Focus on Nothing

Looks like my hostel accommodations in Stockholm are pretty much covered. I jumped at the opportunity to join a focus group about travel, answered the litany of questions, and was accepted. It was to be a two hour group complete with lunch and refreshments. I arrived, signed in, and sat in the waiting room while others filed in.

To my confusion, everybody was called except for myself and another person. A few minutes later, we were informed that we were chosen as alternates and only had to wait a half hour. If the coordinators felt someone in the group wasn't compatible, we would replace them.

I guess all members of the group were compatible because a half an hour later, we were both handed an envelope of money and told to go home.

$125 for a half hour of my time. Not bad.

Another Reason My Church Kicks Ass!

Christmas in July!

Today, we sang Christmas carols in a sweltering sanctuary, complete with a decorated lit up tree. It was to remind us that love, charity, and acceptance of others aren't to be focused on in December alone.

I hadn't attended in some time, so it was great to see so many more new members. Several of them in my age group. This is a first in a congregation that for the past ten years counted only a few members who were under the age of 35.

Eleven Years On

And I almost forgot.

It wasn't until last night when it occurred to me that today is my eleven year anniversary of moving to the city. I only realized this when during a conversation with one of our shelter guests, she revealed that she had once lived in the same residence I had when I first moved here.

Even more special is that today is the actual day, Sunday, when I arrived.

Another odd thing. This very residence is now a luxury hotel. My own friend will be staying there when she visits in a few weeks. I can't wait to go back and check out my old haunt.

Frailty of Life

Leaving work yesterday, right outside the building, was a scene of pure carnage - a gruesome accident involving a bicycle rider and a DHL truck. Thankfully, I had stepped out as the ambulance was pulling away, sirens blaring, carrying this poor nameless soul off to the closest hospital. Walking over to the scene of the accident, complete with yellow police tape and gathered crowd, what I witnessed in the aftermath of it all, left me sick to my stomach.

Those who saw the whole thing, including a friend who happened to be outside immediately after the collision, surmised that the rider had perished. By the looks of the deep river of blood filling in the crevices of uneven pavement, sadly, I could only agree. This morning, as reported in two of the local papers, he did.

Countries Under One Roof

Today was spent pretty much all day at the NY Times travel show where I was able to procure a 50% discounted entrance ticket thanks to one of the many travel forums I visit. Otherwise, in my honest opinion, it wasn't worth the full price.

One of the few things I looked forward to were the sweepstakes and various freebies. It's also good to know that my collection of free pens will continue to be safe and sound for another twenty years. I scored a few Post-It note pads and an American Express key chain/flashlight. I also had a lively conversation with the person at the Romania booth who seemed relieved to hear that I knew more about her native country than Dracula's castle.

I did win a trip, a 5 day cruise to Bermuda. But something was fishy about that congratulatory phone call and the suspicious feeling inside my gut was confirmed. Sundance Vacations is your run of the mill scam operation. Better luck next time, I guess.

Merry Christmas

Angry Feast

Tonight was a night out at the Scandinavia House for a screening of the 1988 film, Babette's Feast. Excellent movie. If you have the opportunity to watch, I most definitely recommend. The story is centered geographically in the Jutland region of Denmark. Yes, there are subtitles, but you won't get lost in the sauce of the storyline. I promise! The synopsis is a bit similar to the film Chocolat in that the main character, with a mysterious background, arrives in a remote and insular village only to magically transform it later on. Complete with morality challenges. In Babette's Feast however, it is in the form of an exquisite meal for the community paid for by lottery winnings.

Another plus of movie night at SH is that if you order a coffee and a dessert together, showing your movie ticket, it comes out to just $2.00 total. That's surprisingly cheap by Manhattan standards. I lovingly selected a huge ginger cookie on offer from Eli's, and was immediately disappointed at how stale it tasted. However, the coffee was pure Scandinavia - dark and strong.

Now here is where it gets angry. I am one who silently (and sometimes verbally) flips out when a person's cell phone begins ringing at the most inappropriate times, especially when the culprit doesn't answer or seem to realize how much of a nuisance they are causing. So, you can imagine how much I nearly died of embarrassment when my own mobile started ringing during the film.

