Hicks in New York

Young Prisms and Radio Dept Played Music Hall of Williamsburg

2011-02-06T22:14:00.000-08:00

The promise of bad weather did not deter an enthusiastic crowd from tromping out in the slush to see San Francisco’s Young Prisms and Sweden’s Radio Dept play at The Music Hall of Williamsburg on Wednesday.

However the weather did take its toll on Young Prisms, who had to endure a 6-hour drive from Philadelphia to get to the city. The tough travel didn’t impact their set, though. They rocked out their psychadelic angel sound (shoegaze) that by turns evoked Best Coast (playing at Music Hall of Williamsburg the following night) without the beach and My Bloody Valentine with more melody. Their bassist cranked it up for their ear crushing last song which was more about the driving bass and shredded guitar riffs than the ethereal vocals (nothing more than wailing really), so much so that the lead vocalist abandoned her post and pulled her microphone to the guitar amp for greater wall of sound impact.

Young Prisms are currently touring in support of its debut full-length, Friends For Now, released earlier this month on Kanine Records. They also have a few 7” splits for sale.

Radio Dept’s dream pop was quite a departure from Young Prisms’ sound assault. They played a tight set to a crowd going wild screaming out songs and “I love you!” “We love you too,” said Radio Dept’s vocalist, but not enough for an encore. Instituting the incremental stage departure trick for their final song, each took their leave of the stage until no one was left. The crowd began their shouts of “One more song! One more song!” But to no avail. The lights came on. The show was over.

Regal Degal, Dustin Wong, (The) Tony Castles and Nightlands Played Glasslands Gallery Jan. 20

2011-01-22T07:59:00.000-08:00

Hidden on a desolate stretch of warehouses near the waterfront in Williamsburg, a muffled bass was the only indication that I had reached Glasslands Gallery last week for the Tony Castles show.

Inside, I chuckled at the DIY interiors – paper clouds, woodsy wallpaper, etc. that decorated the place. The crowd was small and convivial, full of extended musical families giving hugs and backslaps while we waited for Dustin Wong to take the stage. Regal Degal had already played, probably the “coolest” dudes in a lineup that included guitar virtuosos and former band nerds. I said “hey” to Regal Degal’s baby-faced vocalist and planted myself in front of the stage. I did not get a drink. Was thinking about maneuvering the deserted streets alone later that night and thought I should keep my wits about me.

Dustin Wong took a seat and began tuning his guitar, playing a few riffs, fiddling with the spaghetti of wires and space shuttle buttons at his feet. But wait, that was the show. That was his performance. Oh.

Guitar playing = 10. Performance = 2. I might have just as easily been in his basement on a cold Saturday night. Maybe it's just me, but I like a little bit of the magic. This was technical beauty but not a performance.

Finally, my raison d’etre – (The) Tony Castles - began setting up. They had promised new songs on Twitter earlier that day and I was pumped. Tony plays lo-fi pop that isn’t as lo-fi-y or poppy as a lot of stuff out there. Think Women or The Young Friends. It’s got a little more longing, a little more R&B soul and a dab more motorcycle grease. I think the latter comes largely from guitarist and keyboardist Willie Miesmer, who blew an amp just as they were about to go into their new tune. He seems like a tinkerer. New song was cool, too.

After their set, I waited to get a peak at Nightlands. The five of them set up and then left the stage to wunderkind Dave Hartley. He IS Nightlands and the rest there to execute his vision. (Take a note here, Dustin Wong.) Hartley looked like a fatigued long-haul trucker. So I really wasn’t expecting the next thing that happened: Angels flew out of his mouth when he sang.

I figured that was a sign to wrap it up. Also a 20-something tweeking on X was petting the fur-lined hood of my coat and telling me she wanted to wiggle.

I slung my camera over my shoulder and headed out into the quiet of the street. A fuzzy moon followed me to the subway.

Photos by Shanda Boyett. Copyright 2011.

Dustin Wong

The Tony Castles

Dave Hartley of Nightlands

Here We Go Magic and Broken Social Scene Played Terminal 5 January 18

2011-01-19T19:31:00.000-08:00

The Here We Go Magic/Broken Social Scene show at Terminal 5 turned out to be one of those surprisingly intimate musical moments that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, where you just know you’ve seen something unique and are grateful to have been there for it. And this despite a crowd that was fairly lackluster.

I have a hypothesis: there is a direct correlation between ticket prices and crowd energy. The higher the prices, the lamer the crowd. Case in point: Tickets for this show were $40. Two twenty-somethings near me debated the merits of getting or not getting a tattoo. They decided that if you HAD to get one, better to get it in a place no one could see at a job interview. Understand the logic, but this was a rock concert people! Try to be interesting.

Anywayyy, Brooklyn locals Here We Go Magic did their best to pump up the anemic crowd with their psychadelic pop sounds. But not even bassist Jen Turner, who slithered around her instrument like a limber grassnake, could evoke more than a mid-level enthusiasm. And no one seemed to notice that keyboardist and vocalist Kristina Lieberson appeared to have on a red snuggie at the start of the show. Epic coolness. Their last song of the just over half-hour set, “Tunnelvision” from their first album, was a completely off the hook jam.

The crowd perked up when Broken Social Scene hit the stage. (Maybe it was the YouTube cameras?) The Toronto-based collective put on a mesmerizing and intimate performance that was captured via live YouTube broadcast. Core members Kevin Drew and Brendan Canning led the giant cast in a set that lasted more than two hours and thankfully featured more off-album jams than their NYC show at Central Park this summer. It was probably one of the Top 10 shows I’ve seen ever.

They kicked things off with “World Sick”, with Drew preparing the crowd for a lengthy run, saying, “One down, 20 to go.” In fact, the band ticked off more than 20, with time to spare. A grateful showman, Drew kept a new-agey, self-help dialogue going with the audience “You came to see us and we came to see you,” he said. “We are a self-help band. Let us take all your troubles,” he continued, building an intimate connection with the crowd that culminated in him politely engaging in a Christlike crowd-surf towards the end of the set.

It was this generosity of spirit that made it such an amazing experience. Even in a fairly large space like Terminal 5, Drew was able to draw the audience in. He repeatedly thanked everyone for being there, and the band seemed genuinely psyched to be playing together and entertaining a crowd that finally began to perk up (although, several folks who had secured front row vantages didn’t even bob their heads. If you’re in the front row and you won’t even bounce along to the music, you should be ejected. Just saying.)

When they finished the YouTube taping, the show was officially over, but no one wanted it to end, least of all the band, so they kept playing, bringing out Here We Go Magic to join them in a soulful cover of Smokey Robinson’s “Ooo Baby Baby”. Still gunning after that, the jester Brandon still wanted to play one more. So they did.

By any measure, be it length of show, number of songs played, number of musicians, heart, amazing music, whatever, these guys surpassed all expectations and offered up an amazing night I won’t forget.

I have a few folks to thank for being able to enjoy this performance. Half of the Occasional Empty Nesters won tickets to BSS, but had to bail at the last minute so told me to pick up at the box office. This GOT ME TO THE VENUE. Thanks OEN. However, the staff at Terminal 5, the most-hated music venue, wouldn’t let me take the tickets without OEN’s ID. Epic Fail. Some kind strangers offered me an extra ticket for free when they saw me flailing at the Will Call window. This got me INTO THE SHOW. Thanks kind strangers. : )

Lost in the Trees Played Joe’s Pub Friday, Jan. 7

2011-01-10T19:20:00.000-08:00

North Carolina Collective Lost in the Trees played Joe’s Pub Friday night, pulling out all the stops with a theatrical and soulful performance that began softly and built to a joyful crescendo.

Wearing a homemade painted shirt of his own design, Picker tried to engage with the audience at Joe’s Pub, which was a little stiff. “How’s your food?” he jokingly asked at one point, eliciting little more than a murmur.

Despite the audience’s lack of charisma, the band still brought it. When they played with Plants and Animals at Bowery Ballroom back in June, they punctuated their performance by hopping down into the audience and playing in the round. This time, the drama took the form of an ivory horse carried through the audience at the start of the show while frontman Ari Picker gently crooned “Dead Bird”.

The women in the band added more subtle dramatic touches, with ribbons and sticks woven in their hair, metallic ribbons around their waists and glitter on their faces.

This fairy flair melded perfectly with the band’s orchestral folk pop sound. The complex orchestrations backdropping their frontier lyrics about simple pleasures and family dynamics creates a quilt of emotional music that wraps you up. It is mesmerizing to both listen to and watch. Violinist Jenavieve Varga in particular has a muscular style that is hard to look away from.

The group played a few new tunes, as well as favorites from the current album, All Alone in an Empty House. They covered the title song, as well as “Walk Around the Lake”, and finished with “Song for the Painter” as one of the encore songs.

In case you weren’t able to get tickets to the sold-out show, the group will be back in New York February 7 at the Mercury Lounge.

A Love Letter to (The) Tony Castles

2010-12-30T20:29:00.000-08:00

I've seen and documented (The) Tony Castles several times, and have watched them evolve over the past few months from a band I enjoyed watching and listening to, to one that has created some of the most blissful music I've heard this year.

The talented trio recently played Bowery Ballroom, which I unfortunately had to miss. Someone captured this video of this new song, "Korea." I thought they had reached the heights of my love with "Black Girls in Dresses" but "Korea" is transcendent. Wistful and ardent, the guys have never looked or played better.

Check it out.

They're playing Jan. 20 at Glasslands in Brooklyn.

Bluejay and Delicate Steve Played Brooklyn Bowl Dec. 13

2010-12-20T12:30:00.000-08:00

Checked out my first show at Brooklyn Bowl last week. A bit of a haul from the subway in the snow and frigid air, but The Boy, The Bone Collector, the Future Texan and I slogged through, and it was more than worth it. The place is huge, sells homemade pork cracklin's and has a decent craft beer selection. And then there were the bands.

Bluejay was first up and includes Young B on guitar. He is the quintessential designer by day, rock star by night. He works at The Boy's office, so we had to make the trip out there to represent.

They kept the crowd lively with their toe-tappin tunes, and Young B showed an effervescence not often seen at the office.

Following their set was Delicate Steve, masterminded by, um Steve, but played with considerable abandon by a band of five. While Steve may be the mastermind, the drummer is doubtless a conspirator in this music democracy, and he exhibited the most agile, physical and amazing drumming I've seen up close. He had the audience mesmerized. As befits such a democracy, the drummer was at the front of the stage, equal with the rest of the band and better for viewing his considerable skills. And while the rest of the band exuded a practiced cool, the drummer gave off a whiff of band nerd, quickly dispelled when he picked up his sticks. Awesome. Check out the pics.

Des Ark, Death Vessel and Bower Birds

2010-10-17T17:35:00.000-07:00

Best Coast Played Music Hall of Williamsburg

2010-10-08T15:27:00.000-07:00

I can't help it. I love the lo-fi surfer sound of Best Coast and their bitchy lead singer Bethany Cosantino who is my BFF on twitter. Most of the songs sound the same, but "Boyfriend", "Crazy for You", and "Honey" have stolen my heart.

Plus, i was super-impressed during the show. Bethany is actually very talented. Great voice. Sound was great. She has a chick drummer - I always love that - and bassist is so fucking sexy in the most hair band, nerd way. I mean, he is like the male version of Botticelli's Birth of Venus. Kind of. It's the hair.

