Why? because everyone is traceable these days. Hey if Israeli operative can be photographed prior to an assassination, then our lives are open to the world.
The truth is I am too stupid and I have too much to say that no one would voluntarily listen to, so I need a blog. Maybe I should call it my Blab or my Blah-Blah.
An option.
Hmmmm.
A friend told me that the Olympic Committee ordered 70,000 (yes seventy thousand) condoms for the Olympic village this time around. Why? Because 50,000 weren’t enough the last time.
It is a two week event. That is 5,000 condoms per day. Don’t the athletes need to rest before and after their events? Or is this another (untelevised) event?
Beats curling, I guess.
Our son has no interest in going outside in cold weather. He would much rather watch movies and read books. I don’t blame him, but POB (partner of blogger) and I get cabin fever. Also, reading and watching movies is great until our son starts bouncing off the walls from lack of activity. Boys need to run around. Think golden retriever. Lots of running, for running’s sake.
Last winter I bought one of those tiny exercise-trampolines — the kind that slides under our bed when not in use (and it is often not in use). Realizing that our son is as strong-willed as she is (genetic code cannot be denied), POB brought out the trampoline and made our son jump up and down as he told us stories and whatever else came to his head. POB and I took turns taking walks outside. It wasn’t exactly “family” time, but it was the best we were going to get on a frigid winter day. (I hope Groundhog Phil was wrong and we will have an early Spring.)
It reminded me about the commercial with the parents running the kids up and down hills and then putting them on treadmills just to get them tired out. Life imitates art or art imitates life.
I get out of the 96th Street subway station at 94th Street (if you live outside NY, just trust me on this) when I go to the gym. Invariably, I pass the same panhandler asking for change. He is not earnest in his request (“spare change?”) because he sits on a standpipe in front of the storefronts and doesn’t really work the crowd. I feel guilty not giving him something but I rationalize my hard-heartedness by concluding that if I were a beggar I would be the best damn beggar on the street and this guy is so mediocre at his job that he doesn’t deserve spare change. And this beggar is rather, well, blasé about the whole begging thing. You see why New Yorkers are a breed unto themselves; we even have jaded beggars.
So far, for a New Yorker, nothing new in this story. YET.
As I pass him, and he is saying a half-hearted “spare change?”, his cell phone rings and he answers, “hey, where you at? I’ve been waiting for you.”
What, to go out for a beer? Or does he meet his friend every night and while he is waiting, begs for change? A kind of “fringe benefit” or “value added” for his wait time?
I couldn’t make this stuff up and I am really sure I wouldn’t want to.
I was on the subway, minding my own business. I was reading a book on my iPod. A woman standing next to me asks her boyfriend (it is obvious by the end of this anecdote) whether he wants some really great chewing gum. He asks, “how good can chewing gum be?” She says, “it makes you want to stick your tongue down someone’s throat.” I had to look up. I said, “really?” She nodded. I looked at the boyfriend questioningly. He was too embarrassed to answer. I mentioned that it was too important a secret not to share with fellow strangers on a train. In fact, it would be downright cruel to tantalize and not deliver.
The woman told me what kind and what flavor (I won’t tell you until I confirm this urban legend).
Life altering experiences on the subway.
A note to readers:
My sister’s friend, in visiting from a not-to-be-revealed other place, feared speaking to me because I write a blog and she thought that I would reveal too much detail about her life and people would figure out her identity. I told her that I protect my sources and use my powers for good not evil. Her fears were unassuaged and she conversed very little with me although by the end of the evening I was able to discern many, many things about her and her life.
But, true to my word, I can’t tell you. Mystery friend of my sister, I hope you are reading this.
~Blogger
Ok, so I had a revelation at my son’s school’s winter celebration. He was great and all the kids were adorable but that was not eureka moment.
We were given song sheets so that the audience could participate. Printed were the lyrics to Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer. I am Jewish and native Manhattanite and have never attended a Christmas celebration (even though my Christian friends KNOW I am free that eve and day) so I have never heard the carol up close and personal — only in stores.
To be honest, I never understood the Rudolph song. I couldn’t get why the red nose mattered — that is until I read that Santa asks Rudolph to GUIDE his sleigh. As a New Yorker (with a New York accent) I always thought Santa wanted Rudolph to GUARD his sleigh because how could Santa leave a sleigh with presents unattended, especially in New York?
I told you it was a revelation — a pure Eureka moment.
And what’s the difference between a sleigh and a sled, anyway?
So, after the funeral, I decide to work from home since most banks are closed (and my clients are banks). I return the rental car and make the mistake of hearkening back — with no one else in room — to the earlier conversation about menopause that I had with the same rental car sales assistant. She was not pleased. She had mentioned earlier that she has mood swings. I notice as I stand over the counter that she still hadn’t taken her vitamins. I decided not to mention that the name of the GPS NeverLost is a misnomer. And, I assume I am going to get a schmuck tax on top of the usual rental car costs. I am fine with all of it because, well, it is what it is.
I go to grab lunch and there is a woman sitting opposite me at the communal table in Le Pain Quotidienne. She looks at me as if she recognizes me. We hold a gaze for an extra second. I know that I don’t know her so I assume that she asked me a question and is waiting for a response. So, I say, “excuse me?” as if she said something. She didn’t. I apologize. I go back to my various devices of connectivity.
She types furiously on her laptop. I think she is a blogger. I wanted to say, “Hi, I’m 40andoverblog. Who are you?” But that would have sounded like the ookiest come-on line and that was not my intention.
I surreptitiously glance over at her from time to time, trying to see what she is typing. She catches me a few times. I have to leave now lest she think I have any interest other than uncovering a blogger and responds with interest or revulsion, neither of which I could handle.
I inhale my food and pay my bill.
I imagine that she is thinking, “wow, she reminds me of my mother”. I catch a cab and take to my bed.
Here she is, the Minister of Peace, Love and Happiness, plucked from the subways of NYC and into the ministry of Peace, Love and Happiness. She is wearing the official dress and head gear of the country in keeping with its cultural roots. There will be traditional dancing at the inaugural balls later on in the season. But for now, I give you, ladies and gentlemen, Her Excellency the Minister:
People wore weapons to pick up trash on a stretch of highway in Minnesota. People in New York City aren’t even that crazy.
Love thy neighbor as thyself, but pack some heat just in case your neighbor isn’t as loving or lovely as you are?
Man, between Texas and Minnesota, I feel safer in New York City. How does THAT make sense?
**********************************************************************************
AP – Mon Oct 26, 9:24 pm ET
MENDOTA HEIGHTS, Minn. – Motorists in Mendota Heights might have seen a group of residents picking up trash while packing heat this weekend. About a dozen people spent nearly three hours picking up litter Sunday along a 2-mile stretch of highway. All legally carried guns on their hips. It was the inaugural trash cleanup event for the group that calls itself the Minnesota Carry Permit Holders [remainder deleted]