Normally, I keep it on vibrate and am rarely one to catch a call on time. Of course, that night was, it seemed, the one and only time I mistakenly turned the phone on and it began ringing well into the movie. Keep in mind that I was in the second row, right smack dab in the middle, and wasn't even aware at first that it was my phone. Since it sounded oddly close by, it wasn't until like, the tenth ring that I fully realized the evildoer was me. Trying to sneak into my purse to turn it off, thus hoping to conceal the evidence, all was apparent to several audience members directly in front who the guilty party was. You would have thought I had just eaten a baby dipped in BBQ sauce!

Sigh

The Way We Were

It Was More Funner During the Strike

The dog days of August are upon us, and the city is sweltering hot. News reports last week predicted an end to the heatwave we were experiencing. It finally broke, giving us the most glorious weather -- for one day. Mother Nature decided to fool us yet again and continue her vicious cycle of heat and humidity. As an additional "Fuck y'all!", she added severe rainstorms to the mix, and they aren't removing humidity from the air.

I woke up this morning to chaos. More problems from the water building. Nothing new, I thought. Apparently, the city's plumbing was overwelmed in some spots, including ours. The pipes burst in the mid-section of the building, spewing water, plaster and other mysterious matter all over the hallways. From the top to the bottom - every single floor. Thankfully, the apartments were okay. It wasn't until I got to the subway station when I realized the problem was much more severe and not unique to my building. No trains.

The crowds swelled on the platform, still, no trains. Commuters began pouring in, and with no more room down below, gathered in the hallways and sat on stairs. It wasn't until the situation was almost to the breaking point when we were informed the entire subway system was down. Forget buses, which were packing people in like sardines and skipping stops. Forget cabs, which were already using the buddy system to reach final destinations. Finally, I resigned myself to the fact that I would just have to walk to work. This wouldn't be too bad, right? Wrong.

I tried to imitate the camaraderie of a few years ago as best I could when the MTA went on strike during a December cold snap. My memories of those few days are of being bundled up and cozy in my goose down coat and Hush Puppies boots, all comfy and assured that I could take what the MTA wanted to dish out to us. Today, however, after the tenth block; stupid pedestrians amok, sweat pouring down my back - I had enough. I wasn't built for hot weather. On Madison, I overheard one person on her cell alerting whomever that the Starbucks on 36th was closed due to plumbing problems, inducing head shaking and eye rolling spasms on my part. By the time I turned that corner, an unbearable fishy sewage smell permeated the air, and I knew that Starbucks had more problems on their hands than they were ever going to realize.

I managed to get to work and greet the slow drizzle of co-workers coming from distances far beyond where I commuted from. What a day. I can't wait for vacation.

Free Cornbread

For some odd inexplicable reason, the corner of 34th and Broadway is thee epicenter for free handouts. The freebies I have received on my way from the subway exit to my workplace, have ranged anywhere from protein bars, to energy saving light bulbs (for Earth Day), and condoms (for AIDS Awareness Day). Today was no different in the uniqueness that is free booty.

To promote the grand opening of another branch of Dallas BBQ (excellent Texas Size Pina Coladas, I might add), a delivery man was handing out free warm cornbread. Right there on the street. At first, I viewed him with suspicion. Then the thought occurred to me that he was just fed up with the job and enacting some kind of revenge by giving away his delivery orders. All before turning in his apron, of course. After observing others, I slowly approached and reached for one of the brown paper bags that he was handing out. Back in the office, I opened it to see that I had been given two huge pieces of cornbread. Each piece was about 3"x3"x2" in size -- and so delicious.

Just another day in the things that make NYC so oddly interesting.

The Send Off of All Send Offs

If there is one place that I have walked by week after week, month after month, year after year; it had to be Republic. This noodle restaurant on Union Square West. I was hesitant at first, but after I checked out the menu and consulted with others who had eaten there and raved all about it, I decided on the "#21 Pad Thai Noodles", and was pleasantly pleased with my choice. Delicious. Cheap food, fantastic Asian Sangria, and vegetable dumplings that were to die for. It's funny how the establishments we judge to be too pricey because of the aesthetics outside the building, deter us from experiencing what is on the inside.

