day one

I had a hard time sleeping Sunday night. I don’t think it was due to nerves, because I can honestly say I’m not nervous about this new job. So after a night of restless sleep, Kev and I woke up early for a run. It felt good to start the week off right.

I arrived at the office exactly 15 minutes after leaving the apartment. Being able to walk to work is supremely convenient - yet another reason why I’m happy we decided to do Manhattan instead of Brooklyn.

Security at the building is a breeze. You basically just have to smile at the guy at the front desk and he’ll let you in. I walked up one flight of stairs and I’m at the front desk. Definitely nothing like the maximum security prison I formerly worked at. Thank God.

After a quick tour around by the HR girl I was shown my “office”. It’s actually not an office at all, but rather a seating area that’s completely out in the open. No more nose/teeth/wedgie picking in the privacy of my soft-walled cube. Now I am out there for the whole world to see. It’s going to take some getting used to, but at least everyone here is in the same boat.

It’s always tough being the new girl. I think that’s part of the reason why I stayed at my old job for five and a half years. Who wants to leave and start all over again? You have to be miss smiley nicepants, learn faces and names and who not to screw with and new email/phone/anything electronic. And most importantly you have to prove yourself all over again.

What have I gotten myself into?

greetings from the future

Behold, the Hand Key 2000 Biometric Recognition System. It is the system by which Crissy and I get from our side of the habitation pods to the other side of the habitation pods, where we can enter Equinox, the muscular synthesis center, gain access to the E.O.P. (elevated observational platform) , or use the 50 Murray exit portal.

In order to activate the portal to the adjoining sector, you simply dial in your access security code, and insert your hand into the gamma reader, at which point the HK 2000 emits a series of gamma ray bursts, which read the size and shape of human hands.

This information is then computerized by millions of tiny micro-bots, which translate that information to a series of quasi-numbers. Those numbers are compared to that of a predetermined five dimensional hologram of the bio-material. Once a match is confirmed, a high-pressure blast of frozen nitrate cools the bolt-mechanism, which is catalyzed by enzymes, and the door opens.

It’s simple science, really. If you’re interested in learning more, you can check out the website here. Or you could not bother, since I just explained exactly how it works.

one more thing

What the heck is with east coasters using the term "wait ON line" or "stand ON line" instead of IN line? And no, they are not describing spending time on the internet.

I would even prefer someone to use the British term "queueing".

a quick trip

As we're all aware, this past Tuesday was a day of epic proportions. Obama took the presidency -- and I went back home to Chicago. I had two main reasons for my visit: I wanted to see baby Avery Forst (and mama G!) in the worst way, and I wanted to spend my last hours soaking up my weekday freedom with my best partner in unemployment crime, Christine.

As soon as I stepped off the plane and smelled that familiar McDonald's/Manchu Wok/Burrito Beach smell from the food court, I was grinning from ear to ear. It could have been my xanax induced happy haze, but darn it, it felt good to be home.

In all, it was a fantastic trip. We celebrated Alex's birthday by eating rabbit legs wrapped in bacon. We cooed and oohed and ahhed at the supreme cuteness that is Avery Shea Forst. We had dinner with Kub and Heather and laughed and talked and pretended like one of us (ahem) didn't move away.

But there was a big part of me that was really excited to come back to my HOME in New York. Being back in Chicago made me realize just how much I really do love it here.

death on wheels

Allow me to take this opportunity to discuss one of the biggest plagues on New York City.

Oh, you mean rats, Kevin? It’s a big city, what do you expect?

No.

You mean cockroaches? The cockroaches are pretty big.

No no, not that.

Oh, you must mean the garbage piled on the sidewalks. There are no alleys in New York, you know.

That’s not what I’m talking about.

Is it the crazy cab drivers?

It’s not the cab drivers. Shut up and I’ll tell you.

I’m talking about bicycle delivery men. And I don't mean the scabby, sinewy hipster-types who deliver blueprints and storyboards in snazzy Chrome messenger bags fastened with seatbelt clasps.

I’m talking about the food delivery guys here in New York who speak zero English, obey zero traffic laws, and think airplanes are angry flying gods.

I’m talking about the guys who wear no helmets, yield for nobody, and Miss Gulch their way through the manic streets and sidewalks of Manhattan with a chow mein wrecking ball dangling from each handlebar of their undersized, brakeless, spoke-free, 1993 Toys R Us Huffy.

