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

I had my COVID booster vaxx on my birthday. Right square in the middle of my birthday, I go to CVS and get the shot. Then there was the whole "you have to wait 15 minutes before you leave in case of side effects" thing. I mention this last part because if you add up the time of the whole endeavor... yes, I spent a sad quantity of the afternoon getting vaxxed on my birthday. Anyway, that was the first strangely timed vaccination. Then on Sunday, Tom decides it's high time we both got our shingles vaccine. For one, our friend got shingles recently and it was scary and painful. Also,  Justin Bieber with his Ramsay Hunt diagnosis, with Ramsay Hunt being a form of shingles and all. It might need to be mentioned right about now that Sunday was the NYC Pride Parade. Also, we live in Chelsea, which is dead center Pride. Anyway, it took a really long time to walk to the CVS due to revelers and barricades and other assorted merriment related distractions. photo credit: NYT Nonethe...

  Picking peaches is an itchy job. My pop got fired from at least two jobs. That I know of. One of them was the infamous Shangri-La firing when he was in college which I will talk about another day. But then there's also the time he lasted two days picking peaches. I have no idea where a kid from the Bronx gets a job picking peaches. Or why. But he had a job picking peaches and it didn't go well. Peach fuzz is itchy, apparently. Pop was sitting on top of a ladder eating a peach when the foreman walked by. The foreman said, "Hey, you can't eat a peach and pick peaches at the same time!!!" Pop replies, "I wasn't picking peaches." And that was his last day picking peaches.

  Rocks out back the 'rents new condo The tradition began when my grandmother picked up a stone in the Taj Mahal and brought it home in her suitcase. When I say "picked up a stone in the Taj Mahal" I kind of mean she took home an actual piece of the Taj Mahal.  This is obviously highly frowned upon at best, but most likely illegal. We studiously avoided mentioning this blatant truth because my grandmother was a full-on church-goer who wore pearls and twinsets in her real life. At some point, my grandfather got his hands on the Taj Mahal stone and wrote on it with a Sharpie - "Taj Mahal 1982." I guess the two of them were confident they could flush it down the toilet or throw it out back in the woods in the event of a raid by law enforcement. Not sure if it was the mystical allure of the Taj Mahal, the rock, the Sharpie or the peerless combination of all three, but my pop was all in.  Henceforth, he began to bring home rocks in his suitcase. He meticulously label...

We went to a local art festival last weekend. The most memorial part was stumbling upon this band, the Gypsy Funk Squad. They took the stage right after we got there. It was 90 degrees in the shade, but that did not stop a scattering of intrepid belly dancers from congregating on the dance floor lawn.  The gentle jingle of their golden belts seemed a little incongruous in the humidity but I could not have loved it more.  I think our guests for the weekend were pleasantly surprised by the diversity of entertainment available in the wilds of New Jersey. The beer might be basic out here but appreciators of music are deeply unafraid to just do their thing.

 We moved into our new apartment in March. This new apartment is literally 80 feet from our current apartment. It's in a building two doors down. Tom got himself a handtruck and has been going back and forth for a month now.  He refuses to pay the "move out fee." He's going to do it himself. In 700 or so trips spread out over however many months it takes us to sell the first apartment. Not Tom, but same sort of hauling shit down the street vibe https://www.nytimes.com/2020/10/09/nyregion/coronavirus-nyc-Alegba-Jahyile.html I said to Tom he should just get the bellcart, it holds more. Tom shook his head. He said it would be poor form to take the bellcart from the one building, wheel it fully into the other building and go up the elevator and all. The doormen in both buildings now think we're insane. Or at least Tom is. How many times can you go back and forth with a wheelie suitcase and an armload of Fresh Direct bags before eyebrows start to raise?  There are thes...

Tom has been very pushy, if you ask me, about chucking shit that's in the basement. Last week, every time I turned around for days on end, there was some important item I didn't even remember having on it's way to the curb. My office overlooks the driveway so I was right on top of the goings on. Tom kept talking about the importance of getting your junk out early because this gives everybody cruising slowly around the neighborhood in pick-up trucks ample time to pick it over. These pick-up truck people for sure had marked their calendars with a red X for Big Garbage Day. They headed out with high hopes and bungie cords. Tom and I had a few wins. Someone took a gigantic decorative urn. They also took a very heavy folding wall screen.  Then somebody else came by and left a brand new bedspread. It was still in its original plastic wrapping. Whoever it was just set it right down next to our driveway.  WTF. We're trying to get rid of stuff not get more stuff. Also this beds...

 My grandmother's name was Beatrice, but her nickname was Bobby. At some point in their long marriage, my grandpa started calling her "Roberta."  Grandpa inexplicably wearing a bike helmet and "Roberta." I can follow the Bobby -> Roberta logic path.  It's kind of funny in the way that my grandfather was kind of funny. He'd call grammy Roberta like your mother calls you by your given name when she's had just about enough of you. Or when she needs you to come and do something for her.  Meaning, he called her Roberta a lot. After my grandfather died, the Mackoveks who lived next door for 50 years or something came over to offer their condolences. They brought flowers with a card for "Roberta." My grandmother snapped at them. "My name," she said, "is not Roberta." They were completely confounded but too polite to ask what the hell her name was then.

