Happy Halloween!

Markets in Manhattan

When I think of open air produce markets, I think of Haymarket Square in Boston, probably because it was the first one I ever saw. It's been decades since I last laid eyes on Haymarket, but in my memory (or perhaps my imagination), it is still the standard.

I had hopes that Greenmarket in Union Square would take over the top spot. I read that some of the famous chefs of NYC browse the stands early in the morning to grab the best stuff before the hoi polloi arrives.

I'm sad to report that Greenmarket does not hold a candle to Haymarket, or to Pleasanton (CA) for that matter. Remarkably few produce stands, lots of so-so bakery stands (sampled them all, just to be sure) and a couple of flower stands. On the plus side, there were costumes (see, below):

I *think* that was a costume.

In defense of Greenmarket, the day was cold and uninviting. Chelsea Market was bound to shine in contrast, since it's indoors.

Chelsea Market did have its charms, and certainly was in the Halloween spirit:

As advertised, there were lots of delectable gourmet food shops. I'm going to drag Durf to the lobster bar where we can share a pound at the counter for a mere $49.

I'm not quite in the holiday spirit yet, but Bryant Park is pulling me along as I watch the staff build the park's ice rink and holiday market, both of which open soon, very soon:

Comments & Raccoons

Better late than.... To all of you who occasionally post comments on our blog: Thank you! We love your comments. Don't think we aren't paying attention, because we are. And for those of you who haven't been reading the comments, you should! Some are hilarious, some are cruel, some are inquisitive, some are instructive, some are simultaneously derisive and laudatory. All are interesting. Those comments keep us writing.

An update: You might recall my writing about the raccoons (plural!) that have been hanging out in our trash area, preventing me from taking out the trash after dark and Durf from taking out the trash at 4 in the morning. Well, they are being relocated. At least that's what Management says. And as I read the notice, I'm thinking "Good luck with that." Durf and I tried to relocate a family of raccoons when we lived in Dublin. Those raccoons thought *we* were living in *their* house. We fooled them, though. We sold the house.

Just something I was thinking about.

And that's the newish style of men wearing 3-day (est.) beards. Here is one example, Dr. Gorgeous, or whatever they call him, from "Gray's Anatomy" (no, we don't watch it, it jumped the shark long ago):

These are guys who would walk around with their peni hanging out, if they had one worth showing. They probably all own Hummers, too, and spit on the sidewalk in a manly "take that, sidewalk" kind of way.

It isn't too hard to figure out what these dorks are thinking. "I'm a MAN!" "I'm an ANIMAL!" "Look at me, I have a beard, I'm HOT! Meanwhile, everyone else is thinking, "You're a freaking SLOB!"

I mean, what *is* that?

Graphic enlightenment.

In an earlier post I mentioned how lost I was while listening to Carl and Ken talking about the physics of NuSTAR. Perhaps you couldn't fully comprehend how much their conversation confused me, but luckily I stumbled on an illustration that depicts it quite well:

Keep the Faith

Unless you live in CA (probably would have to be So CA), or you are an art historian, or you were paying really close attention to all players during the civil rights movement of the 60's, you probably don't know Faith Ringgold by name. Here is one of her most famous works of art (look closely):

She also writes children's books!

As the passion of the 60's waned, Ringgold's work moved into relative obscurity. One of her paintings was even white-washed -- not out of displeasure, but indifference.

Now she has been rediscovered. After reading about her, I trotted over to the Neuberger Museum at Purchase College (one of the 64 SUNY campuses!) to see some of her work and hear some commentary.

The entire event was mostly fascinating, but, sadly, turned soporific when an assistant professor of art history (bucking for tenure?) began comparing some the elements of Ringgold's work to that of Picasso's.

On the other hand, I loved the story of the original unveiling of this painting:

Apparently a patron got off the elevator and came face to face with this piece, whereupon she spun around and got back in the elevator. What was her problem, I wonder.

Washington Square, LIVE!

Twila's post about Washington Square is fun and the pictures are nice, but this is 2010! Where is the action? I'm glad you asked, because here it is:

Okay, that's boring, I confess, and the quality isn't great because I took it with my cellphone. Why did I post it? Because it was there!

Washington Square

New Yorkers don't really need movies and theater. They have Washington Square Park, and in the park, there's something for everyone.

Near the fountain you will find music, but if you stop to listen you are in danger of being hit by a skateboard.