Anyyyywayyyy, I loved the show, and like the band even better after seeing them live. (Unlike the Village Voice, which totally hated on Bethany for no good reason.)

Check out my pics, and how much the bass player looks like a chunky male Venus.

The Spaceship Photos - Broken Social Scene

2010-10-08T15:00:00.000-07:00

The Boy and I walked over to Central Park Sept. 21 to catch Sea and Cake and Broken Social Scene at Rumsey Playfield.

We can't ever get over the convenience of walking to a concert, having a few beers, seeing a great show, and walking home.

The Boy pointed out the similarities between Sea and Cake and Broken Social Scene to The Grateful Dead. And Broken Social Scene, a music collective with no fewer than 6 front people playing at a time could be the greatest jam band ever - if they actually took time to jam.

From the start with Texaxo Bitches from the new album and Fire Eyed Boy from their self-titled album, it was beautiful and perfect, like listening to your i-phone.

While i applaud and respect the ability to recreate that kind of quality in the real world, I so wanted them to digress and take a chance and see what happened. I mean, there's so many of them, i can't believe this doesn't happen organically on a regular basis.

At one point, Kevin Drew, the "lead" singer and master of ceremonies, introduced himself to a new musician whom he had not met.

To be fair, later in the show, they did improvise a bit. But they could really take it further, becoming the next great jam band and going beyond explicit renditions of their songs, beautiful as they are.

And I think they have the spirit. At the end, Drew led the audience in a chant. "Fuck you. I won't do what you tell me." I wish BSS would do the same.

Nevertheless, I took some cool shots of the show that look like alien ships. Enjoy.

Pics of Regal Degal at Union Pool

2010-09-22T22:27:00.000-07:00

(The) Tony Castles Played Union Pool for Record Release Party, with Regal Degal and Safe

2010-09-22T21:57:00.000-07:00

Just two days after releasing the video for the haunting “Black Girls in Dresses,” (The) Tony Castles - Paul Sicilian (vocals and

bass) Willie Miesmer (guitar and keyboards) and Gabriel Wurzel (drums) celebrated the release of their new EP, “No Service,” with a show at Union Pool.

Regal Degal and Safe opened.

With a giant Zync from American Express card poster defamed with “TONY” in giant red letters hanging behind them, the trio kicked off an amazing set that included “No Service” and “Dream Job”. A guest guitarist provided some punch to “Adequate Sheen,” and the vocalist from Safe provided backup for “Black Girls in Dresses.”

Despite a few technical snags that had Willie crawling around on the floor mid-set, the trio produced a solid and exuberant show that pleased the crowd packed into Union Pool. And there wasn’t a lot of emotional dwelling on the release of the new EP. The guys were there to play and celebrate with friends, and if someone bought the record that was great, too.

Willie summed it up, “Our goddamn record is in the back of the place and you should buy it if that is what you want to do.”

You can order the EPand watch the “Black Girls in Dresses” video at http://famousclass.com/

Photos by me.

Heavy Cream Played Union Pool

2010-09-12T16:46:00.000-07:00

Heavy Cream, a 3/4 girl punk band, played Union Pool in Brooklyn a few weeks ago.

I caught their set in between tacos from the taco truck outside, and their uncanny channeling of The Runaways blew me away.

Check out my pics from the show.

Photos by Shanda Boyett. Copyright 2010

Boobs Night Out

2010-09-12T16:05:00.000-07:00

While everyone else was celebrating fashion night out all over the city, I dragged The Boy and The West Side Beauty to the LES to see the Beach Fossils at The Bowery Ballroom. I drank Magic Hat beer, which smells like Fruity Pebbles, and watched the Sundelles and the Beach Fossils with a room full of people half my age. There was even a bit of semi-mosh pit action at the end where i distinguished myself by spilling my beer and bending down for my purse. Legitimately cool.

When we left the show to seek out food, the real show actually started. The LES was a carnival, from giant, stick-like scantily-clad transvestites being filmed reality-show style, to frat boys puking on the street, to waiflike models gliding through the crowds in a hunger-induced haze, it was a scene, man.

But nothing compared to our meal at Pulinos. Well, not the meal, exactly, which was just OK, although they do have Mother's Milk on tap, and that doesn't suck. First of all, the staff was POLITE and FRIENDLY. That just doesn't happen at cool places in New York. Second of all, when a couple of bone bags showed up inquiring about being seated immediately, and by bone bags i mean beautiful, leggy models, the hostess told them there were people in front of them and refused to be taken in by their cheekbones. Perhaps she knew they weren't really going to eat. I was smitten. Love you Pulinos hostess.

Anyway, we got seated in the middle of the room. Great vantage point for people watching. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a giant hat enter the room atop a scraggly woman wearing a military-inspired bolero jacket and a white tutu. Turns out, that was all she was wearing, which i realized when she turned around and the impression of her nipples was burned into my retinas. She had no problem posing for the many cameras that appeared to capture her nearly-naked 'fit. But endearingly, the staff at Pulinos told her to button up and keep her nips under wraps. They were not amused. But The Boy was, having had occasion to unexpectedly view strange boobs while swilling beer and eating pizza. Really, a perfect night for all.

A Magical Night In The City - Wizards, Waffles and Commerce

2010-08-22T09:30:00.000-07:00

The Boy and I, along with The Bone Collector and the Future Texan, went out for a grown-up dinner last night in Greenwich Village, with drinks at 8th Street Wine Cellar followed by dinner at one of our new fave places, Commerce. Check out their yummy menu.

This being New York, the food and wine were only part of the draw. We saw a wizard on the way to the restaurant. I'm pretty sure it was Dumbledore. He wasn't dressed as elaborately as in the movies, but did have on a long robe and wizarding cap, with a chock of white beard blowing across his chest. He was pushing a cart which was probably another wizard in disguise. Probably.

Later we got hooted at by a car of unruly teens who obviously thought our hotness was too smoldering to go unrecognized. Or they were drunk. They seemed to be hooting at any passerby, really, now that I think of it. Anyway. . .

As we walked along 7th Avenue between drinks and dinner, we saw a glittering yellow light in the distance. The fabled Waffle Truck was in our midst. We were momentarily seduced by the fragrant sweet air that enveloped the block. The bacon waffle beckoned, and we promised to come back for dessert.

Alas, the dessert menu at Commerce leveled it's own seductive force. A Banana's Foster sundae with banana pudding and vanilla ice cream and a caramel sundae with chocolate brownie bits edged out our notions of waffles in that moment. The great ambiance, comfortable seats and steaming coffee and espresso put them over the line.

We walked wistfully past the Waffle Truck again on our way home, vowing that we would meet one another again some day. I've got the twitter feed. I won't need a wizard to find it.

Celebrate Brooklyn: Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings or How Brooklyn is Different From Manhattan

2010-08-14T19:56:00.000-07:00

The Boy and I trekked out to Brooklyn last Saturday night to check out the Celebrate Brooklyn show of Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings in Prospect Park. We not only got to hear some great music, but also learned a little bit about the difference between the two major boroughs.

We met the Occasional Empty Nesters who thankfully had arrived early and staked a claim at the top of the sloping hill facing the stage.

By the time we got there, after navigating

several service change delays on the subway, we had missed the first band and 19,800 of the 20,000 people who showed up for the show were blocking easy movement. Somehow, The Boy spotted the Occasional Empty Nesters and we clamored over picnic-ers with the zeal of spawning salmon.

The mood was lively with lots of dancers and hula-hoopers around us gulping wine from boxes. No glass or cans allowed!

Then a weird thing happened and i knew we weren't in Manhattan anymore. As the show ended and the lights came up, an authoritative voice from the stage thanked everyone for coming and prevailed on all of us to clean up after ourselves and leave the park as clean as we left it.

Now just a week or so before at Summer Stage to see Flaming Lips, there was no call-to-clean-up action when the show ended. We waded our way through pathways ankle deep in cans which no one made any effort to transport to the trash bins. When I remarked about the clean up request to the Occasional Empty Nesters, their retort was, "This is Brooklyn."

So I guess Brooklyn is Manhattan's more anal sibling, who invites everyone to a party and then asks them to clean up before they leave.

(The) Tony Castles, Caveman, Monogold at Merc Lounge

2010-08-06T09:13:00.000-07:00

A social acquaintance turned me on to (The) Tony Castles (photos above), so I decided to check them out live at The Mercury Lounge this week.

Three-piece Brooklyn-band Monogold opened. The lyrical falsetto of guitarist and vocalist Keith Kelly gives their sound a feathery, angelic quality, which was unfortunately not presented to best advantage at the Merc. However, bassist Mike Falotico distracted me from their technical issues by being an "8" on the Magically Babalicious, Long-Haired Emaciated Rock Dude scale.

When Caveman approached the stage, I honestly thought they looked like a bunch of douches. But as soon as they started to play, they completely endeared me. Thoughtful, layered, slightly haunting music sets a dreamy mood. Lead vocalist Matty Pickles blends charisma, amazing voice and percussion skills to land at an "8" on the Vince Vaughan-With-A-Guitar Doppleganger Rock Dude scale. You just want to cuddle him.

The comparatively large scale of Caveman made the three-piece Tony Castles seem spare as they took the stage, but their performance was anything but. In fact, I enjoyed their live performance more than the tracks I've been listening to for weeks. Psyched that they have a 5 song debut EP entitled "NO SERVICE" that will be officially released by Famous Class Records in both vinyl and digital formats on September 21, 2010.

No hot rock dude scale here. Just good music. : )

Big Night Out on the West Side

2010-07-31T20:44:00.000-07:00

Checked out Lincoln Center Out Of Doors this week with couple friends.

The string quartet ETHEL was playing with special guest singers and songwriters ADAM SCHLESINGER, MIKE VIOLA, DAYNA KURTZ, JUANA MOLINA, and TOM VERLAINE and PATRICK DERIVAZ.

The Boy was not a big fan of the music which he thought was slightly less annoying than My Bloody Valentine.

So about three quarters of the way through, we packed up and headed to Shake Shack where he had his way with a Purple Cow and I got intimate with a hot fudge sundae. Mmmm.

Sharing some photos here of our

big night out on the West Side.

Naked Go-Go Dancers, Confetti and Peace

2010-07-27T19:19:00.000-07:00

After weeks of sweltering temperatures, BP oil spill coverage and MTA whining about budget shortfalls, we New Yorkers deserved some kind of break. It came in the form of a cool breeze and some Flaming Lips.

The band played Central Park's Summer Stage bandshell on Monday night. The titillating good time kicked off with projections of naked psychadelic go-go dancers. Now, The Boy will tell you that you can never go wrong with go-go dancers. Naked go-go dancers? Even better.

Did the show include Wayne Coyne in the giant plastic hamster ball? Yes. Confetti? Yes. Furries and Wormies on stage? Yes. Randoms dancing onstage? Yes. (How do they get that gig?)

Was there anything "new" about their show? Not really. They played the traditional crowd pleasers and some new stuff. But how can you be anything but psyched when there is confetti raining down on you? I left with a smile on my face and a commitment to catch their second show at Terminal 5 the next night. My hatred of Terminal 5 as a venue and my inability to root out free tickets led me to welch on that commitment. However, I will always recommend a Flaming Lips show as an antidote to clinical depression. Cheaper than therapy and you might get a contact high.

