Just Another Day at the Office

Work doesn't always offer a lot of spontaneous moments, but when you walk in the lobby after lunch and there's a giant double-stuffed Oreo traipsing through the lobby, you can have a moment of levity.

I have no idea why he was there, being led (awkwardly) through the security gates and into the elevator. Is there another agency in the building? Was my shop somehow placing an Oreo in a pharmaceutical ad? Who knows?

All I know is that nothing quite that stupid and random happened in over 3 years working in Boston, and it's been less than 2 months before this guy showed up.

Lesbians to Locals - A Park Slope Bar Hop

I think that Dan has finally learned his lesson when it comes to letting me choose what new "drinking hole" we are going to try next. The reason why I have to choose is to prevent the fight that usually ensues when Dan chooses the worst looking dive bar he can drag me into. Dan has a penchant for the types of bars that most people avoid...case in point, the Lithuanian Club back in Providence (http://www.rhodyrocks.com/2007/10/dive-bar-tour-of-providence.html).

So last night when we were walking past all kinds of trendy bars along 5th Ave., I was trying to scope out the most non-girly drink serving, neutrally hip bar I could. We stopped at a nifty little place with a cool...but not too cool exterior. We sat down at the bar and ordered 2 beers from a very nice older gentleman bartender. Then Dan realized he had no cash and had to walk out and find an ATM. This is when I had a moment to take it all in...the plasma TV playing the Democratic National Convention, the weathered walls and jukebox, the 2 lovely ladies seated next to me looking very cowgirl with neckerchiefs on, the other 2 ladies sitting next to them looking a little butch, the gay pride rainbow flag, the numerous Zagat's reviews on the wall next to me indicating that Ginger's Bar was in fact the BEST lesbian bar in Brooklyn...hell...all of New York City.

Dan returned to with money to this revelation and to his credit handled it pretty well, noting that it was really ME who had the least in common with everyone there, my not being interested in the female anatomy and all. So we sipped our beers next to a huge canister of ginger soaking in vodka and when we were done the bartender said "Thanks a lot, ladies" apologizing with a chuckle that it was a force of habit.

Having chosen poorly with Ginger's, we ended up at Jackie's Fifth Amendment on our next stop where we were served up 7 oz. bottles of Coors Light in fantastic stemmed glasses that I think will be featured in the Reed and Barton Crystal line for Spring. Of the many acoutrements that make Jackie's a definite stop on the Park Slope tour is the faux wood parquet bar top complete with uphoulstered edge in case you fall off your bar stool. As the photo shows, there's a clock in Jackie's for convenience...it wasn't 4:48 in the morning or afternoon but when you're at Jackie's time is irrelevant. We capped off the evening by scrounging up $1 to play Sweet Child of Mine on the jukebox and listened to the local flavor at the end of the bar.

It was a short hop, but an eventful one...proving that our quest for new hangouts in our new neighborhood will be an adventure for many weeks to come

This post was brought to you by - the letter L and the number 5.

F Train Follies

So maybe things have been a bit too easy lately. I had been thoroughly enjoying almost everything about our move in the last few weeks, but I hadn't yet experienced the joys of a screwed up commute into Manhattan. But today I had it in spades.

Sitting (not moving) on the elevated tracks between 4th Avenue and Smith Street, the conductor got on to announce that the train was going to be switching to the G train tracks after the next spot because of track problems ahead. So I got off at Smith, where they further announced they had no idea when F Train service would resume. I already knew I was going to be late, but now I didn't know if I was going to be able to get there before lunch. I checked the map, and it looked like my best bet was to take the G to the A, then switch from the A to the F in Manhattan. With the plan in place, I jumped on a passing G and got on the A in two stops (It's already 8:45, but I'm making progress.)

Well, the conductor on the A Train announces that THAT train will be doing a bunch of the F's stops. But not all of them, only a few into Manhattan, when it would go back, apparently, to the A track. But it was going to skip the transfer stop to the F that I needed.

Now I'm at who-knows-what stop, and it's almost 9:00. All the sudden I look out, and even though it wasn't an F Train stop, there's an F Train sitting across the way. So I burst out and across the platform just before the door closes, thinking I'm all set and will maybe be 15-20 minutes late. But no, because the track is doing double duty, and they're taking so much time to make announcements, we sat in the tube between every stop, and I didn't get to mine until a bit after 9:30. Which means I got to my desk almost 45 minutes later than I intended to.

On the way home, I had to McGuyver myself an alternate route (6 to the R to the F) to avoid the problems Kim said she had going back. Of course, I waited 10 minutes for the F at 4th Ave.