Two days ago, there was a new(?) con in town: the "Electric Chaircut" guy. He was all decked out in wires and a dangerous-looking backpack (where is TSA when we need it?). He picked an attractive young woman from the growing audience and offered her a haircut. He taped her (with electric tape, of course) to a chair and proceed to turn on his amplifier (to produce ominous static) and...cut her hair. Wow. I wonder what his tips look like.

And, of course, at the west end of the park you'll find the chess players. The speed chess players are really fun to watch because they yell while they play. "Take that!" one says as he pounds the clock. Then the response, "Take that!" I like the costumes, too.

I think these guys (below) were in the park illegally. They seemed to be playing cards.

Rumor has it that NYU is trying to annex the park for graduation ceremonies and classes al fresco. I hope it doesn't come to that. Haven't they ever heard of People's Park?

Conundrum.

I love my job. The work is repetitive, but intoxicatingly important. The hours are interesting. I get along well with almost everyone I work with, and I avoid when I can those who would throw me into a black hole, if they had a chance. I kind of like getting a paycheck. The project is fascinating, and I'll feel a lot of pride when that telescope is in space. I'm glad I took the job, but I almost didn't.

Part of that reluctance was my affinity for a life of idleness and uselessness, and part of it was a lack of enthusiasm for leaving our beautiful home for six months. I thought it over and decided, "Nope, I'm not going to accept this job offer. Unless Twila really, really wants to go to NYC." (She was away at the time.)

Twila came back, I dispassionately explained the situation to her, and she said, "I really, really want to go to NYC." So here we are. The thing is, I agreed to stay here for about six months, ending on January 15, 2010. But a few days ago my boss said, "We'd like you to stay here through March."

Oh, oh. "Through March" was not good. Twila, a.k.a. "my life", has to go back to Colorado early in January to celebrate Tax Season. Being in NY has been fun, but mostly because of her. She's the doggone reason I came here! Spending three months without her in this apartment, which hasn't looked as good since I considered the prospect of doing it alone, has little appeal. Now what?

The answer turned out to be, "Why, sure!" An adventure is an adventure, and how many of those do you get? I still had one roll of the dice, and it turned up 7. Twila may fly back here twice a month as long as I'm here, all expenses paid door-to-door by NASA, or however far down the line that falls. They're also going to pay for a garage so I won't have to park outside in the nasty cold and snow.

So, here I'll stay. And the big question now is, what will become of this blog?

Tut Tut

Unlike the rest of the world, until yesterday, Durf and I had not seen any of the King Tut exhibitions -- not 20 years ago, and not recently, either. We decided to see it here in NYC where we could view it alongside 3,000 screaming school children. It's much more fun examining the artifacts with six 8th grade girls practicing their cheerleading (especially the clapping part) right behind you.

Over the course of a couple of hours, Durf & I learned to let the kids swarm past us like a cloud of locusts. One group would overwhelm a room for a few minutes and then they'd be off to the next. Then we'd have a breather before the next swarm. It became almost tolerable.

The exhibit itself I give an A. I especially like the tiny little casket for Tut's liver. I can think of a few of my own body parts that will certainly deserve their own little casket. I'd better put it in my will.

After Tut we had an overwhelming urge for pizza, so we went down to the West Village to this pizza place we'd heard about. Have to give the pizza an A, too, even though it was of the thin crust variety. Durf loves thin crust pizza, so he was happy and (ultimately) stuffed. The crust could have come from Italy, I swear. I'd have taken a picture of it but it was so thin it wouldn't have shown up anyway.

Foliage Fanaticism

What is it with this folliage obsession? Must be contagious, though, because after our Catskills disappointment, we decided to try again.

At Wheelchair Robert's suggestion, we headed up the notorious Taconic (Durf calls it the Teutonic. I don't know why.) Parkway. It's notorious because it's the Autobahn of Westchester, Putnam, and especially, Duchess Counties. In a word, scary, or so we were told. Probably because everyone is looking at this:

And this:

We ended up in the village of Millbrook about 60 miles north. Durf & I and two tour buses! I guess everyone was looking at this:

And this:

BTW, how do *you* pronounce foliage?

Twila and other disasters.

Face plant, indeed. Every time Twila goes out to run, I tremble with trepidation. In the years she's been running, she's gone down more often than Linda Lovelace. I've seen it many times. She's running along, then all of a sudden her face is heading toward the sidewalk. Even when I'm concentrating on catching her if she trips, it happens too fast. Not to mention that she could fall walking across a basketball court, not only on a rocky trail. What is that?

