serinde: (food)
I should be sewing, but instead I am cooking. BECAUSE STARVING IN THE STREETS etc. And also avoidance behavior.

Yesterday: Spiced Pumpkin Milkshake )

Bacon Bourbon Brownies )
Next I must find somewhat to do with a) the remaining roasted pumpkin, and b) the 3 lbs of praties. Don't say soup. I always make soup.
serinde: (Delirium)
I have been sleeping ill for the past month or two. First I chalked it up to not exercising, so I made an effort to exercise more. Then I figured it was the idiots on the freakishly loud motorcycles, but do I not live in the city and should not I be able to cope? Then it was too hot, so I blamed that. The last few nights have been lovely sleeping weather, though, so I'm having to face up that the reality is somewhere else (particularly since I've been sleeping like a log at [livejournal.com profile] sweh's). I'd had a few suspicions already starting to niggle, and I think I have it confirmed: I'm not perfectly at ease in my new digs yet.

That is, it feels like "home", and I don't feel alienation or MY GOD WHAT IS THIS PLACE when I'm about my daily wossnames. But when I lay me down to sleep, any random noise that I hear snaps me awake and alert. Not the jerkweeds cruisin' up and down, I mean, but anything else: a creak as the floorboards cool, the *thump* of Ranger jumping heavily down from the couch in the other room, a strange jingling noise down on the street which I think might've been someone dropping their dog's leash; but any small noise, I go to full-on alert and find my hand reaching for the knife hanging on my bedpost.

I don't think I'm a particularly paranoid human, even as much as a single female in NYC maybe ought to be. I don't have any degree of apprehension when I'm out and about, nor when I'm awake and puttering (even if it's equally late at night), so it's not as if the new neighborhood (which, yes, does have a crime rate higher than the UES, and has had a spate of recent muggings and sexual assaults) is itself what's triggering it. Home invasion isn't really the favorite flavor up here, and even if it were, I'm on the fifth floor for heaven's sake; there are a lot of targets further down. No. I think it just has to be that there's more random noises, I'm not used to them, and since this place isn't one room I can't just open my eyes, see that all's well/identify the sound, and settle back down immediately (and then the noise is checked off as "you can ignore this").

I am sure this will come with time, but until then, I'm feeling seriously and increasingly dragged-out, which is messing me up in other ways.
serinde: (running)
In conjunction with yesterday's determinations, I got up this morning (not quite when the alarm went off, thank you Air Raid Siren Cat going off every hour, but without too much lolling). I did not make coffee, nor yet sit at the computer; I tidied a little, cleaned the cat box, washed dishes, and then started morning procedures. My intent was to leave on the bike about 7:30, arrive c. 8:15, and have a leisurely period to cool down, change, drink coffee, read internets, and face the day.

First check: Fashion crisis and dithering about what to wear today.

Second check: stupid sticking bike room lock, plus then realizing I left my helmet upstairs. grump grump

I ended up leaving about five past eight, and--well, thought I had arrived at 8:35, which made me feel like quite a studmuffin, as I'd lost time in the confusing braid of Riverside Drive one-way splits and ended up walking my bike across Sakura Park, but then realized that the Sulz Tower clock is ten minutes slow. -_- So still about a 40-minute trip all told; with the backing and forthing, it was probably an hour since the time the coffee went into the thermal cup, and it was tepid. FAIL! I will have to investigate better technology there.

So that's all the minor stuff. A more significant thing is that I have for the first time encountered a standard bike opponent: Belligerent SMIDSY. I was eastbound on 125th, under the West Side Highway overpass; it is a four-way stop where the off-ramp from the highway comes down to street level. I arrived at the stop sign simultaneously or a fraction before a large police truck thing. The cop driver--who is to my right, so would have the right-of-way--looks both ways like a good lad, sees me, sees my stoppedness, and drives through. I push off and enter the intersection. Church van who had been behind the cop also starts to go. I look at him--I am now in the center of the intersection and lined up with his hood. He is not stopping. I lock eyes with him, fling out my arm in an arresting gesture, and yell "HEY!!" Finally he stops. I continue through the intersection and pull up to the next stop sign, about 30' away. He turns right to follow, pulls up next to me at the stop sign, yells something I can't make out, and then peels off down 125th St. I turn right and start walking my bike up the Hill Of Doom, as is my custom.

