Final NYC thoughts

Just a FEW more observations from our trip to NYC…

• That Barack Obama fellow must have a new movie coming out because he has promo stuff EVERYWHERE!
• Spoiler Alert – rolex watches for everyone at Christmas
• I think I finally found my mid-palate
• Yes we DID see the parade. In between the commercial breaks.
• I don’t care if it is crowded, holiday-spirited, window-watching in front of Macy’s - if a baby stroller spears you in the kneecap, you can attack back.
• Have YOU ever tried to explain the concept of unisex bathrooms to a 71 year old relative? Not fun.

Who Put the Slum in Slumlord?

Part of the California move included the rental of my house in Nashville. Now…I have a picture of an ideal renter and it involves two gay boys who love to decorate and clean. However, I ended up with three just-out-of-college single guys. Fabulous.

Now that we are a total of six weeks into it…my upstairs renter has already decided she’s moving out and the next-door neighbor complained about the number of cars. Which means that Slumlord Maeve was at the house in Nashville bright and early on Monday morning to do a walkthrough of the place and check it out. Here are just a couple of observations about my new renters:

• The décor seems to be early dorm-room. Wait a second…they stole that look from ME.
• Ummm, SOMEONE forgot to remove the pot poster from the fridge – a picture of a pot leaf with the inspirational adage “it just makes you answer to ‘hey stupid’ 15 seconds slower”. Excellent.
• They are excited that one of their buddies may move into the apartment upstairs. Oh great – why don’t we just hang the Sigma Tau banner out of the window and get it over with?
• “Stevie said to go ahead and wake him up to do the walkthrough in the basement.” Are you freakin’ kidding me??
• I sure am glad I spent the extra money to get the silent-operation, nine-cycle dishwasher. I bet it works GREAT on the bong.
• They have asked me three times if I can fix the windows so they open. Who wants to get “fresh air” when its twelve degrees outside? Ummm, pot smoking frat boys, that’s who.
• If it wasn’t true before…it sure as hell is now – I am never standing in that shower again.

Momofoku you too

On the LAST night of our trip to NYC with my mom – Rita decided SHE was going to pick the restaurant for dinner (apparently...it doesn’t MATTER that it was New York - pizza on three straight nights was enough). So we end up at a trendy little place in “the Village” called Momofoku. First of all, I am incredibly likely to mispronounce the name of this place and embarrass both my mother and me. Second, an itty-bitty noodle bar where the patrons’ median age is 22? Could you PICK a more incompatible place to bring my 71 year old mother for our last dinner in New York?

Let’s just set the stage:

• The wait staff at this place could NOT have wanted to be there less. I don’t know if it was part of their schtick or what – but they were just good-old-fashioned, New York ruuude. To which I could only advise, “listen you pixie-like little waif, replace these chop sticks with a fork for this woman – or she will drop you like a linebacker sacks a quarterback”
• The menu was about 4 inches long. Honest to god. But then again, how much space do you NEED to list noodles; noodles and pork; and noodles and chicken? Of course, there was ALSO the seafood covered kim chi. Knock yourself out, mom.
• Okay, okay – to be fair – there was ONE steak dish hidden on the fortune-cookie-sized menu. Sirloin tips with cooked spinach with some spice none of us mom and I couldn’t pronounce. In keeping with her “drop-dead” schtick, the waitress – when asked if we could get that steak done medium instead of medium-rare – replied….“no”. Good chatting with you, Soon Yi.
• The wine “list” ALSO fit on the 4 inch menu. Would you like merlot or merlot? (but there was, however, a 3 page sake list – who picked this place again?)
• The table choices were 1) community seating or 2) a stool at the bar overlooking the grill. And when I say “choice”, I really mean “can I show you to your bar stool”. Granted...it was a very trendy, Ikea-ish, little bar stool – but also a hey-mom-don’t-fall-off-the-backless-chair-of-death, little bar stool.
• More than one time, I heard mom say – “we’re paying HOW much to have Ramen noodles at a Waffle House??”
  