This is the spot we chose to have a small intimate going away dinner last night for one of my friends. This lucky duck is packing up and moving on to Spain in a few weeks. After dinner, and after perusing through American Eagle, we headed to "Sundaes and Cones", the ice cream place I recommended, which ended up being a hit. The flavors they have are unique and yumtastic. I turned everyone on to the grapefruit sorbet. Trust me on this folks - it's delectable.

Since we were near St. Mark's Place, A mentioned she had been itching for a belly piercing to match her belly button piercing. We found where she'd gone before; to a place called Addiction. J and K couldn't stomach the idea, so I volunteered to hold A's hand throughout the ordeal; while she got it done by a man who looked eerily like Rasputin. Originally, they thought she wanted what was called a "Christina" (warning strong images!), but thankfully, we corrected that misunderstanding immediately. Plus, we learned a new term for the night. I ended up getting pierced as well -- by A's nails as she squeezed my hand during the procedure! While we were indisposed, J and K went and bought the fedoras we agreed upon earlier they looked great in.

The night was capped off by torrential downpours and a make your own cotton candy machine outside a Chinese restaurant that charges only a buck for the powder. Interesting establishment, with a WANTED poster that featured several Asian men. The sign hung next to the stinky cooking station, where, of course everyone would be looking for criminals on the lamb.

On the way to the subway, we four stepped full on into a huge puddle. In flip flops, no less. It's official, we declared - all of us had to have caught a disease after that cataclysmic mistake.

Where There's Smoke, Not Always Fire

This morning, I finally discovered the source for all the smokey smell which permeated my apartment. It was a building fire, several blocks away, in the other direction from where the smell was eminating. Had I known, I probably would have saved myself, together with some of my fellow tenants, the dramatics of walking several blocks east, in the rain, trying to pinpoint the source.

It wasn't until the next morning on my way to work, that I finally saw where all the activity occurred, and that the building was still smoldering.

Remembering The Disappeared

Taking a mini-break from the hectic environment that is completing my research paper, for the first time in many years, I finally got to semi-participate in the annual Museum Mile Festival. Yeah! Although it rained and I quickly realized that my transportation opportunities were limited by being up in the early 100's mark of the city's street numbers, I didn't realize upon getting there that all of 5th Avenue was closed down for the event. So, walking in the pouring rain in unfamiliar territory was a bit of a let down to the festivities.

What I really wanted to see was an exhibition at El Museo del Barrio on The Disappeared (Los Desaparecidos), which was nearing the end of its run.

An explanation of the term:

"To disappear was newly defined during the twentieth century military dictatorships in Latin America. 'Disappear' evolved into a transitive verb describing those considered threats to the State who were kidnapped, tortured, and killed by their own military, especially in the 1970s in Argentina, Brazil, Chile, and Uruguay."

My interest in this subject came about accidentally, several years ago, after coming across the book I Remember Julia at the library.

Even if you are not well versed in the stories of The Disappeared, this exhibit pretty much spelled things out. That such a horrifying period of history could produce such impacting art, is in a word - amazing. To read the stories about The Disappeared is one thing, to see artist interpretations is another matter all together. Many of the artists involved were either members of the resistance, survivors themselves, or had known those who had been abducted. Their art depicts the absolute fear, violence, personal loss, mental confusion and torture of this hellish period of time. Although the entire exhibit moved me beyond all imaginable means possible, some of the following really struck a resounding chord inside of me.

*Arturo Duclos' untitled piece of the flag of Chile made up of 75 human femurs screwed together.

*Marcelo Brodsky's Buena Memoria (Good Memory), showing his class photo and the reunion of any survivors afterwards. Some of the students in the portrait were victims of these regimes and vanished only a few years after graduating. An online website devoted to his work and this exhibit can be found here. Even more moving was in 1996, when the school held a ceremony to read off the names of all 98 disappeared students who had attended.