The good news is that the R seems to be both fast and easy to get to...I might be trying that option again in the future.

I'm home...thanks to the Bleecker Street Bar

There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of bars in New York City. I will never go to most of them. And while there may be a bar that better embodies the fun and fellowship that I love in a drinking establishment than the Bleecker Street Bar, I am doubtful such a place could exist.

Last Friday, thanks to the summer Fridays at my new job, I got out early and was committed to go to my favorite New York watering hole. (I discovered it before I lived here...it formerly served as the place I would go after a long day of walking and shopping through Greenwich Village with Kim.)(

There are a few keys to a great bar in the city. First, it should let you drink without breaking your budget. The BSB (for short) delivers by offering a 24 ounce Yuengling for $4. In other words, you get a bottle's worth of beer for $2.

But if that wasn't enough, the place has a battery of dart boards and a pool table in the back. In other words, it's not just a place to drink, but a place to play games and socialize. A good bar lets you meet other people and feel like, even for a moment, that you are connected to another person.

But no bar is worth the cost of a pint if it doesn't have a certain atmosphere, a certain sense of both comfort and energy. I don't know if it comes across in the picture to right, but the BSB has that in spades. The crowd is diverse and low-key, and the place fills with a light and energy that makes you feel like you're in a friend's house more than in a bar. When I was there last Friday, the bartender was asking me about where I was from, and a few other people chatted about sports or the news of the day.

That gets at something that's even bigger than a bar...New York is a lot more friendly than people want to admit. Just today, I had a 10 minute conversation with a woman on the train who used to own a Basque restaurant and recommends heading to the East Village for sushi and raw food. She could have sat and talked to her daughter, but she detected that I was new in the city (probably because I was flipping through Zagats) and thought she could give some good advice. For all the talk about the grumpy, self-absorbed New Yorker, I find them to be caring and personable. And there's no better place to experience it than the Bleecker Street Bar.

F Train Play List # 1 - Techno / Electro

If you ever get on the subway or walk the streets anywhere in New York, you'll notice that most people have their Ipod permanently lined into their ear drums, the reason being that it helps you to not notice the horrendous acts going on about you...take my ride home last night for instance. In the midst of a sardine packed F train sat a completely normal looking male - completely innocuous looking at first, until he started picking - DIGGING - into his nose. I mean, the guy must have been close to touching gray matter, yet no one around him seemed to notice, except for me - who was completely horrified and entranced at the same time..

This is why the Ipod is perfect for any subway situation. The importance of having playlists is crucial. It is NOT cool to hold your Ipod in your hand for the whole ride scrolling from song to song. Mostly everyone keeps it in their pocket or hidden away so all you notice are the little white wires extending into your ears. You just sit (stand mostly) back and sink into another world with your music, watching sublimely the things around you set to your chosen soundtrack.

The techno / electro genre lends particularly well to subway listening. There is something about the squeaking of the breaks and wooshing noise the train makes that is complemented by the beats and electronically produced noise that is techno / electro. This playlist starts out slow - for the walk to the Fort Hamilton Parkway station - and ends strong - inspiration to conquer (or at least survive) the day ahead.


Thee Playlist - F Train Techno / Electro
13 Songs, 1 hour

1. 100 Billion Stars - Lux
2. One Too Many Mornings - The Chemical Brothers
3. Sinnerman - Nina Simone & Felix Da Housecat
4. Every Word - Ercola
5. Moan (Vocal Version feat. Ane Trolle) - Trentemoller
6. Extreme Ways - Moby
7. NYC Beat - Armand Van Helden
8. I Love to Move In Here - Moby
9. This is Miami - Sander Kleinenberg
10. Cry for You (Radio Mix) - September
11. Harder Better Faster Stronger - Daft Punk
12. Playing House - Armand Van Helden feat. Kudu
13. F**ck the Pain Away - Peaches

The Neighborhood Park

So there's this huge freakin' park right near the house: Prospect Park. Interestingly, it was designed by the same guys who more famously created Central Park, and it's even been said they consider this one their masterpiece. So, yesterday, when I was home after taking a red eye from California, I decided to take the Block (aka Stella) for a walk to check it out.

You can see from the map that there's a lake in the southern part of the park, right near our neighborhood. So I decided, just for a kick, that my first walk would be around it. Now, it isn't THAT big, but it took me an hour and a half, so that was plenty of time for something odd to happen. And sure enough, some couple's puppy decided to go a little crazy and jumped right into an algae filled corner of the pond. I came two seconds from jumping in after it, because the way this guy was yelling, I thought it was a child. Other than that moment of drama, most of the walk was just staring at different birds and accepting people's compliments as they gawked at my very cute dog. (Just once, I want someone to come up to me, start petting the dog, and start saying, "You're such a lucky dog, you have such a good looking owner!" I'm starting to feel like maybe my dog is too attractive for me.)