  I finally just told mom this was an NYC version of dinner theatre. With expectations appropriately adjusted, we had a lovely time.

Welcome to NYC

Jeez-oh-pete’s, this j-o-b is REALLY cutting into my blogging time.

And to think I had been in the target-rich blogging environment of a trip to NYC with Rita and my mom!!! This is the trip that got off to a blazing start when SOMEONE wasn’t at the airport to meet my mom. Apparently, mother must have read the blog because she seemed a little worried that she would become the human equivalent of my iPod. (It’s only JFK on the day before Thanksgiving, mom – fend for yourself). But here is the problem – why does EVERY train I ever take in NYC end up in Queens??

Our lunchtime waiter (aka travel agent) said – “oh it’s EASY…just take the E train to the Airtrain and then when they say ‘JFK next stop’ – get off the train”. a) tourists should ONLY ride NYC trains for the amusement of the locals b) the E train goes two directions c) will they EVER say “JFK next stop”? and d) my mother is screwed.

After spending 55 minutes riding around the subways of NYC (did I mention there is no cell phone service when you are 100 feet underground?) – I estimated I would arrive to pick my mother up approximately 4 hours after her plane landed (and 3 hours after the will was changed). Best to jump off the train and take a taxi the last 15 minutes of the journey.

HOWEVER, upon arriving above ground – let me just say that I don’t think there has been a taxi in this particular part of Queens in.a.very.long.time. And umm….my little Winter Barbie overcoat and Cole Haan loafers looked pretty out of place in Compton Queens. Meanwhile, just as my you-are-utterly-lost-in-NYC reality sets in – my cell phone beeps to tell me…you have THIRTEEN new messages. My mother hasn’t called me thirteen times in my entire adult life…but suddenly I was on speed dial. And can I just ask – who the f*** gets a flight into JFK on the day before Thanksgiving that arrives 35 minutes EARLY????? My mother, that’s who.

So there I am…flapping around the Jamaica Plains train station in a full blown panic attack, when it suddenly came to me…CALL NICOLA.

Needless to say, Mission Control Nicola got mom to the hotel, me back to the city and Rita to a wine store all from the comfort of her Tennessee living room.

Dateline NYC

Well, technically I am in Boston as I post this, but having arrived last night, NYC is now home base for Rita and I for the next week. I just decided that I would spend Tuesday on a one day jaunt to Boston to sneak a little work in (because there’s nothing like an immediate departure to Boston to say “thanks for flying across the country with me, Rita”. – I’m a real catch, I tell ya.). So really, I just look at Monday “night” like a 6 hour layover in NYC until I make my connection to Boston.

AFTER today, though – watch out – the McConvilles take Manhattan when Mom joins us in NYC tomorrow (and you think NYC has vices NOW…just wait til my mother & I spend a week here). I had intended to make this an inexpensive Thanksgiving trip:

Flight….miles
Hotel….points (can you use points to pay for the smoker’s cleaning penalty?)
Taxi’s….Ummmm – 401(k) loan?

After the ride from Islip (apparently in Canada), I’ve decided to just buy a car for the remainder of the trip (why not have a car in one more city?). Apparently, someone forgot to tell the cabbies that there is a recession going on (oh wait…is that Richard Fuld from Lehman Bros driving my cab? I think HE knows about the recession).

Rita LOVES IT when I plan these trips on the cheap. (I don’t actually get better bargains than Rita – I just get a lot less for my money). And the hotel looked a little….ummm FREE. I told Rita not to worry, that ALL the hotels in NYC had 100% graffiti exteriors, but my reassurances have lost all credibility since the Las Vegas trip to Excalibur (apparently not EVER hotel on the strip is plush). Actually, despite its address on Graffiti Alley (can someone warn mom?), the hotel is not that bad.

But it is a little tiny. There isn’t so much a pathway from the bathroom to the wardrobe as there is a pinball chute. Getting both people and suitcases into the room proved challenging…Suitcase A is first, followed by Person A, then Suitcase B, Person B. Oh wait, now Person A is blocked by Suitcase B and can’t get out. Ok, maybe Suitcase A, then Suitcase B, then Person A, Person B? Now Person B can’t reach her suitcase to unpack. The whole scenario would have just been HILARIOUS if it weren’t midnight and I wasn’t two hours into my six hour layover. I was in no mood for a test question from my Finite math class.

