Popular ME

Its 434am, I'm tired and I am typing in the dark? Why? Because I'm growing in popularity.

My brother wrote a whole blog about me, That doesn't make me any more special, or popular, he's my brother, although I liked that I got a shout out from him (I hate shout out as an expression, it started out as hip and urban at one point I'm sure, but it has since been marginalized and used too many times by Robin Williams and his stupid blackcent that he pulls out when he wants to be funny but didn't prepare in advance). Peter posted some horrible picture of me he had Googled. It reminded me that I had written a blog about said photo as well as another photo in the same genre. These photos must bother me more than the Paul thing because I've blogged about, or commented on them in not one, not two, but at least three blogs, not counting this one. I was reading my entire canon before I started clacking keys just now. That was at around 415am.

I'm awake for reasons that are obvious to parents, Sammie keeps waking up. Shes getting some more cute teeth. I got Sammie to sleep but at a great price. Not only am I not able to go back to sleep, she has skootched (I say this because she is in pre-crawl mode now) way over on my side of the bed. Therefore I have nowhere to sleep. I read a blog of mine that was written when I didn't even know if I was having a girl, it sure brought back the memories (sarcastic sigh).

So back to being popular. As I poured over my canon in lieu of sleep, I noticed a couple of things. First, I made myself laugh, thats hard to do, Robin Williams hasn't done it since he was Mork from Ork and I was seven. Second, comments about my blogs have increased by at least 300%. I looked at past blogs and thought about what might have been commented by faithful commenters if they had been commenting. One blog references my brother the whole time. I think a comment of his following it would have been nice and smooth and referenced inside stuff. One blog was about how a reason for getting back to writting blogs after some months off was because of Sara, I think that if I wrote that now she would downplay it in a comment with a unique rhythm. One blog was about Inwood, I think that Benji would have commented about the Goonies or Fantasy Basketball or Oregon or anything but Inwood. And the list goes on. Actually it pretty much stops there. Those are the three top commentators. And they make me feel so popular. So congratulations major contributors. I will now post your pictures!!

The Cantankerous Crew

In Black Like Me the author darkens himself with weird pills, tanning and makeup, shaves his head and then writes about his experience as a black man traveling through the south. I personally loved the book, but then later I found out the author died of skin cancer.

There is a cantankerous crew of middle aged to ancient ladies that hang out and smoke cigarettes at the entrance of our apartment building. They're a mixed bunch. Mostly over fifty and heading up to... I don't know I could say one of them is in her nineties and I don't think I'd be too far off. They smoke right outside the front door and most likely they gossip a whole bunch. I wouldn't know because when I see them, I pick up Sammie's stroller and my pace.

Every time I try to leave the building I am under a subtle form of psychological attack from The Cantankerous Crew. One day, I had Sammie in her Snuggli (TM) and was quickly headed down the block to get quarters for laundry or a lottery ticket or something. I was planning on making it a quick trip. It was probably early October. As soon as I got out the front door, the ladies laid into me.
"Hi, oh is that Sammie? She is soo adorable."
"Hi"
"Going for a little walk?"
"Just getting some fresh air"
"It got a little cold these past couple of days, you might want to go back and get her a sweater?"
"We're just going around the block"
"Look at her little legs they look cold you should watch out"
"She's warm"
"What no hat? The wind will blow on her little ears, she needs a hat doesn't she?"
"Oh we're just going around the corner, I was going to go back and get her a hat"

After that conversation I literally walked around the corner and back into the building to get her a hat and maybe a sweater thinking that they must be right. Their years of collective wisdom adding up into the thousand range. I've heard since then that one common mistake is to overdress your baby. Sammie and I sweated all the way to the bodega.

The stand out characters of the group are Rita and her mom. Once when Anna put up signs for someone to clean our apartment once a week, Rita showed up. She smelled deeply to the core like cigarette smoke. She had a lot of problems with working that she freely discussed with us. She was collecting disability and really shouldn't even be working, she can't really lift anything, she can't work for longer than about an hour or so at a time and the list went on. Her real reason for replying to the help wanted sign was obvious, she was nosing around our apartment.

Rita's mom is about three feet tall. I feel like Gandolf next to a Baggins every time I see her. She looks nothing like Rita. We thought she was cute when we first came to visit the building, cute like a lizard could be cute. She was at the front door trying to get her basket of who knows what up the small flight of stairs. Her basket of who knows what is about three and a half feet tall. I helped her get it up the stairs and wondered how she wheels the thing up and down small flights of steps, or curbs for that matter, when no one else is around. She thanked me and said that her daughter lived in the building. I decided that her daughter usually helped her. After meeting Rita, I'm back to wondering how she gets around pushing a basket that is taller than her. What does she need to push around everyday in that huge basket?

