The Procrastination Tango

Last weekend I made a little road trip to Tampa. Ordinarily, for a seasoned road traveler like myself, this measly 4 hour trip is nothing to write home about. But, this time, there were two reasons to write blog about: the occasion for the trip was extra momentous, and, along the way, Foxy the Hyundai Accent had her own very special moment.

Good ol' Foxy crossed the 20,000 mile mark! She's in her 20's! "You and me, 20g!" is what I said as I caressed her dashboard, took a picture, and shed a tear. Lost in reverie (I mean, focused on the road... defensive driving... 10 and 2), I missed the actual moment the odometer clicked over to 20000, but 20006 is close enough, right? Anyway, I was emotional because, in a lot of ways, Foxy's been my best friend for the last couple years. We've seen a lot, her and I. She held me safely and comfortably in the front seat and carried a heavy burden of my crap in the back as we drove across the country twice in her first year. She got me through mountains and snow, rain and wind, the desert and the Midwest, good times and bad. She came from Jersey, survived West Virginia, and waited patiently for weeks on end in the parking garage of a Safeway in San Francisco. She starts up every time, with pep in her step and NPR on her radio. She is the longest-term commitment I've ever had... When she crossed 20,000 miles, I was proud of her, and of me.

And last weekend, of all things, we were on our way to my real best friend's wedding. This was the momentous occasion for going to Tampa. My friend Mitch was getting married. MARRIED. HOLY SHIT. Now, that's a real commitment. I love Foxy and all, but at the end of the day I don't have to share a bathroom with her.

So it was I arrived in Tampa. Ready to celebrate my friend's joyous day and to do justice to the long, proud tradition of drunken groomsman. I hadn't been part of a wedding since I was a 4-year-old ring bearer carrying a pillow with a fake plastic ring tied to it. I was pissed at my Uncle (it was his wedding) about the fake ring then, and I'm still pissed about it now. I could have been trusted with the real ring dammit! I was a responsible little kid! I felt like a shmuck walking down the aisle with a fake ring... but I digress.

During this ceremony, all I really had to do was wear a suit and a yarmulke, and walk one of the bridesmaids down the aisle. Mitch and Amy stood under the chuppah, the Rabbi said some things, Mitch broke the glass, as Jews are wont to do, and all rejoiced. It was a beautiful day as two lives became joined as one.

The reception began with the ceremonial lifting of bride and groom on chairs, as seen in the Fiddler on the Roof clip linked above. Watch that clip! I was on groom chair duty and was apparently almost crushed by the bride's chair, to the horror of helpless onlookers. They tell me I was a hair's breadth away from a concussion. I'm just glad I didn't drop him, given that I had no advance warning there was going to be heavy lifting involved. I hadn't limbered up!

After this bit, the DJ started in with the line dancing songs and I suddenly knew why groomsmen needed to be so drunk. Or, why this particular groomsmen needed a few good drinks, anyway. I wanted to enjoy this party, and for better or worse (till death do us part?) booze was going to be necessary. So, I started in with the cocktails and was eventually putting vodka in coffee. Not bad! Well, it did the trick anyway, and even got me out on the dance floor a few times... By the way, what the hell does it mean to "do the Charlie Brown"? Nevermind, I don't want to know. I'm happy I don't know those kinds of things.

Awww.... Look at them. They're happy! And I'm super happy for them. I know this is what Mitch has wanted for a long time. It's weird though, isn't it? We're getting married now, huh? We're at that time in our lives? When the shit did that happen? I sure don't feel like I'm there, yet. I mean, getting fuckin' married?! Yikes. I can hardly imagine. Oh sure, I want love and I want a family... someday. But, it's awful hard for me to imagine doing that, like, today.

After all, "why do today what you can put off 'till tomorrow," right? I am pro-procrastination! Just say no to anti-procrastination! Follow?