And that was just day one…

Invisible Fence, part deux

I never did finish my story about the electric fence…but I think I am finally able to talk about it again.

When we last left our intrepid pet owner…I had just gotten Molly a wireless invisible fence…which means I am too lazy to bury a wire in the front yard [bad decision]. So INSTEAD, I am trying to establish the boundary line by setting the knob on the transponder and then using the collar to "detect" the line… an exercise that is slightly akin to a 3-hr episode of “Punk’d”.

First of all, let me just describe to you the “red-collar-of-death” that is the linch-pin of this set-up. You could jump start a Buick with the diodes on this thing. And it is roughly a third of Molly’s body weight. Oh yeah - she won't suspect a thing when I strap this contraption on to her.

So let’s just paint the picture…here I am…walking this collar out all over the front yard, waiting for the collar to beep so I could race back in the house, adjust the dial and try it again. First of all, I looked like I was walking my “invisible” dog for three hours. Second, I looked like I was walking my invisible dog for three hours while jumping randomly and screaming “don’t tase me, bro”.

Then when you have the line where you want it, you are supposed to plant these little white flags to mark the “you’re-about-to-get-the-shit-shocked-out-of-you” line (because Molly is soooo good at recognizing boundaries that I am SURE a toy flag will keep her in the yard when oncoming traffic won’t). So now Rita’s otherwise beautifully landscaped yard is littered with what looks like kids’ toy flags that they forgot to put away. (I am going to put GI Joe on either side of one and make my own Iwo Jima memorial).

As part of the process, you are supposed to “orientate your dog to the flags”, so they know where the line is. If I could keep Molly from running off to attack the 92 year neighbor, this “orientation” would go a lot better. Seriously, while I am playing my little game of capture the flag…Molly has run all the way to Starbucks, attacking three schitzu’s and a terrier along the way.

So for those keeping score at home…the electroshock tally is as follows:
Maeve – multiple 2nd degree burns
Molly – “WHAT shock collar?”

Molly is still chasing the neighbors…but I’m afraid to leave the yard.

Climate Control

I like to say that it is 75 degrees and sunny every day in San Diego. But really, 75 degrees is just the median temperature. The outer region of that bell curve kicks off at 58 degrees with my morning latte and closes out at 93 degrees with my afternoon latte. (I don’t remember anything about “Santa Ana’s” in the San Diego promotional materials.) And ummm…WHERE is the thermostat again?? Oh, that’s right. You don’t NEED central heat and air in San Diego. (Need being a relative term.)

Which makes for an interesting climate in my office. I spend the entire first part of the day hovered over a clandestine space heater trying to thaw out my typing muscles (it’s hard to email with those mitten warmers in your palm). Then about 2 p.m., the sun peeks over the roof of the house and the temperature in my office skyrockets about 23 degrees. Honest to god…the 2 p.m. transition is like a Discovery Channel show with quick-speed global warming…ice cubes are melting, the dog is sweating. I’m pretty sure the last polar bear just went belly up during my afternoon conference call.

Trying to keep a steady-state temp in my office requires a whole intricate minuet – raise the shades at exactly 9 a.m., windows open 10:30, all closed at 1:45…. I am actually working on an excel spreadsheet to track the appropriate cutover time from the space heater to the oscillating fan. Mis-time one maneuver and you spend the afternoon working in the fourth ring of dante’s inferno.

I actually felt bad about operating the space heater/fan combo around my roommate Al Gore when she told me the September electric bill was “the highest it had ever been”. Well….until CONTEXT hit me in the face. Ninety eight dollars is the highest electric bill you’ve ever had?!? Where do you live…the 1950s? That’s one day’s electric bill in Evansville IN (inheritance schmeritance).

Gotta run…have to go stoke the bunson burner