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

A play called "Every Brilliant Thing" is currently on Broadway. Matt and Helen went to see it. Playbill from Every Brilliant Thing on Broadway. So look, I'm only mentioning this so I can be one of the cool crowd who talks very knowledgeably about some show currently on Broadway  because they also saw the original and/or earlier revivals. My friend Danielle from book club and her cousin Greg do this. They hammer through a detailed critique like it's a dereliction of duty not to give excellent notes. For example, out front the theater after we all saw Gypsy last year, both of them launched into comparing and contrasting Audrey whatserface with all the prior leading ladies they'd seen portray Mama Rose using words like "vibrato" and "mezzo soprano."  I think Danielle said she'd seen nine (9) different Gypsy productions. NINE! Her dad was on the Tony committee so she got an early start.  So anyway, this is my one (1) time to shine and I'm t...

  The end of the penny brings up old memories. OK so this was decades ago but still lives rent free in my brain. I was so jaw on the floor flabbergasted gobsmacked with disbelief... my Pennsylvania Dutch heritage just did not know what to do with itself. I was moving out of the dorm freshman year at college. And yeah, I went to a fancy college with many very rich people. People so rich they honestly had no idea how the normal folk went about their daily lives. I got invited to go hela-skiing, was given someone's "old" wardrobe when she got a new one for spring, and had lots of dinners at 9pm which might have been the most mindbending of it all. Farmers and steelworkers are in bed by that ungodly hour for chrissakes. Anyway, we were moving out of the dorms freshman year and Marjory takes a huge glass jar of pennies and other loose change from her room and just chucks the whole thing in a garbage can in the hallway.  Thunk. I'm speechless. Can't even talk. She threw...

So much working together goes on around here. Many times group efforts are most notable after midnight, but some are day time affairs. #1 Group Project:  On Friday night, we were coming back from the comedy show that Bente and Charlie had invited us to on the Upper West Side. Charlie plays poker with the headliner. The headliner was... not good. He was up there thinking he was sharing Deep Thoughts. And yeah, it didn't go well. The audience was its own spontaneous group project sharing various shades of WTF -- some more loudly than others.  But all this, while colorful, is completely irrelevant.  Here is my actual Group Project #1:  It happened on the subway home.  I sat down next to a woman who talks when she gets drunk. She was telling a quarter of the subway car that she just moved back from Florida after getting divorced from her third husband. She muttered something like "What am I doing wrong in my life?" ....and suddenly it was a therapy session with five...

My parents are cleaning out closets with a ferocity that would dwarf  Peter Dinklage . Mostly that means they are easily distracted by items someone socked away sixty years ago.  I am closely monitoring their endeavors.   My mom had pretty good handwriting for a ten year old. She lacked in the politeness category, however. The infamous "Nubian Princesses." I have known these statues existed my whole life but have never actually seen them before. Their provenance is a complete mystery. I am closely monitoring the composting, or lack thereof, of these allegedly "compostable scouring pads." Check out the evidence I dug up below. I buried them outside months ago. I will continue to shovel these up periodically to assess, but I have my strong doubts. Probably not actually compostable "Walnut Shell" scouring pads I buried months ago. I am actively contemplating a situation that emerged when I purchased two luggage racks on Amazo...

Speaking of things not to do if there's someone sitting behind you ... Some lady on the plane back from Cuba Let me turn your attention to air travel, specifically civilized air travel. One rule of etiquette might be: Do not rub your fingers all over the screen on the back of your seat. I don't understand the contortions necessary for this sort of rear overhead relaxation. I envision the armpit in the stewardess's face though. "And ma'am, what would you like to drink..." cough cough cough. I showed the above photo to someone and they said I should have leaned forward and licked her thumb. I would have considered this course of action had it not sounded so truly unhygienic.

Let’s just kick this off by mentioning what I have accomplished since sitting down to write this blog post. And by “sitting down to write this blog post” I don’t mean to imply it was an open and shut affair. Not counting the eight to ten false sits would be disingenuous. But I’ve been called to duty by an endless sequence of important tasks which has hindered my progress. For example: Buying mosquito repellent bracelets on Amazon Looking up what a mushroom expert is called (a Mycologist) Finding the best electric switch you can turn on and off with an app, and then deciding I don’t need one. Skimming a lot of popular NYT articles Aggressively deleting duplicate photos on my computer Copying and pasting quotes about distraction into Evernote. This distraction business is really distracting. In between watching  Ozzyman  YouTube videos, I read a book by Charles Duhigg . Charles says distractions and interruptions are addicting. I mean like, actually addictin...