The problem with leaving right near a great park is that you feel guilty if you aren't regularly taking advantage of it. Like, tomorrow I have a half day and the weather's supposed to be perfect. But what if I want to go to a bar or work on fixing up my basement? Then I wasted the nice weather, and (I can hear that guilt-trippy little voice in my head whining) THE PARK IS RIGHT AROUND THE CORNER!

New York Seen

Yesterday was my first day riding a crowded subway home...people watching GALORE, but I didn't get a seat until Carroll Street. I wish I could have taken a photo of the guy that walked onto the train in a Harley Davidson tshirt and this huge, chunky, brass belt buckle carved with the phrase "69er" on it. It was definitely a crime as the mere thought of this man existing in the same universe as that particular act was completely apalling.





Walking from the subway to the apartment, I noticed this sign posted about a stolen 2 headed turtle. It's completely for real and the pet store owner needs him back because he requires special feeding so that the 2 heads don't fight over the food. I hope they return the little guy so we can go see it. We'll get our tortoise Dmitri on the case...he really has nothing better to do, quite frankly.

This is Stella looking all tough in our mud wrestling pit in the yard. The really loves rolling in this massive pile of dirt so she's generally not allowed out there often unattended. We're trying to figure out exactly how to make good use of our dirt pit...most likely some sort of garden. Dan had a really good idea about moving some of the stones to make a path cutting across it and creating different garden beds. We haven't discussed this with Stella yet. We're sure she won't approve.

Yesterday at lunch I walked over to the massive Farmer's Market on Broadway and 17th street...just a few blocks away from the building I work in. There were amazing orchid plants for sale, although I can't imagine myself carrying an orchid home on the subway, or keeping it alive for that matter. I was amazed at how massive the market was...it stretched all the way to 14th street and it had EVERYTHING. I bought some vine ripened tomatoes that were perfectly ripe and they tasted every bit as good as ones we had grown in the yard on Lyman Street in Rhody. I also bought some beautiful peaches that are also perfectly ripe and ready to eat. I have to say that eating healthy is pretty easy here. There are salads everywhere and delicious produce available easily. The market runs every Monday, Wednesday and Friday...so tomorrow I'll stop by again for lunch.

God Help Me...I Live In New York

So today marks my first day working at the showroom on 41 Madison. It all started out so well...my colleague - and the only other person that works in the showroom - brought me flowers and set up the most awesome coffee machine in the world for my first pot. I set up my office and got straight to work...all was blissful...had lunch with Dan over by Grand Central...then by the time I got back to the office, the downward spiral ensued.

My "Virtual Private Network" decided to crap out on me and I couldn't access my Outlook folders...for an anal retentive, that spells disaster. I made it through the afternoon and decided to leave my laptop at the office so my folders could fix themselves. All remains to be seen in the A.M.

At about 5:30 pm, I head for the F train, feeling all cool with my Ipod and not making eye contact like a true New Yorker. I avoided getting on the V train, which would have been a mistake and got on the F train...or so I thought. Turns out the F train was marauding as the A and C train...only for 25 stops before it got to Brooklyn. It was the point of no return and I was assured that it would become the F train again once we got to Jay Street...which it did...about 45 minutes and 8 additional stops into the ride. I arrived at the Fort Hamilton stop about 1 hour and 5 minutes later.

I was greeted at the door by Ms. Stella, our wonderful bitch of a dog, who had torn through her crate in an effort to escape to the front bedroom window. After a thorough inspection of the whole apartment to make sure nothing was destroyed (or poisonous thing eaten) I took her out to the dog park for a walk to do her thing. By the time we returned a wonderful little note was left on the door by a man named Joe alerting us to the fact he would be back tomorrow to "work in the basement." Not sure what this entails, but it was a problem. I called the broker to tell her this was not possible and she agreed....all was right once again. I put a pot of water on for a sad dinner of spaghetti and bottled Classico 4 Cheese Tomato sauce and a glass (more than 1) of Cavit Pinot Grigio purchased from the mute Asian liquor store man on Church Ave in Kensington (another story for another day). I was just sitting down to my white trash dinner and reached down to pet Ms. Stella, when I felt an odd lump protruding her skin...which would be the dog tick.

