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| So, I had to go into the city last night on Halloween for classes. Not much to write about; just two observations: - Most overused Halloween costume material in NYC metro area: Fish net stockings.
- Most common use of fish net stocking, apparently, is live dramatization of cases when a harpoon would be the better choice.
Boo! | | |
| I'm not sure what this says about us as a people, but I'm pretty sure it's not complimentary. Along 25th Street, between Park Avenue and Lexington, maybe half a block from Madison Park, there are a few shops & businesses and a few vacant buildings - most have seen better times, at least from the outside. Don't let the proximity to Park Avenue fool you. This is one of those stretches that has been cursed with only a proximity to fortune. One of the shops has been taken over and remodeled by a doctor offering laser eye surgery. From the start, I haven't been too impressed with the tastes of the owner. First, there was the decor that went in. Hard to describe - kind of a cross between Epcot Center, Ikea (which, by the way, is the Swedish word for "Hell," but that's another story), and PlaySkool. Lots of lucite, natural wood, and vinyl upholstery in every primary color. In the words of Dolly Parton, it takes a lot of money to look this cheap. A few weeks later, a new addition. As you're walking up the street at night, there's this otherwordly blue white glow flickering in the dark street and a disembodied voice booming down the street at the volume of a small lawn tractor. Now we have recorded voice extolling the virtues of Lasik to winos and the few unfortunate unstable souls out at that hour who now believe they can't get into heaven/hell/the starship behind the comet without perfect vision. The light is coming from a big glass sphere that projects laser letters that rotate around this ball - gives you not just the docs name, but every credential (and apparently he has about 20) AND the name of the awarding school. Do I really care that my eye surgeon has a certificate from Ace Trucking School? No. In fact, I would think most thinking people are having second thoughts at this point. I fault this on two levels. First, it shows narcisism of staggering proportions. Second, it means that none of those credentials had anything to do with good taste as evidenced by the addition of the Spencer's Gifts element to the fusion of Ikea/Epcot/PlaySkool. Well, I'm hoping we've finally hit bottom. On the opposite side of the door from the Credential Ball is a sidewalk-to-ceiling window that has been mysteriously empty - until now. This, friends, is the operating room. Today, there was a shiny new enameled steel exam table and laser eye borer (all in a tasteful fire engine red like my wife's new Mixmaster), complete with patient/victim laid out under the apparatus with a red glow emanating from one eye socket. Why couldn't he just open Starbucks or Duane Reade like everyone else? | | |
| It's finally over. The only class I had available to take in this Summer 1 session started at 8:15pm and ended at 10:50pm for three nights per week. That translates to wheels in the driveway at 1am on those nights, with work to go the next day. Phew! Then, just to make it interesting, I had to travel on business and missed an entire week of this 6 week class. Not to dwell, but this past month + has sucked!! This was an occasion to remember that the hours of a final exam are potentially the most productive in the world - no matter how far behind you are when you walk in, you're all caught up when you leave. So, I'm all caught up. Witnessed a mini "Wile E. Coyote" moment yesterday in the city. Stopped to eat at the Shake Shack in Madison Park, which, by the way, makes without a doubt the greatest cheeseburger in the known universe and a seriously kickass strawberry milkshake. Being these phenomenally stupendous artery clogging creations, things tend to fall apart a bit toward the end. So, I'm sitting there working on the last of my shake with the little cardboard carrybox - like those little jobs they used to use at the drive-in 40 years ago - containing the greasy remnants of a tremendous burger, including almost half of the top bun. This ballsy little city park sparrow sails in and lands on the edge of the cardboard box, eyes me, eyes the bun. I try to shoo him away. He flips me off and tells me to kiss his downy ass, ballsy park sparrow that he is. Then he grabs this hunk of bun that's at least as big as he is and tries to take off. Well, the thrust-to-weight ratio and basic aerodynamics are all shot to hell, so even though he's flapping madly, he immediately starts a slow sink towards the ground and a bunch of pigeons. It's like Wiley in a leaking balloon sinking into the alligator pit. No sooner does he hit the ground, than every pigeon in the area pounces. It becomes this roiling mass of pigeons, like piranhas on a cow in the Amazon. And as the chaos grows, more pigeons are sailing in from all over, until it's this huge rugby scrum of churning pigeons. Then the scrum starts to randomly wander under and around the tables, and as it crosses over expensive pedicures in more expensive sandals, women start leaping to their feet and shrieking. Drinks are spilled, trays are dumped, children cry, holy men rend their garments and gnash their teeth - it's madness everywhere! Since this all started 2 or 3 minutes ago, no one has seen the sparrow or the bun that started the whole melee, when out of the middle of this bouncing, boiling puddle of poultry, here comes our hero, bun in beak. He manages enough lift to clear a hedge and drop out of sight on the other side - alone. It takes another 30 or 40 seconds for the pigeons to realize their prize has disappeared calm down and thin out. It may be the only occasion where I regretted not having a camera on my cellphone. And maybe it was the stress of the impending final exam later that evening, but I can't remember ever laughing so hard! | | |
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