This sort of blurred out the incident at the start of my ride, when I had been coming up Dyckman St. to get on the greenway; there is no bike lane there, so I took my lane, per counsel of wiser heads, and plugged away at my best pace (which wasn't awesome since it's an uphill with lots of stops). A school bus (!!!) peeled around me, cutting it rather fine, and then up to the highway onramp (almost running the last stop sign, too).

I should probably not find it surprising that the people who should be driving with the most care are the ones being the least mindful.
serinde: (happyface)
A possibly-homeless man, hands full of grocery bags, walking up 207th St. with a drinking straw stuck in each ear.

Misty haze over Spuyten Duyvil.

A kid in a leather jacket walking down the subway stairs, looking uncommonly like a very young, slightly blonder Corey Feldman.
serinde: (running)
(Where by "day 2" I mean "a week after day 1", on account of questionable weather + after-work commitments.)

First of all: backpack, massive improvement; no 20mph headwind, massive improvement. (Though I don't think the trip took much less time, if any.) However, in spite of the again-lower-40-degree temperatures and not wearing heavy clothes and a whizzo miracle fiber hiking backpack, there is still some sweating at the back. Presumably this will only get worse as the season progresses, so I had better take thought to that: either by having a complete change of clothes, or by offloading cargo to the bike.

In deference to $BOSS's warning that $OVERBOSS looks askance at jeans (though I have been wearing nice ones with blouse & jacket off-and-on the whole time I've been here), and also because I wanted to see how it did, I wore a skirt today, with a sleeveless knit top. I put my Layer of Authority in the backpack, along with nice shoes and my stockings, since I figure riding is going to be even harder on them than my usual thunder-thigh chafing. Not wanting to go commando, however, I dug out an old pair of leggings to keep the wind off of me. Attire was completed with pink sparkly socks, Skechers, and an embroidered stretchy denim jacket. I fear I looked too hipster for words, but the combination did work; I was comfortable for the whole ride, and my movements were not restricted. Nor was the load on my back too heavy, in spite of also carrying two apples, a quart of soup, and my usual impedimentia.

It is a beautiful, diamond-bright morning to be riding in the spring green along the blue, blue Hudson. Even the yucky industrial bits under the West Side Highway look picturesque. Another morning, when I have more lead time, I'm going to stop and take pictures along the way.

I have still not Let Go enough to lock my bike outside. Although there are many bikes there, most of them are beaten up, and I'm scared that my shiny new one will be the obvious target. Also, I think both of my wheels are quick-release, and I think therefore I need an additional wotcha to make sure no one walks off with the front one. (Does that happen? Would people steal just a wheel?)
serinde: (running)
I spoke not of it, but I got a bike for commuting on Saturday morning. (They were out of the puke-green in my height, so it's white. I am intending to put Hello Kitty decals on it.) Naturally it rained for the next two days, but today dawned sunny (if cold), and I have no post-work obligations, so there it is.

My route is fairly straightforward: my street (has bike lane) to the end, then two blocks on Riverside (no bike lane, hilly, cranky people trying to get on the West Side Highway), then onto the blessed Hudson River Greenway for most of the trip. One exits at 125th St (aaaaaaa) and then up the giant hill at Riverside Drive (aaaaaa) and then cut over a block to Claremont (AAAAAA CRAZY PEOPLE) and then you're on campus. So there is some danger at the beginning and the end, but most of the trip is car-free, which is good, because otherwise I probably would not be doing it.

I left at about 7:45am, clad in jeans, heavy knit shirt, leather jacket, and helmet; was carrying what I am pleased to call my "hiking purse" cross-slung. It isn't heavy in itself but I had put a bottle of water in one of the side pockets and, here was the kicker, my bike lock (Kryptonite U-lock) hooked to it. This has led to lots of me having to hitch the purse around and a crick in the left side of my neck (and possibly why my left ass cheek is sore but not my right one). Although since getting to the office I've attached the lock on its little holder widget to the bike frame, I think a backpack is still the clear and correct answer.

