a lot of effort to be the worst when you've been skiing for thirty years. But a vast and unfathomable distance from the best.  I know this for a fact because we have skied up in Craftsbury VT on the same trails as the US Olympic biathlon team. They pass us so fast you sort of wonder if you imagined it. They also travel with such beautiful grace. It's like they are floating above the snow. Unlike some of us who are unmistakably on the snow and occasionally in the snow. But forget all that for now. In the vicinity of High Point, NJ, Tom and I are gold-medal contenders. The odds would be heavily in our favor should any sort of cross-country skiing contest ensue. I probably don't even mean a contest of speed or distance. I probably just mean a contest to see who can stand up in their skis without fallin...