Yesterday she'd gone running and I was in our bedroom hanging up some clothes. I heard the front door open.

-- Shouting, "Hi, honey! How was your run?"

-- That silence that means, "Get your butt out here." All husbands know about those silences.

So I walked out and there she was, clothes torn and bleeding all over the place. My heart sank. Fortunately her injuries were minor, this time. I wish she'd listen to me and watch where she's running. Well, good luck with that.

The other disaster* is that at the moment I'm trying to watch my beloved (go figure) 49ers on my illegal pirate station, and their feed has been weak today. I actually had to resort to listening to Internet radio for almost a quarter.

Some of you might be thinking, "Well, fine. You shouldn't be using that pirate station, anyway." To which I would respond (if any of you were actually thinking that), "Why not?"

Please consider, all I'm doing is watching the Fox TV broadcast of the game, commercials and everything. If I could, OF COURSE I would be watching it on TV. So why in the world do Fox and the NFL get their panties all in a bunch over my watching? Honestly, I can't figure it out. Well, there are a lot of things I can't figure out, I admit, and that is just one of them.

*I know "disaster" is singular and the subject says "and other disasters," but I actually don't have another disaster, at the moment, and I thought "Twila and other disaster" was lame as a title, comparatively.

Face Plants Are Us

There's nothing like watching a middle-aged woman go down on the asphalt in the middle of the street to bring out the compassion in a New Yorker. For example, the fellow careening down the road toward me very obviously tapped his brakes. And three bicyclists rode by. One of them called out, "Ouch! And good morning!" as he pedaled past.

This would be my fifth NY tumble, if I'm not mistaken. As far as I know, nobody got a picture of the mishap. If they had, it would have looked something like this:

And as I was lying there on the asphalt, I was not thinking to myself, "Ouch." Instead I was thinking, "Oh shit! I'll bet I put a hole in my favorite REI thermal leggings!"

Maybe this will work.

Here is yet another test. If this doesn't work, I'm going back to manual.

So far, so good. Now to test it.

Mondo test of variosities.

This is your brain:

Well, that didn't work.

Overpopulation Redux

One of the benefits of living in a region that is both old and overpopulated is that you can (if you are so inclined) throw up a "museum" sign over your garage and nail pictures of your Mayflower relatives on the wall, and soon hordes of people -- especially New Yorkers -- will queue up to pay you $5 to walk through.

Yesterday I went to the Hudson River Museum in Yonkers. It was an excellent museum and worth every penny of that $5. With a planetarium and an interactive "River-rama" room, the museum would stand out almost anywhere. But get this: all of the remaining exhibit space was devoted to art with a single theme...fall foliage. I kid you not!

In the museum's defense, the Hudson River School of painters (mid 19th century), who painted fall foliage to death, enjoyed great commercial, if not critical, success. And don't get me wrong, I *loved* the museum. I especially loved the bookstore tucked away in a corner off the main gallery. Check it out. (You should be able to click on the photos to make them larger.)

State of the job.

The people I work with directly in the lab are: Tom and Iliya, the techs; Ken, the cognizant engineer; and Todd, the non-cognizant engineer. Ha ha, just kidding, Todd. Actually, Todd invented and patented the optic assembly procedure.

This post is a more complete description of what I actually do every day.

When I arrive at the lab in the wee hours, the optics look like this:

The metal pieces with tubing attached are called load bars. They slide into slots in the disks at each end of the optic. Air pressure in the tubing forces a plunger down to press the next layer, strong backs, against the optic. Here is a photo after I've removed a few load bars:

(I realize that it's hard to make things out in this picture, and the program I used to post this entry doesn't allow clicking on the photo to get the full-sized version. If you're interested, click here.)

The optic is visible in the area where both the load bars and strong backs have been removed. Strong backs are visible above that area. I remove the load bars followed by the strong backs, until only the guide wheels remain:

Then I remove the guide wheels. All of this hardware removal is kind of scary, since metal has very little trouble smashing the thin optic glass into smithereens, given the opportunity. With the guide wheels removed:

At this point I make a few adjustments, check settings on the computer, and start the grinds.