The ride itself was, on the whole, very pleasant, in spite of a strong headwind. The parklands where you're only about ten feet above the river are particularly nice. There were a small number of other cyclists around, which was reassuring that I Am Not A Lone Idiot; but also because some areas were remarkably secluded and possible danger spots. I am not a fainting flower, but until I get some conditioning back I'm not convinced of my ability to run over any importunate self-improvement societies. The greenway part is mostly flat--a couple long slow climbs and drops that aren't obvious to the eye, only to the pedal, but they don't signify. Exception: the big hill just north of the bridge was everything I had been warned about; it was only downhill this way, though that was scary enough, because it is very curvy and I didn't want to bang into anyone or anything; it will indubitably suck coming home. The street parts on both ends are fairly hilly and manage to be uphill both ways.

It is sadly indicative that there were five blockages in the Seaman Ave. bike lane in the two blocks between my door and Dyckman St. I think I may want to invest in a rear-view mirror for as much as I'll have to be exiting the lane to continue, but whether or no, it's going to require a lot of defensive driving.
serinde: (what has this flag become?)
Because everything happens at the same time, I also was called for jury duty this week. (In sober reflection I should have taken my postponement, but I was thinking that a) whatever other time they called me for would undoubtedly be even less convenient and then I wouldn't be able to postpone again, and b) I believed everyone around me who had had to show up maybe one day and then that was it.)

Now, it must be understood that I do not have a problem with this; indeed, if this week/month weren't so full of the ualeauleauleaue, I would be really excited to serve on a jury. I truly do believe it is part of what makes society go 'round, and I truly do hope that if it's ever my turn in the legal barrel that intelligent, well-rounded, competent people will not try to do whatever they can to avoid it, and I truly do feel it to be an honorable and worthy thing to be doing. (The last and only other time I got called, when living in Jersey City, I got as far as juror selection and they bounced me--to my dying day I will believe it was because, when they asked "What's your favorite TV show?", I said "Buffy".) But also, this is trial jury not grand jury, so I expected the most that would be asked of us was one week--which I could spare, with difficulty it's true, but if I worked like a dog at night it could be okay. Whether or no, it's still important to show up, and now they tell us that there is wifi in the juror waiting room and all, so I figured worst-case I'd be sitting around for a day or two but I'd still be able to get a lot of work done.

Life In 60 Centre St )

And I told the truth and the whole truth and nothing but the truth, but I feel crappy about it. I had two powerful duties, and they conflicted, and I had to choose one; and I think I chose the right one, but that still means I failed on the other.
serinde: (maneki neko)
Gentle readers, I present you my commute home, in which I:
* walked across Central Park on a perfect evening
* ...stopping en route for a ginger ice cream cone from the Van Leeuwen truck
* threaded through a black-clad exodus of Orthodox oompah-band hipsters (with instruments) complaining about needing finding roommates or they'd lose their sweet apartment
* picked up my dry-cleaning, but didn't get to play with the adorable calico kittens
* picked up cat litter, and did get to give scritchies to the friendly black-and-white shop cat
* whooped in hilarity at the Pepto-Bismol-pink stretch SUV crossing First Avenue

I love it here.
serinde: (glamour)
[livejournal.com profile] nedlnthred has the congenial July 4th custom of drumming up a group to go watch the NYC fireworks display, which gatherings I've usually missed in the past. This year, being as how the display was over the Hudson, the obvious viewing location was the Frying Pan, which is an old rusty boat with a bar in it. The problem is, that particular venue has been Discovered this season (to the point I heard some Joisey Boyz talking about it on the train), and we learned that they were charging a C-note just to step on board, let alone the food and booze cost.

I took to the intarwubs to find an alternative, and came across the Liberty Belle Spectacular, at the rooftop bar of the Empire Hotel. Jazz Age party, cocktails, dancing, burlesque, and only $20 to get in; yes, that will do nicely. The more so as the word was that there would be only 25 at-the-door tickets, so it seemed likely that it would not be a goddamn crush.

[We pause while the audience laughs uproariously at my charming naïveté.]

