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

Midtown East Heretofore, I haven't really documented my personal 9/11 experience. Which also includes my 9/13 experience. I haven't done so mainly because in the grand scheme of things, it's pretty damn insubstantial.  This said, in the past few weeks I've been in more than one conversation where we all shared our 9/11 memories and despite the fact that mine is, as stated previously, of little relative consequence, it was harrowing at the time and mostly about an incident that isn't discussed much.  But before I launch into my little tale that's all about me, let me briefly review Tom's day. On the morning of 9/11, Tom was in Newark airport boarding a flight to Chicago. He was with his boss headed to a business meeting. The gate he left from was literally right next to the gate the plane that crashed in Pennsylvania departed from.  When Tom and his boss's plane touched down in Chicago, they walked into O'Hare and were confronted with TVs everywhere b...

I don't know what exactly the Met employee was doing back there at her workstation. Besides waiting for something young and tender to wander by. Natch. Someone's work station at the Met tucked under the stairwell behind a sign The time before this last time we were at the Met, it was during business hours. Some woman in a blazer was working away at that desk back there. She had her laptop out and the keys were clacking something fierce. She occasionally paused and took a casual squirt from the giant bottle of hand sanitizer. Who was she? What kind of Met worker gets assigned the cubicle in the cupboard under the stairs up to the Japanese Art section?  I did not approach the subject in question; therefore we have no actual data to work from.  As such, left to my own devices, I'm going to speculate that this particular Met worker enjoys poetry readings in the basements of churches. Pre-pandemic, I mean. These days, she's up to big time stuff like getting up at 6:45 every ...

Kingston Waterfront Tom booked an anniversary getaway at  Hutton Brickyards  because he's the best husband ever.  On Saturday morning, we decided to learn a little bit about the area and take the Historical Kingston Tour  by the waterfront.  Near the end of the tour, our guide says to the group, most of whom were locals, "Oh, definitely go check out the new Hutton Brick Yard sometime."  She says, "It's this new 'glamping' place," (she does the whole air quotes with her fingers thing). "For a mere $300-500 a night, you too can spend an evening in a camping site with a chandelier and a view of the river." Afterwards, one of the other people on the tour comes up and asks us where we are staying.  I say, "oh, at the Hutton." He laughs and says that he thought so. He said we had a "sparkle in our eyes" when the tour guide was air quoting about the frivolous idiots who stay there. I laughed. That was such a sweet way to put it...

 We got up to Hutton Brick Yards late afternoon. The reception is in this impressive Victorian mansion with a big iron gate in the front guarding a pretty skinny driveway. The gate was open and we could see golf carts parked further up the drive.  So Tom and I spent five minutes debating whether we should drive in through the gates or park in the parking lot on the other side of the street from the mansion. It seemed like a weirdly far walk to get up to reception from said parking lot... but we decided it would be less embarrassing to park too far away than to drive up what might be their front walk in our car. We're both incredibly familiar with driving around on front walks because one balmy evening, Tom's mom drove her rental down a walking path in Disney World and got chased by security. And then my family of course has that old chestnut about the time my father, in his VW Bug, drove my mom's very proper grandparents right through a stone archway on a college campus. T...

We stopped by Dia Beacon on the way up to Hutton Brickyards. Every time we drop by Dia, I cross my fingers we might see John Chamberlain's Privet again. The Privet by John Chamberlain Alas, we did not. I've only had the awestruck pleasure of seeing it one time, and that was years ago. This Privet is massive and fabulous and all the photos do not do it justice.  But you can count on the Dia to have some Chamberlains in the house. Here's my favorite lovely lady amongst them: she's a cutie, no? Colors peeking out, also curlicues Love this girl. Looking to bend me some curlicues out at the forge as  soon as it's not this hot outside.  

We just got back from our annual family vacation wherein our family hangs around the VRBO house and plays games every evening. I mean plays games when not obsessively checking our phones for critical twitter updates from, for example,  dudes post their dubs , etcetera etcetera. And realizing over and over again, with the same shock and horror as the first time we realized it, that we have terrible internet service.  Anyway, I say all this to report that when playing Chinese Checkers with the children, I always play to win. One day, the master might become the student but until then, I kick some major ass. Ella asked me after one of her whoopings how long I've been playing Chinese Checkers and I told her "three times as long as you've been alive." Right after that she started running around telling everyone she almost beat me, with great pride. The bar was lowered on bragging rights is my only point.  Also she didn't almost beat me. I won by at least 15 moves. I t...