Check out brooklynvegan.com for pics and video.

Scenes From The East Village

2010-04-18T21:11:00.000-07:00

With The Boy out of town, I took the opportunity to appreciate some girl time with The West Side Beauty and The Little Nolita Lady. Here are some shots of NYC life in the East Village.

How New York Is A Lot Like North Dakota

2010-04-18T17:14:00.000-07:00

The Boy and I recently ventured up to his homeland in North Dakota for a funeral. I think a lot of the people there believe our life and lifestyle are foreign and strange. But I'm here to tell you that there are actually a lot of similarities.

First of all, there are chickens. Well, roosters anyway. In a garden park in the East Village, two roosters are happily living their life, albeit crowing in the middle of the afternoon. Word is still out on whether they are a couple.

There are also horses. In Central Park. Just like the farm.

Then of course there is countrified food - chicken fried steak at Blue Smoke, grits at Hundred Acres. But the real magic is happening in my own kitchen. Biscuits. Cinnamon Rolls. And bread. Not to mention the pickled eggs, a tasty snack any time of the day.

So, yes, there's Broadway and the Statue of Liberty and lots of people and all that. But really New York isn't all that different. Investment bankers count as animals don't they?

Photo by me.

Feather Dusting

2010-04-10T22:44:00.000-07:00

Last week The Boy and I headed down to Union Square to run some errands and kept noticing something odd, even by New York standards. We saw several people walking down the street with pillows. The Boy reckoned there was some type of school bus trip meeting nearby. I thought maybe there had been an all night rave (I don't know why I thought it would have been appropriate to bring pillows to a rave, but hey, i'm old and out of touch, so what do I know.)

Anyway, we were both wrong. It was actually the celebration of World Pillow Fight Day. Eventually, The Boy and I ran right smack into the fight which was feather dusted pandemonium.

Photo by me.

A Month of Plays

2010-04-10T21:54:00.000-07:00

One of the great things about living in Manhattan is access to all the city provides - the restaurants, the nightlife, the theater. And theater generally means Broadway.

When we lived in Texas, we would catch a touring show from time to time, but it wasn't a frequent event. In fact, I'm lucky The Boy ever agreed to attend a show with me again after the great Hairspray fiasco of 2005. We had bought tickets to the touring show, along with about a dozen of my female relatives. At the last moment, I had to go out of town for work and couldn't attend. The poor Boy was left to chauffeur a gaggle of high-cheekboned women around downtown Houston. Since then, he's never really loved musicals.

This month we tested his affinity for plays, seeing three Broadway plays and one off-Broadway play during the month.

We began with A Behanding in Spokane, chosen for the good reviews and Christopher Walken in the starring role. We had front-row seats and were mesmerized by his creepy cool performance. However, the play was inexplicably racial. The slurs and bigotry, which didn't seem to be necessary for the story, really turned me off.

I was ready for a little racial provocation the next week at the performance of Race.

The David Mamet play stars James Spader, the prick hottie Steff from Pretty in Pink but now one of the quirky lawyers in Boston Legal, Kerry Washington, David Alan Grier and Richard Thomas, of Walton's fame.

The reviews of the play have been mixed, and so is my own take on it. I found the play itself interesting, as it explores preconceptions and everyone's own built in racial biases. But I thought the performances were flat and leaden across the board. Pity.

On the other other hand, God of Carnage, about parents whose young boys have had a school yard fight and who devolve from idealized adults to immature barbarians over the course of the play, was pretty fun to watch.

The story, dialogue and characters were sharp and hilarious. The Boy

laughed out loud several times, always a good sign.

Finally, we had the good fortune to have a Broadway and TV actor living

in our building. He is currently starring in an off-Broadway play called

The Temperamentals.

"Temperamental" was code for homosexual in the 1950s and the play

explores coming out during that period as two men create the first gay

rights organization pre-Stonewall.

The performances were amazing, probably most enjoyed of all the

plays I saw in the month. Michael Urie, from Ugly Betty, was freaking

adorable and so talented. My neighbor as well blew me away with

the unique physicality he demonstrated via the different the characters

he played.

So there it is, our month of culture. This month, The Boy's in charge,

so we're probably gonna watch consecutive episodes of 'Deadliest

Catch' instead.

Can't wait.

Don't Just Mind The Gap

2010-03-29T21:30:00.000-07:00

Last week, a most horrendous turn of events led me to be ever more cautious in the wake of a coming subway. A woman, apparently in an effort to rescue the bag she had dropped down into the tracks, jumped down to retrieve it and was crushed by an oncoming train.

Now I generally play it super cool in the subway. I peer ever so cautiously down the track for oncoming trains, not out of fear but impatience. And I step behind the yellow caution line when the train barrels up. The one time I did happen to drop something into the track (my house key while I was living in Washington, DC), I notified the station staff and was able to pick it up on my way home that evening. It didn't even occur to me to jump down into the hole with the live third rail and active vermin.

So I'm amazed that anyone would put themselves at risk this way - apparently, according to some reports, merely to save her workout clothes and deodorant.

Not really worth it. I'm just saying.

I was mindful of this cautionary tale a few days later, though, when a hurried commuter ran past me as I was adjusting my iPhone, jettisoning it to the edge of the track just as a train came crashing through. With visions of crushed appendages dancing in my head, I stood still, completely at attention, waiting for the train to rumble by. For those few moments I was lost, disconnected from my phone, my music, my world. But I didn't want to make it permanent, so I played it safe, waiting until the train came to a complete stop to retrieve my blessed extension.

How (not) To Wait Out A Snowstorm

2010-02-28T11:11:00.000-08:00

A couple of weeks ago, I mocked the city's response to an impending snow storm. Schools were closed. My company told us to stay home if we could. I cheerfully worked at home that Snow Day, watching the pristine flakes fall all day long, accumulating about 10 inches in the city. However, it was hardly the storm of the century. I didn't get a chance to play in the snow, but ventured out for a movie that evening. Pretty tame stuff, even for someone like me who's still only experienced snow about a dozen times.

Fast forward two weeks and another impending snow storm. The response this time was more measured. The city didn't cancel school until the morning after the worst of it hit, but most of my co-workers were prepared to stay home again. This time, that was indeed the right choice. The city was ultimately covered in18 inches of snow.

After putting in a series of 14-hour days for a Friday deadline, I didn't have the choice of staying home. I tromped through a foot of pristine powder at 6:30 am to ensure I arrived at work in time for an 8 am meeting with the Grand Poobah. I passed a cross-country skier taking advantage of the relatively deserted sidewalks. It was just he and I and the swoosh swoosh of passing skis. I expertly navigated the cross-town trek from the subway to my office, past the World Trade Center site which was also ambling to life despite the treacherous weather.

It continued to snow all day, I noticed, as I watched it's frenetic descent in the windy enclave of downtown Manhattan. At lunchtime, I shared a social moment with a nearby table as we watched, incredulous, as a jogger outside loped by in shorts and no shirt.

I hoped to leave the office before it was dark, before the temperature dropped and the powdery snow turned to ice. Instead, I worked until almost 9 pm. When I left, the city was quiet. The streets and sidewalks were clear. The snow had stopped and I headed home. It was as if the snowstorm never happened. I was just another workaday career girl in waterproof boots making her way to the subway and the long trip home.

Photo by me.

Jammed Up

2010-02-21T20:33:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite memories from growing up is the amazing breakfasts my dad would prepare on weekends and special occasions. Bacon and grits and pancakes, Oh My! Round eggs. Toast. Yummy biscuits. With jam.

Fast forward 20+ years later, and I still love me some breakfast. Unfortunately, The Boy doesn't do Kitchen, so if I want a comforting breakfast meal prepared for me, I've got to do what the rest of the New Yorkers do, and head out for brunch.

The West Side Beauty and I usually head down to Soho on Saturday mornings for a little Physique 57 action and post-workout celebrating at the neighborhood's vast array of restaurants.

I love the ritual of determining our location each week and the wonder of checking out a new menu and all the possibilities it represents foodwise. We've checked out Balthazar, The Cupping Room, Hundred Acres, Country Cafe, Jane, etc.

We've drooled over the $16 bread basket at Balthazar (though never purchased it), we've stared breathless at the southern inspired morsels from Hundred Acres. But one thing we've noticed almost across the board, is that jam and toast are often missing.

That's right, fellow feasters. We've been to locations that were "out of jam" (Country Cafe) or "only serve jam on Sundays" (Jane). Wha?

At the other locations, toast (or the infamous Balthazar Bread Basket) are extra. They don't come with the meal. Really?

Now seriously, New York is supposed to be the center of civilized living. That means I'm paying $15 to $20 for eggs and breakfast meats. So I gotta tell you. There ain't nothing civilized about a breakfast without toast and jam (or biscuits and jam or croissants and jam).

I think we need to band together to make things right. Let's protest! Save the Jam! Support the Toast! Your breakfast will thank you.

Head Over Heels

2010-02-04T04:04:00.000-08:00

Well, it finally happened. After more than three years of living in New York, I took a tumble on a busy public street. I was crossing Broadway in Soho and came across the 'black ice.' It wasn't near the curb or helpfully marked by police tape and cones. Oh no. It was just there, lying in wait for the toe of my sleek over the knee boot to strike. Then ass over teakettle I flew, bags flying, arms flailing. Flat. On. My. Back. I was a piece of performance art, my shopping bags artfully arranged around my flaccid form like flower petals.

And oh was there a large audience for my performance! Tourists in leather pants, their tiny guidebooks their talisman. Tightly coifed ladies in mink coats. Gum smackers from New Jersey. Covens of stroller moms. But it was a man with a crutch who helped me up. Yes, it took a handicapped person to alight me from the ground. The irony burned.

I walked away with a sore wrist, a bruised butt, and a major case of embarrassment. But it wasn't as bad as the travails suffered by the West Side Beauty. It's supposed to snow again this week. Let's hope we can both keep our feet on the ground!

Urine-nation

2009-10-05T19:24:00.000-07:00

Are you one of those folks, like The Boy, who refuses to listen to reason and wash produce before he eats it? Well here is a cautionary tale. As I was walking to work, I heard a Family-Guy-type voice screaming.

"Oh yeah, go ahead and just let your dog go on my box of vegetables."

As i looked up, I noticed a big truck with a big guy in it yelling down to a lady and her dog which had just, um, baptized the beets, so to speak.

"Just keep walking. Don't do nothing about it," he screamed down.

"Well, I don't think he meant it," she said.

"Well I think he did," said the guy.

I kept walking. And I will be extra vigilant about washing my veges from now on. Fo sho.

The Case of the Stalker Pastry

2009-10-05T18:52:00.000-07:00

I'm being stalked. By killer pastry. Not only is my block bordered by cupcake stores, but there are food trucks that seem to be following me around, tempting me with the promise of heaven. One truck sells cupcakes(!?!). The other sells waffles, including bacon waffles or waffles with nutella.

I know it's wrong, but I can't get them out of my head. No means no, ok, trucks?