*In a work called "Urban Intervention in the City of Rosario", artist and former resistance fighter, Fernando Traverso, spray painted 350 live-sized images of bicycles throughout his hometown of Rosario, Argentina. The 350 represents the total number of citizens who vanished from the city. Traverso acted after midnight, or at noon when most residents were in their homes for the noon meal and subsequent siesta. The first evidence that someone had disappeared was their abandoned bicycle, a preferred method of transport for resistance workers. Traverso then "intervened" by painting the bicycles either at or near the spot of the abduction.

*Identidad, was a collaborative effort by many Argentinian artists to show one of the more serious aftermaths of this period, the missing children of the disappeared. They had been taken at birth and adopted into military families from those who opposed the government. Some abducted women were kept until their pregnancies came to term and murdered shortly after giving birth. By working with the Association of the Grandmothers of the Plaza de Mayo, the collective gathered photos of these women (and where possible, their partners), hung mirrors next to their portraits, and provided the possible birth month and year of the disappeared's children. The mirrors were for anyone who, having dubious feelings about their birth, might be able to see any resemblance to any of the women in the photos and be reunited with their birth mother's family. When Identidad opened in Buenos Aires, three people discovered their long-hidden identities.

I don't know if this exhibit will travel anywhere else in the future. Prior to its showing at El Museo del Barrio, it debuted at the North Dakota Museum of Art. But, if this ever arrives in an area near you, I suggest you not miss out.

I don't like linking things from the NY Times. Only because their links expire quickly and one is then forced to pay for the article. But, they had a really good feature on this exhibit.

Wildenstein Gallery - Monet Exhibit

Yesterday was the first of the "summer Friday's" that I get to enjoy this year. My workplace allows each employee seven Friday half-days (paid) from Memorial Day to Labor Day in which to choose from. I got to leave at 1 o'clock, and headed uptown to the Wildenstein Gallery for the Claude Monet exhibit. I found out about this exhibit from a travel forum, and thankfully, got there a week before it was to end.

Anyone who was around yesterday knows that it was hot, hot, hot. In the city, it's even more of a killer, and being uptown near all the traffic and all those emissions, made it absolutely unbearable. I didn't realize there would be a long line to get in. And standing there waiting with the sun beaming down on you, makes one even more irritable. Especially once they get inside and are herded like cattle throughout the whole entire exhibit. Regardless, it was exquisite and I'm glad to have gone.

So, there were sixty, count 'em sixty, Monet's on display! These spanned from his early works right on down to the later ones. A few of the later works somewhat resembled Jackson Pollack's (to me anyway) and were far removed from the Monet's that many (including myself) are accustomed to seeing. The later works were not really to my taste, but still, there were some classics and some drop dead gorgeous paintings.

Back to the forum. I had to laugh when one poster accused some of the pieces in this exhibit of being "not of museum quality". What!? Since when is a Monet not museum quality? Okay, there are bound to be some that aren't to one's taste, but, come on!

I had to laugh when a forum member posted this in response to that silliness: "Suddenly it's all very clear . . . Maybe next time you're in town they can trot out a nice Thomas Kinkade for you."

Another highlight of the day, was that I discovered I was near Le Pain Quotidien, a Belgian bakery/coffeehouse. Since I love all things Belgium, and I wanted to try this place out, I figured I'd stop in and grab a sweet. By this point, I was too tired to eat in, but I took note of the atmosphere (they utilize a communal table for dining) and made a mental note that I would definitely stop in again sometime soon. I ended up ordering an Pain au Chocolat with a Brussels tea. Both were lovely, and I need to practice my future orders in French. There were some French speaking staff behind the counter, and frankly, I felt a little self conscious that I don't speak any language other than English. And I hardly manage that with considerable ease!

They Say 10 Years Makes You A Native

Well if that's the case, today, I have become just that.

Happy Anniversary to me!

In honor of the occasion, I bring you the stylings of Odyssey. Enjoy!

Lyrics here.

Apartment Hunting 101

If I have any writing regrets; it’s that I failed to save the addresses and notes from my Roommate Finders contacts back in 1997.