Pop in one of his more conservative outfits. It's 10PM and I know where my pop is. He's studying his Garmin watch checking how many stairs he has yet to climb to achieve his goal for the day. Inevitably, he's 1-4 short in the "floors climbed" category. And so, because I'm the most amazing daughter ever, I head out of the apartment with him to rectify this dire situation. They live in a retirement community and their building has three floors. But sometimes when you climb up a floor it doesn't register. So, if you need to climb, for example, four floors to meet your goal, you might have to go up and down in the stairwell of their building two or three times. Or maybe Pop is trying to achieve a margin of error, who knows with him. Anyway, we clatter up to the top floor. There's a sign up there that says Third Floor and underneath, it says, allegedly, Third Floor in Braille. Pop runs his fingers over the Braille and proclaims "Third Floor." Ok, ...

  Happy Tom with his Birthday Cake You know they're good friends when somehow the conversation takes a left turn from "Ghost in a Shell " to "Ghost in the Mouth" and everybody just goes with it. We were up in Hudson at Helen and Matt's along with Wanda and Derek. "Ghost in a Shell" if you aren't familiar, was originally a manga series that became a Major Hollywood Production starring Scarlett Johansson. The Ghost in a Shell means basically a cyborg with a tiny bit of human left in the brain. "Ghost in the Mouth," as per the committee around Helen and Matt's table, is when you get a tooth implant with a bone graft. The "bone" in "bone graft," should you not be up on such things, refers to the bones of dead people.  That's right.  When you get a bone graft they grind up the bones of cadavers into powder and stuff it in your jaw. Sorry for making you choke on your coffee if you didn't know that already. I ...

  Lemme tell you, it was not merely raining the other night. It was a torrential downpour of epic proportions. When the monsoon started, Tom and I were outdoor dining a couple blocks up 8th Avenue. We thought we were clever because we'd brought umbrellas. It was like bringing one of those tiny metal screwdrivers you fix your eyeglasses with to a gunfight. Luckily, there was a pretty sweet set up inside the eating cabin. Full overhead cover and pretty substantial walls. We were only wet I'd say on one extremity. Like my right leg was definitely on the damp side and Tom had a left shoulder problem. The waiter, on the other hand, had more of an entire soaked head and torso situation ongoing. He dashed back and forth over the exposed sidewalk many times on our behalf. We left him a superlative tip.  Meanwhile, we and the scattered other diners who had never met before discussed our evacuation strategies. First we all decided to delay our departure until the rain stopped. Except th...

Taking the ferry is very diverting. Those blue salt water breezes zing around and take your nostrils by complete surprise. Monday through Friday falls away under the spell of ferry worker guys squawking at everybody to get on the damn boat already.  I got all captivated by their efficiency and the devil may care dangle of their unzipped life vests. Goodbye squalid city, we are bound for the open water. Anyway. We were headed across the East River to Queens to go to the Sculpture Park in Astoria. Wanda and Derek had been there before so we were in good hands.  In Astoria, we walk by the most gigantic Costco I have ever seen gracing a waterfront. It's a suburban oasis complete with a massive parking lot and an intersection where pedestrians definitely get run over on a regular basis.  There was one sculpture in the sculpture park. https://socratessculpturepark.org/exhibition/planeta-abuelx/ Derek surmised that this is probably why they call it a sculpture park and not a scu...

Why my father kept this poster-sized cursive chart stashed away for decades could be considered a questionable choice by some: Cursive chart found in my parents' basement before they moved last year. I was there when Pop tried to gift his find to Jack and Ella, otherwise known as his grandkids. They squarely refused to take it.  It soon came to light that kids these days no longer learn cursive in school. They can't write it. And they can't read it. It didn't take too long for me and my pop to capitalize on this learning. We tormented the children for the rest of the afternoon by writing secret notes to each other "in code." I'm pretty sure the kids took the chart after that.