Pursed Off

2009-09-29T20:06:00.000-07:00

It was one of those packed subway days where I was lucky to get my preferred commute location - standing in front of the doors on the non-open side for the express commute. This is the best location. You don't have to hold onto a pole, you are out of the high-traffic areas, and you can spread out to read your paper. Well, usually you can. Last week my primo location was compromised when a giant-purse-wielding hussy wedged her way into my consciousness.

So as I understand it, the polite thing to do when entering the subway with a giant purse, backpack or baby in a stroller is to fold them up and rest them on the floor (the babies especially love this.) Put another way, if anything you are holding has the potential to poke someone in the eye or sack them like a quarterback, you should remove it from your shoulder and find a less dangerous place to store it during the duration of the subway ride. Apparently this bristly gal didn't get the memo. Her giant purse had me cornered. I gave up reading my paper altogether. And when her sleuth moves threatened to fill the tiny gap between us, I balked! I asked her (somewhat politely) if she could move her bag. "It's got me cornered here," I said, good naturedly as I pretended to be boxed in.

She snarled. "You're on a subway. Get over it." She didn't move her bag.

Not to be outdone, I mumbled, hand on hip, eyes full of disdain, "The polite thing to do would have been to move your bag." Thanks for stating the obvious. What a comeback. It was one of those moments where you want to be pithy and precise, but just. Can't.

Anyway, the moral of this story is, I bought a smaller bag. I don't want to be a purse whacker or a bag bully. I just want to stand in my corner and read my paper.

Good Help Ain't Hard to Find - Even in New York

2009-04-21T17:47:00.000-07:00

I know. I know. New York is supposed to be full of hardened creeps (and there are some, as documented here). But New York has a good side too.

I rushed out of the office last week with bags and computer, detoured to Whole Foods to buy some Belgian beer, and hopped in a cab headed to the East Village to meet The Boy, Easy E and Ms. Foliage at Sigiri Sri Lankan Restaurant. As I got out of the cab with all my gear, I stuffed one of the giant beer bottles under my arm and shuffled toward the restaurant door. But as I turned, the bottle slipped and was hanging precariously from my armpit. My armpit! I was about to waste a whole bottle of beautiful Oomegang brew into the gutter.

So there I was, bags akimbo, squeezing the hell out of that beer neck trying not to let it fly.

"Help me. Helllp meee!" I pleaded to someone, anyone on the street.

Now, I would have done the right thing - averted my eyes and scurried past quickly. But there she was - a samaritan in platform heels who helped me right my bottle, saving its poor soul from the indignities of the street.

Later that weekend, I was faced with a horrible turn of events. At Manhattan Diner, there was NO MILK for my coffee on the table. My god! The humanity! I looked around and located my waiter, shooting him a pained look and pointing to my sad and liquid-challenged creamer. As he scurried away, no doubt pumped with pride to deliver my much-needed lactose, a funny thing happened. The guy at the table next to me valiantly offered up his full creamer, enabling my coffee to achieve its special purpose.

So yes, Virginia, there are nice New Yorkers. Like so many other things, it just takes beer and milk to flush them out.

Jury Duty - Take 3 - The Story

2009-04-13T18:27:00.001-07:00

Essentially the story was this:

Two crackheads meet at rehab - 40-year-old Wayne Hunter and 47-year old Carolyn Johnson. They become friends, lovers and then live-in lovers. That, it seems, is where things began to go awry. They both began using again, and the week prior to the incident had been on an almost 24-hour crack binge. On the morning in question, Mr Hunter attacked Ms. Johnson with a hammer, wounding her head and breaking bones in both her hands. Depending on whose story you believed, he either held her hostage for several hours and raped her, OR after he bludgeoned her with the hammer, they reconciled and had makeup sex.

He was charged with 26 crimes - several contempt charges relating to an order of protection which Mr. Hunter disregarded when he contacted Ms. Johnson over several months during his initial incarceration, two assault charges and three rape charges.

Ultimately our decision came down to their two stories, some shaky forensic evidence, and the letter of the law. I knew it was going to be a tough decision when we argued for 3 hours about one of the contempt charges. The assault charges were easy. There was DNA evidence from the hammer. But the rape charges . . . we just couldn't agree. Most of us were leaning toward guilty except for two jurors. One of them TOTALLY had a Rihanna complex and felt sorry for the defendant and thought we were all being unfair to him. Geez. I made her cry about that crazy business. Anyway, after the judge clarified for us that the defendant had to KNOW he didn't have consent in order to be charged with rape, several of us changed our mind. There just wasn't enough evidence to prove what went on in that apartment.

So, unable to come to unanimous agreement on the rape charges and one of the contempt charges after 12 hours of deliberation, the judge took a partial verdict from us on the remaining charges, assuring, at least, that he would stay in jail a bit longer.

After the trial was over, the attorneys wanted to talk to us, and we gave them a bit of insight into our thinking. They said the defendant had a history of violence against women, and they were planning to retry him in a couple of weeks on just the rape charges.

They should be picking the new jury this week.

Jury Duty - Take 2 - Juror #11

2009-04-12T18:05:00.000-07:00

I know when it happened. During the Voir Dir (which they pronounce the French way, not the Texas way wink wink Lady Lawhorn), I got all Type A - wanting to answer all the questions correctly. What a jackass. So when the assistant district attorney, a competent young Asian woman, asked if a victim had to fight back in order for a rape to occur, I said no, that I could imagine a scenario where someone could be held against their will, threatened or too fearful to fight. Ding ding ding! You are the next contestant on The Perp Ain't Right. So that's how I became Juror #11 in The People of the State of New York vs Wayne Hunter, a trial that would last 7 days.

Let me set the scene first. Windowless courtroom. No cool murals like on TV. Ramshackle judge's desk. Clerk desk, computer and file cabinets NEXT TO the judge's desk. 1 baliff and 3-4 other security personnel with two desks behind the attorney's tables, equipped with phones (which they would use in the middle of testimony. Wha?) Anyway, not the pristine environment they show on TV.

Then there's this little side story. It took two days to pick the jury. I was chosen on Day 2. Apparently the Day 1 jurors really bonded, to the point that when the Day 2 jurors showed up, Day 1 had created their own clique - one that didn't include the Day 2 jurors. They would sit together, eat lunch together, share vacation photos. The exclusion was tight. One day four of us ran out for coffee during a break. I was last to get my order. The other three left together but did not wait for me. Wah wah.

A little more drama happened on the second day of testimony. Midday, the judge began to look purple. He stopped the trial and shuffled out the back door. An ambulance was called. We were all sent home. No one knew what had happened. Turned out he had the "flu". Read: the runs. We were dismissed for the day and only worked half day the next day. As a result of THAT little trend, on the following day of testimony we were dismissed for two hours for lunch. (I know. Two hours, WTF. We started at 10 am and had two hour lunches. No wonder the trial took 7 days . . .) Anyway, one of the jurors, an older gentleman with two hearing aids "misheard" the judge and thought we were dismissed for the afternoon again. He didn't return after lunch. Jesus Christ.

So finally, the trial got underway in earnest. We heard from the victim, the defendant, CSI, SVU, two detectives, two doctors, some friends, etc.

The worst day? When they displayed the GIANT va-jay-jay diagram ALL DAY and kept pointing at it and drawing on it. Shudder.

Jury Duty - Take 1

2009-04-12T17:27:00.000-07:00

The State of New York got their money's worth out of me recently when I got nabbed for jury duty. Remember, awhile back I had to go downtown to account for my absence at an earlier session.

Feeling annoyed, I showed up at the appointed place, at the appointed time, dreaming of ways to "get out of it." I mean, what kind of fresh hell was this? First of all, I was worried about what to wear. I had googled myself gaga the night before trying to find a dress code. I'm pretty sure they have this in Texas. No dice. I went with warm and comfy. Second, I couldn't determine the coffee situation, i.e. whether I could bring Starbucks into the building. I did. Third, jury duty appears to be another of those no-buffer-seat-zones. So even though I arrived promptly, even early, I ended up having to give up my bag holder/buffer seat because I couldn't stand watching the infirm and cane-wielding older folks amble up and down the aisles looking pained. I mean, I'm not an animal. Finally, my indignance reached its high when I found out how this crazy New York jury system works. Despite my hopes, this was not going to be over quickly.

See, in Texas, you show up, you read a few book chapters, you likely don't get called for the jury, and you go home, hyper with the knowledge that you just got out of something truly repugnant, like cleaning the litter box. As with so many of life's petty activities, this was not to be the case in New York City. Although it is not disclaimed on their site, you can expect to commit AT LEAST two days to jury duty. The system is kind of like rolling out dough for cookie cutter cookies. You roll it out, cut the cookies, then roll the waste back in and re-roll another batch. The jury system keeps re-rolling and re-rolling the potential jurists, assuring that most folks called are going to get chosen for one trial or another. If you don't get chosen for a jury by the end of the second day, you're free to go. It wouldn't play out like that for me.

I got called up in the first group of potential jurors, and, of course, because the universe is a snarky old biddy, I got chosen. For a rape trial. That's right. It's an episode of Law and Order: Special Victims Unit, and i'm playing the role of Juror #11.

Blow Hards

2009-04-04T20:25:00.000-07:00

"I haven't taken a subway since January," pronounced the investment banker sitting at the table next to me. I know exactly what he said because a) the tables were so close I could have jacked him off without leaning over, and b) he was speaking so loudly I would have had to stuff my ears with the generous cup of bread sticks not to hear him. He apparently lived in the neighborhood around Blue Hill, the restaurant I dragged The Boy to for dinner. He'd just gotten back from Japan. He was going to Florida on Monday, but would be home for Easter. As a boy, he fell down while playing soccer. Annoying? Yes. Pretentious? Also yes. The Boy and I hovered in the corner next to them, praying for a hasty exit. The waitstaff was, sadly, on the side of the Loud Talker. They. Moved. At. The. Pace. Of. Snails. Thankfully they didn't leave a glistening trail behind, although that might have been cool.

It's the economy, stupid

2009-02-28T22:09:00.000-08:00

Spring is supposed to be a time of growth and rebuilding. And though technically it's not quite spring, Manhattan is in a perennial winter, both literally and figuratively. The weather can barely stay above freezing, and businesses around town are closing up every day. I came across the deliberate and careful disassembling of a furniture store's marquee sign today, the giant letters resting in nests of bubble wrap on the street. I think the whole world wishes it could curl up in a bolt of bubble wrap until this giant mess is resolved.

Xmas Time Is Here

2008-11-20T19:30:00.000-08:00

Retailers aren't waiting until next week to get the city all gussied up for what I'm sure they are hoping will be a less than dreadful Black Friday. On my walk home tonight, I noticed designers in the shop windows of Club Monoco, Bergdorff Goodman, a jewelry store and a furniture store making magic. The city is beginning to sparkle. Now if only the economy would follow suit.

Poo, on you

2008-11-20T18:51:00.000-08:00

So I guess the universe was listening yesterday when I railed on people who overuse cabs. I guess the universe believes in punishing judgementalism.

This morning on the subway, it smelled like poo. I mean REALLY. It smelled very bad. And it didn't dissipate at any point during the ride. I am pretty certain there was a little pile of poo somewhere in the car. I even kept checking my shoes, you know, like you do when you're walking through grass and you smell something foul. Anyway, I never did find out for sure what was causing the smell. I just left the car. I think that was the best course of action, all things considered. I didn't take a cab though. Take a little poke in the eye, universe!

