Gunjumpin' Saturday

Today was the sort of day that I had to force myself outside, and when I did, I knew it was not going to be fruitful or productive.

I packed up my things, ready to hit Prospect Park and decided for a number of strange reasons, the primary one being laziness, to take the train.  I waited for about 20 minutes (could have walked to the park by then) and when the train finally arrived, it was virtually full.  I sat down in the last remaining seat and immediately worried why it was still available.  It didn't smell bad, no vomit on the bench, so I sat and started reading my book.  It was one stop later when I realized the object moving in the corner of my eye was much closer than I had initially thought.  I slowly turned my head to the right, and found myself staring into the eyes of an iguana who was perched on my neighbor's shoulder.  It's tail was threatening to touch my shoulder.   It was just a few seconds later that the doors between the cars opened and a man with one leg propelled himself into our car and started rattling his change cup.  The noise distracted me only slightly from the pain--the guy had rolled over my right foot.  I looked up suddenly and surely gasped a bit when it happened.  The man just looked at me in disgust, told me to watch my feet, shook his cup full of coins, and rolled on.  If anything I should have gotten a bit of cash, but no, he's in the wheelchair. fine.

I walked around a bit, overheard weird conversations about the farmer's market "Yeah, of course they have food...it's a market" and realized I needed to get to the sanctuary of home. STAT.

Let's Name Him "Four Legged Joke"

Sometimes I hate it when people go on and on about the expression in their dogs eyes.  To me, a typical dog's emotional range is "happy to have food" to "happy to eat you as if you were food".  They always seem kinda dumb and overeager to me, which is why I like cats because even though they are dumb sometimes, they don't show it.  

This myth was dispelled the other day when I found this "canine model".  Look at his face.  That look is humiliation.  I sincerely hope it turned to "I hate you" and he took care of his stylist.

--More:  I just stared at this again for a little while and realized that not only are the front legs all messed up in this photo, but that display window looks like a yellow ball.  The result is that this poor beast looks like a seal with a big tongue.  Even the tongue looks superimposed.  OF COURSE he is panting!  You just wrapped a furry creature in rubber.  It's hot in there.  

Culinary Anthropology

My good friend Stacey was an exhibitor at the 55th Annual Fancy Food show this year, and being the little doll she is, she got me a pass for the final day.  I have never been to the fancy food show, but it sounded fun and why not?  I would get to see Stacey and there is the added bonus that I would get to hang out with her live in boyfriend for a bit - he happens to be my little brother.  Yesterday was one was of those urban summer days that starts off hot and humid and you can't help but to think that even the concrete is inconvenienced by the heat.  Worst yet, I had to do that dreaded walk to the Javits Center which is like walking through another city--a crappy one, at that.  They shouldn't even call that corner New York City.  It should just sort of be something else.  For now I shall call it "Javitstown".  Sorry Jacob, your town kinda sucks a little.

Alas, once I got there I was happy I made the effort.  Nice cool open spaces full of delicacies from around the world. Nice nice nice...now how to find the Promise Me Chocolate booth?  Whilst consulting the vendor tome trying to make sense of it all, a plate of truffled triple cream brie and mini toasts with an onion marmalade was thrust under my nose.  A perky cheese monger with a grey bob I immediately coveted was plying her wares.  What the hell? I was hungry and a bit hungover, and it isn't as though I sought her out, she came to me.  Thank you wonderful breakfast delivery lady!   Happily licking my fingers free of crumbs and cheese, I headed towards booth 5400 with resolve and determination.  

After a few moments of greetings and congratulations, I took some time to walk through the enormous space and check out what people were trying to pass off onto the rest of the world.  I was in the New York State section, where everything was very colorful and the exhibitors were quite eager to give samples and talk about their products.  I tried blueberry pesto, pomegranate Greek style yogurt, pineapple coconut water, and whole wheat pasta shaped like a dinosaur in the first 20 minutes.   At the next row things got a bit weirder with crunchy corn snacks whose packaging boasted of "fire" flavor (Asia), apple gummy candies and a spicy paneer masala that came in a tiny box.  Finally, I decided to head upstairs the Mediterranean section.  The stark contrast was incredible.  Clean white modern booths with rows and rows of oil and brined goods stood on shelves with a small tray of bread cubes and tiny bowls of their goods.   Most booths had tiny cafe tables and well dressed men (and a very few women) sat with leather binders and Mont Blancs and talked to one another.  It looked like everyone was having a business meeting, and they were, but the difference was that the rest of us could just walk on by without a glance.  At first it was nice to be able to amble along at my own pace and pick and choose what I wanted to taste or inspect.  But after about an hour I sort of missed the chatting and being persuaded to try new things.  I felt intimidated by my lack of knowledge in the canned sardine realm.  I wanted to go back to where I was wanted.  I wanted to go back to where I belonged - in the New York aisle.  Mostly, I wanted more Greek style pomegranate yogurt, from New York.