In fact, this blog is a public display of procrastination. And I procrastinated privately before getting to this procrastination (Mitch's wedding was actually two weekends ago). But the point remains: if I wasn't writing this, I could be doing homework, applying for jobs, volunteering at a soup kitchen, learning to play guitar, curing cancer, or finding a woman with whom I might procrastinate or procreate with, whichever came first. (Insert coming first joke here) (Insert insertion joke here)

To me, though, there is a beauty in procrastination. If done correctly, it can transcend mere laziness to become an act of defiance essential to restoring elements of our humanity that the rush, rush, plugged-in, workaday world slowly robs us of. It's my belief that we need down-time, that we need to be able to make the conscious choice to not do something. We need to be able to free ourselves from the nagging feeling that everything has to be done right-now-this-second.

Sure, I will eventually do the thing, but right now? No. No, I don't believe I will. I am going to choose when the hell I do that thing. I will get to it when I am good and goddamn ready. And, when I am ready (mentally or physically), and I do do the thing, I will inevitably do it better. Procrastination is a gathering of energies integral to my creative process.

Or, I'm just a lazy ass. Yeah... definitely could be that.

But, I don't think so! According to the theory I am espousing in this post, procrastination is a noble enterprise. A mind-freeing exercise in alternative thinking. To me, it's like dance. In order to dance well, you need to be able to free your mind of its conscious inhibitions. You have to break your body free of the shackles of the mind. I am not a dancer, but, as I said, I was forced into a dancing situation at Mitch's wedding... comfortable, I was not. However, after enough vodka-coffees, I was at least able to get out there. Procrastination is the vodka-coffee of my everyday life, freeing me up to do things I might not normally do.

It is my way of communing with god, or the universe, or nature, or whatever. As much as I'd like to pretend that, like Thoreau or Whitman, I get deep insights and inner-peace from a walk in the woods, I do not. When I walk in the woods all I get is bug bites and Deliverance derived anal rape paranoia. And I don't like getting dirty. No, I'm not a "nature guy." But, procrastination is my substitute. When I procrastinate, I am stepping out of humanity in order to restore my humanity. You won't catch me on a nature retreat, but you will often find me busily at work not working.

You buying this shit? Didn't think so. But you sure killed some time reading it! Congratulations!
And Mazel tov, Mitch and Amy! Like Foxy and me, may you always enjoy the journey.

Happy anniversary Foxy!

Good, but Would You Mug an Old Woman For It?

This weekend Morty The Bread Starter became a rye bread, which, since he cannot grow a beard, handle money, or run the entertainment industry, is the most Jewish thing he could do. Rye bread is as much a part of the Jewish culture as guilt, neurosis, and poor eyesight. In other words, if Morty had his bar mitzvah when we made the first breads, then this weekend he graduated from medical school. Let's see, what other stereotypes can I use... I guess that's it for now.

Anyway, yes, I used Morty to make rye bread, and, yes, I was pretty happy with the results, once again. Not sure it was good enough to inspire petty thievery (a Seinfeld reference; if you have to ask, it won't be funny to you anyway. OK, OK... here's a link if you need it), but it was definitely a success. This Tartine-style bread making has been a lot of fun! This one was kind of a sour-dough rye; mild, crusty, chewy, and covered in caraway seeds. Perfect for a nice deli sandwich. By the way, if you've never had a pastrami on rye, well, shoot, I really don't know what to tell ya... you simply haven't lived. If you want to know what it tastes like to be Jewish (but not what a Jew tastes like... that's something else entirely), you find yourself some rye and some pastrami, toot sweet.

Pastrami on Rye.
This might as well be a picture of a circumcised penis, that's how Jewish this is.

Rye-ce to meet you.

Caraway seeds.

In other, less baked-goods related news... I am still substitute teaching and my teaching certification courses started up again. A couple weeks ago I worked every single day of the week. As in all 5 workdays, in a ROW. It was nuts. I just don't know how people do that! By the end of the third day I needed a good two-day nap. That's how it should be: three days on, two days sleeping, then two more days off. I could happily live with that work schedule. Come on, Obama, make THAT change happen.

