Tuesday, August 01, 2006
hell is hot
Beach Week has been cancelled due to extreme heat & sunshine. All I can do is loll here enjoying the air-conditioning with the cat. And eat popsicles. Six in total. And take cold baths. Glub-glub.
Monday, July 31, 2006
lonely soul
What I like best about NYC is the element of surprise. Add to that the secret places I find that make being here all the more livable and fun. Today I had a little of both. Since the temperature is supposed to hover around a whopping 100 degrees every day this week, I've declared it Beach Week. To celebrate Beach Week, I'm heading to Fort Tilden in Queens every day. It's a deserted Army base that's been converted to a nature preserve, unpolluted and full of enchantingly eerie forgotten buildings, white-washed and sea-weathered. The beach there is rarely crowded, because, by train or bus, it's a pain to get to for most. For me, getting there is about a 25 minute drive out Flatbush. That means it takes me as long to get to a beautiful, uncrowded stretch of ocean as it does to get to Union Square.
I'm happy to report that on day one of beach week, the water was lovely and there was a breeze. Ahh. I contentedly listened to my i-pod, freshly stocked with music and NPR stories. I bobbed in the ocean and was spanked by the surf. I watched people go by and periodically rolled over for even roasting.
The beach was almost deserted for about two hours. Then a guy with a tool belt climbed over the dunes and began to pace the shore. I watched him with about as much interest as a three-toed sloth, though I did wonder, "Who wears a tool belt to the beach?"
A while later, about eight muscular young firemen climbed over the dunes, seemingly to go for a dip. They dropped a large spindle of rope and a few life preservers in the sand and dove into the waves. They took turns paddling out to sea on what I thought must be a regulation FDNY surfboard. Is this how we do Baywatch on the east coast?
Then, two girls in very 50's bathing suits and Doris Day coiffures wandered by, followed by an entourage girls and boys similarly dressed from the same decade. That's when my sun-addled brain put it together that some kind of shoot had crashed my beach party. This also explained all the strange characters who had preceded the Beach Blanket Bingo gang on my little surfside stage. I waited for the action to begin as they organized craft service and set up beach games. An old lady all dressed in black with a small umbrella was wandering around the set, then they steered her out of sight.
When I finally felt my skin beginning to crisp, I decided to pack it in, even though I hadn't gotten to see whatever "it" was yet. I scaled the dunes to return to my car and stopped under a shelter to strap on my Tevas. The lady in black was resting there. On closer inspection, she wasn't that old, though by contrast to the cast I'd left on the beach, she looked rather Victorian. She told me she was to play the lonely soul who wanders along the beach. I asked her if it was some kind of art film. She said they were shooting a video for a new Bob Dylan song.
Hmm. I considered heading back to see if the man himself would make an appearance. I scanned the assembled fire truck and equipment vans, none of which looked large or posh enough to hold him. It was only getting hotter. I decided against it. I don't know if I get the whole concept, but I'll keep an eye out for the clip of a lonely soul wandering along the beach when the next Bob Dylan video premieres on TRL.
I'm happy to report that on day one of beach week, the water was lovely and there was a breeze. Ahh. I contentedly listened to my i-pod, freshly stocked with music and NPR stories. I bobbed in the ocean and was spanked by the surf. I watched people go by and periodically rolled over for even roasting.
The beach was almost deserted for about two hours. Then a guy with a tool belt climbed over the dunes and began to pace the shore. I watched him with about as much interest as a three-toed sloth, though I did wonder, "Who wears a tool belt to the beach?"
A while later, about eight muscular young firemen climbed over the dunes, seemingly to go for a dip. They dropped a large spindle of rope and a few life preservers in the sand and dove into the waves. They took turns paddling out to sea on what I thought must be a regulation FDNY surfboard. Is this how we do Baywatch on the east coast?
Then, two girls in very 50's bathing suits and Doris Day coiffures wandered by, followed by an entourage girls and boys similarly dressed from the same decade. That's when my sun-addled brain put it together that some kind of shoot had crashed my beach party. This also explained all the strange characters who had preceded the Beach Blanket Bingo gang on my little surfside stage. I waited for the action to begin as they organized craft service and set up beach games. An old lady all dressed in black with a small umbrella was wandering around the set, then they steered her out of sight.