The doors were to open at 7pm, so we (a party of six) rolled up about 7:20; whereupon we were taken aback to see a line of people extending around the corner and down the block. Was this for non-ticket-holders, we inquired? No, it's for everyone, and the line would split further up. ...Well OK then. We got on line, and chatted, and waited, and slowly shuffled forward, and waited some more, and... [Time passes.] Some 40 minutes later, we made it to where the line split, where they checked for printed receipts/confirmation numbers. Those which had same got blue tickets and went left; those who did not, got red tickets and went right. At which point both types of guest were passed through the velvet rope in equal numbers--or indeed with a stronger preference for the non-advanced ticketed, much to the chagrin of those of us who had planned ahead[1]. Indeed, after the third batch of hoi polloi were permitted up to the exclusion of ticket holders, a lady behind us confronted the gatekeeper to ask, in essence, What The Fuck, Dude. He claimed that he was letting people in equally. We all stared at him with the "you're lying, we know it, and you know it", but it was left at that and in the next batch he did let equal numbers in. (Lord knows what he did subsequently.)

At length we made it up top. The bar is a big space, with a terrace on either end (though of course only the western-facing one was going to be immediately relevant), and a decent amount of lounge seating, though not nearly enough for the mob of people. The band was excellent, playing jazz and swing tunes, and in old-style Navy uniforms, which I thought was a nice touch. As we rolled in, they were having an impromptu fashion show of ladies who had come in period rig[2], and there were many fine-looking outfits indeed, though the biggest hit was a Rosie the Riveter look-alike. The drinks were $14, which is a bit high, but they were at least good and unusual; in-house creations, not "here's your vodka and cranberry juice in a Dixie cup". If you managed to stab someone and get a seat, you could order food (and bottle service if you're that kind of idiot). Anyways, it being twenty to nine[3], we got drinks and immediately fought our way onto the terrace to try and get a decent view for the fireworks, which would start around 9:20.

And we stood. And stood. and stood. And were crushed by people. And couldn't see anything but an admittedly gorgeous sunset. There was burlesque and dancing where the bar let onto the terrace, which we could only perceive by the cheering and flashbulb popping. I was particularly woeful because I was wearing shoes that are not for standing in--I can wear them all night, but not for hours of nothing but standing on concrete--and I was hitting the agony point; and we were crushed in behind a group who had a table and seats (those stupid square hassock things that bar/lounges like), and the party in question weren't even sitting half the time. Indeed, one of them was having words with Beth because our party was maneuvering in the gap between their table and the next one and I guess he felt we were harshing their mellow or something.

At length, the fireworks started. Upon which we realized a few things:
1) Fordham Law School was in the way.
2) A really tall fingerlike apartment building was in the way.
3) The tasteful palm fronds along the edge of the terrace were in the way.

We could still see a good portion of the show (except [livejournal.com profile] elibalin, who was directly in line of the palms), but it was not the unimpeded front-row view implied on the tin, as it were. At one point "This Land Is Your Land" broke out, and the whole crowd was singing, and that was kinda cool. Later, the band and one of the singers was striking up "God Bless America", which I am regrettably far less fond of[4], but eh.

As anticipated, the instant the fireworks were over there was a mass exodus, and many of the remaining guests surged indoors to the air conditioning and the entertainment; and thus, after about ten minutes of vulching I managed to land us a table on the patio. Which was good, because I was reaching the end of my little fraying rope... A half hour of sitting, drinking, excellent conversation, and a snack restored comity and joy. We decided to move back inside to check out (and perhaps partake of) the dancing, but upon standing up again I realized that I was quite, quite Done. I really would have liked to have stayed and seen the actual party we were here for, but a dispassionate assessment made it clear that misery was right around the corner, so I took myself unto the crosstown bus, and thus home.

So, Lessons Were Learned:
* Do not, do not, believe that any event that looks cool and claims exclusivity will not be mobbed to alt.hell and back. Wear comfortable shoes. Get there early. Stake out turf.
* Investigate the exact barge locations of the fireworks well in advance.
* If you want to take a Night on the Town, and actually be up to all of it, don't start drinking Pimm's cup at noon (unless you're arranging a disco nap in between).

