A Mandate for a Man-Date: Three Neighborhoods, Two Boroughs, One BBQ Joint and a Million Zombies

Talk about a day out...

Drove up to the Rock Star's house to hang. The family is on vacation. I thought it would be video games and cocktails for most of the day after a quick lunch out.

"Actually, just last week, I was at the Upper East Side for BBQ for lunch and when my buddy and I got there, it was closed..." Rock Star's voice trails off. "Oh... you have GOT to be kidding me..."

We are in Williamsburg in Brooklyn, crossing Metropolitan Ave. All I can see is an alley leading past a building with a locked gate in front of it. If this is a BBQ joint, I've certainly seen prettier exteriors.

"Well, I guess I'm two for two... since BBQ is closed, let's grab a beer," says Rock Star. We head over to Spuyten Duyvil and I get a Belgian Weiss and Rock Star has a Weiss draft. We sit in the back garden catching up on old times. We've known each other since high school and are still both in music, even if we are at two opposite ends of the spectrum.

The Zombies Come Out...

It's one p.m. There are four hours to kill before the BBQ joint opens. We are two survivors of a zombie outbreak. The infected are everywhere and we are shooting them and moving as quickly as possible. We travel through the decrepit cityscape. Occasionally swarms of them appear and we must hunker down and fend them off with all manner of guns. In between defending ourselves, Rock Star goes up to his extensive home bar and says, "Check out this cocktail, it's got some custome bitters from back home. It's tart yet sweet and oh so smooth..." The zombies start to blur a bit on the screen. It's gripping stuff and at 6 p.m. when we finally put down our Xbox controllers and shamble ourselves off to eat, we recount the stories of how we survived the zombie apocalypse.

The Bass Player's Story...

He jams a cell phone into my face. Rock Star knows The Bass Player but we haven't really been introduced. "I was walking around McCarren Park when... Watch this video." I look at the postage stamp sized screen and I see a giant pink ape playing the bass and a man in a skunk costume playing the xylophone. "Listen, man! I thought it was shit but then I see these kids around him, dancing. They are going fucking nuts and then I realize. These guys are tearing it up." He is so excited his PBR is splashing a bit on his blazer and khaki cargo shorts. They are called the Xylofolks.

We are having a pre-dinner drink and hearing a band play in Greenpoint.  I don't know the bar.  I barely know how we got here.  The music is good but dinner awaits.

And They Ate Meat...

We didn't just eat any old meat, but we ate home smoked meat. Because of the war with the zombies, we didn't arrive at Fette Sau until well after the dinner crowd was in full swing.  We waited for close to an hour until we got to the meat counter.   You point at hunks of cooked tongue, sausage and ribs.  You point at sides.  You get everything on butcher paper and then hit the bar for micro-brews and scotch.  You head to the picnic tables where you sit with strangers and melt into dinner.  We ate with our fingers and took the split leftovers to take back to our respective homes for hash and eggs the next day.

Top 10 List for 2009

10. Each year Kitty and I designate it "the year of..." and choose a seasoning or cooking technique. One year it was the year of Adobo seasoning. Another it was the year of salt & pepper. This year? The year of Baker's Chocolate Chunks! I try not to be a corporate shill too much, but these are clearly superior to all others.

9. Bronx Opera. They hired me for a bunch of shows and I've learned so much. On weekends when the train service is disrupted, I could get to Maryland faster than I do my round trip to rehearsal.


8. HPD of NYC. This exists in the toughest city in the world? Sign me up.

7. Because we don't need just one Chinatown. We have two... um... make that three. And yes, I no longer have to cross a river to get myself some Prosperity Dumplings.

6. The Xbox 360. Now I have a chance to do grown-up gaming for myself and actually play with friends online! I'm killing zombies in Left 4 Dead and saving the universe in Mass Effect.

5. The Flip. Keeping distiant family members up to speed on the Peanut is easy and fun. It helps that Kitty is doing all the editing and emailing. Shout out to Web Wendy... you made the top 10!

4. I did my first audition for an international opera company. It was humbling. The second one went much, much better. (but still no word yet.)

3. The 2 train. Kind of a sleeper hit. I switched to it on my regular commute and all of a sudden it shaved 25 minutes off my commute. Sometimes you have those NYC moments when you smack yourself on the head and say, "what were you doing for the last 3 years?"

2. The ice cream sandwich at http://www.xiexieproject.com/. And the bahn-mi. But especially the ice cream sandwich.

1. 2009 was the Year of Media. Discovering that my film debut is now available. Actually, I'm a little embarrased. Back in '96 when it was made, it took about 10 takes to get my one line right (it was in freakin' Czech! Give me a break!). I was broadcast on TV as Tamino in Bronx Opera's "The Magic Flute" (thank you Bronx cable access!) and my website got a facelift. While that is all well and good for me, Kitty and The Peanut got in on the act when we were featured as the family face of the Breastfeeding Initiative for the NYC Department of Health. (sorry... no links... but I'm sure it is out there somewhere.)

