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

Never man-bun at the theater. Never woman-bun either, especially a topknot of any kind. Hair should be low slung and, if possible, damp so as to avoid frizz. Someone is sitting behind you for chrissake. They might have a short torso. Also, do not move around your head like you're listening to polka music. You are not listening to polka music. Everyone with a view including your head now also appears to be listening to polka music, just in the opposite direction. It's a chain reaction. It would be a terrific play-by-play commentary: "The gentleman in G105 with the long spiky haircut-- he's at again with the agitated bobble-head moves. The woman in H105 reacts to left. And it's I105 to the right...   But now for the flourish! G105s girlfriend, there she is with the head tilt aaand... SHE PUTS HER ARM AROUND G105. The crowd goes wild.   It's a cascade folks, a veritable waterfall. Everyone in the 103 and 105 seats madly attempts to catch a glimpse the c...

Usually, I sit down to write these blog posts and a theme comes to me. It's not usually an effort. I just think about the goings-on and notice a peculiar pattern. Or an odd outlier. I try to find some meaning in life, which might seem unbelievably quaint but usually I give it a solid college try. So far, 2018 has been a neurotic cat totally unwilling to get herded. Maybe Mercury is in retrograde or something. When I try to recall yesterday or last week or last month, it's all choppy and poorly lit. Probably normal people don't attempt to summarize their calendars. But when I don't or can't, it makes me harshly aware of the nature of earthly things --  mainly that anything I can touch with my fingers, hear or see is as mesmerizing as it is vacuous. Everything tangible I'm preoccupied with at this exact moment, I know I won't remember in a month. And time disappears without even a poof. Despite all my faults, which are numerous and occasionally spectacul...

Oh and BTW, I’m now the mayor of the Met-Breuer on Four Square. Not sure who this says more about - me, the Met Breuer or the four square app. Nonetheless, I’m not one to walk away from fifteen minutes of fame, so hell to the yes. Here's the only screenshot I got of my inauguration, it's not that great. There was this apoplectic frenzy of a screen that came before this one with cash register noises and trumpets. I had to shut that shit down and fast. All the racket was not going over well in the middle of a gallery on the 2nd floor of the Met Breuer. I was getting a lot of stink eye. Not a good way to begin my term in office. There's a new Mayor in town! I visit a lot of museums. I love museums. I especially love my membership to the Met where I get to flitter into the members-only Balcony Lounge for tea and a snack. I show my member card to the very disinterested volunteers guarding the entrance and disappear into a sanctuary of quiet and mid-century mode...

The first time I got locked in the bathroom in Israel, we were at the Isrobel Hotel on the shores of the Dead Sea. We weren't staying there, we just had day-passes so I had to change and put all my stuff in a locker in the locker room in the basement. This was the women's locker room; Tom was therefore not around. Nor was anyone else. The entire time I'd been in the locker room attempting to figure out how to get the locker combination lock to work, determining it was broken, walking out to the front desk to get a new locker, getting a new locker, getting that one to work.... the entire time this whole preparing to take a dip in the Dead Sea had been going on... No.One.Had.Come.Into.The.Locker.Room.  So I'm in there all by myself.  I figure that very few other ladies, maybe nobody, had done the day-pass thing. Everyone else was an overnight guest and therefore had no need for the public locker room. It's nice to have an entire locker room to yourse...

It's almost midnight, the Saturday before St. Patty’s day. At an Irish Bar packed with actual Irish people. Accompanied by a swarm of Scandinavians. I know, this sounds like a truly bad idea, but fear not, I have lots of experience with these kinds of dangerous scenarios. Jo, one of my favorite Norwegians, breaks into this story about his trip home for the holidays.  Jo says that he was up with his family at their “ hytte ,” the cabin in the forest that every single solitary Scandinavian has and talks about all the time. So these neighbors of Jo’s family drop in and invite Jo back to their family's hytte for a drink. Jo went to school with the kids. Jo’s mother is like, “go, go over to their hytte.” Jo is hesitant because he knows that one of the main reasons they are inviting him is because Jo has a posh Norwegian accent and they think he is a…. Three people start imitating posh Norwegian accents. After about ten minutes someone realizes we're in the...

Overlooking Jeruselem During its history, Jerusalem has been destroyed twice, besieged 23 times, attacked 52 times and captured and recaptured 44 times. And it shows, for example, in the bullet holes from 1948 by Zions Gate built in 1540. But mainly it doesn’t show, which might be my main point.  What there is to see in Jerusalem is often what you don’t see— the long-gone ancient temples, palaces, marketplaces. In a timeline that will boggle the brain, most of what was built here was ripped to shreds by invaders. You walk around suddenly very aware of the empty space. Blank sky or rearranged stones that once were feats of engineering and centuries of history.  By the way, the rearranged stones I’m talking about are Jerusalem stone. All white. So it’s very easy for your minds eye to see the blood on them. Here’s the difference between a visit to Jerusalem and one to Paris or Istanbul or one of the old norse temples nestled between trees. In Jerusale...