As I explore the nightlife world, I am more and more getting the sense of that classic Yogi Berra line, "No one goes there, it's too crowded". I really don't like forking out the brass for the privilege of being crushed like a sardine in a noisy environment where you can't see or talk to anyone but who's standing directly beside you. Beth reports that, after I left, the party reached the sweet spot of good music, good dancing, and enough space to actually enjoy all of these things, so that's good to know; but, I mean, argh.

[begin footnotes]
[1] Beth spoke to the organizers upstairs on this head, and was told that yes, they'd had a lot of complaints about it. I notice that this is not the same as "...and we'll do something about it next time we hold an event".

[2] We had plenty of time to observe a lot of these outfits while on line and then once upstairs; we noticed that, first, many weren't actually Jazz Age at all, but were much more 40s or 50s, which is okay with us, because there's only one body type that looks good in flapper gear; and second, most were more theatrical/passing-the-squint-test than true period outfits. Now, many still looked very, very awesome...but not to the knowing eye. (I'm not the knowing eye, but I was in company with several.)

[3] And there was still a huge line behind us waiting to get in. I can only imagine what the reaction of the ticket-holders who were still on the street when the fireworks started was.

[4] I may be unjust to the song, simply because its sentiments and chorus have been appropriated by assclowns.
serinde: (zzz)
The party can, I think, be labeled quite a success. My clever decompression techniques notwithstanding, almost everyone was there between 6 and 10pm, but there was enough population rotation that it did not get too crowded to move, so that's okay. I never did make the gougères, and at that, I still have a lot of terribly unhealthy stuff left over, in spite of giving a whole bunch to [livejournal.com profile] elibalin and [livejournal.com profile] nedlnthred. And a full pitcher of sangria, yet. Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison. (I am not as who should say hung over, in spite of a steady rate of booze consumption from 1pm - 10pm, but my stomach is more pleased with herbal iced tea today than is usually the case. Yes.)

I did hang the curtains and I'm pleased with 'em, as well as my purchase of a retro-ish metal table fan. The balcony chair and table also served well as the smoking section, though I think only the PFY took advantage of it. I may spend some of today's lounging time there.

Apparently we all missed a car bomb at Times Square that failed to go off in the early evening. My parties shake the earth, yo.

The dishes are mostly done, the floors swept (though the kitchen area could use a bit of mop action), and most stuff is squared away. I have to square away some leftover soda and beer, and make the bed, and that's about it.

Shout-outs to:
[livejournal.com profile] sweh, for pre-game moral support, schlepping, and making me rest my ankle
[livejournal.com profile] nedlnthred, for doing the first round of dishes, and procuring breakfast
[livejournal.com profile] elibalin, for also procuring breakfast
And all of you lovely people who came. Thank you all!

Now, I shall relax, with periodic breaks to lounge, and occasionally bask.
serinde: (maneki neko)
...in whom I am well pleased:



serinde: (determination)
[livejournal.com profile] elibalin and I had A Plan for today: meet downtown, cruise around Nieuw Amsterdam Village, and then take the ferry to Governor's Island, where there is art, sculpture, bike rentals, and apparently a wacky cool minigolf course. The first section went off okay (except that they were out of stroopwafels, can you believe it?!), but we arrived at the ferry terminal to discover that the island is closed for Labor Day.

A PUBLIC PARK CLOSED ON A PUBLIC HOLIDAY. That's the kind of smarts we've come to expect from the Parks Department of late. So: new plan. We ended up walking the greenway along the Hudson from Battery Park up to the High Line, then turned off at 14th St. to try and find refreshment, something we utterly failed at. My foot was by this time screaming imprecations at me, so I just came home and fell down.

I really, really like what they're doing with the Hudson River Park. It's beautifully done (a different aesthetic in each section, but they're all good), and people clearly sat down and thought about things like seating and potties and refreshments and traffic flow and (etc). It gives me a large happy to know that my city is doing something this well-executed.

The High Line, on the other hand, is a classic case of "No one comes here, it's too crowded". I can see and appreciate (and even applaud) what they've done with it, but since it's become the Next Big Thing, it ends up being an endless shuffling promenade of gawkers. Avoid until the hype dies down.
serinde: (maneki neko)
A four-year-old boy, toddling along behind his daddy on the way to preschool, wearing a classic 80s "Hulk vs Wolverine" t-shirt.