As you might recall, the optics are made of layers of specially formed and coated glass that are separated with great precision by graphite spacers. The purpose of the very large tool on which the optic is mounted is to grind the spacers to the correct height. There are three grinds, each of which takes slightly over an hour. The first removes much of the spacers, the next a bit less, and the final grind ensures that the spacers are within micrometers of the specification. While the grinds are running, I listen carefully for any sound that might indicate that something is not quite correct, and also monitor the room's temperature and humidity. While I'm doing that, I prepare the strong backs for the next layer. This is a naked single strong back:

It's a bit hard to see, thanks to my lack of photography skills. It is a metal bar with protrusions on the ends so that it can slide into grooves on the guide wheels. The top of a strong back is slotted, and O-ring material is inserted into the slot. The picture is of a single-slotted strong back; there are also double strong backs, which are used at the glass segment junctions.

The next thing I do is apply Teflon tape to the tops of the strong backs. The tape helps to hold the spacers in the grooves, and also protects the strong backs in case some epoxy drips. Here is the strong back with the tape applied:

When that's done, I insert the graphite spacers into the slots:

If all of that sounds simple, it is. However, everything has to be done precisely. Last week I made an error, and Todd had to send a non-compliance report to NASA. Since then a black car has been parked across from our apartment. There are two guys in there with sandwiches and binoculars. I don't know if they have anything to do with NASA, but it's suspicious, as is the notice I just received that my tax returns for the last 15 years will be audited. Oh, well.

When the grinds are finished, Tom and Iliya magically appear. They clean the optics, scan the spacers, and then epoxy the glass segments to the spacers that were just ground. They then put epoxy on the spacers in the strong backs and slide them down on top of the glass. They put load bars on top of the strong backs and turn on air pressure to press everything together while the epoxy sets. And so it goes.

I used to get up at 04:00 so the grinds would be done before Tom and Iliya arrive at the lab. But about a week ago, Mother Nature went off before my alarm clock. It was 03:55, and I quickly calculated that it made sense for me to get up then, although pee-and-go-back-to-bed had a definite appeal. Even though that 5 minutes didn't seem like much, it made a big difference on my commute home. There are a couple of schools in one place on the commute, and the traffic really gets backed up when parents are dropping their brats off. (Whatever happened to walking to school?) So now I get up at 03:50 and hope it doesn't get earlier when the optics expand.

My workday at the moment is 4 hours, because of the time it takes to do the grinds. Soon FM1 will switch from sextants to dodecants, which means there will be 120 sets of load bars and strong backs instead of 60. And about 15 assembly days after that the other optic will expand, so everyone will be much busier. The big thing for me will be safely removing all the hardware and starting the grinds early enough.

I'm using a new program to write and post this entry, so if you see something extremely weird, that's why. I'll be working on it!

Forget the Pied-a-Terre

Dreaming about a condo in NYC, I toured a lovely place on the upper east side. Definitely out of my price range, but a girl can dream.

Next I looked on Craig's list. Hmmmmm. I saw an occasional price tag that might be in reach if I give up food for the next couple of years. The real shock, however, was not the price, but the monthly fee. As you know, if you live in a condo -- almost anywhere -- you pay monthly home owners dues. In CO, you pay such fees even in a detached home. Our fee monthly fee is about $50.

In NYC, I'm seeing monthly fees of $1600 per month (or more, depending on the place). ACK!

Better look at rentals. So, I'm thinking Greenwich Village might be a nice location. Back to Craig's List. Ah, here's a nice place. It's kind of small at 500 sq ft, but cozy could be good. Monthly rent: $3,100. ACK!

Guess I'll save this dream for my next lifetime.

State of the project for dummies (like me).

Here is a 2-page relatively simple explanation of what's going on. It contains little scientific gobbledygook.

Overpopulation

All of you Californians, do you remember how amazed you were when you first saw...SNOW? Well, that's pretty much how I felt the first time I saw...stacked cars in New York. Check it out:



When I first encountered this sight, I couldn't help but think "What if you had to get home in a hurry because you had to pee?" (I'm not kidding. Those are the kind of thoughts I have these days.) I asked the garage attendant if he had to move all the cars in the lower levels to get at the cars in the upper levels. He said yes. (Durf said, "Duh" but I thought maybe there was some sophisticated craning system or something.) So my worst fears were confirmed.

Cars aren't the only things stacked up around here. Stores, too. I went looking for the local Target yesterday. I knew it was in downtown White Plains. (Remember what happened to me the last time I was in White Plains? Think the "F" word.) So I drove 'round and 'round the block where the store was supposed to be. I don't know what made me glance up -- it was probably to ask god to help me find the damn store -- when lo and behold, there was Target sitting on top of Barnes & Noble. Good grief. I never did figure out how to get my shopping cart full of stuff down to the street and over to my car, which was parked at an expired meter.