Still, working does provide some decent stories to tell, from time to time. For instance, the other day I found myself locked in a wrestling match with a 4th grader as I tried to restrain him from pummeling another 4th grader. Apparently some other kid in the class had said something about his mom or his manliness or some such thing, and this kid went from 0 to pissed-the-fuck-off in a split second. His eyes rolled back like a shark on the attack. He was ready to murderlate the other kid. I quickly stepped in and sat him down in a futile attempt to talk him down. He wasn't having it, and soon bolted up and darted towards his nemesis, arms flailing like a crazed monkey. This was no ordinary 4th grader, this was a mutant shark-monkey! A sharnkey? He never made contact with the other kid, though, because I held him back until the principal came to get him. He was no more than 4 feet tall, but he put up quite the fight. The whole time he never stopped swinging wildly at the air, muttering his 4th grade threats. It must have been quite the show for all the other kids in the room. I don't know how long I was wrestling with him exactly, but I know I was winded as I explained to the principal what had happened.

I can assure you, if this situation ever happens when I am in a high school class, someone is going to get hurt and it is not going to be me. I am not about to step between two high school kids whose combined weight is probably going to be at least five times my own. No, they will be left to their own devices until bigger adults, who make more money than I do, show up. This probably applies to middle school, too... even half THOSE bastards are bigger than me.

It's not all juvenile delinquency, though. Last week, in middle school, I bonded with the weirdest girl in class, the one all the others talked shit about when she left the room. She was weird and spastic, sure, but also smart and pleasant in her oddness. We got to talking, and before she left she gave me a guitar-shaped silly band. My first gift from a student. Not as nutritious as an apple, but silly bandz are like money to these kids, so it was valuable to her, and therefore, to me, too. At least, there was no misinterpreting the gesture. She was telling me that she appreciated that I had been nice to her, and I believed her. On the other hand, most of the time I find I filter what the kids say through my own insecure, insincere, cynical adult brain and draw the wrong conclusions about what they meant and how they meant it. I need to remind myself that at least half the time they are actually not making fun of me! The other half they most certainly are. But, still... I shouldn't assume they are coming from a shitty place. They aren't fully formed humans, yet, they deserve the benefit of my doubt.

As to my own certification classes, they're going along fine. When I went to the first class of the semester it was good to see all the other students again. So good that I found myself, in spite of myself, hanging out before class, chatting it up with a bunch of different people. I was fucking working the room! As I was walking around talking to everyone, getting laughs (I think genuine), I was aware of how unlike me this whole scene was. I was weirdly "on."  I think I must have been feeling less self-conscious than normal because I was still dressed nice from working earlier that day. Funny what a tie can do to a man, when it's not busy making him want to hang himself with it. Besides the tie, I think I was also feeling good because it was like 25 to 3, girls to guys, in the room (I was the alpha male for once in my life); and, since I hadn't seen these people in a couple months, I was fairly confident they could do with another dose of Joel. Usually I am quite sure that everybody's had enough. And usually I do not refer to myself in the third person. Like Costanza, I was doing the opposite. Worked pretty well.

Of course, I'm sure I was not quite the King of the room my memory has made me out to be. It might even have been a sickening display of awkward gregariousness on my part. But, then again, maybe I was at least a Court Jester or something, if not the King. I could pull off Court Jester for one night, I know it. Come on, reality, let me hold on to Jester status.

Well, that's all I got for this very Jewish-themed TV and movie referencing post... now back to The Mentaculus. As soon as I crack that probability map of the universe, it'll be time for the two-day nap part of my week. Next up for Morty will be beignets or croissants, probably. Next up for me is a new poor-eyesight related facial accessory, to be revealed in the next post. Stay tuned.

Schnitzer's. Co-STANZA!