A sidewalk vendor setting up his table with a sign saying "Murano glass hand-made Italian jewelry from $4.99", and unloading those wares from shipping boxes clearly labelled "Made In China".

A school groundskeeper in the usual Facilities uniform of button-down shirt and black slacks (which must be wretched on a day like this), but capped with a straw gardening hat with a jaunty blue ribbon.
serinde: (bowtie)
On the Bergen County line this morning, returning from the house closing, I heard the guy behind me take a call; which I then heard the entire resultant conversation, will-I or nill-I. It seems my fellow-traveller desired his buddy to meet him at 86th and Lex, because he was looking at apartments up there, and wanted a second opinion. Why, quotha? Because he wants to live in the city, and it's a nice neighborhood, and is close to lots of things without being in smack dab in the middle of ruckus. (Money quote: "Dress nice, I'm trying to look rich.")
serinde: (self-control)
This is the first downtime I've had at home in a full week. Therefore, of course, I'm fighting the urge to GO OUT AND DO SOMETHING (in this case, trudging out to W'burg for the Renegade Craft Fair, which, no, I shouldn't be buying stuff, but I figure it would feed my head right well; and it's a gorgeous day to amble around a park).

Can someone please explain why my back-brain thinks that a relaxing day at home == WASTING MY LIIIIIIIFE ?
serinde: (domestic)
I've never had to use a laundromat before, believe it or not. I've been putting this confrontation off, Lord knows why, it's not actually that different from having coin-op-in-basement, and yet here was the avoidance behavior; but I need clean pants if I want to continue fighting evil this week, so.

This being the Upper East Side, there is a plethora of Chinese dry-cleaning/wash-fold-pay-by-the-pound establishments, but only one DIY location (as far as I can tell) in close range; it's one block down, one over. HOLY HELL, $2 FOR THE HALF SIZED WASHERS and $4 for the ones you can fit your comforter in. If it's not a big comforter. Oh dear oh dear. The dryers are 8 minutes for a quarter, as [livejournal.com profile] elibalin predicted, which might be okay depending on how sucky or un-sucky the dryers actually are; a question I will be able to report on in, oh, 20 minutes or so. Certainly the washers leave one's clothes more sodden than is quite right, which does not augur well.

It is possible (though I'm dubious) that it might not work out much more costly to take it all to the Here's My Clothes, Make Them Nice businesses, but the thought makes me twitch an awful lot. [livejournal.com profile] spride's recounted experience of "You drop off your clothes in a bag, they weigh them, they give you a form where you tick off temperature and whether you want bleach and whether you use fabric softener, and they toss it out and you get it all back nicely folded and two sizes smaller in a couple days" exactly meshes with my rampant fear-laden imagination, and I don't want people messing with my stuff. It could be argued that abandoning my unmentionables for forty minutes could also lead to unwanted results, but then they'd just be missing, not messed up.

I do not pretend this is a rational reaction, but it's what I've got to work with.
serinde: (domestic)
In spite of sundry other commitments & distractions, nesting proceeds apace. I have hung my signed Alex Maleev print on the bedroom wall, so I am officially Arrived. Pay no attention to the ten unpacked boxes.

I might have been further along, but the weekend involved a great deal of frantic running around--but then, it was necessary running-around in order to actually proceed. E.g., the god. damn. counter. top. I have cleaning tools, which will be useful when I have cleared enough space to clean; I have organizational wossnames; I have a full length mirror that I'm not sure will stay up, and an under-cabinet toaster oven, ditto; I have LED stick-on lights over the kitchen workspace; a screen so I can have the fire escape window open without Ranger wandering out and getting horribly confused, and so on. Immediate needs include a 20' ethernet cable so that I do not have DSL wiring festooned across the center of the living room, varying sizes of screws and anchors to attach shelves to walls with some level of stability, and some kind of shelving to hold kitchenstuff overrun while I have time to make some decisions (and will hold pantry items afterwards).