Prior to Craigslist, there was the Village Voice. Every Tuesday night the first drop of that week’s paper would occur at the newsstand on Astor Place. This was because the Voice’s offices were around the corner. Makes sense. The flurry of activity around this poor newsstand was insane, and there would often be a huge line, then a mad dash to any nearby gross God-only-knows-what’s-on-the-receiver payphone (mobile phones weren’t quite the norm yet). The funny thing was that this ritual was such a usual occurrence that many ads required you to call after Tuesday.

Last night, while coming back into the city from a holiday weekend away in CT, right as we passed the spot, my mind jumped to one of my experiences looking at a roommate situation directly off of CPW. There are a few memorable meetings that will forever be planted in the accessible part of my brain, but this one was stuck back there in my subconscious; just waiting for a moment to bring it out. It was the second apartment share situation on the UWS that I had looked at. But like several others, it was definitely a bit weird.

A young woman showed me the room that she had for rent, which was perfectly fine in size and condition. But, I noticed that there were an unusual amount of bottles of medication in her kitchen. Throughout the entire conversation, I kept darting my eyes between her and the huge stacked up pile of Valley of the Dolls meds. It wasn’t hard to notice. We were standing in the doorway of the room to be rented which faced into the kitchen, and had a direct view of her personal pharmaceutical stash. I remember searching for signs of sickness on her, which I didn’t seem to find. Was it a temporary or long term illness? Was she contagious? Was she in fact…A ZOMBIE!? The whole time I kept wondering what exactly was wrong with her, and would she die while I was living there? In the worst case scenario, would she die right there while interviewing me?

You would think that if you walked someone through your kitchen and there was an unmistakable pile of meds stacked up like a beer pyramid in a frat house, you would somehow work that in your conversation. I guess she didn’t read up on her Amy Vanderbilt book of manners. I guess I didn’t either, because there was no way I could gently broach the subject with her. She didn’t consider me for the apartment share, and deep down, I was kind of glad.

My goal at the time was to write an apartment hunting 101 type of book. In between the references and tips would be mine and other's stories about looking for apartments. These would of course be horror stories, funny anecdotes or amazing out of the ordinary finds. I wanted it to be a cross between the Newcomer’s books and the Zany’s books, and I also wanted to include my own experiences. The chapters would be named for the neighborhood and borough where the action occurred in; each story representing a different area of the city. My goal was to get away from those formal books, and offer the reader tips and hints from the people who lived it.

Sadly, in the haste to exit my temporary abode in order to get to my newly acquired apartment, I threw out my packet of information. It was a momentary lapse of reason. Turns out, I was more motivated writing a book during the period I was experiencing my own apartment hunting. Naturally, time has made me forget many of the addresses, but the experiences are there somewhere, inside my head. They are waiting for some event to bring them up to my consciousness and I can add them here hopefully for posterity.

It Was Twenty Years Ago Today...

Who could forget that shining moment which changed my outlook on life forever? I most certainly can’t. It was twenty years ago today, I first visited NYC. It was twenty years ago today that sealed my fate. A trip that made me realize THIS was the place where I was going to live. Be it a month, a year, or forever; I would one day be able to say, “I lived there”.

It was the annual 9th grade trip with my choir group. Our teacher, Mr. Lumpkin had a way of taking us places which on the surface, made sense. But in practice, proved to be excursions that let us blow off a lot of teen angst. Deep down, his goal was absolute. He wanted to spread music to the masses. He wanted to let us know that it was possible to sing anywhere and have fun in the process. I remember the time he took our class to his church. We stopped in and sang a few songs with Mr. Lumpkin on the organ. The rest of the afternoon was spent eating at McDonald's. You see, he knew how to plan a trip around hyperactive junior high school girls, and a trip into the city proved to be no different. I was so excited I could hardly sleep the night prior and the trip there was uneventful. Once we arrived, however, it proved to be the most magical thing possible for someone like me, who didn’t have the normal opportunities that someone my age had.