Permanent NYC residency would take some lifestyle adjustment on my part, for sure.

State of the project.

First, here is a fascinating if at times arcane description of NuSTAR (PDF format). If you're at all interested in the science behind NuSTAR, it's worth a peek. I was made aware of the document by our friend Carl, who, despite his protestations, has a brain the size of a small... no, a medium planet. And Carl says that my boss, Bill Craig, a very nice guy and a scientist at Lawrence Livermore Labs, is much more intelligent than he, which completely blows my mind away. On Saturday I was listening to Carl talking about NuSTAR with Ken Blaedel, another nice guy and our "Cognizant Engineer", and I was like, "HUH?" I wish I'd recorded their conversation for later study. I'll try to spit out a few tidbits that I might or might not have gotten correctly, mixed in with a few things that I actually know, so you should be thoroughly confused in a few minutes.

Originally NASA contracted with CalTech for only two optics modules, FM1 (Flight Module 1) and FM2. However, Bill, who along with his other qualities is a world-class salesman who could probably sell a gross of granny panties to Lindsay Lohan, convinced NASA that it would be nice to have a "calibration module". Therefore, what was first FM1 became FM0, and my six broken layers of glass will not soar into space. (Deep sigh of relief.) Everyone on the project learned a lot while building FM0, and the actual flight modules will be much better because of that knowledge.

The current state of the project is:

FM0 - In an earlier post I included a photo of a room I said had something to do with the cyclotron. That was incorrect - it is actually the source room for X-rays so powerful that they could reveal the entire inside of your body in a millisecond. The disadvantage, of course, is that you would then be a piece of dust. Whatever, yesterday FM0 went into a room where it will be bombarded by those X-rays for calibration. Calibration is, as I remember it (Carl, feel free to jump in at any time), a couple of things: 1) Locate and compensate for anomalies (such as my broken glass); 2) Determine if the assembly algorithm has any flaws.

FM1 - Today the techs laid Layer 53, which is close to a milestone. The layers that are subject to the most stress are those closest to the mandrels, which are the objects that the layers are mounted on. The inside mandrel is a cylindrical rod. The middle mandrel is the area where the layers change from sextants to dodecants (6 segments to 12 segments). Because of the increased stress at the mandrels, when we get to Layer 57 we'll be using spacers that are rated higher in tensile strength. The switch to dodecants occurs at about Layer 65, and our work will increase by 50%.

FM2 - Layer 35 today. When this module changes to dodecants, our work will increase by another 33%.

Death Obsession

I believe I mentioned Hannah Wilke yesterday. She's a photographer whose work is featured in a number of prominent museums. If you ask me, one of the hallmarks of contemporary photography found in prominent museums is not weirdness so much as the ability to disturb the viewer.

And what disturbs a viewer more than images of death or dying? One of Wilke's most famous series of photos, Intra Venus, is the documentation of her death from cancer. Definitely dark. And another photographer/videographer, Alex Prager, is exhibiting a video of a woman throwing herself out a window. It is shocking and comical at the same time.

Then there's the flip side of the death obsession...Halloween! All of our visitors, like us, have been intrigued by the cemetery of scarecrows at Lyndhurst. Arguably, it's not a cemetery at all, but a field of Wizard-of-Oz rejects. However, recall that my first view of the evolving crowd of scarecrows was a field of simple wooden crosses.

But look at it now.

Back to MOMA

Some people love to visit the Museum of Modern Art to make fun of the so-called art on display. That's certainly half the fun. But it's also fun to note the little ways the bored staff takes revenge on a demanding and, no doubt, annoying public.

Take for example the terribly grumpy woman who handed me an audio device outside the photography exhibit, the only open exhibit on the 6th floor. She took my ID, delivered her robotic speech on how to use the device and then picked up her book in silent dismissal. I did *not* see her watching me out of the corner of her eye, nor did I hear her chuckling demonically.

I love doing the audio tours and I was eager for some commentary on the likes of Hannah Wilke and Ana Mendieta whose minds, I daresay, work quite differently from mine. I made my way through the entire first room and still had not seen any headphone icons that would indicate there was some audio content on the topic. In fact, I went through the entire gallery -- the entire floor. No audio content.

I can just see the grumpy museum lady at home that night telling her husband about her day. "Yep, heh heh, I got 36 people to carry around an absolutely useless headset. Heh heh heh."