Suckage

Today sucked.  There, I said it.   But really, it sucked a lot.   I woke up and immediately knew things were not gonna go well.  Before I went to bed I broke my kitchen light ON.  Like, the pull string snapped and now it is permanently ON.  So the morning was spent waiting for an electrician.  Finally, I grew impatient so I went to the library.  Nothing terrible occurred on my way there, but walking through the Botanic Garden on my way back was when I heard that a certain "something" was ending.  Via text message.   DOUCHENOZZLEDOM!

By the time I got home Farrah Fawcett had died.  I tried to doze and watched Chaplin.  A real pick me up.  Talk about tears of a fucking clown.  Yeesh!  That guy's life sucked.

 I cooked collard greens.

And then Michael Jackson died.

Not the best Thursday...no....

Two Tickets, Please!

and pack your bags tonight.

MTA rates have increased and nobody is happy about it.  I recommend they try to keep up with the competition when it comes to destinations.

The Stick

There are times when I really wonder about life, the whys and whatfors,  and from time to time the cosmic and nihilistic "what is the point of it all?!" crosses my mind.  During these times I rarely come to any great conclusion, but I usually think it is to create.  Whether it be for the good of mankind and progress, or simply for the grandeur of mankind.   Be it art or science, human beings need to thrive for the next best thing.  I think we can all be thankful for penicillin, modern laser surgery, and developments in cancer research.  Many can praise those who have made advancements in the realms of vision and hearing, some dole out accolades to the scientists who have brought us viagra and silicone implants.  I am thrilled to be writing this from my kitchen table while I boil eggs (this recipe is killer).  However, a new item has come into my life which has altered my existence instantaneously, and I have no idea how to thank the creator enough.  Ladies and Germs, I introduce you to the Dirt Devil StickVac.

If you live in a city apartment smaller than 800 square feet with hard wood floors, area rugs and lots of pre-war molding, this is the must have item of the season.  Make that year.  It is 4 pounds of plugged in power.  Not only can it cover rugs and bare floors, but it converts to a stick for the hard to reach crevices that some half rate contractor figured would just fill in with grime.  THEN, it can be a hand vac, which is great for small dark corners and terrifying your cat when he is trying to eat.

All this action for less than 25 bucklngs.  I had my doubts, but they were sucked up and chucked away along with the large grey wig I managed to collect in the bagless canister.  Life altering, my friends.  Life altering.

A little bit ironic...

Among the many fantastic experiences of my German wine tour was the opportunity to visit a giant bath house. The town where I stayed was a bit rough around the edges, but the BÄDERHAUS was a veritable oasis. Multiple saunas at varying temperatures and levels of humidity surround a large pool where people can just bob around and soak in the relaxing vibe. Ideal, right? But for me the record scratches at "co-ed" and "nude". I admit I am an outgoing person in most ways, but I am exceptionally shy, and the thought of lounging (and sweating) next to droves of German men did not appeal to me. Lying the in the Turkish Hamam room, I talked myself down and realized that a number of things were on my side

1) I will never see any of these people again
2) Most of these people are older-by about 30 years
3) None of these men are really attractive really, so who cares?

By the second visit I was confident that I was invisible and thought nothing of tossing off my bathrobe and running into the Ice Grotto (basically a giant Snoopy Sno-Cone machine made to look like a cave with ice shavings. Quite incredible after baking in the 90 degree Celsius dry tank). In fact, there were a few times when I thought that the robe was just a pain in the ass, and I would just wear it like a cape to the next station on my circuit. Like a boxer stepping into the ring if a boxer wore white waffled cotton robes.

So increased was my comfort in this situation, that when sitting in the whirlpool, I actually beckoned the tall young male employee in little white short shorts over to ask when the whirling would begin again. I was in the pool with my travel partner looking up at the bespectacled German youth who was quite animatedly explaining the schedule, when suddenly I realized with horror that he was actually quite handsome. Looking up into his aquamarine eyes (they could have been grey, but simply reflecting the blue of the unwhirling water I was in), I took in his perfect features-tan toned arms, smooth skin marred only by a small wispy moustache that was the same sunshiney blonde of his hair. Had I not just emerged from the lavender room (60 degrees Celsius) he would have surely seen me blush. It was the most vulnerable I had felt in at least a decade, and it was not fun. Luckily, seconds after this happened, the water started to roil and froth and we joked and laughed and he walked away so I could slowly dunk my head under the water and scream.