Obnoxious Commuting

2008-11-19T17:26:00.000-08:00

In these more thrifty times, I have recently heard something that horrified me! Several of my co-workers, even those who live far uptown from our office, sometimes or even daily take cabs to work. Cabs! In this era of layoffs and economic meltdowns and mortgage foreclosures. Just to give you some perspective, it probably costs at least $18 one way to take a cab downtown to my office. That's with no traffic! That's almost $40 a day both ways! $200 a week! That adds up to more than you people in Texas are paying for gas in a month.

Now I admit to taking a cab from time to time, especially after an evening of rambunctious frivolity. But to get to work? Whatever it's faults, the subway system in New York beats sitting i traffic any day, is better for the environment, and is CHEAPER at about $2 per ride (even less if you have a monthly pass). I like to spend money just as much as the next manhattan goddess (just ask The Boy if you need confirmation), but cabbing it to work from uptown just strikes me as lazy and economically moronic.

Guilty Pleasure

2008-10-20T18:27:00.000-07:00

The West Side Beauty met up with us Sunday night for an over the top dinner at Del Posto. This is one of Mario Batali's joints, and it was ah-mazing. The service was attentive, if a little overbearing. Our waiter hovered over us like Lord Voldemort surveying his chances for evil takeover, which was, frankly, a bit creepy. But the wine steward helped us pick a lovely red wine, and then made quite the show of opening it, and swishing a small amount in our three glasses to clear them of any impurities, I guess. The bulbs of the glasses were almost as big as my calves! You could almost stick your whole face in there.

Then came the food. We got the tasting menu which consisted of an appetizer, a couple of pastas, an entree and dessert. They also piqued our pallets with a selection of small hors d'oeuvres- a shot of broth, fried cheese medallions and balls of mortadella bologna - as well as a basket of the most glorious breads. Along with butter was a spread of pork fat that took me back to my Granny and Big Daddy's house. Yum.

For our entrees we had a veritable Old McDonald's Farm reunion with pork (not The Boy, of course), duck and lamb. I had the duck, medium rare and just right.

Dessert was a challenge. I really wanted the dark chocolate thing, and I knew I didn't want the apple thing. But Daryl wanted the dark chocolate thing, so I ordered the pumpkin thing, with low expectations. Turns out, in my mind at least, I made the best choice. I ate every bite, and didn't share a crumb. It was one of the best desserts of all time.

Overall, Del Posto was an expensive, but pleasurable experience. Tomorrow, we'll start living la vida recession.

Salty, Sweet and Surreal

2008-10-18T10:42:00.001-07:00

My sis, the Dainty Dug Dealer, made another surprise visit to New York to help me celebrate being old!

So she, The Boy and I headed out to the West Village for a late night dinner at Perilla, the new hot spot opened awhile back by Top Chef winner Harold Dieterle. My view on the place was mixed. The service was pretty good. But my food and sis's food were both a little too salty. Dessert, ahh. Not that great.

The real main course didn't occur until after dinner. In one of those classic only-in-new-york situations, we happened by a maudlin art exhibit framed as a pet store. An automatronic rabbit preens in a mirror, chicken mcnuggets peck in a chicken coop, hot dogs wiggle under a heat lamp. It was surreal and lovely.

Me 1, Friends 0

2008-10-18T10:12:00.000-07:00

So for the big ole birthday celebration, I wanted to do something "old New York". Plus, I didn't want to be bothered by extreme crowds or ridiculous bouncers. So I chose the King Cole Bar at The St. Regis Hotel on 5th Avenue.

The Chef had arrived first and graciously commandeered several corner booths. That ensured our comfort for the night - especially since many of us were wearing shoes only fit for sitting down! All the usual suspects arrived in their late night New York finery - the Little Nolita Lady and her beau Abs, the West Side Beauty, T-Rex and the Platinum Bombshell. We enjoyed our $15 drinks cool bar snacks delivered to us with somber professionalism by our tuxedoed waiter.

While everyone enjoyed the frivolity, I had a plan. There were bets about how long I would last given I usually was close to passing out after just one drink. But not tonight. Oh no way. I was prepared. I ate a full bagel and peanut butter for breakfast, both halves of a curried chicken salad sandwich and Fritos (yes, Chef, I know they aren't natural and full of chemicals, but they were a necessary evil.) For dinner I inhaled an extra large slice, and downed it with a can of Red Bull. I was on FIRE!

So three martini's (yes, count them, three!) and half a beer later - I was still going strong. I made it past the under/over time of 11 pm easily. Even made it to a second bar. So all if have to say is Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha.

Subway Altercation

2008-10-06T19:23:00.000-07:00

I was involved in an A-1, blogilicious subway altercation today. It was about 10 after 8 this morning. A subway rolled up to a large crowd of commuters, and against my better judgement, I crowded in alongside them, my body twisted unnaturally against half a dozen strangers. Even after the next stop the car was still bursting. We were like strands of straw haphazardly bundled up in a bale of hay. No one wanted to be there, but one guy - a bulky, meaty dude with a little turd of a ponytail - began fussing at the tall, preppy guy next to him. The meaty guy was pretty scary looking, all shoulders and biceps. But he was really going off and it irritated me. He was telling the guy to give him some room, that he was crowding him. The preppy guy was trying to explain that there was nowhere to go, but the meaty guy just kept on fussing. Here we all were, all in the same boat as him, nowhere to go, and he was acting like he was the only one whose personal space was being violated. So even though it goes against the New York code of conduct, I spoke up.

"If you don't like being crowded, then don't take the subway," I said. "We're all crowded."

So he said, "Shut up, BITCH! Mind your own business. No one wants to hear your problems."

So I said, "That's right. So why don't you shut up."

He said, "Suck my DICK!"

I said, "No, thank you." I said it serious too. Even though I was quaking in my shoes a little, I kept my snark going.

He said, "I bet you would like it. It's really big."

"I doubt it," I said, snorting.

"Do you want me to take it out right here and show you?" he asked, threateningly.

I thrust my nose into the air. "Absolutely not."

Then we rode in awkward silence until I got off the train, 3 stops later.

No one jumped in or made eye contact. New York style.

Later, I felt kind of bad. Clearly he was having a bad day and was acting out. Perhaps I should have given him a hug and drawn a unicorn on his wrist. Or a butterfly. I'm sure that would have helped.

Mighty Man

2008-10-05T18:39:00.000-07:00

It took us FIVE hours to reach Montauk from Manhattan. It is far on the tail end of nowhere. We passed what seemed like dozens of Hamptons villages before we reached it. We arrived at 10 after 8 for check-in that was supposed to end at 8. We were freaking out that we were going to miss it, and were driving lost up until the moment we spotted the Pizza Primavera, which was a key landmark. We pulled up to the registration tent with our tires smoking.

After check in, we scoped out practically the only available grub at a nearby pub. Then it was lights out in preparation for our 5 am wakeup call. After being jolted awake by fireworks around midnight or so, we rolled out of bed and down the street to the Mighty Man Triathlon transition area about 5:45. My start time was 6:43 am. After a little bit of drama on the swim, I cruised to a finish a little after 8 am, followed closely by The Little Nolita Lady and T-Rex.

When we got back to the hotel, we realized we were right by the ocean. It had been so dark when we checked in that we didn't realize it.

Then we showered and headed to Bridgehampton for breakfast at the Candy Diner. They also sold homemade ice cream, so we got some for the road.

We were terribly impressed with our car packing expertise. We fit three bikes, three sets of luggage and three girls into my Land Rover. Sweet. The only drawback of the trip (other than the traffic and my near drowning) was that I couldn't find Chili Cheese Fritos, the perfect road trip food. But I tried to make it up with A&W Root Beer and a homemade chocolate chip ice cream shake. We passed several farmers markets, orchards and corn mazes on the way home. We were too bushed to check them out, though. All in all, not a bad way to spend a weekend.

Montauk or Bust

2008-10-03T08:50:00.000-07:00

Heading to Martha Stewart's hood this weekend to flail around in the water, do a little cycling, and run along the sand at the Mighty Montauk Tri. The Little Nolita Lady and T-Rex will be in tow. If we don't bonk, we'll be back in Manhattan in time to party.

A Law and Order Day

2008-10-02T19:28:00.000-07:00

I had occasion to go to the courthouse this week, and the one that is showcased on the TV show Law and Order. A passerby helped me grab a shot of myself on the steps. Later in the day, T-Rex and I were headed to Chelsea Piers to check out the pool. We took a wrong turn and ended up at the Law and Order casting studios. Perhaps it was a message to me that I shouldn't shirk jury duty or face the consequences . . .

Room with a View

2008-09-29T20:31:00.000-07:00

So The Little Nolita Lady is searching for a new apartment. One of the options for her and her new roommate is a two bedroom in the financial district. Unfortunately, one of the bedrooms doesn't have windows, which is a cause of concern for the new roommate (which also, The Boy is urging me to point out, is illegal. All bedrooms must have windows. Anyway . . .) I told The Little Nolita Lady her roommate shouldn't worry about it. We've spent hundreds of dollars to completely block out our bedroom windows, effectively creating a cave.

In fact, in New York, sometimes a bedroom view isn't that great of a thing. Just ask the West Side Beauty. Her new neighbors have taken to spending time on their roof, with a perfect view of her bedroom. She can see and hear what they are doing and . . . well, you see the problem.

So my message to The Little Nolita Lady's future roommate - take the apartment and rejoice that you don't have to buy shades.

Houston, we have STORAGE!

2008-09-28T12:57:00.000-07:00

After two years in the big city, we have reached a turning point - extra storage. I know to people in other parts of the country, storage is no big deal. You have extra closets, or a garage or an attic. For New Yorkers, closet space is limited and precious. Many apartments only have one closet for the whole space. That means it must store clothes, shoes, coats, suitcases and everything else. We built some extra closets into our space, and when our linen closet was finished, I cheered! But we still had a bunch of junk we were storing in our fire escape on the sly. So when we found out this week that a storage bin in the basement had opened up, it was huge, and very welcome, news.

Ratta-ewwie

2008-09-22T18:18:00.000-07:00

Two vermin-related stories for you kids today. First, a memorable first date for one of The Boy's co-workers. He was on a date in Madison Square Park, home of the venerable Shake Shack. The couple was sitting on a park bench, below a tree in the middle of conversation, when a rat fell THWACK! right in the girls' lap! Despite this auspicious beginning, the two continue to date.

The second story begins below ground in the subway tunnels, home to hundreds (maybe thousands?) of rats. A friend of mine was waiting for the F train at the 23rd street station. She noticed that a rat had boldly moved from the subway tracks, where they usually scurry around disconnected from the human passers by, onto the platform, realm of the two legged. My friend and the other people in the station steered clear of the interloper. They began to talk among themselves, pointing and laughing skittishly. A man told my friend that rats on the platform were common at this station, and that they had an even more startling habit. He said he had seen rats on the platform crawl into the subway car when it arrived and ride away. And in fact, when the subway pulled up, my friend watched it twitch it's nose as it stepped into the last car. Perhaps it was meeting someone at the next stop.