When I finally felt my skin beginning to crisp, I decided to pack it in, even though I hadn't gotten to see whatever "it" was yet. I scaled the dunes to return to my car and stopped under a shelter to strap on my Tevas. The lady in black was resting there. On closer inspection, she wasn't that old, though by contrast to the cast I'd left on the beach, she looked rather Victorian. She told me she was to play the lonely soul who wanders along the beach. I asked her if it was some kind of art film. She said they were shooting a video for a new Bob Dylan song.
Hmm. I considered heading back to see if the man himself would make an appearance. I scanned the assembled fire truck and equipment vans, none of which looked large or posh enough to hold him. It was only getting hotter. I decided against it. I don't know if I get the whole concept, but I'll keep an eye out for the clip of a lonely soul wandering along the beach when the next Bob Dylan video premieres on TRL.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
mistaken identity
We went for a yummy dinner last night at La Taqueria on 7th Ave. Chris loves the beans. And the fresh guacamole they mush up, tableside.
They have a Tuesday night special that gets you a free drink if you flash your Brooklyn ID. Neither Chris nor I have Brooklyn ID as of yet, so I kind of meekly tried to get our waitress to swing us the special anyway. Denied. Then a table full of serious Brooklynites, accents and all, sat adjacent to us, and one of them, an old man with a white, thinning pageboy, a beard and one of those little captain/conductor's hats all the hipsters are wearing, was unable to produce ID. I had to crane my neck a bit to hear what the verdict would be: our waitress told him not to worry about it. We didn't really hold it against her. The guy could have been the king of Brooklyn, and we could just as easily live in Jersey.
They have a Tuesday night special that gets you a free drink if you flash your Brooklyn ID. Neither Chris nor I have Brooklyn ID as of yet, so I kind of meekly tried to get our waitress to swing us the special anyway. Denied. Then a table full of serious Brooklynites, accents and all, sat adjacent to us, and one of them, an old man with a white, thinning pageboy, a beard and one of those little captain/conductor's hats all the hipsters are wearing, was unable to produce ID. I had to crane my neck a bit to hear what the verdict would be: our waitress told him not to worry about it. We didn't really hold it against her. The guy could have been the king of Brooklyn, and we could just as easily live in Jersey.
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
nesting
I am on winter break. It's enough to cause my nine-to-five friends to green a bit around the gills, but I'm not so sold on this mandatory vacation business. It's nice, since I've let all manner of things go around the house, to have a few days to scale the mountain of laundry in the bedroom. It's nice to be able to lounge on the couch with the cat. It's nice to post a few thoughts to my blog. But is this what time off is for? Is this all a vacation is? Chris is busy at the gallery or slaving away in his studio, and everybody else has jobs. And I've found myself alone, faced with the dilemma of what to do with all this time: houseold projects, reading, writing, school planning, interborough adventures?
Yesterday I finished off the lychee sherbert and the rice pudding in the course of one afternoon, nosed through a few stories in the Best American Short Stories I got for Christmas and generally avoided anything productive. And watched an embarrassing amount of television.
I'm drinking a beer.
The cat is purring on my stomach.
Chris will be home soon.
Where's that book?
Yesterday I finished off the lychee sherbert and the rice pudding in the course of one afternoon, nosed through a few stories in the Best American Short Stories I got for Christmas and generally avoided anything productive. And watched an embarrassing amount of television.
I'm drinking a beer.
The cat is purring on my stomach.
Chris will be home soon.
Where's that book?
Monday, February 20, 2006
the neighborhood
Months have gone by, and I've let this blog idle. We moved to Brooklyn at the end of August. We live in an area that doesn't really seem to have a name, perhaps only because the realtors haven't christened it yet. It's a sort of no man's land right on the southeast tip of Prospect Park.We love it because our view is of the park: leafy trees until around Halloween, then a somewhat clear view of the pond once the trees are bare. In fact, right now I can see a reddish sunset reflecting on the water. When the big snowstorm hit last week, we had lots of fun playing in the snow over there.
But now the snow is gone again, so the park looks more like this:
Art shots compliments of my Christmas present from my fabulous husband: a camera. Though I think Mr. Fabulous might have stolen it, yet again, to take shots of colorful storefronts around Chinatown.
Friday, August 05, 2005
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