The whole fambo -- mom, pop, my bro + co, all showed up at our place last Friday. We had planned a weekend in the city and I was super thrilled it all came together.  Most arrived on the early side.  My brother and Jack showed up at like 11pm on Friday night.  On Saturday morning, our first group activity was to go make sure their car was still there. Sometimes parking signs around here are hard to decipher and tow trucks are a thing. Good news! The car remained, with no tickets even. We all admired how it was parked at like a 30 degree angle. Unsurprising, I guess. They were coming in hot. We all walked over to Chelsea Market for lunch. Chelsea Market wouldn't be the first place on my list, but it holds family memories.  out front Chelsea Market I remember when the twins were babies and required constant entertainment. Like 24-35 hours a day, every day of the week entertainment. It was harrowing. When they'd visit, we'd wheel the strollers over to Chelsea Market and...

As you might know, we recently returned from Palm Springs. In case you're curious about the why with the Palm Springs, it's because the six of us who went included some east coasters and some west coasters. We determined Palm Springs would be excellent middle ground to rent a house for the long weekend. Also it felt like a great place to escape the winter. Sunshine, great friends, napping my ass off in a lounge chair on a weekday.  Some homes we saw in Palm Springs. We were there during Modernism Week. Upon check in at our AirB&B, we discovered a very official document. It was neatly laid out on the table beneath a sign that we all needed to sign said document immediately. As in everyone, not just the person whose name was on the rental agreement.  This official document concerned the noise ordinance in Palm Springs:  No music of any kind at any time outside.  Also, no talking above a whisper outdoors after 10PM. 10PM. Outdoors meaning on your patio or around the...

When I was a little kid, my grandfather would lean down every now and then and whisper in my ear, "Never trust a man with two first names."  My grandpop was a huge man with an even bigger personality. Those moments when he loomed large and low in my airspace were moments any 7 year old would remember pretty much her whole life. Another thing to know about my grandfather, his name was Frank Richard. He had two first names. This went right over my head. Maybe I was 25, years after he died. One day I was like, "Hey wait a second..."

With thought and care, I had set aside a bunch of things for Ella, who is 14. One really awesome pair of black kind of combat boots but with heels and these strappy straps. Anything but basic, these boots. She took them, but it felt just a little bit like she was doing me a favor. I also offered her a cute kind of trendy velvet blazer. She said she didn't want it. I was like, what if you need to look business-like for something?  It was a commence eyeball roll here situation. Apparently 14 year-olds do not envision themselves in business-like scenarios. Then again, I have a vague recollection of graduating from college and thinking that a leather blazer-ish jacket would be an excellent choice for the workplace. Turned down the corner of that page in the catalog I can tell you.  Bottomline, I made Ella take the velvet blazer. One of these days she'll appreciate it. I think there were a few other things, including a pair of designer shoes that were slightly beat up but she proba...

I had a little trepidation when Michelle suggested we do the Panorama Hike around Joshua Tree National Park. It's long, this hike, almost 7 miles. In the desert. Some of my hesitation might have had to do with the last time we went hiking in the desert. It was when the 'rents were volunteer park rangers at a National Park in New Mexico. My most vivid memory is pulling up in front of a concrete bunker surrounded by miles of sand. Tom, my brother and Mary had driven all night in a PT Cruiser from Vegas.  It was like a scene out of Grapes of Wrath or something. Pop comes flying out the door of the bunker and shows us to what was supposed to be our accommodations for our stay. It's another bunker nearby. He proudly points to the gym mats lying on the floor and says that he wiped them all down with bleach due to the hantavirus outbreak in the area. Lots of opportunities for a full black death experience in the area Anyway, we decided to crash on the floor of their bunker inste...

I have been peer-pressured into reading A Winter's Tale .  One of my work friends strongly suggested that I might like this book. Furthermore, there are like a million reviewers on Amazon chortling about how this book changed their lives. This is high praise even if some of the reviews are straight out of an "How to get someone to ok-Boomer you" playbook.  Ok, Boomer. So people love this book, but big downside!! A Winter's Tale is a long-ass book! And if the lengthy nature of this beast wasn't enough of a reason to abort, my bookclub selected the Dressmakers of Auschwitz to read this month. Which is also a long-ass book.  So you might be able to see why, with great trepidation, I tiptoed into the Kindle Store to download the sample. It was like an out of body experience when I did this. The whole time I couldn't believe what my fingers where clicking on. Why am I doing this?!? I asked myself. I'm already reading four books and some of them on a deadline. B...