Now I hate bugs of all kinds. I can't even be in the same room. On autopilot and knowing that there would be no one around to rescue me from the plight I was in, I went into the bathroom for the tweezers, located the disgusting flesh colored, engorged lump (about the size of a raisin), affixed the tweezers as far up as I could on the thing and yanked. There was a yelp (not sure if it was me or Stella) and then blood...lots of blood...on the floor. Then came the freak out. I had dropped the tick on the floor somewhere. What to do? Clean up the blood and make sure Stella was not bleeding to death or find the tick??? Luckily, I spotted it while trying to corral the bleeding white wonder that was my dog. I trashed the tick into the trash can and applied pressure on Stella's wound. It was all under control in about 10 minutes but the two of us remain traumatized and are about ready to head to bed. The insomnia I once had has been cured by complete exhaustion and paranoia of what tomorrow entails since today flew such a banner.

Needless to say, if Dan ever bitches to you about purchasing me handbags or Tiffany jewelry, note there are many good reasons for why these obligations occur...case in point.

Real Unreality

So, there's nothing left but to move. And while I've wanted this change for a while, in fact need it, the feelings of fear and confusion are definitely building. (As a side note, it's adding a degree of difficulty to start a new job while in house limbo.)

Someone dropped a charming cliche on me a while ago: Three moves equals one fire. I think I'd rather move three times than be burned out, but the stresses of moving are very real, and a lot more complex than the fear of the unknown. I think for me the idea of 'reprogramming' is the real pain point. I don't just have to re-organize my home life, but reconfigure every routine from where I go for a drink to what I do on a sunny weekend. It all feels both incredibly vivid and inescapable, and yet fictional, ephemeral.

The truck pulls up to the house on Thursday. I won't be there, so I'll be wondering the whole time what is happening. But Friday morning, I'll be opening the door to my new apartment and letting the movers start setting up my new life. It's impossible to know for sure, but I think at that moment, the start of my first New York weekend, will be the start of something great, and the nervousness will disappear.

Finding the local watering hole

I'm still in shock that I'm actually moving to New York. That everything seems to be progressing, if not smoothly, at least at a level of crazy I can handle.

The strangest part of the last few weeks has been that I've started my job, but I'm not a New Yorker yet. Until we move in on the 15th, I'm staying with my parents (something I NEVER thought I'd do again) and commuting in from Bridgeport. So I have long, long days with only the smallest bit of New York experience coming at lunch or in a few minutes after work. (Excepting my first company party, which deserves its own post.)

However, yesterday I had to go to the new apartment to drop off some paperwork and to measure the rooms for furniture. And, since I was already all the way to Brooklyn, I figured it was as good a chance as any to have my first brew at a local bar.

All anyone who knew the neighborhood could talk about was Farrell's, an ancient Irish joint on the border of Windsor Terrace and Park Slope. It's a dive in the best sense (this from a man who organized a dive bar tour of Providence not long ago) and features one beer on tap (Budweiser) that you can order in three sizes. A small is 5 ounces, and perfect for chasing the popular shot of Jameson. A medium is a typical pint, and a large is a 32 ounce monster served in a styrofoam cup.

Farrell's has a few other claims to fame. First, it is stubbornly a man's place. In fact, in the 1970's, Shirley MacLaine integrated the place, which had previously only admitted guys. Even when I went, it was pretty much populated by firefighters and old boozers. Second, they filmed a scene from As Good as it Gets here. (I find the first point a bit more thrilling.)

I'm not sure how often I'll get to Farrell's. With no pool table and no food, there's no denying you're walking in the door to tie one on. However, I know I've found the perfect place to spend my first Brooklyn St. Patty's Day. (Friends, make your reservations now.) And I have now officially had my first local drink in my (soon to be) new home.

The Big Leap

George: Tell me I've done the right thing. Tell me we're going to be happier in New York.

Gwen: Yes, George. We're going to be happy in New York.

George: -ier! Happier in New York.


- The Out of Towners, Neil Simon, 1970


Happiness is a relative thing. It's a Friday afternoon drive home from the office at 5, leaving it all behind you. It's a moist vanilla birthday cake topped with buttercream frosting flowers on your 7th birthday. It's being comfortable, safe and secure. It's the sweet space between laziness and boredom where you are just busy enough to be occupied but have enough time to enjoy the atmosphere. But sometimes happiness can be just the opposite - the thrill of the unknown, having the whole world laid before you on a map, closing your eyes and heading toward that first place where your finger lands.

For us, the finger (it may have been the middle one - not sure just yet) landed in New York City and we're packing up our lives to make the move to our new apartment in Windsor Terrace, Brooklyn. We're leaving behing the miniature world of Rhode Island for the macrocosm of the big city and we're sure to either end up happy (ier?) or will have destroyed each other in the process.