Take a look at this find: "Always be polite."  Written 100 times in 1952 by my mom. It was discovered at the bottom of a box at my grandmother's house.  Not everyone would have kept the evidence her eldest's incivility for 70 years. But my grandma was always an iconoclast when it came to collectables. She lined multiple shelves with empty Aunt Jemima syrup bottles. She piled up every National Geographic printed since the end of the second world war. Maybe she liked the symmetry of multiples (?). In any event, while the caliber of her archives is unrivaled, I have one small grievance with this latest unearthed family heirloom. "Always be polite?"  Seriously? I want to know what my mother was doing, exactly, that warranted such a grueling just dessert. For example: I will not spank others. I will not aim for the head. I will not conduct my own fire drills. I will not prescribe medication. I will not eat things for money. No one is interested in my underpants. ...

Walking back from outdoor dining on the UWS with Bruce and Nardo last week, something reminded me of an incident, ages ago, in Chelsea. A man in a full-on purple suit stopped Tom on the sidewalk. He asked Tom if he knew of a club that was open, and also, did he want to come along to this club. It was 8am. Tom was holding a bagel. A club, pre-pandemic totes obvs. We all laughed and recalled the good old days before the pandemic. A decade before the pandemic. When the clubs were legal, indoors, and open until 11am. Bruce said he used to go clubbing.  My eyebrows shot up. Bruce goes to bed at like 9:30pm. He's one of those annoying early morning risers. Bruce gives me a look like I've completely underestimated him. He explains his clubbing routine: Go to bed at 9:30, as usual. Get up at 5am, as usual. Eat breakfast, put on a slinky outfit, and head out to a club. I stood corrected. I told Bruce it sounded like a brilliant strategy. Bruce said it was. He was the freshest one in the...

Our professor Dr. Sharon Latchaw Hirsch teaching a class in a pink blazer and a skirt separate. She usually wears her open toe low-heeled pumps with this ensemble. Wanda and Derek said they were taking an online art appreciation class and I was all in. I have never taken an art appreciation class and always wanted to. Then Wanda and/or Derek said they were taking the class online and the subscription costs fifteen bucks a month.  I signed up immediately and commandeered Tom to be my fellow co-ed.   We completed all 34 lectures in the course and I'm looking forward to commenting knowingly on art of all kinds. Henceforth, when I see a sculpture in the round, I will walk the whole goddamn way around it and study the pedestal before I make any premature evaluations. And don't even with the rococo. I can spot those cupids from a mile away.  Our professor, Dr. Sharon Latchaw Hirsch  certainly knows a lot about art, we appreciated that from the get go. But as the ...

Hi there,   It’s been a little while, but I think about you and hope you’re doing well. Isn’t it crazy that it’s been almost fifteen years since we hung out together in Seattle?  I’m ok. Tom is good.  We just got back from visiting my mom and dad in the Utah desert. They retired a few years back and they are now volunteer park rangers. They go from park to park for 3-6 months per gig. They love it, but keep getting bizarre bacterial infections and unusual injuries resulting from life in a cabin in the wilderness.  Petrified Forest Desert Scene Recently, My friend Erin invited me to a polo match. (yes, this all connects, hang with me here).  I never attended a polo match before, so I asked her if I should dress up like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. Interestingly, she said yes. Everybody dresses like that at polo matches.  So I went to TJMaxx and for $12.99 bought the hat with the biggest brim I could find. I swear it’s as big as a pizza.  Tragical...

  Dried Split Peas in an attractive little pile Yesterday I was halfway through a shower when all of a sudden, there was something digging into my heel. I lifted up my foot and picked off one (1) dried split pea. Later on, I told Tom about the split pea. I wondered where it had come from. The whole incident had a very mysterious vibe.  Tom immediately responded, "Do you think it fell out of your hair?" WTF.

The results of the dialect quiz I took For those of you who wish to validate that you actually live where you think you live, here's the quiz link:  https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2014/upshot/dialect-quiz-map.html The main reason "Philadelphia" is showing up on my results page is because of the "what do you call a sandwich in a hot dog bun" question.  I put down "hoagie." Even though of course it's a sub. Everybody knows it's a sub. But I felt a wave of Pennsylvania hoagie nostalgia when I saw the question and thus clicked on hoagie. In my defense, we had hoagie sales in my elementary school that paid for field trips. Maybe I liked field trips. I felt an obligation to my heritage to go with hoagie. And thus the Philadelphia. I also have a sense for why the Yonkers, which is probably code for "the Bronx." It's because my pop comes from the Bronx and he was a very prolific teacher of words to young me.  That's the thing wit...

 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...