In Progress

Welcome to the first post written for the newly designed blog. Blogspot made some shiny new templates available and I couldn't resist the chance to tinker. It is still in progress. 
In progress. I like that. A blog in progress, a life in progress... where am I today? Am I moving forward? Backward? Sideways? Whichever way I'm moving, am I enjoying the movement? Yes to all those questions at once, I think. I think I am moving in every direction at once. Not that there's anything wrong with that.


I was listening to a podcast the other day and heard a quote I quite liked. So happens it is from a rabbi, but that is besides the point. So happens the podcast was WTF with Marc Maron, a really good stand up comedy themed interview show I have really been enjoying lately. Listen to it for free here! But that is besides the point. The quote, and the point, is this:
If I am not for myself, who will be for me? If I am not for others, what am I? And if not now, when?

Rabbi Hillel

How's that for inspiration to get off my lazy ass? So I have.. sorta. I have now begun the teacher certification program at Palm Beach State College. I passed the certification test for teaching 6-12th grade English. These classes will hopefully prepare me for actually being in a classroom. Then I'll need to get an actual job, etc, etc... For now, I go to class. A college man once again. I have books and homework and a student ID card and everything. It's a little weird. Not sure if it will be easier or harder than the first time around.

Anyway, now for the Woody Allen portion of this post: Jesse recently sent this picture to me and I love it. I wanted to post it just because I think it is so cool. Gambling and being a retro cool nebbish never go out of style. Right??


Finally, here is a pretty picture of the sunrise in Boynton Beach. Recently I had to work overnights, from 12:30am-6:00am. While generally unpleasant, it did give me a reason to be up early enough to see the sunrise on the beach, something I am pretty sure I had never bothered to do in all my years in Florida. It was worth doing... once. I need sleep. But, hey, there it is, proof. The sun does also rise!

Bread, the stuff of life

My new year's resolution: Make and eat lots of bread! Of course, this is hardly a stretch as I have been doing this pretty much all my life. I literally teethed on a frozen bagel and my dad has been a semi-pro baker for as long as I can remember... The Kodish cheesecake is legendary (if you haven't tried it, I'm truly sorry for you). Also, carbs are a staple of traditional Jewish cooking... carbs wrapped in carbs inside of other carbs served on top of yet other carbs, in fact. So, I think bread is just in my genes.. I like to imagine my insides are made of dough, not blood and guts.

San Francisco is famous for sour dough, of course, and I have been known to make a meal of an entire loaf of the stuff, seen above with clam chowder in it and being made at the famous Boudin Bakery. It is deeeelicious. However, ever since I have been here, and living with people other than myself, I have rediscovered my own fondness for baking. Having an appreciative audience is really all the difference for me. I can never seem to get motivated to do much cooking or baking for only old lonesome, lazy me. That's just the way it is, I guess. But now I'm sharing space with two other stomachs and about all I can afford to contribute is baked goods. So, one day I took out a box from my car and found a great baking book that my dad had given me. Inspiration struck!

I started with an experimental almond apple pie.. not bad, shoulda been sweeter. Next I moved on to a braided Challah loaf (hey gentiles, challah=egg bread). I must say, it came out amazing! Texture, flavor, and crust were spot on. We devoured that pretty quickly and at this point I became very cocky. I was a great baker! My people loved me! Then I tried a raisin bread.. meh. Danie said it was good, but I had high standards now and I was disappointed. Nothing a little more cinnamon won't fix next time, though, I think.

Then I picked up some supplies at Whole Foods for my next project, a rye bread. It looks great, I'll give it that, and it even tasted great, but... I think it was just a little underdone.. d'oh! This one really pissed me off because it was soooo close to being awesome. After this I needed to take a break from bread, step back and reevaluate some of my techniques. In the meantime, I made some pecan chocolate chunk cookies.. good, but just a little overdone this time. Shit! Strangely, though, they got better the second day. In fact they were really soft and chewy and excellent the second day.. turns out Danie had put a piece of regular sandwich bread in the cookie tin overnight and somehow, miraculously, that cured what ailed them. I had never heard of that old wives trick.. it's a goodun!

