24

Let's talk about 24.

No, not the Fox series of old (and soon to be rebooted). Nor the fact that there are 24 hours in a day. Nor the fact that the number 24 is is the only nontrivial solution to the cannonball problem. In a shock to no one, I have absolutely no idea what that problem is. None.

Instead let's talk about the fact that we have a Den member turning 24 today. It's CAL's birthday and we are lucky to be together today. It's nice to have her here to celebrate and even nicer that we got to spend it in one of her favorite cities - New York. One of the benefits of life behind the Connecticutistan Curtain is the ability to slip from underneath it (it helps that our iron-gloved overlord, Martha Stewart, is presently distracted by her dalliance in the form of a cooking show with Snoop Dogg Lion) and make our way to either NYC or Boston.

New York City the day after Christmas is not for the faint of heart, especially if you find yourself in Midtown, which we did towards the end of our day. First, though, we started our day at the 9/11 Memorial and Museum as CAL had not yet seen the Museum and that was top o'her list. If ever I am not moved as I visit that sacred place, please find the person who bought my soul and try and get it back. I was stunned this time by one of the things I had missed in previous visits and maybe I'll talk about that in a later post. Suffice to say, it took my breath away.

After that, it was time to celebrate CAL's birthday with a little indulgence in the form of the goodness that is available at the Momofuku Milk Bar. Their six layer birthday cake looked awesome but they don't sell slices - only the whole cake for $42, so birthday cake pop truffles were the order of the day. This location of the Bar is on 56th between 5th and 6th, smack in the middle of Fuhrer Trump's lockdown area (our cab driver was not happy with the blocked streets as it is impacting his ability to get into very busy and popular areas -given that he was of Arab descent I suspect the Fuhrer could care less about the impact on this man's ability to earn a living), so we knew we wouldn't be getting a cab anywhere near  there to get us back to Tribeca. CAL wanted to see the Tree at Rockefeller Center anyway and the crowds on 5th Avenue were teeming. We got as close to the Tree as we could - close enough for this picture:

Then we made our way over to 6th Avenue into a crowd of people that can only be described as "Tourists As Far As The Eye Can See." Most were clambering to get to Radio City to see the Rockettes, while all we wanted to do was get to a subway station. Fortunately, we made it and on the F and C trains we went. After a three borough tour (Manhattan, Brooklyn and Queens), which is what happens when you accidentally wind up on the Brooklyn Bridge instead of the FDR (don't ask), we were on our way home.

It's been a good day. We are fortunate and blessed that our now 24 year old was happy to celebrate her day with us. We are even more fortunate to be her parents.

Happy birthday, CAL!

A square to spare

It didn't end well for Elaine.

Earlier this week as I got off my commuter chariot of choice, the Metro North, and shuffled into the Main Concourse at Grand Central, I took a moment to A) count my blessings that I no longer commute through the snarling, gaping maw of Hell that is Stankfest Penn Station {if there is a skeevier rail station on the planet, please share} and B) how beautiful the Main Concourse was adorned in its Christmas finery. My reverie was interrupted by a homeless man bellowing "Merry f!&@in' Christmas" to the hundreds of commuters who poured past him. At that moment, I knew it was going to be a good day.

It was a good day until it got weird. As noted, I work in Midtown and am a glorious five minute walk from Grand Central. Now Midtown is dotted with towers reaching to the sky, some gleaming brilliantly in their newness and others are, well, a bit worse for wear. I happen to work in one of those towers that if you saw it, you'd suddenly start singing, "The old gray mare ain't what she used to be"or you'd think to yourself, extending the horse metaphor, "She's been rode hard and put away wet."

My building has been through it and one need look no further than our restroom facilities for the pungent proof of how things were in restroom design {Spoiler Alert - they weren't good} when the building first opened, given that nothing has changed since that fateful day. It was in one of those facilities where things got weird. Even before I got to the door, the noxious odors emanating from the Palace of Relief suggested several people had made poor lunch decisions. Upon entering and seeing that all the stalls were ocupado, the poor decision making hunch was confirmed. Fortunately, my needs were not stall-related, so I was able to do what I needed to fairly quickly. I then made my way to the sinks that are so close to the stalls that one cannot enter/exit said stall without knocking into whoever is at the sinks. That's super awesome. While washing my hands repeatedly, not because I'm OCD but because that bathroom is a HazMat incident gone awry, I heard this from the stall behind me.

"Sir, excuse me, sir. Please, can you help me?"

Of all the things one might ever hear in a public restroom, this has got to be one of the things you really hope not to hear. Given that the crack in the stall door was wide enough for said assistance seeker to see me, there was no way I could feign ignorance nor could I visibly grimace. So it was that I responded.