Just finished reading Blue Nights by Joan Didion . Clawed through it, beginning to end, in like three days. Which is record time considering that every word in the book is meticulously fussed over and concerns dying, death, or scenes involving a child you are fully aware is on a fast track to dying and death. It was harrowing. It was riveting.  I like the idea of the Blue Night. I'm watching one unfurl through the window.  It's that distended hour between daylight and night that lingers -- but only in summer during those few weeks before and after the solstice, when the sun rises highest in the sky.  Now, in other words.  I like the idea of the Blue Nights as a reprieve, where time hangs in the balance and memories fold themselves into the present. Here's what Joan Dideon had to say: "If only I could keep people fully present, keep them with me, by preserving their mementos, their 'things,' their totems. The detritus of this mispl...

I have done a lot of spectating in my time.  I have spectated at triathlons, duathaons, bike races and running races. Hundreds of running races. I have spent countless hours standing by the side of the road caterwauling in the general direction of friends, family members and thousands of people I have never seen before and will never see again. Don’t mess with me. I’m in the elite sideline club that you can only join after your marathoning husband tosses a sweaty pair of insoles in your general direction and expects you to catch them. I began my spectating career cheering for my mother, who never really appreciated my efforts. She became particularly annoyed with me when I was ten, standing on the shore of a lake during a canoe race. I used my entire lung capacity to inform everyone in a 3 mile radius she really needed to pick up the pace. Some weeks later she was running a 10k and passed out due to dehydration. I didn’t see this as any excuse not to finish strong. The...

1) If you take the key to your gym locker into the sauna and set it on the bench next to you, when you pick it up on your way out, a brand of a key will be burned into your palm flesh. 2) If you go into a Williams and Sonoma retail store to buy a contraption to elegantly shred parmesan cheese, you will realize your mistake almost immediately. The salesgirl will approach you and ask if you need help. You will say, “Can i use this flat grater thing here to shred parmesan cheese? Or how about this cube one?” and she will say “either one,” and walk away. Next time, just go directly online where there are paragraphs to guide such important cheese-oriented life decisions. 3) If you google search terms like “medical cost of  thiazolidinedione induced edema” for your job, ads for high BMI sandals like these will pop up in your Facebook feed: 4) You will always, 100% of the time, forget to take your computer power cord on a trip. You must set up a meeting on your outlook c...

M&Ms. Since when do they taste like chalk with a crunchy exoskeleton? It's like eating a handful of flashy beetles that have been dehydrated with their legs amputated. That 2nd bag of Vanilla tea from Harney & Sons.  The second bag did not live up to my memory of the first bag.  The new Karen O disk. You'd need to be really into Pippi Longstocking cosplay to get it up for a second listen. (Nonetheless my girlcrush on Karen O stands strong.) Jeffrey Campbell Boots from NastyGal. The city ripped them to shreds, the posers. Online, they looked stoic enough to take on this town. Nothing doing. They wilted like a bug-eyed tourist completely unraveled by a sweltering 6 train platform at rush hour. Such a disappointment. Completely disappointing Jeffrey Campbell boots purveyed by NastyGal iPads and iPhones and Computer Monitors. All this blue light terrorizing my humanoid biorhythms. Tom said there's an app for that. I'll be looking...

This evening, Tom declares the two of us could write a better sitcom than  Welcome to Sweden . He says the dialog is awkward, the acting is a shitshow, none of the characters are likable and Bruce the American is a real boob. Tom says everybody learns Day 1 you take your shoes off when you walk into someone's house in Sweden. He wonders how it was even possible for Bruce overlook everybody hovering around the doorway hopping around on one foot trying to get their shoes off. Personally, I think Bruce probably did see the shoe-shucking fandango. Bruce's eyes grazed over all the socks just like a clue nobody noticed except Columbo. I think this happens a lot. Like when I corner people at cocktail parties and thoroughly cover one of my favorite topics, such as blog monetization or the magic of a well-balanced compost pile. I might pause briefly at several intervals to insure my victim is still nodding politely, but I tend to disregard their wild darting eyes and murmured prayers ...

On Friday, December 13 at 8pm, Tom and I saw Daniel Kitson's new one-man show Analog.ue at St Anne's Warehouse in Brooklyn. On Jay Street. Analog.ue is rapid-fire monolog that glorifies moments in time. Kitson cherishes moments in time. He nabs them with tweezers and jams them in preservative jelly. Then he studies them, up close. You can see his breath condensing on the specimen jars and you know he's so into it he doesn't notice. He also doesn't see his fingerprints on the glass. Daniel Kitson.  Very interesting guy. Kitson ruminates fiercely over the idea that no one's life is remembered in a comprehensive YouTube video. You can't buy your own Truman Show. Like mine, all your moments in time are scattered across the memories of everyone you know.  On Saturday, December 14 at 3pm, Nina and I attended the Emoji Art & Design Show at Eyebeam Studios on West 21st Street. Before emoji, emails and texts and Facebook statuses were all rat-tat-...