With that small victory under my belt I returned to bread making with a pumpernickel... a pumpernickel that just would not rise.. craptastic! I blame the yeast. Rapid-rise yeast sucks, just so you know. The dough just lay there, unmoving and sad, and I was sad, too... But I picked myself up by my apron strings and refused to let the dough beat me! Eventually, after a whole day on the floor in the sun, me keeping a keen eye on it (by keen, I mean obsessed), it rose enough (sorta, kinda) to warrant a baking. It came out OK I guess.. too small and the flavor (from unsulphered molasses) was a little weird to me, but it made decent toast anyway. After this debacle I needed a morale boosting guaranteed victory, so I made another Challah and some Challah rolls. Again, these came out beautiful and the loaf made it all the way to North Dakota. I think that may be the farthest and oddest trip any challah bread has ever made. 

Most recently I've made pretzels, potato buns, and knishes.. and I'm happy to say I was pleased with all of them. The potato buns and knishes, in particular, came out just how I wanted them to. Jesse and I made totally from scratch pulled pork sandwiches on the potato buns and the knishes made a great Christmas dinner side dish. I used my great bubbe's (grandma's) recipe for the knishes, which was pretty cool to think about. I think she would have been proud. By the way, one of Great Bubbe's favorite Yiddish expressions was one of the all-time great bread-related put downs: "lig in drerd and bock bygel". This means to "lie down in hell and bake bagels". As in, "You don't like it, you can go to hell and bake bagels!" How awesome is that expression, huh? Even the Jewish version of "fuck off" involves bread!

The point of this post was not really to show off my own amateur baking skills, though. It was really just to extol the virtues of bread, glorious, glorious bread! My single favorite thing to eat! I'm a little hard to please when it comes to my own baking (I demand perfection!)... But really, I love it all! I haven't met a bread I wouldn't eat everyday and twice on.. everyday, really. In all shapes, sizes, and flavors. As the foundation of a sandwich, as toast, in bagel form, with butter, just totally plain, whatever.. if it's made of flour and water, I love it and want to eat it. Bread sustains us! A world without carbs is no world at all... Amen.

Also this, I still love me some gambling:

I have registered to play in the PokerStars World Blogger Championship of Online Poker! The WBCOOP is a free online Poker tournament open to all Bloggers, so register on WBCOOP to play.
Registration code: 126547         

Let the Wild Rumpus Begin!

As of today it is officially Christmas week. For me, this also means it is officially the week of my birthday. That's right, two very important, dead sexy Jews have birthdays this week. Me and Jesus. I'm one day older than him, which totally burns him up by the way. Whenever we are arguing about something and we come to an impasse I can always pull out the "Well, I'm older and wiser than you" card. God, that just kills him.

Anyway, when I am not busy holding it over Jesus, I usually just try to get through the holidays and my birthday without causing or participating in too many scenes. I don't mind my birthday generally, but being the center of attention is just about the opposite of what comes naturally and comfortably to me. It's nice to know people care about me and all, but I don't need any special attention, really. As for Christmas, I got nothing against the Goys and their traditions; the spirit of giving and family togetherness can be truly magical. But does the mall have to be so fucking crowded? I mean really. Still, however awful the holiday music and all the shopping is, I mostly like the Christmas idyll of families and friends getting together and doing nice things for each other. That sounds like a grand idea to me. Like I said, I don't begrudge them their holiday... It's theirs, they can have it.

I like Chanukah just fine. Obviously I am not very (read: at all) religious, but the way Chanukah (or however the hell you spell it) manifests itself in the secular world is, just like Christmas, simply an excuse to be with and/or express your love for your loved ones. Plus, we got latkes! Jewish hash browns! They are sooo good, and I don't know why they are a once a year thing.. in fact, I am hereby proposing a year long latke party in 2010. Let's all do it! Latkes all year baby, break out the sour cream and apple sauce! Or, if you're a Goy, go ahead and put ketchup or salsa on that potato pancake, I won't mind, this is not a private party. Everyone's invited: young, old, black, white, straight, gay, Jew, non-Jew, anybody who loves fried potato!