Best Friends

Trish, my best friend in the whole world, came to visit Saturday. Oh yeah, and she brought her husband, Carl, too. Anyway, it was Trish who shoe-horned Durf into this NY job and I tagged along.

While Trish...oh, and Carl...were here, we bonded as best friends do. I scattered rose petals at her feet. I regaled her with stories of the successful women of Westchester County (like C.J. Walker, first self-made millionairess) and prayed for reflected glory.

I'm thinking Trish might have a spot for Durf on her next project. Maybe in New Zealand, or Italy, perhaps.

Actually, I'm just yanking Carl's chain. We love having him around, too, especially when we don't have a computer or iphone handy. Nowadays when friends (or spouses) have friendly disputes, someone whips out an iphone and googles the answer. If you don't happen to have one of those devices, then you need a friend who knows more than google. That would be Carl.

I can't turn my back for a second!

We had hardly stepped foot out of Colorado before Doug Bruce (crazy Colorado republican) started to go wild. I cannot even list all the bizarre initiatives and referenda he has managed to put on the CO ballot. Just as we brought blueness to CO in 2005, it appears that our leaving (even temporarily) has allowed redness to leak back in.

Then, mere days after Durf and I remarked on the importance of our votes in this election, I received a notice from CO telling me that my absentee ballot would not be forwarded and that I was about to be dropped from the voter rolls. ACK ACK ACK.

But even Doug Bruce couldn't keep that ballot out of my hands, and yesterday I voted.

I had to put this in our blog, just in case Mr. Bruce (like The Shake Shack) is trolling the internet for his name.

Around Manhattan

STG, guys, I was not paid for that Shake Shack advertisement! However, since I now know the gang over there is watching and listening (see comment on previous blog post), I'm thinking I should say: Danny, if you offer me a complimentary frozen custard, I'll take it. Hint, hint.

ANYway...in between indulgences, Judy, Hal and I managed to cruise around Manhattan (literally). What a fabulous way to see the the skyline, Ellis Island, the SofL and many landmark buildings and neighborhoods. It's especially good to see the Upper East Side this way. You don't want to actually go there because all of the republicans in NYC live there. Even Gracie Mansion is there. Oh, but Bloomberg doesn't live there because he's a democrat. Oh wait, he's a republican. No wait, he's an independent.

While in the East River, we also had the opportunity to view some of New Jersey's state treasures, like this clock, for example:














NJ claims this is the largest clock in the world. I think little states like to have something big to brag about. For NJ it'd be this clock and Ol' Blue Eyes (reputed to weigh over 13 lbs at birth).

Frozen Custard

The latest dispute raging in our New York apartment and beyond is over the definition of frozen custard. Some of us believe that once you cross the Mississippi in an eastbound direction, ice cream makers change their recipes and all that soft frozen stuff you buy is, in fact, frozen custard, not ice cream, not soft serve. AND you can tell because it's soooo creamy.

Some of the more cynical members of our group believe that the recipe doesn't change, but that east coast ice cream makers want to (pretentiously) evoke French cuisine even at their (terribly) unpretentious ice cream stands.

Enter the USDA, who says that those who want to call their product frozen custard must add a certain amount of egg yolk to said product.

Naturally after doing all this research, it became imperative to conduct a taste test to see if the fuss was worth the fuss. So Judy, Hal and I trundled off to the Shake Shack near Times Square. We chose the Shake Shack because it belongs to Danny Meyer, restaurateur extraordinaire, and owner of NYC's most popular restaurant (Union Square Cafe). We figured that because Danny Meyer is still in business, he probably follows FDA rules. And he claims to sell frozen custard. (See sign.)














Results? Oops, I've used up my allotted words for the day. But the following picture says it all.

An Aside: Blogging

To all of you who take this blog for granted, you probably think blogging with a spouse is a piece of cake. Well, you would be wrong. Think about it. Do you get to censor, or not? Do you get to criticize, or not? Do you get to edit, or not?

Here's what Durf has to put up with: "Uh, I don't think I'd ever call anyone a slut. I mean that's pretty humiliating to even suggest as much." Then later. "Oh, you're going to change it? That's nice, but you don't have to, you know." Then later. "What? You're not going to change it????"

Here's what I have to put up with: "You said we stood and watched for 10 minutes. It was only 7 minutes." or "You said I laughed, but I didn't laugh. That was a grimace." or "You said he talked and responded at the same time, but that's not actually possible."

Durf also says my blogs are too long, so....

When firemen get bored.