"Um, sure, what do you need?" 'Please be a heart attack, please be a heart attack' is what I was thinking (I know. I know. I'm going to Hell but I was really concerned about the alternatives.).

"Sir, there is no toilet paper in here. I really need some toilet paper. I'm really sorry. I usually check. But I didn't and I really need some toilet paper. Can't you please help me?"

I instantly had to silence a laugh and bite down hard on my lip as I was immediately transported to one of the seminal "Seinfeld" episodes wherein Elaine finds herself similarly stranded in a stall. It took all I had to not say, "Sir, I don't have a square to spare." Instead, I opted to do the appropriate thing and I said, "Let me see what I can do."

One of the stalls had been vacated so I pulled out an excessively large amount of the toilet paper that my stranded stall resident needed and then had to quickly ponder how I was going to deliver the bounty to him. I wasn't about to ask him to open the door because nobody needed to see that. I wasn't going to lean down and pass it under the door either. So I went for the dunk shot, lobbing it over the top of the door. Fortunately, it was a good shot because, in a relieved tone, he uttered, "Hey, thanks, bro."

"You're welcome, bro," were my last words as I made my exit. Hopefully he'll pay that one forward but happy to not know those details. Note to self - always, always, always make sure there's enough toilet paper. You never know when some one won't be willing to spare a square.

May you never find yourself in this situation:

49

49 - did you know that it is the square root of the number 7? (I actually did know that, I promise.)
49 - did you that it is the atomic number of indium? (I don't even know what those words mean.)
49 - did you know that Arsenal had a 49 game unbeaten run between May 2003 and October 2004 until they lost to Manchester United?

All fascinating, no? But what's important here, and I say this sans ego, is that today is my 49th birthday. Given that the life expectancy for American males born in 1966 is 73.9 years, I am well-past middle age. I'm 2/3rds dead. My life is, at least on paper, 66% done. If I get myself no other gift today, it's that I'm not buying that garbage. It feels like yet another phase of life is just beginning.

Given that today will be spent getting religion, the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML and I really got our celebration on yesterday. We decided to break free of the stern icy fist that Martha Stewart wields over Connecticutistan and we went over to the Hudson Valley in New York. We started our day in White Plains (Calm down, Mittites, it was not to see if Bill and Hillary were in town!) to go to the eastern-most outpost of our favorite pancake joint, the Original Pancake House. It was only appropriate to go there so I could indulge on my favorite, and most appropriately named pancake, the 49er.

The aforementioned 49 year old with the 49er

Let me just go on record and say that this is one, well three if I'm being honest, delicious pancake. After scarfing it down in a state of near nirvana, we began our trek into the Hudson Valley. We took the Taconic State Parkway and I've got to say that as far as parkways go, this one is a beaut. High praise from someone who considers driving a long distance is the 15 minute trip to the grocery/surly service/rotten produce store. We were in the Yukon-asarus which made for some interesting passing moves as we made our way to Poughkeepsie. Yes, Poughkeepsie. On purpose. Why?

For this:

That's looking south on the Hudson River from the Walkway Over The Hudson. Fashioned out of what was once a railway crossing over the Hudson between the glamour that is Poughkeepsie and Highland, New York, this is a 1.3 mile span that affords some just boss views of this amazing river. The weather was nigh unto perfect yesterday so we enjoyed the walk enormously. We wanted to capture the moment and fortunately two girls from Marist College marched right up to us and asked if we needed our picture taken. In about ten seconds, they had taken nearly a dozen pictures of us. Here's one of the better ones:

 While we were on the bridge, I discovered that the freaking Culinary Institute of America was within spitting distance in Hyde Park. It was off to the CIA. We were bummed to learned that it was mostly closed (it was Saturday after all) but being there at Food Nirvana was a borderline religious experience. I can't even speak of it without getting emotional....

Hallowed Ground

We capped the afternoon in Hyde Park at the Franklin D. Roosevelt Presidential Library and Museum. This was straight up fascinating! The curators have been meticulous in capturing the life of FDR and in particular, his years as President. The "Four Freedoms" speech, from January 1941, exhibition is particularly moving and worth another post, which will probably come the next time everyone's favorite megalomaniac, Donald Trump, spews something inane. Obviously we won't be waiting long. As one of the docents showed us FDR's fully preserved study, I got the chills thinking about what had been discussed 80 years ago as the President struggled to rescue the nation from economic oblivion. If only those walls could talk...

What a great day and what a great way to enter the last year before the mid-century mark! Spending with the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML...priceless. Time with her is the best gift I could have asked for.