This year, on the third night of Chanukah (in case you missed it above, please do click here for a cool holiday song that made me laugh a lot) I found myself in San Francisco's Union Square in the middle of one of those scenes I am not normally fond of. It was crowded with shoppers, tourists, passersby, hobos, and... Jews, lots of genuine, out in the wild Jews. You see, I had gone here to witness a menorah lighting ceremony. It took some convincing by my mom, and Danie, to get me out of the house, but this free event promised Jewish music, a giant, old menorah, open flames, and "local dignitaries"... Ultimately, how could I refuse?

The first thing I noticed was the first thing I am sure most of the tourists noticed as they happened upon this scene. A seemingly crazy bearded dude in a black hat and suit dancing solo to the blaring Hebrew techno music. Of course, I knew this fellow was a rabbi and his dancing, while ridiculous and quite funny, was enthusiastic and pretty charming. The crowd was enchanted by him, for sure. And then I noticed there was someone, or something, else out there with him. What's better than a rabbi dancing with himself? A rabbi dancing with a Wild Thing!! Yes! One of the Wild Things from Where The Wild Things Are was out there dancing right along side him, hands in the air, hips swinging, feet stomping. Apparently, Wild Things are Jewish. Later, I met the Wild Thing up close.. his name is Louis, he had a hard time navigating the wet stairs on his way out, and his handler in the green hat gave me a couple of two for one tickets to the Contemporary Jewish Museum. Ahh, so, it all made sense now... The Jewish Museum currently has a Maurice Sendak (author of Wild Things) exhibit and this was free publicity. Whatever the reason, I consider it a Chanukah miracle that there turned out to be something worth seeing at this event. No local dignitaries ever did materialize, but, as darkness fell, the rabbi stopped dancing and brought out the torch. I was concerned for his beard, but he managed to not catch himself on fire as he climbed the stairs to the top of the menorah and did his prayers and whatever else they have to do before lighting the candles. And that was it, the festivities were over. I was out already, though, and it was a nice night, so I took a little walk through the crowds of Union Square until I found some half price, $3 gloves at H&M. That satisfied my itch to shop and I decided that was more than enough dealing with the crowds for one day and I booked it home.

And that was the story of my big holiday outing this year. Merry Christmas/Happy Chanukah/Happy New Year to all! May all our new years be filled with peace and love! Forgive me, I've been in San Francisco almost three months and the hippie is seeping in! Also, a very happy Festivus to all my Festian, or is it Festivish (??), friends! Dan and Kash, I hope you dominated your Feats of Strength.

I think 2010 is gonna be good. We got the latke party going for us.. and other good stuff is bound to come up, right? I'm sure it will. So, for now I say, "Let the wild rumpus begin!"

Ch. 3b - We now pause for Jewish identification...

Anyone who knows me, knows that I am not particularly religious.. OK, not at all religious actually. However, anyone who has seen me knows that I cannot hide my Jewishness. Random bums from Manhattan to Las Vegas to Boulder, CO have told me I look like Woody Allen. True Story. Comedians have taken one look at me in the first row and done whole sets based on how Jew-y I look.. one even guessed my first name, as if it were completely obvious. Don't get me wrong, I am not complaining about this. It is simply a fact. And I like being a Jew.. I like the culture, I like the food, I like the humor. But the religious aspect has never done much for me and I have not stepped inside a synagogue in... well, I can't even remember the last time. Family dinners on the holidays, sure, great. Morning services, never. Which is why I was a little uneasy about going to Rosh Hashanah services with my Aunt and Uncle in Denver. My visit coincided with the Jewish new year and I was game to give it a try (how bad could it hurt, really?), but I was still... uneasy.