In the short term, I intend to get some kind of flat-screen or cinema display that I shall use for TV (by which I mean, "DVDs"), XBox, and (eventually) hooking up a computer that is much smaller than gfefx's current incarnation. Maybe. I'm not sure how well a system such as this would work for PC gaming. But the idea of having all DVDs and CDs on it and thus clearing all the space those items currently take up is deeply attractive, and it also means Hulu etc. can be viewed as other televisionary items. In any case, the screen shall be on one of those wall-mounted arm things so I can put it flat against the wall when not in use, and extend it & angle at 90 degrees to watch it from the couch. I also need to get a couple of frames for some posters I want to hang; I realized that some 40% of my Crate of Art is wedding related. Aheheheheh. (Mem: must reclaim Mark Rogers painting.) Oh! And curtains. At last, full length curtains with nifty curtain rods shall be mine.

I am also thinking long and hard about eBooks. I have filled the two bookshelves I brought and I still have two boxes of books to go. Looking at what's on the shelves, if I got a reader that did nothing but hold Martin, Brust, Bujold, Butcher, and maybe Kay, that'd clear out nigh half a bookcase--and all of those are available in electronic format. Mmm, I haven't checked the more obscure Brust (I had a hell of a time finding a copy of To Reign In Hell even in physical form) but the Taltos and the Khaavren series are available, and that's most of the sq. ftge.

When I clear more space, I intend to get a gatefold table; so, small occasional table most of the time, expandable to seat a few guests to dinner. (This also implies folding chairs; I noticed BB&B had some very handsome ones that looked Real, that is, not like folding chairs at all.) I also need to take some leisurely thought toward the current misc furniture next to my bed which do not add up to a sensible set-up. And, finally, I need a Fiber Arts Solution.

I intend to start a tag-series for Local Stuff Reviews, but for now let me quickly note that the pub across First--O'Flanaghan's--has tasty pub food, and apparently has live music Thurs - Sat nights, but is not cheap. Seven dollar pints, what the hell, people. Also, it is important to note that it's really damn hard to find parking around here, at least on a rainy Saturday afternoon.

The university on the end of my block is actually a biomedical research institution. Ground zero for zombie plagues, kids! I have an axe and a mace, don't you worry about me none. And the glorious big stone church on the corner of my street is a Slovak Catholic church. It makes me think of Grandpa's stories of his childhood 3-hour ordeals on a hard wooden bench listening to services entirely in Slovak, and I purr in fond remembrance.
serinde: (fighty!)
In general, I'm pleased that I don't have to take the 6 during the morning rush. It comes with reasonable frequency, and yet is always insanely packed; and people seem to be crankier than on most other lines. This morning, though, I was feeling lazy and not-out-in-cold so I did the E => 6 ('stead of the usual F and walk six blocks) (did I say lazy? I walked up the entire Stairway to Heaven at 51st St), and regretted it as soon as I squooshed my way into a car. And pity the poor fools at 59th, who wanted even more to get on, but lo, there was no room in the inn.

So in this atmosphere of mild gentility, it's unsurprising that Words are occasionally Had, and sometimes more than words. And thus in the mass exodus at 68th, at the foot of the stairway, did I come across an Asian guy and a Hispanic woman locked in MORTAL KOMBAT, or at least rasslin'. I came to the party too late to see the casus belli, but as I rounded the corner he pushed her away and to the ground, where I heard the *crack* of an iPod losing structural integrity. She came off the mat like a tornado and went for him, and he was nothing loth to go another round; another commuter stepped in and attempted to separate them, which almost worked (albeit with the requisite faces and finger-pointings over the peacemaker's shoulder), but as he went up the stairs she charged after him and caught him up near the top, whereat I, at the foot, had sudden visions of a Katamari snowballing down the steps at me. Happily they removed their discussion to the sub-platform above, where it resumed as a shouting match. Meantime during all this, people are shouting for cops, and I could see the woman in the ticket booth on the phone (and on the PA) trying to summon le gendarmerie.

Wherefore the subject line? For the last two weeks, there has almost always been at least two cops hanging out in the station, right up there. Sometimes they even have the ol' bag check table out. But when there's actually a need for them, not so much as a shiny brass button do you see. This is how cliches start, people.

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serinde

September 2013

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