I love New York. And I equally love the ish of life. As I was parking my car today I came across this street sign. Who knew 6th Avenue had an ish… a half. A sort of in between 6th and 7th sort of street that had no purpose other than to install a stop sign (yes, a stop sign in the middle of a midtown cross street!). You know, because as the sign says, it is a Pedestrian Arcade. Really? I saw no such arcade. A lovely little restaurant with a Quinoa Bar but no arcade that I could see. A little space between 2 buildings with some cement seating and potted trees. But an arcade? Nah.
Nonetheless, the existence of a halfavenue that I never knew about made me realize that every day has a little surprise if you look.
NYC trivia… name the street this is on. (no prizes other than being able to boast about what a New Yorker you are).
I could not love this picture any more. I crossed the street to take a shot of this canvas hanging on the back of a truck on West Broadway, and this guy stopped in front of it just as I was taking the picture.
Art is so often created by happenstance.
Walking down the street with me is not a bargain. Those who know me well know my famous, “Go ahead, I’ll catch up.” Those who love me unconditionally (AKA, offspring and BFFs) smile and know this is just the price to pay for hanging out with me. I make up for it in other ways. Those who are married to me (the subset of one) are incredibly tolerant and will even stand in a situation for my amusement (and theirs later on).
So, this image begs the question, “Why are crazy people such good lovers?” Here is a little exercise. Jump out of lurking mode (I know you are all there, I check the stats) and feel bad enough for my sorry ass to leave some comments answering to one or more of the following topics:
- Define crazy.
- Decide if this makes you more likely to admit that you are.
- In your experience, is there a direct correlation between being crazy and being a good lover?
Amuse me kiddies, I have had a tough few months!
I passed this place the other day in Long Island City. If you are not from the area you would not realize how funny that is. LIC is just across the river from Manhattan; but a short while ago there was nothing about the area that would make you think that an upscale, slightly-affected nail salon (understatement) called Snob would crop up. It is amazing how one minute a neighborhood can be all industrial and sketchy and before you know it you can get a mani pedi at a place called Snob.
I sort of wanted to hang around and see what type of person was OK with frequenting a place called Snob. Do you think they have shopping bags with their logo on it. I would SO love to have one of those.
A quick little hop over to Yelp yielded a slew of 4 and 5 star ratings and a nice sound byte: For a place called “Snob”, they have a very friendly staff! But there was one patron who was very unhappy with her brazilian wax and got way more graphic with TMI review.
Hey, do you think they sell t-shirts?
The first thing I will say about this shot is, only on the North Shore of Long Island.
This, my friends, is the bakery case at a local pet store. Yes, a bakery case. And these would be dog biscuits sporting messages in yiddish and hebrew. Both are fairly common slang that even those not of the tribe would probably recognize, but just in case, these are the definitions.
Oy vey! Sort of like OMG for Jews. In a sentence, “Oy vey, these people are selling dog biscuits with yiddish sayings on them”.
Shalom: Hello. Goodbye. Peace. Jews like to conserve and recycle. Contextual clues usually give this one away. Yet when someone says, “Shalom, my friend’, you might have no idea what he really means.
I must not forget to point out the half off sale price. Because, you know, we Jews love a good bargain.
No, I did not buy these for the puppy and yes, people did watch me take the picture. I am guessing it might have discouraged sales that day.
Note: This never made it up on Tuesday, so forgive me if you cry on Friday instead. As a consolation I permit you to start drinking early.
Monday night we had the privilege to celebrate Dr. Jimmy’s birthday at The Blue Note to see Monty Alexander (highly recommended). For those who are not familiar, this is the historic jazz club in the Village in NYC. Seeing a show there is a comfort; the place has hardly changed and every time you walk through those doors you get the feeling that you are part of the real New York.
I arrived a little late and when I got there our table of 11 was mostly full. There were a couple of open seats at the end and a table next to us with a reserved sign on it. “Look at whose names are on that sign”, said Dr. Jimmy.
And there they were. As if every day I get to sit RIGHT NEXT TO one of my favorite recording artists and his wildly talented wife. Yes, my friends. Krall and Costello meant Diana Krall and Elvis Costello. AT THE NEXT TABLE. And if you have ever been to the Bluenote you would know how these tables are right on top of one another.
So, a little while later, in walked Elvis and Diana and sat RIGHT NEXT TO ME. Being the very cool and respectful NYers that we are we refrained from bothering them. Which by omission made us so not cool because we were deliberately ignoring them. I can’t tell if they were relieved or thought us rude and stuck up.