We gathered together near the fountain at Lincoln Center, sang a few songs, and we were on our way. Our tour bus guide was a guy named Scott, whom I later found out, was an extra in one of my most favorite movies, Desperately Seeking Susan. You can see him, in the dance club scene when Madonna walks away from the jukebox. Scott’s leaning against the wall, wearing sunglasses. I thought I had died and gone to heaven with this information. After touring throughout the city on the bus with Scott pointing out landmarks, and us with our cameras to the glass, we all went up the Empire State Building, browsed through The Wiz (now a Wendy’s), and had lunch at the McDonald's on 5th Ave and 33rd street. Funny enough, the night I arrived in June of 1997 to live here, the only place open that I could get any dinner was that very same McDonald's, layout unchanged.

Now here’s the major memory I have of that day. With my spending money, I bought a map of Manhattan. I remember the perplexed looks on some of my classmate’s faces when they saw my purchase. But, I knew. I knew what my future would have in store for me. I knew. Once home, I studied that map, but it didn’t help. I hadn’t visited enough to really learn what I needed to know. I think it was just my excitement at my new awakening, combined with a little bit of wanting to bring a tangible piece of the city back home to me all for myself. It’s funny, because today, I hardly know where things are, and rarely if ever travel above 40th street. I’m the one who whips out her little business card sized map of lower Manhattan in order to get my bearings. In a city where there are two West 12th streets, sometimes you have no choice but to!

This article below really resonated with me the first time I read it. Looking back on that day – May 14, 1987 - I see a bit of myself in the visitor the author mentions. I wonder if I gave off any signs or signals that showed I was different from all the rest? I would like to think that I did, but I can’t remember. I do recall not being phased at the things that came my way, and I didn’t point at people as my classmates did. I was pretty copacetic about life in the city and it's idiosyncrasies. Could that be it? Again, I don’t know.

So, I wish myself a happy 20th anniversary (I feel old just saying that!). I wonder - how many more?

TIMES SQUARE AT 100; Once I Was You
By MARK ALLEN
Published: June 13, 2004

MORE and more these days, I've been venturing toward the Times Square area, even if it's a little out of my way. I used to avoid the ''new'' Times Square because that was what real New Yorkers did, but lately I've been drawn to its colorful, touristy energy. I like navigating among its bombastic mobs; they make me feel as if I'm both being swallowed up by the crowd and am also the last man on earth.

These days, Times Square possesses some of the most pure and unaffected energy anywhere in Manhattan. Within its glut of intersections lie the ghosts of countless individual, split-second moments, the moments of people's first impressions of New York, the first and final meeting between an individuals expectations and the real thing.

But the real reason I've been gravitating here is because every once in a while, I'll spy someone in the crowd of tourists who catches my eye, probably because I am reminded of myself on that slapstick day some 10 years ago when I first arrived here.

They may be trying slyly to separate from a tour group, or perhaps they simply seem a bit too smart for their surroundings. They're easily spotted because whether or not they're conscious of it, they're the ones who secretly want to own the city, and this desire makes them shine very brightly.

I can usually spot the traits that differentiate the mere visitor from those rare individuals who have secretly planned on moving here their entire lives and are just testing the waters this time around.

Visitors who are indeed just visiting gawk in celebratory delight at the tourist attractions -- the neon, the zipper, the waxy giants. Visitors who have big plans for actually living here study the background extras behind those tourist attractions, the New Yorkers themselves.

I know this because I showed these peculiar characteristics when I emerged out of a hissing subway station on 42nd Street and Broadway on that first day 10 years ago. I tried to pretend I was gawking at all the objects and symbols that have made Times Square so legendary, but instinctively my eyes kept snapping back down to the throngs of people zooming back and forth in the foreground.
There were no outstretched arms or welcoming smiles, just black umbrellas, crisp hairstyles and leather briefcases whizzing by mere inches past my nose. These were my new neighbors, all eight million of them, and they seemed unfazed by Times Square's grand, galactic corridors.

It wasn't until out of nowhere, one of them approached me and asked if I needed help, that I realized I was holding an unfolded map in one outstretched hand. I remember the amazement I felt that a real New Yorker was actually speaking to me. I never saw him again, but I'll never forget that smiling face in the center of Times Square, framed by the hundreds of whizzing pedestrians all around us. That was the first human interaction I had in New York.

