Turn of Phrase

This weekend my aunt asked me if I was wearing "shortypants." I wasn't at the time. This is not the first time she's accused someone of wearing shortypants.

Evening Entertainment

Today these kids were on my train home-- these same two kids. I was sitting where the guy with the newspaper is. They did not kick my head, as I anticipated they might. Really pretty amazing.

Wedding Prep

This weekend my cousin is coming up to the city from Miami to shop for her wedding dress. I'm pretty pumped. She's getting married in a little less than a year. I've been thinking about my toast--what I should say that will communicate my love for my cousin and commemorate all of our past memories and those yet to come. I know what you're thinking--say it with a dance, and involve your pet. I'm one step ahead of you. Here's a number I've been working on:



That one was clearly for a dog-and-owner dance competition I entered and won in the late '90s. I think for the wedding I'll probably do another number, probably from Grease.

Post Secret

Like most people in this city, I buy my morning coffee from an aluminum cart. The man in my cart is a very nice Greek one named Thomas, who always comments on my hair and how the weather is like or unlike that of Miami, Florida. He's fantastic. The celebrity he most resembles is Ricardo Montalban.

He makes me delicious coffee just the way I like it-- 1/3 sugar. He often gives me something from the cart as a gift, too. Sometimes it's a doughnut. Lately he's been giving me copy of the New York Post. This is awkward because the Post is a Murdoch-owned right-wing tabloid with headlines like "Holy Shiite" and "NYPD JEW." Today's front page features Hillary and Obama on a wedding cake under the headline "Man and Vice: Calls for an Obama-Hill Union Surge." I don't want to throw it away, but I don't want to put it on my desk either. I tried to make paper airplanes out of it on Tuesday and failed, utterly. Right now it's under my desk, on the floor. I'm at a loss as to what to do. I adore Thomas and his sugar coffee, but I really can't walk into the office with the Post again.

Buried Family Secrets Revealed Here!

My mom just called me to tell me that she found her Baptism certificate, and it turns out that what she thought was her name is not her name. Weirder still, her real name is my name. Something to do with family politics at the time of her birth. What other fast truths about my family are utter fabrications? Are we gypsies? In witness protection? Is anyone a former child star? Let me know, here in the comments.

A Long Post for a Long Day

I left New York this weekend and went to the South for a family wedding. This had its trials and frustrations, most (all) of them related to an American airline that shall remain nameless. Air travel is horrible. Nothing about flying is good, except not dying in a fiery crash.

I spent most of today in the Atlanta Airport avoiding eye contact, eating TCBY and riding the terminal train back and forth. When I settled at my gate, the only seat left was next to a huge man who was wearing sunglasses indoors at 7 pm and whose breathing sounded like Darth Vader snoring. He alternated between shouting into a Blackberry and humming sensual R&B. I shifted in my seat and glared at the carpet in a way that was less than subtle. I think he figured out that he was making me uncomfortable. Then they called first class and he sprang up with an agility that was frankly pretty shocking. I was in group 5, so when I boarded he was sitting smugly in his seat with a New York Giants blanket across his lap, glaring at me from behind his shades. His expression said, "I'm in first class, and I'm a New York Giant. Who's the asshole now?" Still you, buddy.

I settled in my seat with a Ruth Reichl book that my mother stole from her friend, and that I subsequently stole from my mother. (Happy Birthday Mom!) When the drink cart came through, the flight attendant smashed the cart into my foot so hard that the people sitting around me turned and stared. "Watch your hands and feet! That's why I've been saying it!" Before I even had time to wuss out I replied "You could also say you're sorry." "Seriously!" added the woman across the aisle. I was shocked! I hardly ever stand up for myself! I think New York is finally starting to toughen me up.

After 5 minutes of serving drinks to other people, the appropriately craggy-faced and bleach-blonde flight attendant leaned over my seat. "Are you alright?" she asked. Why quit now? "Yes, but I think you should have asked me that first before you started scolding me." "I wasn't scolding you!" (Oh really?) I decided not to pursue it further, though. I thought about writing a formal letter of complaint, but that would mean finding a stamp somewhere. I wouldn't even know where to begin doing that. Also being a flight attendant sounds like the worst job I can imagine, besides being an elevator attendant. And I'm back in New York now, where everyone is as pale and leery and black-clad as I am, so I'm feeling pretty good.

Noteworthy Acts of Vandalism

Yesterday the sidewalk on the west side of Second Avenue and 76th Street was blocked off with police tape, and policemen were patrolling and telling people to cross over to the east side, by Mo's Caribbean. As I was crossing the street I looked back to see what they were trying to shield everyone from. It was an enormous beehive that someone had implanted in one of the free newspaper boxes overnight. The thing had become a solid block of bees-- it looked like this, only less on a face and more on a box:
I like the message that this demonstration of anarchy sends to all of those New Yorkers trying to walk up Second Avenue on a Wednesday. It says "look out, this street is full of bees."

*By the way, the bee beard thing is apparently a huge movement. Type in "bee beard" to google images and see what comes up. I thought I'd find one picture, maybe.

You Should Like This

You know that friend who is always trying to push their musical taste on you, and acts like you're completely deranged if you don't like the same songs as they do? Are you that friend? I think I might be that friend...I bring this up because tonight I went out to dinner with Dan at this Indian place on 6th Street. There was a sitar player and a drummer in the corner playing traditional music, which Dan and I were both thrilled about. We sat a few tables away from them, though, because they were kind of loud. About halfway through the meal, a guy came in and sat at a table right beside the musicians. Dan noticed that he was trying to keep time and not doing very well at it. That was the first clue that things were about to go south. Then the musicians finished their song and the guy completely lost it.

People were eating so they either kept eating or nodded in the direction of the musicians and smiled with their eyes, an acceptable way of non-verbally saying "thanks, that was great." This was not ok with the guy at table 1. "Everybody clap! That was beautiful music! Clap now, clap!" No one clapped. I started to clap a little because I like to please people and do as I'm told, but no one else was clapping so I transitioned that into a reach for the naan basket. "Clap, assholes! Clap!" I don't know why the staff didn't throw him out then. I'm glad they didn't though, because just then the musicians started up again and he joined in on the vocal harmony from his table. He was trying to sing in a very traditional Indian way but I don't think he spoke Hindi because he was just making sounds, like "deebo beepo mana hoho yi yi yi." That's when I decided it was time to leave.

Trends in Marketing

I keep seeing this ad everywhere. I think pants-on-the-head is one thing that just never will be cool. I mean, whatever you do, however scowly and disaffected you look, you've still got a pair of pants on your head. These people should take the pants off of their heads now.