Grin and Bear It

Last weekend I went to meet my friend M. for lunch. M. works on the 8th Floor at Macy*s (Herald Square). M. should win a prize for working at Macy*s this time of year. Oh yeah, it's called a paycheck.

Santa's workshop/theatre happens to be on the 8th Floor. (Good luck, M.) Between the elves, the kids ( a virtual land of germs) and the life-like walking bear the place is well, like, I practically ran off the floor with my hands over my ears.

Well, at one point a little boy around 3-4 years old started to scream and cry. And I mean scream. Everyone in earshot looked up in horror. You would think the kid's mother was beating him with a Martha Stewart gravy boat. Everyone looked to see what the kid was screaming about. Lo and behold the kid saw the bear. The mother just took the kid's hand and walked off the floor.

I looked over to see M's. reaction. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Ephes. M. is a cool cat. He just kept ringing up his customers' orders. He probably hears this all day and at night in his sleep. Like I said the guy should win a prize.

Lucky kid.

Take the R train

This happened when I first moved to Brooklyn in 1985. An oldie but goodie.

I had shopped at Alexander's. Remember their Shoe Department? All those bins piled high with plastic and pleather (look it up!!) shoes, boots and slippers. Disgusting. They were not only monstrosities (both the bins and shoes, etc.) but for some reason, please, I still don't understand this, just looking at that stuff made my hands hurt. I know, insane. A shrink would have a field day. Just thinking about it makes my hands hurt.

Anyways (as we say in Brooklyn) I was coming home on the R train when a man came into the car and wanted to know if the train was going to Queens. I truned and said: "no, Brooklyn". He proceeds to argue with me that the train was going to Queens. After about four of these back and forth I finally said: "Look mister, do me a favor. Travel two hours into Brooklyn (R to this day is a local) and three hours back to Queens". He looked at me, realized he was an idiot and got off the train. Three minutes of my life I will never get back.

Please, remember to recycle

Dear Family and Friends,

After much cajoling, haranguing, imploring and just plain hocking from all of you, I finally decided to start a blog. Not just any blog. A blog about living, working and playing in the greatest city in the World.

The following story is true. R., S. and I went to an event on the toni Upper West side near Lincoln Center. Now, whoever said "stuff" does not happen in this nabe is either a liar, in a coma or dead.

So, here is my maiden blog. Enjoy!!! If I happen to offend anyone, I apologize in advance. Some of the language is a little spicy.

While R, S and I were walking to the the Barnes and Noble on Broadway and 66th Street, a teenager threw a plastic bottle at my head filled with Mountain Dew and then ran down the stairs to the subway. Of course, former Auxillary Policewoman Herman was ready to pursue and R told me not to. So we went to the token booth or whatever the hell it's called these days and the woman was really nice. She called the police and said she was sorry that this happened. So by the time the police came the thug was probably assaulting someone else. Then the ambulance came, then the police brass came. All 20 of them. At this point I expected the Messiah to walk down the stairs to the 66th Street downtown train. Son of a Bitch could at have at least thrown a bottle of Diet Mountain Dew. I will never look at Mountain Dew the same way.

S. asked the Police Officer who was taking my information (and I repeated my phone number at least 3 times) when the ambulance would come because she wanted to see the cute guys. R said that the Police were already here. Ladies, get in line. This is NYC.