When I pass through Times Square these days, and I spot someone, map unfurled, perhaps studying the crowd a bit too much, I always offer to help. And though they're soon on their way again, I always think that someday they'll be back for good.

Freak Out! LeSportsac, C'est Chic. Freak Out!

Yesterday, a co-worker and I ducked out of work and schlepped down to the Metropolitan Pavilion for the LeSportsac sample sale. Apparently, and according to those working there (I guess you could say those in-the-know), this was LeSportsac’s first sample sale in fifteen years. The stuff would be up to 80% off the regular retail price!!

The line outside the sale was L-O-N-G. We waited an hour just to get inside. Thankfully, bossman was away on business, or else we would never have gotten away with that crime against humanity. They were only letting five in for every five people who left. The thing I hate about long lines full of anticipated and easy to anger persons is that you’ve got that infamous game of Telephone going on (or "Chinese whispers" for my un-PC readers). This is great when you really want to create crowd chaos [insert sarcasm here]. Rumors become rampant, and things are taken out of context. To give you a for instance - When someone from the sale came down and told the crowd that the line to pay by credit card was about an hour wait and if you pay in cash, the cash line will be shorter, you heard whispers of “we can only pay in cash!” Of course, someone turns to the other and says, “She said we can only pay in cash, no credit cards”. Not true there, rabble rouser. I can only dare to imagine what that comment turned into by the time it reached the end of the line.

Once we managed to get in, it was well worth it. Luckily, because the space at the MP is big, everything was very organized and easily accessible - considering the ensuing madhouse. There was A LOT of inventory. My heart beating and my feet on go; I bolted around the place clutching the huge bluish-clear heavy grade garbage bag they pass out to you at the entrance for a shopping bag. The thing to do is grab what looks good, throw it in your bag and inspect it later to see if you actually want it.

Prices on the wall indicated the more you bought, the more you saved. So, say, a cell phone holder was for $10. If you bought three of them, they would go down to about $6 each. You catch my drift?

In the end I amassed quite the pile of booty. The line to pay by credit card was long. The cash line? Like, five minutes. I thought I had enough to pay by cash, but ended up having to borrow from said co-worker. Otherwise, I would have been banished to the back of the credit card line like I was being dragged away to a Turkish prison. Perish the thought.

What did I get for my blood, sweat and tears?

• Three Bitsy black cell phone holders [can be used to hold other things] (for myself, my mom and as a gift)

• Two black Sallie camera bags (one for myself, one for mom)

• Two Majorica print purses (one for myself, the other for a relative)

• Plaid Lux small traveller tote

• Stagelights small traveller tote

• Traditional Basic black purse (for mom)

• A classic Black & White Spectator bum bag (for mom)

• Traditional Basic black key coin pouch

Keeping Out the (Gramercy) Riff Raff

Looks like the long waited for day this year has come to naught. Every first Saturday of May, the Gramercy Park Block Association sponsors what is known as “Gramercy Park Day”. This is one of only two times out of the year (the second being the Christmas concert) when those hallowed iron doors of this private park open to allow the throngs of neighborhood citizens inside. Otherwise, you will need to live around the perimeter of the park, and have a key.

GPD turns into a fair of sorts, with free food, clowns and various activities for young and old. Now that it's cancelled indefinitely? The huddled masses yearning to breathe free will have to continue to hang outside of the locked gates and peer inside, like they do 363 times out of the rest of the year.

God's Bowling!

I am so thrilled. It's thundering outside right now. Nice big firing-the-cannon type booms.

We hardly EVER get thunder storms here in the city, never mind seeing any lightening (Boo! Hiss!). I have warm and fuzzy memories of New England thunder and lightening storms, especially the late summer/early fall storms where the weather is still nice and warm. The rain cooling off whatever ailed us. We would sit out on the porch with beverage in hand, watch the rain come down, and measure the level of ka-booms. Even the animals would come sit with us, waiting for it all to end so they could resume their last of the warm weather frolicking.