We were reading last night when we heard fire trucks. YAWN! Nothing new about that. They seemed closer than usual, though, so we looked out the front window and:


Well, that was more interesting than usual. We decided to see what was going on:


(Twila loves major emergencies. :p )






There were at least five fire trucks and some vans with flashing blue lights. A lot of excitement! I wandered around trying to find out what was going on, but no-one seemed to know. Maybe they ran out of doughnuts. Oh wait, that would be the police, wouldn't it?

4-Second Condom Applicator

Now that's something I've been waiting years for! It's finally been invented and is currently on display (although not modeled or demonstrated) at the Cooper Hewitt Design Museum.

That discovery and unexpectedly free admission made yesterday at the Cooper Hewitt an excellent day, especially when topped off with a cupcake from Zaro's Bakery. Ok, ok, back to the museum.

The current exhibition contains what the curators deem to be some of the most significant design innovations of the years between 2006 and 2009 (actually, including 2009). Hence you have, in addition to the condom contraption, an exhibit on Twitter. And you probably remember reading in the newspaper about the eyeglasses that you can adjust yourself by inserting fluid between two pieces of plastic. They were on display, too.

The New York Times has some new ideas for presenting information. I thought I might skip that kiosk, but was drawn in by the visuals and ended up standing there for 20 minutes.

I loved the modular house and now desperately want one for myself. It's a tree house, after all. The cool thing is that it really is modular. That means the toilet is already installed, and all rooms are prepped for heat and electricity. You just turn on the utilities and move in (or climb up).

I inadvertently laughed out loud at one exhibit. I couldn't help it. It's Honda's long-in-development walking-assist device. It's actually a robot that can help people who have difficulty walking because of joint pain. Or it might be handy for workers who have to stand or stoop for long periods. The idea is to help with weight-bearing, while permitting continued mobility. Why did I laugh? Well, when it's attached to your body, it looks as though you just got off a bicycle and the bicycle stuck to your butt and legs. I know, I'm a neanderthal, but as I said, it was inadvertent. Here, judge for yourself:

New York Talk - Part 2

When in Rome...is my motto, most of the time. I tend to adopt regional pronunciations and expressions while I am in the area, and I do it for several reasons: 1) To be understood; 2) To avoid being marked as an outsider; 3) To avoid being seen as a pretentious twiddle poop. Soooo.....

-- When in Colorado, I never say "ColoRAHdo"

-- When in Appalachia, I say "AppaLATCHa" not AppaLAYcha

--When in the Himalayas, I say "HiMAHLya"

Now I'm in New York, and I'm quite willing to say HAIRass instead of haRASS, ask for eggs "over lite," and refer to a little concrete stump of a porch as a "stoop." I can say frappe, dungarees and jimmies without blinking.

But I *do* have my limits, as any self-respecting speaker of the English language would. I will not say that I am "on line" at the market when I mean "in line." Online means something else -- something to do with computers, no? Why confuse the issue?

And I refuse to say "steereo" when I mean stereo, or bed when I mean bad or said when I mean sad.

But as I overheard recently, "With some words, if you don't pronounce them correctly you sound stupid, and if you *do* pronounce them correctly, you sound pretentious. Whaddayagonnado?"

NY Talk

I had an epiphany the other day. I realized that I like watching New Yorkers talk. No doubt it's because I'm a talker myself. I can usually hold my own, but here in NY, I'm taking notes!

Like me, NY talkers are brassy. They ask lots of questions -- personal questions, which of course are the most interesting and, in my opinion, the friendliest. I can never figure out why people take offense at personal questions. Have you ever been around someone who never asked you anything about yourself? How much do you like that person?

Not only are New Yorkers brassy, but they talk all the time, even while someone else is talking. You'd think that means they aren't listening, but they are. They can actually talk and respond at the same time. It's astonishing.

I had the opportunity to observe all of this up close while Arthur was here. Without a doubt, he's a New Yorker, and watching him in action was an excellent opportunity to listen and learn. For example, during one of our bike rides, we stopped to sort out the bridges on the horizon. While in full bore conversation with me, Arthur managed to engage a young man who was walking by. Over the course of the next 10 minutes I listened to the young man talk about floating the Willis Avenue Bridge down the East River while Arthur reminisced about growing up in Queens. Both nodded occasionally and threw in an Oh Really? Well.... Every now and then one or the other would make a move as though the conversation were about to end, but then the other would add a comment which elicited an animated response and a renewed bout of talking. Fabulous stuff!