I’m not kidding about this. It’s a serious problem. For the most part, New York is a well-tuned, well-oiled transit machine. Sure, things seem fast and crazy, but there’s a method to the madness. A controlled chaos, if you will. With these guys, it’s as if you entered a jalopy into the Indy 500.

Every one of these rolling liabilities rides with the efficiency of a yard sale on wheels. I can’t believe restaurants aren’t getting sued by the thousands on account of their delivery guys mowing down women and children in the street. I personally have almost been killed no less than four times.

DO NOT GET ME WRONG. I am in love with this city. After a month and change of living here, I still walk around gawking starry-eyed at the sheer size of everything. I love the frenzied activity, the personality, and the architectural beauty of the only world capital I'll probably ever live in.

I'm just saying. If I get killed on account of some lazy slob wanting his jumbo burrito 30 seconds faster, I'm gonna be pissed.

Tuesday, November 4th 2008

Barack Obama is about to become the 44th President of the United States. A few comments, just so I remember:

Crissy is home visiting some of her best friends in Chicago. I’m missing celebrating this incredibly historic event with her.

People are screaming on the streets of New York.

You heard it here first: Chicago, IL…site of the 2016 Summer Olympics

They keep showing footage of Grant Park on MSNBC. I’m not saying I’d be anywhere close to there if I was home right now, but I’ll tell you…it makes me pretty proud of my home town.

The TV footage makes the park look like several acres of mint ice cream covered in billions and billions of sprinkles.

Which, by the looks of it, tastes pretty damn sweet.

boo york

This past Friday night Crissy and I decided to check out the Greenwich Village Halloween parade, which I guess is the largest Halloween parade in the world. Fifty thousand people march in the parade, which stretches for about a mile, and draws around two million spectators. This year, we were proud to make it two million and two.

Now, usually Crissy and I are huge Halloween fans. Anyone who knows my wife knows that she isn’t shy about fully committing to shockingly unattractive costumes, as evidenced by her unsettlingly pube-heavy Borat from '06. But for whatever reason (sheer laziness), we just couldn’t bring ourselves to get out of the house and forage for costumes this year.

Which we figured wouldn’t be a problem, since people weren’t exactly stuffing our pockets with party invites. But see, the problem is, if someone does invite you to a party at the last second, you’re simply not allowed to go. That’s the rule. You cannot go to a Halloween party without a Halloween costume.

Otherwise you stand in the corner, chest-protecting with tepid keg beer, looking like the lazy, uncreative Grinch who stole Halloween. Before you know it, people start asking who you’re supposed to be, and you resort to the lamest of all lame non-costume jokes; “I’m a 32 year old dude drinking a beer,” or “I’m a jaded advertising copywriter and his wife,” or “I’m a dick, f*#% you.”

So, instead, we grabbed the camera and headed up to the parade, which was being broadcast live on NY1, the local news channel.

Though we were a little hesitant to head out into the streets thanks to a fast-spreading report that the Bloods were holding an all night gang initiation, during which as many as 20 single women were to be murdered on the streets of Manhattan. I suspected that this was some kind of Halloween hoax, but just in case, we tried to steer clear of people dressed in red, avoiding sexy red devil costumes and sexy little red riding hood costumes and sexy Hellboy costumes. Which lasted about a half a block.

On our way to the parade, Crissy and I stopped into two bars and took a couple shots of “annoying crowd serum,” sometimes referred to as tequila. By the time we got to the actual parade, we were ready for as many “in character” zany seventies guys as New York City could throw at us.

The parade itself was really cool, I have to admit. Millions of people show up to this thing, and everybody’s in a good mood, looking to have a good time. All except for a fat southern dude and his wife, creatively dressed as a cowboy and cowgirl, alerting the police that they smelled marijuana in the air. You’ve never heard pure, uncut sarcasm until you’ve heard a New York cop on Halloween say the words, “Yeah, we’ll have to do something about that.”

After the parade, we stumbled around a bit, took pictures of drunk people eating Mexican food in their costumes, and strolled back home. Officially capping off our first New York Halloween, which, by my estimation, was a huge success.

And next year? Our costumes are gonna be totally kick-ass. You’ll see.

P.S. Please enjoy this drunk dude eating Mexican food in his costume