Everything Sucks, Let's Get Drunk

2008-09-18T20:42:00.001-07:00

Ventured out to Ulysses in the Financial District tonight. Thought it might be slow because of all the financial turmoil going on, but it was hoppin'. Perhaps everyone figured they might at least enjoy the coolness of the late summer evening and a foamy brew, even as their investments and careers tanked. Economic crises blow.

Summer Sounds

2008-09-18T20:38:00.000-07:00

The crickets and cicadas making their evening music remind me of home. It is a uniquely southern summer sound to me, signaling the end of warm weather and the onset of Fall. Funny that it triggers that feeling in me since a Texas Fall is not that dissimilar from a Texas Summer. Nevertheless, when I hear that insectual orchestra, I long for home.

Go Bag

2008-09-17T20:46:00.000-07:00

Well, well, well. Vindication is definitely sweet. For months I've been talking up the idea of a "Go" Bag. You know, this would be a bag, at the ready, that contained a change of clothes, copies of important papers, extra glasses, non-perishable food, water and money that could be grabbed at a moment's notice should there be some kind of emergency. My friends teased me endlessly about being Chicken Little, but it looks like Hurricane Ike has proved me right! The destruction started to hit before so many folks were prepared to leave. A "Go" bag might have proved useful.

Indeed I have spent endless hours discussing possible escape routes and safe house possibilities with The Boy. I've wondered whether we should take our car or public transportation, or whether either would be futile. In which case I determined we should be ready to pack up our bikes and ride up to Yonkers. But that got me thinking about Meow - I couldn't leave her behind! I went so far as to decide maybe I should get one of those fancy cargo stroller things that you attach to the back of your bike, so I could stick the Meow in it. Finally I decided that the Meow might have to tough it out in a backpak.

Chances are I won't ever have to use my "Go" bag, but it's nice to feel prepared. Just wish those folks at home didn't have to learn that lesson so hard.

Sober-fest

2008-08-17T15:44:00.000-07:00

So we checked out the All Points West Festival last week. Our objective was to see Radiohead, and hopefully discover a few new bands. All we really discovered was that we hate standing in lines.

The festival was at Liberty State Park in New Jersey, so we had to take that much-loved PATH train/Light Rail combination that we used to take when we lived in Jersey City. Over an hour later, we arrived. But the park was still a 30 minute walk away. Drat! By this time, my pre-event hydration therapy had yielded an imperative situation. I needed a bathroom fast! Fortunately when we finally made it to the grounds, the line wasn't too long, AND there was toilet paper. A good sign.

Alas, that was the high point of the day. From there we experienced long lines to get into the show. By the time we got in, I just wanted a beer. My longing would not be satiated, however. At least not for the next hour. We waited for 45 minutes in a line just to have our IDs checked. Then we waited 30 more minutes in the beer line. For our trouble, we were rewarded the opportunity to drink our beers corralled in the beer garden. There would be no casual sipping of a luke warm frothy beverage while listening to any of the bands. Oh, and lest anyone got greedy, there was a 5 drink limit for the whole day, and beer sales ended at 8:30, the same time Radiohead hit the stage.

Mind you, I wasn't looking to get toasted. But seriously. I'm almost 40 years old. I don't need to have my alcohol consumption tempered. It's just not Rock and Roll!

Anyway, by the time we drank our beers and got some grub, it was just about time for Radiohead to begin. So much for seeing new music. And then the final coup de gras: after all that, when the band came on, I couldn't see. I won't be checking out this ill conceived event again.

Gas Prices Hit Home

2008-07-30T13:46:00.000-07:00

The Boy and I have been reveling in the fact that our move to New York has reduced our carbon footprint and removed the necessity to spend $$$ to fill up the tank of my SUV each week. So while we've noticed the increase in the prices for food and other things, the gas price crunch hadn't really affected us personally until yesterday.

I was traveling to Penn Station to catch a train to Boston. I grabbed a cab outside our apartment to get there. After a harrowing ride with no AC in sweltering weather, we finally arrived at the station. When I paid the fare, I gave the cabbie a dollar tip. In an ballsy move previously unprecedented, even for cab drivers, the cabbie stopped and begged for an additional dollar of tip because of gas prices, etc etc.

Now I know there are some discussions going on with the cab union to determine if taxi patrons should be paying a fuel surcharge. Some people say yes, in order to cover the cost of extra fuel. Others say no, afraid that the increase in price will deter customers. I guess this guy made up his mind. He's soliciting that fee after every fare.

Korean Barbecue!

2008-07-27T18:38:00.000-07:00

My friend Little Roo is heading off to business school, so she held a week of celebratory events including a happy hour, prom (complete with prom dresses and 80s music), and Korean Barbecue in Korea Town in midtown.

It was loud and bright, and the barbecue chicken rocked! They also served some kind of shot drink in pure ice shot glasses. I thought they were just cold shot glasses until mine melted and the shot ran all over the table!

The Bride Isn't Keeping Her Name Anymore

2008-07-27T18:05:00.000-07:00

When I was living back in Texas, I would read the New York Times every weekend and dream about moving to the big city. I remember reading the Weddings section back in the late 90s and noticing how many of the wedding descriptions noted that the bride was keeping her name.

I compared that with the wedding descriptions in The Houston Chronicle. A note about the bride keeping her name was a rare occurrence. Even more telling, I was the only person I knew who had kept her name when I got married. In fact, when my 10-year class reunion came around, I had heard there was some speculation that I had divorced since I still had my maiden name.

Fast forward 8 or 9 years, and here I am in New York, still lovingly pacing my way through the New York Times each weekend. But what I've noticed in the Weddings section is a change. It seems there are fewer notes about the bride keeping their names in the descriptions.

Is it a sign of these turbulent times that people are going more traditional? Or are these young gen y'ers simply so secure with their standing in the world that this gesture no longer seems important or necessary?

Summer Nights

2008-07-27T16:25:00.000-07:00

Central Park features prominently in my tales of the city this summer. Indeed, one of the reasons we chose our apartment was its proximity to the park. Hardly a day goes by that I don't visit the park to run or cycle. It is an extension of my home. It is my backyard.

We celebrated summer in our back yard the other evening with several thousand of our close new york friends, each vying for a square of grass to listen to the New York Philharmonic play.

It was a perfect night, a week or so before the searing heat and humidity arrived. The Boy and I, the Diva D, The Little Nolita Lady and Professor Yang all assembled for our night under the stars. I had planned my menu for weeks - fresh roast beef sandwiches with homemade blue cheese sauce and red peppers on rosemary-olive rolls, and raspberry and blueberry cheesecake bars. Yum. Of course we also had the requisite bottles of wine.

The music hummed, providing a moving soundtrack to the comfortable night. It was one of those nights when you felt very alive, and giddy, and glad to be amongst friends.

The perfect evening was punctuated by fireworks which lit up the night sky above the skyscrapers in the distance.

As The Boy and I walked home with our blankets and empty bottles, I was happy to be here. Last year at this time, we were still living in New Jersey, and had a long commute ahead after the performance. This night, it was only a few short blocks to home, the best ending to a lovely night.

Have Wheels, Will Disco

2008-07-27T16:17:00.000-07:00

After catching Batman at a theater near Lincoln Center on Saturday, The Boy and I walked home through the park. We skirted the sheep meadow, and came upon the hippest and happiest spot in the park. The Skate Circle on Skater's Road in the park looks like an impromptu roller disco just sprung up out of the asphalt. The dance skaters boogie woogie in old-style skates and short-shorts. Makes me nostalgic for the days when the roller rink was my universe. Of course, where I grew up, the roller rink was in an old barn about 10 miles outside town on an old farm road.

Cat on a Hat

2008-07-27T16:14:00.000-07:00

While sitting in a cab at a red light the other night, we saw the strangest thing - a guy walking through the crosswalk with a live cat balanced on his head. Really. We saw it. It was too dark to get a photo, but I SWEAR it happened. Those of you who know Meow understand that if I tried that stunt with her, I'd be taping my hair back to my scalp for a few weeks. This cat seemed perfectly at ease. Weird.

Night Lights

2008-07-21T19:35:00.000-07:00

Traveled out to Prospect Park in Brooklyn over the weekend to celebrate Easy E's birthday. As twilight approached in the beautiful sister of Central Park, I began to notice some strange flicker of light that I'd never seen before. At first I couldn't figure out what it was. I finally realized what I was seeing was fireflies. I have no memory of every seeing fireflies before, so it was a banner celebration event.

New York Triathlon - Check

2008-06-29T20:57:00.000-07:00

Checked off another milestone yesterday. The Little Nolita Lady and I competed in the Flat as a Pancake Triathlon in Staten Island.

It was my first in a while - definitely not my best - but it did trigger the tri bug.

It was a warm day, but a great race - quarter mile swim, 12 mile bike and 5K run. The swim was in Raritan Bay on Staten Island, and the run ended on the Raritan Bay Board Walk.

We celebrated that night New York style with dinner, drinks and dancing.

One Of Those Days

2008-06-29T20:25:00.000-07:00

It was one of those days when everything just didn't go quite right. I had the 'great' idea to do a long bike ride from our place in Manhattan to Coney Island. So we rode downtown via the West Side Highway bike path, and met The Little Nolita Lady at the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge.

From there, we rode into Brooklyn, around Prospect Park, and then down Ocean Boulevard all the way to the boardwalk.

Along the way we encountered heavy traffic and bumpy roads, and The Boy was almost sideswiped. The bike path along Ocean Boulevard was puncuated by stop lights every 400 yards or so, so it wasn't a relaxing ride. Just a long and dangerous one.

The best part of the day was stopping on the boardwalk and having a hotdog at Nathan's Hot Dogs.

On the way home, The Little Nolita Lady had a minor crash that resulted in an impressive and colorful bruise. We got lost - several times - and I was reminded why i don't want to compete in any reality adventure shows. I don't handle stress on the road very well. Not pretty.

When we finally made it back to the city (a nice lady let us follow her to the Manhattan Bridge after we made yet another wrong turn), we got rained on all the way up the West Side Highway. Wet but relieved that we were almost home, we were cruising on 72nd street near The Dakota apartment building, when the ride turned almost catastrophic. On the nearly empty street, a car with out of state plates made a crazy u-turn in the middle of the road an nearly took The Boy out. Yikes! Then I don't what they were doing, but somehow I was in their sights and I was backed against the curb screaming, "Stop, Stop!" Fortunately, they moved away, and I escaped unharmed.

But The Boy had had enough. He went up to the driver side window and rapped on it. "Roll your window down," he said. The driver had both hands on the wheel and looked straight ahead, as if The Boy wasn't there. "Roll your window down," The Boy demanded. And you know what? The crazy guy did.

The Boy proceeded to tell the man, "You can't just come to New York and make crazy turns in the middle of the street. You almost hit me and you almost hit my wife. You have to be careful."

The man, older, traveling with his wife, said evenly, "Thank you for that information," and rolled his window back up.

We peddled away and finally made it all the way home. If we ever go back to Coney Island, we're taking the train.

Give Her Regards To Broadway

2008-06-13T06:25:00.001-07:00

One of the great things about moving to a new place is meeting new people. The Boy and I have met a number of cool people over the last year and a half, and it is exciting to continue to learn new things about them.