When I grow up, I would like to be a geriatric scarlet. Iris Apfel will act as my godhead in this pursuit. I waffled briefly— one time I drifted off for a second, dreamt I was Helen Mirren and felt incredibly calm and collected. But as Iris Apfel says, "More is more, calm and collected is a bore." Actually she doesn't say that. As a geriatric scarlet, I intend to pursue the following activities with great vigor: 1) When I arise in the morning, I will part heavy midnight blue velvet draperies. The tassels will be brocade. Obviously. 2) All meals will be eaten on china. I'd like to dine on a pattern featuring small fluffy foxes with keen eyes. Foxes are overlooked when it comes to decorative dishware. I saw a taxidermy raven encased in a thousand sparkling crystal marbles at the Met. There will be one of these about. 3) My friend Stuart told me the other day, "When you're retired, somehow you can spend the whole day going to the post office." Perh...

Foaming soap that does not foam, but splooges into your hand like half-rabid Smeagol spit. Salmonheads who refuse to stand aside to let the people get off the subway before they push their way onto the subway. Way to create a completely unnecessary melee of full-frontal collisions! I paid to ride the E train, not participate in a fucking sumo wresting pick up game. Luckily, I’ve noticed the culprits are inevitably a squad of fat girls in bedazzled shooties so you can always stomp on their toes. People who fancy themselves stoic and warrior-like yet suffer from frequent episodes of quiet whimpering and resolutely do nothing to attenuate their tragic contretemps, which may or may not involve the 1 train, movie selections and/or vegetarian tacos. Citizens on a crowded escalator who stand to the left like solid walls of ass barricading those of us with places to go, people to see attempting to hurry past them. Multi-packs of toilet paper sold on soap.com that look normal in the pictures bu...

Nothing against straight party-planners, but when it comes to naming the affair, gays really shine. I have assembled a list of my favorite titular events, assiduously researched for almost 8 minutes flipping through various periodicals while Tom takes great pains not to become associated in any way with my highbrow endeavor: Bingo Balls Bingo Ass Circus Bum Bum Night Lesbo-a-Go-Go Suck my Diskoteque Cock Fight! Sperm Whip It Out! Queer, Beer, Rear Come one,come all! References: NeXt Magazine , December 2008, p 32-34. Go! Magazine , January 2009, p 63-66. TONY Magazine , January 15-21, random pages.

Power Tools with less than 10,000 rpm motors Big Black Houseflies in autumn Decisions made by a committee Tourists on the sidewalk in midtown Skis in deep wet powder Nightfall in mid-summer Robitussin pouring into the little dosing cup The Acceptance of Change Karma going around and coming around Tractors on the highway

Sirloin Porterhouse T-Bone Rump Roast '

When someone has wrapped their entire body around a pole in a crowded subway train and someone else coughs to indicate their annoyance. How loathsome. If a person is sufficiently clueless to body block all the other strap hangers, then hacking up a lung nearby will only communicate you have a tenuous grasp on the purpose of language. When you share a moment with someone who exists five seconds in the future, she will always finish your sentences for you. When she realizes she’s skittered too far ahead and can’t see you behind her, she frantically gropes backwards through the darkness of time to find you. She jitters wildly between her moment and yours. It is exhausting to be around her. When you share a moment with someone who lives inside her own mind, for her, the moment is like a dream. When you dream, no matter what anyone does, it is done for you or against you. When you dream, your perception becomes a reality in which you are the only driving force. When you dream, your reaction...

When standing on the train platform, the train pulls up with a door directly in front of you. The exact song your brain has been singing all day just happens to be playing on the radio when you turn it on. Writing with a smooth medium blue ballpoint pen. The day the flowers on your porch bloom. Using gym locker 175. And occasionally 177. Opening up a new sleeve of spiced ginger cookies, Thin Mints or Fig Newtons. Hitting every green light on the way somewhere important. Losing something valuable. But only if you have managed to convince yourself the item was a sacrifice. So by losing it, you can be assured future good fortune. Carrying a large steel washer in your pocket. The Lotus flower.

iPhone Glasses (Sun) Glasses Cleaner Orthotics Keys Sunscreen Tom would not carry chapstick in his man purse.