While I could still do without all the constant God and Torah praising, it turns out it wasn't too bad overall. In fact, I found myself unexpectedly moved by a few of the passages included in the services. One passage in particular really resonated.. it just seemed to fit very well with what I am trying to do with my life right now. As the rabbi read it (or the rabbi stand-in, since this congregation doesn't have a rabbi now.. a whole other story) I admit I was overcome by emotion. What can I say, it hit home. So, I figured it could be worth sharing.

The passage was a poem about Teshuvah, a Hebrew word referring to... blah, blah, blah, yada, yada, yada, something about repentance (wait, you mean a Jewish concept about guilt? Shocking.) Anyway, I really have no idea what it means and kinda don't much care how significant a concept I'm sure it is to the Jewish High Holidays... I just liked the poem this congregation used to cover the topic. Here it is:

Rosh Hashanah.
Here poised between what we have been
And what we long to be.

Here in the moment of Teshuvah,
Reunion,
Coming home,
Returning to our own true self.


Here in celebration and in search,
In judgment and embrace.
Ready to confront the world
in which we find ourselves;
Ready to unveil our spirit.


Restored,
Whole,
Reunited with the Source of all Life.

(Gail Anderson ben Ezra and Ed Towbin)

I dunno, at this moment in my life those words make a lot of sense. That's the kind of "religious" message I can get behind.

These are pictures from my Jew days in Denver. In the first, you can see how my Aunt Lorrie and I looked after services. Then there are the boys making the holiday Challah with their Grandma the day before. Finally, there is the Challah in all its candy-covered glory. L'chaim! To life!
 
...We now return to our regularly scheduled programming.

Ch. 1 - Away We Go

And so, new philosophy in hand, I set out on the first leg of my trip from New Jersey to Columbus, OH. Happiness and immense relief immediately came over me as I pulled away from Jersey, and I didn't look back once.

Mostly because I couldn't! My poor little Hyundai was packed to the gills! Yes, that is a giant blue stuffed bear taking up valuable space behind the passenger seat. Anybody got a problem with that? The car still handles great and gets good gas mileage, and at this moment, that car is the love of my life! I try to treat her well. Her name is Foxy, by the way, named so because I had to buy her after my old car broke down on the way back from the Foxwoods Resort and Casino in Ledyard, CT. So, Foxy and I have been happy together since then and are enjoying our new life on the road.

The first six hours flew by on a wave of excitement and adrenaline. I wasn't tired at all and felt like I could keep going forever. Alas, I had to stop in Wheeling, WV. Why, you might ask would I need to stop in West Virginia? Well, you see, it had been some five months since I went to Foxwoods and I needed to gamble! You can take the boy out of Vegas, but not the Vegas out of the boy. Wheeling is home to the Wheeling Island Casino, which I had designated ahead of time to be an essential stop. It was actually bigger and nicer than I had imagined and it worked out great! I played poker for about 45 minutes, made some good hands, a couple of timely bluffs, and walked out of there more than $200 up.. more than paying for the first leg of my trip! Actually, I did not walk out of there.. I ran the fuck out! I had to get out of their before the local toothless realized a Jew just took all their money! In my mind this is what I looked like to them in their minds:

Am I being unfair to the people of West Virginia? I don't think so...

So, I won, escaped with my life, and after that it was two more hours to Columbus and I was looking forward to dinner and seeing my friend. It was not long after I arrived that I started to figure out which casino I will be stopping at during the next leg of my trip.

Two Jews in a Rowboat, or Only in New York

Another week in the books, and I thought I'd dedicate this post to the things I saw this week that struck me as uniquely New York.

Maybe you can't really tell, but in this rowboat in a lake in Central Park are two Hasidic Jews... black suits, yarmulkes, hair curls, and all. Where else are you gonna see this? Not exactly sure why it's funny, but it is. How many Jews does it take....?