I thought I knew it all about The Little Nolita Lady. Like how much she likes participating in - and excelling at - sports. Like how she likes composing her own music. Like how she loves karaoke. This last one really made no sense to me. The one and only time I had experienced karaoke was New Year's 1992. I was visiting a friend. Our New Year's plans fell through, and we ended up at a sushi restaurant where some untalented bloke was singing a Mac Davis song at midnight. Now maybe it's because I had never eaten sushi before, or used chopsticks or slurped sake, or that my date was a jackass, or maybe it's just that the Mac Davis wannabe was really, really bad, but I didn't have a good time that night. My perception of karaoke was forever tainted.

But because The Little Nolita Lady is my friend, The Boy and I acquiesced last night to hit one of her fave karaoke bars - 2nd on 2nd - after dinner. When we arrived, the cheese factor was circa my 1992 experience. The skill level was about the same, too.

Now, The Little Nolita Lady shared with me that judging karaoke performances has 3 dimensions.

Song Selection
Performance and Charisma
Vocal Ability

To her, the first two are most important and can make up for deficiencies in actual singing ability. At least that is what she told me when trying to persuade me to try my hand at the microphone. I always have contended that the only people who like karaoke are the ones who can actually sing. My hypothesis was borne out, allright. About 30 minutes into the scene, The Little Nolita Lady was called to the stage where she belted out a Proud Mary that gave me goose bumps. She chose a great song. She chit chatted with the crowd. Danced with drunk revelers. And those pipes. Seriously, I'm embarrassed even to SPEAK in front of her after that. The chick can really sing! And perform. And pick cool songs. She is the karaoke trifecta.

So while I am elated at having a friend who is so talented, I'm also feeling a bit vindicated. No wonder I don't like karaoke. I don't want to expose my screeching instrument to the world! The Little Nolita Lady can and should do karaoke every night of the week. In fact, she is one of those few people to whom you would never mutter, "Don't quit your day job," after a turn at the mic. Indeed she SHOULD quit her day job and go sing on Broadway or try out for American Idol or start her own band. I, on the other hand, will stick to writing. It is soundless. : )

Crane Your Head

2008-06-12T15:33:00.000-07:00

I think many of you heard about the crane collapses here. I still can't believe they made national news, but that's another story.

Anyway, when I was walking around today, I saw this big bad boy, and it really blew my mind. I think because this building is so narrow itself, and the crane is so high - probably 50 or 60 stories. It inspires awe at both the ingenuity that enabled cranes to be developed, as well as the potential for disaster we now know is possible. They are doing new construction on my street, but thankfully it's only a 5 story building. Like many in other neighborhoods, I would be less than thrilled to have this in my back yard.

Education Transportation

2008-06-12T15:11:00.000-07:00

Was on the subway in late morning today because of a dentist appointment. There was a group of jr high or high school kids on the subway with their teacher - on a fieldtrip perhaps? Anyway, there was a load of them, and they were being loud and obnoxious, so at first I was annoyed. Then I realized that the teacher was quizzing them on geometry rules and theorems. They were clamoring all over each other to be heard shouting out the answer. It was the coolest thing ever. In between the answers, they were cracking wise, and the teacher was completely non-plussed and just kept going. He helped steer anyone who gave a wrong answer to the right conclusion. I felt really lucky to see something like that in action.

Later, I was walking through City Hall Park. They have tables set up with checkerboards on top. There were a couple of dudes playing chess - an old grizzled dude with a jaunty hat on his head, and a younger, taller, beefy dude. They were going at it, clicking the timer and making their moves. Unfortunately, I couldn't stick around to see who won, but my money's on the older dude.

Which is interesting. Apparently I'm not really in sync with the "inexperienced" whether they are chess players or mathletes. Guess that's why I was supporting Hillary, even though as a Gen Xer, I should have been turned on by Obama's subtle message of hope. Maybe I'm so cynical I don't really believe things can change, and just want someone I know can play the game. Like the old grizzled dude.

Market Mania

2008-06-08T19:20:00.000-07:00

One of the benefits of living in the city is the variety of specialty shops - the butcher, the cheese shop, the bakery, the fruit stand. In my idealized view of the city, I would make time each week to visit these vestiges of the past and thoughtfully select my groceries for the week.

The truth is, I hardly ever do this. There is a butcher who rents space in the bottom floor of my building, and I rarely visit! There are at least 4 small, New York style groceries on my way home from the subway, one right on my block. However, I usually forgo all of this to exercise one of the other benefits of the city - they deliver everything. Therefore, just about once a week, I receive a thoughtfully-selected bounty from Fresh Direct. It is more convenient, and I'm actually less apt to buy a bunch of stuff I don't need - or worse - forget to buy the stuff I do need.

And while I do appreciate the benefits of getting my groceries delivered this way, I sometimes wonder if I am contributing to the demise of "New York City - the hard-scrabble land of dreams" and contributing to "New York City, the Disney theme park."

Texas-Style Weekend

2008-06-08T18:28:00.000-07:00

Temperatures soared into the 90s in NYC this weekend, and along with high humidity, brought a profoundly Texas feel to the weekend.

I paid a visit to the Union Square Greenmarket on Saturday morning, while the oven was just pre-heating. Picked up some beautiful beets and lettuces and cheese from nearby farmers which made a delightful salad later that evening. There were vendors with all kinds of herbs and plants for sale, making me wistful for my mom. She loves that stuff and would have enjoyed the morning.

Later in the day, The Boy and I met up with The Little Nolita Lady at the Big Apple Barbecue Festival in Madison Square Park. I wanted a taste of Texas 'Cue, and there were two vendors on hand from the Lone Star State. I wanted to hit The Salt Lick Barbecue from Driftwood, Texas for the beef brisket and beef sausage and slaw. It had passed the 90 degree mark by then, and to my dismay, the line for The Salt Lick was at least an hour long and snaked around the sweltering pavement of Madison Avenue and 26th street. 2 people fainted while I was in line. With sweat rolling down my back in rivers, fainting seemed like a reasonable plan for fast-tracking the line, and getting a frozen washcloth and some free food.

Finally, after the long wait, we settled on the grass in the park with wisps of live music drifting our way, and communed with several thousand of our fellow New Yorkers. The Lady Lawhorn will be happy to know that we spotted several proud displays of horns amongst the crowd. It was a day well-lived, and a nice reminder of home.

A River Runs Through It

2008-06-01T18:12:00.000-07:00

Ventured out with The Boy last weekend on a great adventure on two wheels. We rode our road bikes through Central Park, to 72nd Street, then by the Dakota Lofts, where John Lennon famously lived and died, west to Riverside drive and then north about 90 or 100 blocks to the George Washington Bridge. From the bridge, as you can see, is a great view of the Hudson River, with New Jersey bordering the right, and the island of Manhattan on the left.

From there we ventured to Palisade State Park in New Jersey, where we rode up and down the rolling hills bordering the river.

It was a challenging and sometimes nerve racking ride, but a great way to spend a sunny weekend morning.

That Stinks

2008-06-01T18:02:00.000-07:00

My friend La Bitcha from Houston works for Aramark. Looks like her brethren here in NYC are skeeved about something. They've been on strike for at least a month, lorded over by a giant inflatable skunk. I walk by them each morning on my way to work. They always have 2 foil serving platters full of breakfast. I wonder who is providing the catering. Surely not Aramark?

Chicks Flick

2008-06-01T17:39:00.000-07:00

Set out with my girlfriends on Friday night for the 11:30 showing of Sex and the City, the movie. Full of anticipation, we dined at Citrus before we headed to the theatre at Lincoln Center. Women were dressed to the nines - including one who had a feathered bird in her hair - for the chick flick of the year.

Little did we know that chicks would actually be flicking, and shoving, and cutting, and cursing, and running to get into the theatre.

After waiting in a line as long as Samantha's list of sexual conquests, we began moving forward amicably. But then all hell broke loose and large hordes of women began pushing their way forward as if Manolo Blahnik himself was crafting customized pairs of shoes just beyond the double door entrance.

It was a low point in womendom. And, because of all the craziness ad ruckus, I didn't even dare venture out for popcorn, MnMs and a cherry coke, my movie staple.

Fortunately, the movie itself provided that salty and sweet combination. I just wish there had been a little more sweet and a little less salt within the movie viewing public.

On The Boardwalk

2008-05-12T06:06:00.000-07:00

Completed the Brooklyn Half Marathon last week with my friend Hot Brooklyn Mama. The race began on Coney Island on the boardwalk. It was cold and overcast - not good picture weather - so I just took a photo of my feet on the boardwalk. Hot Brooklyn Mama and I ran all the way from Coney Island to Prospect Park - 13.1 miles. What a blast! Afterward, The Boy picked me up in the car. Yes, we still have one car in the city. I was relieved not to have to truck the subway home. Especially after a crazy early morning bus ride out to Coney Island in a ghetto school bus with no shocks!

Seen on the commute home

2008-05-12T06:00:00.000-07:00

Girls Gone Mild!

2008-04-21T18:54:00.000-07:00

I'm not embarrassed to tell you that I can be a little shallow. I like a nice bag and hot shoes. I adore my diamond wedding ring. And I love reading about celebrity exploits at all the cool clubs around town. Between that and Sex and the City reruns showcasing the breathy excitement of what's inside, I decided it would be a neat idea to have a club night with all my gal pals.

The key to club night is actually getting into the club. I have heard countless stories of cranky and demented doorment who execute a perplexing decision-making process to determine who gets in. I abhor waiting in lines. I was willing to pay a little to get on a list or have some assurance of VIP treatment.

We first made some calls to the Pink Elephant, but it was going to cost us something like $300 a person. I wasn't sure if I actually wanted to pay that much. Fortunately the Little Nolita Lady had some connections, and we were able to secure our names on a VIP list for the opening of a new club called The Mansion.

Club night started at about midnight (gasp). The line to get in the door wasn't really a line at all, but a mob scene. Exasperated club staff hulked up and down the sidewalk yelling at all the frivolity seekers to form one single line. Which they didn't. For awhile, we couldn't even find anyone in charge to confirm our VIP status. Then it seemed like EVERYONE in the line around us thought they were a VIP too. We thought our whole plan had gone down the tubes. But a few recon missions later, and we were in, baby. And while it was good to be in, it wasn't what I expected. The idea of it was much better than the reality. Nevertheless, we had a fun night dancing and getting wired on vodka and Red Bull.

At around 4 am, we tried to change the scenery a bit. But after waiting in another line - one in which there was no VIP pass waiting for us at the end - we decided to hit the road. Our Sex and the City night was a blast. But I'd rather cuddle up with my greatest accessory - The Boy.

Flying through the air with the greatest of . . . please.

2008-04-17T13:35:00.000-07:00

So I had another Sex in the City moment recently. An acquaintance asked me if I wanted to accompany several folks to the trapeze school that Carrie immortalized in one of the episodes.

I was so excited to go, but didn't know quite what to expect. I had visions of gracefully catapulting through the air looking both athletic and relaxed.

What I got was quite different. Turns out I'm afraid of heights. Very afraid of heights.

First I wouldn't jump off the platform (even though I was protected by a harness and a very forgiving net). Absolutely refused. It was starting to get embarrassing. Finally I aquiesced (mainly because I didn't relish the prospect of disembarking the platform via the rickety ladder.). Then, once I made the leap, I wouldn't let go of the bar. No way. Not gonna do it. I was just hanging there, eyes closed, refusing to let go, while all of the other students looked on. They had to manually lower the bar down toward the net before I felt comfortable. Did I mention this was in front of a few people that I work with? I'm still embarrassed, but relieved I never have to do that again.