Cemeteries

Whether real or fake, cemeteries are big around here at this time of year. Think Sleepy Hollow, Headless Horsemen and Halloween. Lyndhurst finished building its scarecrow cemetery. (Note: *all* those figures in the background are scarecrows):

And the real cemeteries are crowded too, not only with "permanent residents" (as they like to say around here) but also with locals and tourists looking for a good time. The cemetery tours for all of October and November were sold out last week, which inspired me to take my own self-guided tour to find out what I will be missing.

I went to the Sleepy Hollow cemetery looking for ghoulish, or at the very least, florid artwork and campy epitaphs. What I found instead were your normal, run of the mill, expensive stones with names on them -- just what you might expect to find in a Westchester cemetery. Without anything outrageous to distract me, I suddenly began to obsess on the fact that I was wandering around trampling on dead people. And, mind you, whereas some people cry at weddings, I tend to cry in cemeteries, even if I don't know any of the permanent residents. All it takes is a "Beloved wife of..." and the tears start to flow.

Making matters worse yesterday, I found sprinkled among the big stones the occasional simple marker with only a first name, or an initial, or (sob!) no markings at all.

I'm definitely crossing the Green-Wood Cemetery tour off my to-do list!

What she said... NOT!

A couple of days ago Twila wrote that she loves being in New York because of "gallery openings, poetry readings, nature hikes, museum tours, films, theater productions and a festival or two." Well, personally I just adore it when pansies are in bloom and... WRONG! The truth is I'm more like, "The flowers are great, honey, can we get a beer somewhere around here?" I can't tell a pansy from a petunia, and I'm not sure I've ever seen either in my entire life. Because, let's face it, I'm a guy and my mind is too busy with important things to think about poetry readings and all that. My brain is mostly focused on:

1) Sex.

2) Drinking.

3) Sports.

About 95% if that is directed to Item #1. Because that's what guys think about, even if... well, as Willie Nelson put it on the occasion of his 75th birthday, "I've outlived my pecker."

I should interject here that I do not fantasize about doing the horizontal hula with anyone, because I am very happily married to the best person in the universe. But I do enjoy looking at attractive women. Twila doesn't mind that at all, she even points them out to me. In return, I try not to embarrass her by drooling.

Heck, even women love looking at women, but for them it's a little different. They're more likely to think things like:

1) I wonder if I could wear that top (girl code for "shirt").

2) Yikes, she looks totally anorexic.

3) OH! MY! GOD! (Translation: "There is no way I could wear that top!")

Here's an example of what I mean about looking at women. A couple of weeks ago I was walking through Times Square at rush hour on a Friday, on my way to meet Twila at a restaurant. It's difficult to describe how packed it was with people, but imagine being inside a busy anthill. At traffic lights the backups on the sidewalks went as long as a third of a block, even though people paid scant attention to most lights.

Anyway, I was muddling along, looking at women, when I suddenly realized that probably everyone else was thinking about sex, too. I mean, being Friday evening and all. Some were surely thinking about meeting someone new, others about hooking up with spouses or friends, and others just having winsome dreams. No wonder New York City is so crowded!

The Second Half

You might recall that to mark the start of our NYC odyssey, I embarked on a six hour self-guided walking tour of Midtown. So to mark the start of the second half, I planned a second walking tour, this time heading south and West mostly.

I arrived at Madison Square Park and was taking artsy photos of the Met Life Tower and the strange building next to it (the one on which the tower is about to fall in the photo below), when I spotted the Shake Shack.


For the next ten minutes, I tried to convince myself I was hungry so I could order the best hamburger and milkshake in town. I stalled by wandering around and around the park. Did you know that Madison Square Garden is *not* in Madison Square Park? No wonder it's hard to get a booking at The Garden. Nobody can find it!

Eventually, I dragged myself away from the Shake Shack and, at Arthur's suggestion (no, he's not still here), made my way over to the High Line, which is an urban garden that sits on the abandoned elevated RR tracks of a freight line that went out of business some 30 years ago. I sat on one of the cool lounge chairs for a while taking surreptitious photos of the strange and interesting people who walked by. Am I allowed to do that?

Next I went in search of Penn Station, thinking I needed to find a way to get to Boston some day. As soon as I saw the station, I started snapping photos. Five minutes and many photos later, I realized I was looking at the post office. But it's a really cool post office.

Eventually I found Penn Station, too, and lo and behold, there was Madison Square Garden sitting on top!