Today on the 4 train, between 86th st. and 59th st., I was treated to a show involving a boombox, a kid, and a break dancing midget. If only I had thought to take a video. I gave the little person a dollar... I mean, the guy did the worm (!) on the floor of a subway train. He earned it.

Earlier in the week I had lunch in Madison Square Park with my cousins. The picture at left is of the line New Yorkers are willing to wait in for a burger from a place called the Shake Shack. The burger was good, but yikes! No thank you to the line... It had to be at least 30 people deep.

Speaking of restaurants, Seinfeld fans should recognize this place on the Upper West Side. It's Tom's Restaurant, known as Monk's on the show. The inside looks nothing like it did on TV, but I had to eat there anyway. Jerry, George, Kramer, and Elaine were not there, though. And I did not have a big salad. It was still cool.

Finally, who's buried in Grant's Tomb? It's a trick question... gotcha. My dad has been telling the story for years about being asked that question in school... he answered the teacher with an exasperated tone, "I don't know!" How was he supposed to know that? (It's Grant, Ulysses S., by the way) His tomb is in Riverside Park.

A week in an Apple

Firstly, let me apologize for the delay since my last post. I've been too tired, lazy, or both.. I have no real excuse. It seems like I've been here longer than I have, but it's really only been about 10 days. This picture is the outside of the building I'm living in.

Following is my first week:

Mon: I forget. Oh wait.. I took the train to 181st St. This is pretty far uptown Manhattan.. now I know what kind of apartment you can get in the city for $1,100. I did not take any pictures.. 'nuff said. I had two hot dogs and a papaya drink for $3.25 and got back on the train. I stopped at Grand Central Station on the way back.. still love that place.

Tues: Got up early and took the 10:13am from Penn Station to West Orange, New Jersey. I was excited for two reasons. First, I was going to see Margaret and Mia, whom I'd been missing. Second, I was taking a real train for the first time. They said, "All aboard!" and a conductor wearing a hat came around and punched a hole in my ticket.. I was in the old west.


I had a great time in Jersey. We had mediocre food (the pizza place ran out of pepperoni.. are you f'ing kidding?!) but the company was great and their neighborhood is pretty.



Wed: Determined to see water of some kind, I set out for the Staten Island Ferry. This is a nice, free 20 minute boat ride through New York harbor with views of lower Manhattan, Ellis Island, and the Statue of Liberty.

Near as I can tell, there ain't a whole lot to do once you get to Staten Island, but the boat ride is nice and the smell of salt water and the feel of the wind on my face was refreshing. When I got back to the mainland I walked around Battery Park and the Financial District of Manhattan.

There is a lot of history down there... there is also a lot of dudes wearing ties. On the way back I passed through the World Trade Center site. This was the first time I've seen it.. It is pretty amazing. Somehow it felt like taking pictures, as if it were some kind of tourist attraction, would be weird.. so I didn't.

Thurs: By this point I'm already starting to tire... I'm sure I've walked more and gotten more sun in the last few days than I did all of last year. But..I had a longing to visit Coney Island. So, I set out on the subway to the land of Nathan's Hot Dogs and the Cyclone.

I must say, the hot dog was really, really good.. worth the line. I did not ride the Cyclone roller coaster.. that thing's almost 100 years old.. screw that. Go ahead, call me chicken. The beach and the boardwalk were pretty nice. I'd go back.. I'd even ride the Cyclone.. No Wonder Wheel though.. I refuse.


Fri: I could be mistaken, but I think I went to the Lower East Side and walked around. I mean, I know I did this, but not certain it was Friday. In any case, I ended up at Katz's Deli, this is the place where Harry met Sally and Sally faked an orgasm. The breakfast special of three pancakes, coffee, and OJ for $6.95 wasn't bad. The pastrami sandwich that I felt obligated to order was just OK. It did not give me an orgasm, which, for $16.99, I was sorta expecting.

So, that was my first Mon-Fri, in short. I've been waking up early, tiring myself out, and going to bed early. If you want, you can see more pictures in my albums listed to the right.