My sister, the Dainty Drug Dealer, wants to try it when she comes into town next month. I'm doing her and the rest of the class a favor. I'll be taking photos on the sidelines.

Adventures in Powerlessness

2008-03-28T19:36:00.000-07:00

The universe had something to say today. Time can't be controlled, it said - not by me and not by the chick with the jingly hair who shared the subway with me from 125th street. This was after the subway we were on passed up the stop we were supposed to make. Instead of stopping at 96th street, it went on, passing 103rd street, 110th street, 116th street, finally stopping at 125th. The jingly-haired girl and I were both relieved. We weren't any more in control of our destiny at that point. But as we waited assuredly for the next train downtown, we pretended we were.

Lessons Learned

2008-03-26T18:56:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, the city surprises you. Whether it's a blowup doll sitting prone in the window of an apartment building you pass everyday, or the delivery of a brother in arms who sets you on the path to rightousness.

I joined a writing group to meet other writers and hopefully, find more writing discipline. At the first event, I found the bottom of two martini glasses. Since I had an almost empty stomach, it wasn't really a good scene. Is it a coincidence that no one I talked to at the last event made it to this one? I don't think so.

Anyway, at this evening's event, I met Mr. Corporate Whore, who toils away for an insurance company in Tarrytown. When I shared my challenges getting into a writing regimen, Mr. Corporate Whore took me to task. He urged me to write not because I felt like I should, but because I enjoy it. A good lesson.

In Search of The Real

2008-03-23T19:58:00.000-07:00

The Boy and I went to see Passing Strange on Broadway Saturday night. I totally love love loved it, but The Boy was a little more non-plussed. Nevertheless, the real show was on the subway after. A homeless guy who deconstructed a meat on a stick, then threw the hunks of meat onto the seat next to him, and then picked at them as if they were a bowl of peanuts at a cocktail party. Then there were the hispanic teenagers who kept bending over and inadvertantly showing off their purple and orange grany panties hanging out the top of their low slung jeans. Finallly there was a pimp wannabe in a gray suit, red shirt and aviator sunglasses primping his reflection in the subway car windows, who, ultimately, gave us a little dancing with the stars action, tripping the light fantastic to his own personal soundtrack. Or perhaps just tripping.

Saturday Sightings

2008-03-23T18:43:00.000-07:00

Set out for my weekly long run with The Little Nolita Lady, armed with camaraphone, should we see any interesting sights. We were almost home after an uneventuful run when we spied the actor Ron Rifkin of Alias fame at a restuarant on Madison Ave. We chose not to take a photo of him - too cheesy.

It's Official

2008-03-17T18:11:00.001-07:00

It's official. I am tired of winter. Of wearing heavy coats and dark colored tights. My hands are desparate to be free of claustorphobic gloves. Spring! Release me!

Sunday In The Park

2008-03-16T20:12:00.000-07:00

Did an early morning run with The Little Nolita Lady this morning. Here's what we saw:

1. A jogger juggling 3 red balls
2. A high school orchestra rehearsing in a small outdoor ampitheatre in the park
3. A priest handing out palm fronds for Palm Sunday
4. A woman leading a donkey in a Palm Sunday procession
5. A choir and bell ringers in same procession

Snow Day

2008-02-10T17:04:00.001-08:00

Snowing out my window.

Spotted on the Lower East Side

2008-02-10T07:25:00.000-08:00

Spotted on the Lower East Side Friday night - Leerone giving one of her few New York performances - at The Living Room. Later in the night saw her canoodling in the corner with a rep from Epic Records. Go Leerone! Rock that shit!

The Zoo

2008-02-09T09:48:00.001-08:00

I saw a model in her native habitat today. She was tall, willowy and blond, and doing her time behind the register at Anthropologie unti she gets her big break, I guess. I really knew I was experiencing something unique when she turned to her associate and asked, "What is $19.90 divided by two?" Then she stared at the person, bored, and annoyed that her head had to do anything other than sprout golden locks of hair. I looked around for the cameras, but they weren't there. I was going to help her, but on all the nature shows, they say the first rule is not to intervene and just let the scenes play themselves out naturally. It was truly moving. I felt almost like Jane Goodall.

Old Dogs

2008-02-09T09:23:00.000-08:00

Overheard in the Starbucks down the street from our apt.

Scene 1: Two older gentlemen at adjoining tables are enjoying their coffee and a lively early morning debate. One man is tall, with a head of thick, silvery hair, and smartly dressed. The other man is short and slovenly, with an old ratty t-shirt hanging out the bottom of a too-small hoodie. His hair is wirey and attempting to allight off his head.

Mr. Slovenly
I believe that men and women can talk and be friends without it being all about sex.

Mr. Smart
Yes.

Mr. Slovenly
I mean, I don't know what that writer was talking about. I don't think about sex 100% percent of the time. I can be talking to a woman about politics or books or the weather or whatever, and I'm not also thinking about sex.

Mr. Smart
Well, maybe subconciously.

Mr. Slovenly
Well, subconsciously! That's a completely different issue. That is for Sigmund Freud to work out.

Footwear Phenom

2008-02-06T07:13:00.000-08:00

You may be familiar with the Morton Salt image of the young girl walking in the rain spilling salt as she goes. She has an umbrella and a cute yellow dress, but no galoshes. Well, I can tell you that I'm one step ahead of her! I am certain that the backs of her legs are getting splattered with mud, and her shoes will be worse for the wear - soaking wet and miserable on her feet. Cold feet and wet trouser bottoms are no fun. That's why on rainy days I've got my Hunter Galoshes (http://www.wellie-boots.com/) - or wellies, if you want to get British about it. I'm quite dashing in my hunter green wellies and my green raincoat. I certainly never needed anything like galoshes in Houston - I was never out in the rain for more than minutes at a time. But I spend at least 40 minutes walking outside each day - 20 minutes each way. So my galoshes keep my feet dry and my heart warm.

Safe Sex

2008-02-04T19:40:00.000-08:00

On the way home tonight on the subway, The Boy and I spotted a condom jammed under the seat in front of us. I tried to get a photo, but some people sat down, and I felt kind of like a jackass to ask them to move so I could take a picture of a condom. So I didn't. Then I was going to "reenact the scene" once we got home, but as old married people, we don't have ready access to condoms. So you'll just have to take my word for it. We saw an unleashed condom on the subway. Made me wonder - how did it get there? Did someone think it was funny to leave the little guy behind, or was someone (two someone's I guess) getting it on during a late night Risky Business reenactment of their own? The Boy posited that it hitched a ride into the subway car stuck to someone's shoe. Whatever the reason, I've got just one word for it. Yucky.

Dogged Optimism

2008-01-28T17:12:00.000-08:00

While out in the nabe the other day, I came across an interesting site - a trio of dog walkers wrangling their charges. The dogs were in groups - big dogs, medium dogs, and small and geriatric dogs. Each dog walker was responsible for a passal of at least 6 or 7 dogs. The dogs were all quite well-behaved - no infighting and no unscheduled stops. It was quite a spectacle watching three such large groups of canines galloping down 3rd avenue! I got tsk-tsk-ed by an old couple when I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to take a photo. Bad form. But the dogs brought a smile to my face. It's just not the kind of thing you see in downtown Houston.

What A Drag

2008-01-20T17:29:00.000-08:00

After the West Side Beauty's Birthday dinner, we did a little monkeying around of her own at The Randolph at Broome http://newyork.citysearch.com/review/45697379. We went down to the basement, where the "cool people in the know" go. Guess what we found? A basement reminiscent of "That 70s Show." And - SMOKING! I guess it's some sort of modern-day speakeasy for smokers. But there was no ventilation, and drippy pipes. Gross!

On the positive side, we did get to meet Fast Fingers Yang's Dallas-based girl-no-space-friend. Cute as a hiccup!

Monkey Shines

2008-01-20T15:01:00.000-08:00

Attended the official celebration of the West Side Beauty's birthday Saturday night. We started the evening with an ill-fated dinner at Monkey Bar. Intrigued as we were by the coat-check guy's boast of a $3 million renovation in the dining room, we were still hard-pressed to get service at the almost empty bar. But it was a night of celebration! We let it slide when we finally received our wine, traditional martinis and lychee martinis. The West Side Beauty (with two friends in tow - one real and one imaginary), the Little Nolita Lady, and another newcomer to our girlie foursome - Ms K 2 U - all toasted with The Boy and I.

Later, we were shown into the cavernous - and empty - dining room. Sometimes when a restaurant isn't busy, you are lucky enough to get that extra bit of care and attention that makes an evening memorable. This was not one of those nights. While the food was good, it was promoted as "family style." The only way that food could have been conceived as family style is if you defined family as a couple of thumbless vegetarians. Seriously, I could have shoveled through the majority of the plates myself and only been mildly full. As it was, we ordered 3 appetizers and 4 entrees for 6 people, that left me dreaming wistfully about the delicate bouquet of a sidewalk cart hotdog.

We waited about 25 minutes for our appetizers, and about the same time for our entrees. (This was what made us begin to wonder if there honestly were monkeys in the back slinging hash for this joint.) Honestly, the service was so lacking and the food so small I just wanted to leave. So when the dessert menu came, we decided to skip it. (Note: even though there were only 2 or 3 other tables in the restaurant, they didn't have enough dessert menus for the six of us at our table. I was denied a menu of my own because it was "dirty". Hmmm.

So we decided just to pay the check.

Silly silly people.

The Boy and Ms K 2 U pored over the check and figured out the per person total. Six credit cards were offered, and the waiter and our credit cards disappeared behind the red curtain. We waited. We waited. We cracked jokes and waited some more. FINALLY the waiter reappeared.

He handed out each of the credit card receipts to be signed, and disappeared again. So we all went about signing our reciepts with the 2 pens. We had finished up and were gathering our belongings to leave when the waiter comes back and says, "Thanks and have a lovely evening. OH BY THE WAY, there is $97 that still remains unpaid on your bill." Wha?

Apparently we had inadvertently missed the bar tab on the bill. The imbecile (was he a monkey in a man suit? Perhaps.) didn't have the wherewithall to inform us of our error before he ran all of our credit cards or prior to all of us signing the receipts.

We were so pissed, whoever had cash just threw it in the pile, just so we could get out of there!

Monkey bar, indeed! The whole place is a zoo.

Youthful Indiscretions

2008-01-18T07:17:00.000-08:00

Celebrated the West Side Beauty's triple decade last night at Ulysses in the Financial District. Then it was off to Brass Monkey in Chelsea. My assessment of the night? Another clear indicator that people over 37 shouldn't be allowed to drink to excess in public.

Only in New York

2008-01-12T06:48:00.001-08:00

So I saw this guy when I was walking to work last week - dressed in white from head to toe, with even a white leather backpack and a white umbrella.

Spotted at Lincoln Center . . You Know You Love It

2007-12-22T15:59:00.000-08:00

Spotted at Lincoln Center - Serena van der Woodsen. The Little Nolita Lady called me, breathless with excitement. XXOO, kids.