There was lots of action during our trip to Israel last week, so let me begin with the low point... and by low point I mean 1300ft below sea level low. We spent a morning in the Dead Sea amidst a flotilla of citizens from post-Soviet countries. It was kind of great. There are apparently dodgy public beaches around the Dead Sea, but it was made clear to us that you don't go there. You buy a day pass at a hotel. You have a buffet breakfast and lavish yourself upon their facilities like any self-respecting retiree from the Uzbekistan. The lobby was marble, the cushions were orange and the carpet was plaid. The crowd had their plan down pat: Sauna, Sea, Jacuzzi, Steam room (dry), Steam Room (wet). Repeat for one weekend. We changed into white terry bathrobes with the hotel name embroidered on the lapel and walked across the street to the beach. We got to wear our water shoes , which was a big deal because we didn't wind up going through that water tunnel in Jeruselem. Our gui...

photo credit: https://www.bibleplaces.com/heztunnel/ About three weeks ago, Tom announced that he had booked a business trip to Israel. Of course I immediately invited myself along. I suggested that he book our flights before his meetings started, so we'd have some time to tour around. Tom's meetings were set for Monday, so he booked our flights the Thursday before. Those reservations didn't last long. I am not going the whole way to Israel for a long weekend. We compromised and Tom booked the tickets so we'll have a full week to take in the birthplace of about twelve religions and an outpost of the Roman empire.  Speaking of the Romans, here's what I just learned reading  Sapiens : Christianity only became a real deal when one of the Roman emperors, Constantine the Great , for some reason, decided Jesus was his man. By all accounts, this was an odd choice. The Christians at that time were just this weird little sect tooling around on the fringes. I...

Image credit: http://axtschmiede.com/meditation-2/ I’m a half decent meditator. I know this quantitatively.  In December, 2014, I attended a digital health trade show and purchased a headband which tracks brainwaves while meditating . Then it gives you an EEG style reading after you’re done, including a score. So if you’re me, you can get all competitive about it.  A couple Fridays ago, I met this very large party of Buddhists drinking at the Rubin Museum happy hour. One of them was also a vegan wearing a shirt with a giant fluorescent green Under Armor logo emblazoned across the front of it. It vibrated my eyeballs, this logo. I would not have expected a vegan Buddhist to sport such a large area of fluorescence. That’s one stereotype debunked. Anyway, subsequent to two bourbon on the rocks, generously poured, I decided to become a Buddhist. Then I read up on it. Buddhists are all about not suffering. Because not suffering is a synonym for happine...

An Introduction to Elvish The Summer Solstice: Your Minute-by-Minute Companion The World of Fountain Pens Memento Mori: A Coffee Table Book also its sequel: Dead Things on the Sidewalk Zagat's Guide to Peculiar Lip Balms The next book by Patrick Rothfuss . Seriously man, get on with it.

Here's to you, Grammy. 1920-2018 You always think you have more time. Time to listen to the stories once more, time to record them. Time to relax into the moment and not yada yada yada, get on with it we've heard this one a thousand times already. Here's what I had the great privilege to say at Grammy R's funeral last week: Grammy is the stuff of legends. Every one of you is thinking of ten things or a hundred things she said to you that no one else would have ever said to you. Every day of her life she was full-on, unfiltered Grammy. But if someone's last name wasn’t the same as hers... Watch out. They'd need to go through her to get to one of us. She was our staunchest ally. There are 3 pillars of Grammy. Three overriding themes that she could weave into every statement, story or conversation. Grammy was a master at staying on message. #1 - Ample kvelling - She might get up in your business one-on-one, but out of doors, if Grammy had any...

I knew I wasn’t in the city anymore. Not only because it’s -14 up here in VT where we’re skiing, but because I saw a dog jogging up a snow-covered road. Just nonchalantly headed wherever he was going. WITHOUT BOOTIES.  Skiing in -14 requires some wardrobe tricks which I haven’t quite figured out yet.  I get the part where you open up 7 sets of hand-warmers and strategically line your long underwear with them.  Then there's the part where you smear of this greasy stuff on your nose that’s allegedly supposed to prevent frostbite. Last comes the real battle: how to not lose your nose to frostbite while not fogging up your glasses. If you cover your nose, your glasses fog up. If you don’t cover your nose, you can’t feel your face after about 8 minutes but at least you can see where you’re going. It’s a tough choice. You can avoid this dilemma by remembering to pack contact lenses. Pop forewent the glasses. We were standing at the bottom of a hill waiting f...

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 ta...