Back to Rita, she likes to get in the elevator and smoke, or be smoking. She'll turn around and see me with the stroller and say that she's sorry and smile. She isn't sorry. Many times I get on the elevator and it reeks of Rita.

to be continued...

Getting to PA part 4

Its funny that today my Dad, who I'm pretty sure isn't a regular reader of mine, sent this link to my brother and I with a note that said,

"You guys are always far ahead of me on this curve, so you've probably seen this, but anyway, here's a fine little video "game" from Sony. Besides the arrow keys, try some of the letter keys (a s and others).

It reminds me of when we were in the Bronx and Casson was driving."

NYC Cabbie

http://www.entertainmentanytime.com/

He's far ahead of me on this one.

Thanks Dad.

Getting to PA part 3

In the last year or two of driving I have acquired a "cab" driving style and attitude. I mutter under my breath at every car in my way. Sometimes I yell, I honk a lot, and up until a month ago I was pretending the lights were yellow much longer than they really were.

I have noticed lately that my NYCtude doesn't disappear or fade a little when I'm not in NYC. In PA, a driver was acting like a drunk bloated fish just floating in my way as I watched our green light go to red. I had to use every spare ounce of self control to keep from honking the horn and cursing under my breath. I kept chanting an impromptu mantra. Something like, "Its PA, people are slow, no one honks, the people behind me aren't honking, I'll wait for the next green light."

I think that the NYC impatience comes from being surrounded by roadblocks. I realize now that in NYC I caught this kind of attitude slowly learning as I got better and better at cutting people off, swerving into an emptier lanes, or my personal favorite NYC maneuver, creating a whole new lane by cramming into a narrow unoccupied space next to the vehicles that were in front of me.

When I first moved here I was polite. I'd hold the door for people. That stopped because thousands of people will continue to stream past you, never even realizing that you may need to get inside too, some buildings you could be there all day. Maybe that is a byproduct of too many doormen everywhere. Or the doormen arrived for that very reason. I guess I'm not a doorman. I quickly forgot how to hold the door open for people. When I leave the city, I'm considered rude.

As I drove home New Years Eve after seeing Dick Clark in HD as no one should see him, like a raspy, grating fish, I started getting annoyed at other drivers. It should have been an easy drive, and it would be if we were in PA, but we're not. So we have to walk forever to get to the car, waiting for people blocking our way on elevators, through doors and down the street, just to get to the car because there were no close spaces. Next, swerving yodels, people deciding whether to accelerate at stop signs and people walking right out in front of your car. Next, swerving morons, snowy conditions and tolls. Lastly, waiting and driving to find a spot to park at our destination. There is a large probability that these impediments are drunk, so as in PA, I had to develop a mantra. Something like, "Don't get impatient with drunk drivers at 1am in the snow when you have a six month old in the back seat."

At the same time I had an epiphany, simple, yet true, of why I continue to get less and less patient with other drivers. It is because there are too many obstacles. As soon as you get past one swerving idiot, there is a traffic jam due to two idiots colliding. Then someone decides to use their brakes on the expressway, then there's a subway strike, then its rush hour, on and on. So basically, that is the reason for the hurry, to break through the delays as fast as possible. Its an obstacle course. The quicker you get through the first, then the faster you get them all done with and do what you want or be where you want.


Now I know what you people are all thinking because I am too. Take the subway, a cab or bus. Well, a subway would slow down our trip by an hour and I would be lugging our salad we brought, diapers, a stroller and any other winter travel gear up and down flights of stairs and bumping into about a million people in the process. A cab? There are none in our neighborhood, but we could call a car service, no guarantee that they'd ever show up, plus they don't have a child seat and they drive like lunatics at a clown race. Besides, you can develop the same attitude walking or taking public transportation in this town. First there's the tourists walking side by side saddling up the street in slow motion, then there is some Mr. Mom with a stroller blocking your way (hey!) then...

Despite all of this, City driving is fun. Its like a video game, like Crazytaxi or Spy Hunter, but what isn't like a video game these days? And if it is like a video game, then why didn't I acquire anything close to this attitude from playing video games my whole life? Maybe I have. I know when I have been playing a video game for too long because I start getting frustrated with its stubborn aspects as well as with myself for failing to accomplish tasks that I have been successful at previously. I start yelling at the game. I've done this for as long as I've been playing them. Really what I need to do is realize that I need to is realize that its an amazing race obstacle course and enter a calm and relaxed zone. Then, when I'm at peace, I can cut people off and swerve into faster lanes in a light hearted and playful manner.