 Tom went over to Westside Market to pick up some non-dairy milk before the snowpocalypse. He was the odd man out with his little quart of West Soy. Most everybody else in the huge ass line for checkout had arms full of beer and a lot of fancy cheese. Because beer and fancy cheese are clearly homebound essentials south of 28th Street. Anyway, "It's Raining Men" starts playing through the grocery store speakers. Most men in the entire giant-ass line are tapping their feet and bobbing their heads.  Never change, Chelsea. 

 So... And I don't want to get too excited about this because it's not yet a done deal, but we put an offer in on a new apartment and it was accepted. Crossing fingers it will all work out because it's a really nice place. In the meantime, we got wind that the two old guys across the hall put their apartment on the market. They have lived there forever. This is the unit right next to the elevator. I'm kinda sad about this development and would have been even more so if we were not (hopefully) ourselves moving. This neighbor couple, if asked, would probably regard us as acquaintances. But I might put them in a list of best friends. I feel like we know them really well. They are hard of hearing. Their apartment is right next to the elevator. You don't have to try too hard to eavesdrop when the gentlemen are hard of hearing. For the past thirteen years, every time I wait for the elevator, I've listened to them squabble with each other. I know all about the problem ...

 So the whole rabbit thing started here: https://waitingtogetthere.blogspot.com/2021/11/nablopomo-202122-we-found-monty-pythons.html Short history is that someone, probably a spirited Halloween Parade participant with a whole lot of time on his/her hands, crafted a gigantic wooden rabbit. They subsequently abandoned their giant rabbit on our street. A homeless man moved into the rabbit. The neighbors were not happy. I was down the block the other day and sure enough, the rabbit is still there. This is like six weeks later. Considering the number of times that the neighbors called the police and 311, this is a true testement to the rabbit's fortitude in the face of adversity. And/or there are bigger fish to fry in New York City at present than trying to hoist a giant rabbit onto a flatbed by its petard, especially with a homeless man living in the belly of the beast. Someone pushed the rabbit in front of a fire hydrant. Good thinking! Now it is not taking up a parking space. First-w...

 My Grammy was well known for going full-on archivist with her possessions and family heirlooms. Or not exactly heirlooms. She had boxes and metal safes full of trinkets and jewelry and broken toys all carefully wrapped in tissue and labeled with what it was and where she got it.  For example, this espresso cup and saucer: A cup and saucer grammy got in Scotland when she was there with, apparently, Ann Baird. Call me excessively practical or improvident or possibly a bad steward of items that have come to be in my possession, but honestly I'm kind of into actually using pretty things.  Why drink out of a crappy mug from TJ Maxx when another option is a beautiful porcelain espresso cup from Edinburgh lovingly brought home by your grammy? (And Ann Baird apparently) Could I just state for the record I have no idea who Ann Baird is. Other than someone my grammy was in Scotland with. Anyway, here's the bad news about actually using your pretty things: The cup from Edinburgh wi...

 I don't entirely recall when, but I vividly remember meeting Ole Aakjer during his very first show in New York. It was maybe (?) at the Art New York show in 2019 ? I only say this because I have a photo of a fancy and very artistic gas mask from that show, and I kinda remember the gas masks and Ole Aakjer being in close temporal and/or spacial proximity. Anyway, I loved Ole Aakjer's little booth of paintings/posters whatever you want to call them. I also was so taken by the artist. He was so excited to be there. We had a nice little exchange. Now Ole has a solo show and is in museums and yeah.  Photos from the Chase Contemporary solo show on West Broadway:

And here we are, at the final post of National Blog Posting Month, 2021. Here's me finishing with a flourish. I leave you with this clip from the musical Hadestown. I saw Hadestown in March 2020 with Mary and Ella. I think we saw it the day before Broadway closed down for the pandemic. So it is entirely possible that I saw the last show of that year. Last show, last post. So very tidy. I need to make a little bit of a disclaimer before you click play on this video. It's a f*ing earworm this one. I've been humming it under my breath for a solid week. And this isn't the first time this has happened. If I'm being entirely honest, one of the reasons I'm posting it here is so I can find it easily. Anyway, beware. Or enjoy. Probably both. Also thanks to Tom who read every post this month. If you did too, thank you very much and send me a text because I probably know you. 

 I have my very first (since COVID) in-person work meeting tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn. It's in Connecticut, this meeting, so I'm writing this from the hotel where I'm staying tonight. I drove up here earlier with a colleague. Our plan was to meet in a parking lot at 3:30 this afternoon in Jersey, and then carpool. When I pulled up to the parking lot, there was one car in the lot. It was a blue minivan and there was a guy in it.  Similar to this photo, there was one car in the parking lot where I was supposed to meet Drew. Must be Drew, I thought. At least by the process of elimination. For a brief moment, it crossed my mind that the guy in the minivan looked kind of African American and Drew is ... not. But then my mind rationalized that the minivan must have tinted windows or something. Anyway, I pull up and get out of the car. And the guy is with great certainty a Black man who is not Drew. He rolls down the window and says very kindly, "Can I help you?...