I posted this sign on Facebook and impressed all my friends. I am still wondering if Elvis did the same.
Since I am still uncomfortable with having not having acknowledged them at all, I would like to say here that sitting next to Elvis Costello goes up there with one of my greatest thrills. My first concert with Gary was Elvis Costello at the Eastman Theatre in Rochester when I was a freshman in college. It was raw and exciting and the beginning of what would become the sound I grew to love.
So, Elvis, if your social media monitoring picks this up I would like to say the next time we sit next to each other at a show it would be my honor to buy you and Diana a drink.
Sometimes I am so busy taking pictures it does not occur to me that I should stop and buy the damn thing. This photo was taken at the Brooklyn Flea. They have the best collection of nonsense you can ever find. I always get so caught up in the whole atmosphere of the place that I make the mistake of not making a purchase.
I particularly love the hyphen in Teen-agers. It was if the word had just started catching on.
I am hoping this is still there next week. I was dying to see the inside of this book and of course was able to find it on ebay. It is a songbook from 1954! It can’t get any better, can it? The illustrations are to die for.
I take great comfort in knowing I can buy it there if the Flea is out of it next week.
This could be my favorite license plate of the year. For those who are not of the tribe, or don’t live amongst the tribe, to shlep is to carry clumsily or with difficulty. But an alternate definition is ‘an arduous journey’.
Arduous indeed. If those window decals are for real I would say there was a hell of an arduous journey to get all those offspring through those institutions of higher learning. If you can’t read them in the photo they include: UPenn, Wharton, Cornell, Columbia University Law School, Mount Sinai School of Medicine and Harvard Law School… all on a 25-year-old station wagon!
It could also be very possible that this person just bought all these decals with no affiliation whatsoever to these schools.
But somehow I think not.
Another great shot from my friend Sue. The same one who brought you Social Media Explained from a bathroom stall. I am convinced she hangs in the most interesting buildings in NY. Hey Sue, were these in the same building?
So, let’s think about this sign. What are the dangers of rapping in the elevator?
1. Perhaps you would make someone angry enough to cause a fight.
2. You could become so engrossed in the act of rapping that you would press all the wrong buttons causing the elevator to malfunction. (unlikely)
3. Or maybe the building hipsters just thought this was funny.
Now even a mundane elevator ride or a visit to the bathroom can be amusing. Nothing bad about that.
Ok, let’s get passed how damn cute these two were and think about how utterly amazing June 24, 2011 has become. On the very day that my parents are celebrating their 60th (!!!!!) wedding anniversary, the great state of New York has given the right to EVERY one of its citizens to grow up and marry the person they love.
The two little boys in the picture did get the chance to grow up and marry the person they love, but they were forced to do so in another state because the one in which they lived did not give them that option. In the very state in which they pay taxes, work hard, fight for causes, make a difference every day; they were not considered eligible to be married.
That cutie on the left is one of my dearest friends on earth – my gay husband. He has fought tirelessly for the cause. Tonight it has all paid off.
Never in the history of the long road of friendships we have shared, have I been happier to celebrate a victory so huge that I can barely type through the tears. Those magic numbers: 33-29. The great friggin’ state of NY has finally stood behind the premise of equality and made history. I am so proud, so moved, so through the roof ecstatic for those who have fought so hard and won the rights for so many.
Frank, you are an inspiration, my favorite dog with a bone, the man who never says die and puts not only your money, but your time, where your mouth is to fight for a cause.
I am thrilled for all those who will finally be able to ‘grow up and marry the one they love’.
To quote a favorite children’s book, “Let the wild rumpus begin”.
Ok, I admit it. There are a few musicians that can do no wrong in my book. The list is not long and I am very loyal.
Dave Matthews has been at the top of that list for quite awhile. Aside from loving his music, he is socially conscious, is incredibly offbeat (which we all know that I love) and I always had this feeling that he was just a really good guy.
This was confirmed this week in a post on Fab at Fifty. You can read the original post here. It is written by the founder of the site Geri, who I do not know but we happen to share a close friend. The mom in this story is the sister of one of my original girls from childhood. Truth be told, we were afraid of Jill when we were younger, but we have outgrown that – she is a lot less scary now that we are not 14 .
The story goes like this. Devon, a young lawyer was walking down the street in NY and realized that she has just passed Dave Matthews. She and her mom Jill are crazy Dave fans. She turned around and called his name and he stopped. She went on to tell him how she and her mom had seen him over 30 times and they love his music. Then she asked him to call her mom and…
Right there on the street he spoke to Jill because, well because he is a great guy.