The Peanut Changes Things

It's now been just over a year since the Peanut showed up and upended our time in NYC. There are certainly the big changes of having a baby. You can read about them in one of ten thousand books, blogs and newspaper columns. I'll spare you the stories of my daughter's golden dumps and magic spit-up.

Our neighborhood has not exactly "arrived" yet. There is still an edge to it. The police presence, the pharmacy under the train station that specializes in methadone, the graffiti and the public urination still reflect New York City from another era. Please note, we don't ever feel unsafe, we just haven't had the influx of cash yet that allows cafes, bakeries and boutiques to show up yet.

The Peanut has really changed our overall experience, though. Now when we walk through our neighborhood, people recognize us. Our checkout lady, Zenab, who wears an outfit one piece of cloth shy of a burkah, calls the Peanut "her little friend." The Peanut obliges by giggling and squealing and smiling whenever we are on line at the store.

When our neighbors noticed that Kitty was pregnant, I found out that they started a neighborhood watch of sorts. From their front windows, noted when she went out for her morning run and always made sure that she made it back safely. They also questioned me on a regular basis as to whether or not she would "rattle that baby right out" with all the running.

In the week after Millie was born, the neighbor down the street sent over a dozen roses for Kitty-- the first time we ever really had contact besides some cursory "hellos." The neighbor across the street stopped us as we all left the house to introduce herself to her new neighbor and give a card and a ten dollar bill for the college fund. The guys on the stoop now ask me how that little boy is doing when I walk by in the morning. (The Peanut is a girl and I've reminded them a couple of times and lately she has been sporting a giant pink snowsuit, but I'll take their warm but inaccurate greetings over the cool indifference of the past.)

On a very rushed trip to the grocery store, I was getting ready to grab English muffins and run back home when Zenab cornered me. "I have birthday gift for my friend. Wait here." She returned with a giant gift bag with an toy telephone that talks. I was so touched that I returned to the store ten minutes later to get the English muffins that I had forgotten.

Pulp Fiction

I had a moment when I felt like a true New Yorker yesterday.

I finished an old novel by Lawrence Block called, "A Stab in the Dark." It was a juicy little murder mystery that took place in both Manhattan and Brooklyn. As I read the book on the train, I could visualize every location in the book- from Midtown to the streets of Cobble and Boerum Hills. I knew every intersection and almost every building mentioned. At the same time, the book evoked a New York City completely unknown to me. My imagination was stirred by grittier streets where the boutiques of today were replaced by bodegas and the trees on the sidewalks had not yet been planted.

I wonder if, years from now, I will think back on my time here and falsely remember the gentrification of these neighborhoods and think back to the good old days of New York that I never lived except through dime store novels.

We were young. We needed the money.

It all started in 2005. Kitty and I had been married a little over a year. We were living in Denver while I sang a contract with Opera Colorado. The money was good, but we were still a little short on cash.

Keep in mind, this was before the Greatest Depression that we now live in. Denver was awash with money. There was real estate, arts funding, excessive consumption at Cherry Creek and, most importantly, medical research grants.

After I had finished my contracts, Kitty and I found ourselves very under employed and we were gearing up for a move to New York City. How do you get money quickly?

Kitty's brother, "Dr. Navy", a medical student at the time, found a drug study. We would stay in the hospital for a week, all meals provided, potentially be injected with a "very safe drug" and have our vitals and blood done on a regular basis. Successful completion would mean a thousand bucks each. Initially, we were skeptical but Dr. Navy assured us that the drug was safe and, after all, he was getting married the week after the hospital stay. Would he "really" do it if it wasn't safe?

I initially thought that this would be like a free week at a "all-inclusive." We would have free food and drink and we'd hang out, I'd bring some video games and dvds and relax. Sure, we'd be giving blood every four hours (24 hours a day) but how is that different from recovering from the toxic shock of unlimited drinking at Hedonism?

Well, there are certain differences. For one, we couldn't have caffeine. As you know, Kitty and I met in Seattle and fell in love in the Met Park East Starbucks. The cement that holds the foundation of our relationship together is morning coffee. Second, we couldn't drink alcohol either. I wouldn't compare that to the foundation of our relationship. It's more like a really cool chandelier that you have in your house and you have to have sent away to be repaired. The house loses a bit of light and a little class but is mostly untouched while it is away.

Despite these reservations, we discovered that we would be put up in the new wing of the hospital and provided food from the new chef who took over the commissary. The food wasn't amazing, but it was plentiful and satisfying. We could also order up their 5-star desserts and cookies at breakfast time if we wanted.

After a week of being pampered and only one disturbing incident involving Kitty and a doctor taking blood from her carotid artery because they couldn't find a vein, we walked away with enough money to fund the move to NYC.

So what does all that have to do with New York City? Kitty and I have found that there are little opportunities like this all over. Case in point: Kitty is part of a weekly breastfeeding group in our neighborhood. It is a wonderful support provided by the City government in "at risk" neighborhoods like ours and is provided at no cost. Last week, it was announced that the City was preparing to update their breastfeeding brochures. They were having a photo shoot and moms and babies could come and receive $150 if they participated in the shoot. Husbands and partners could come too and receive their own $150.

Sure enough, we rose to the challenge. We arrived at 9 a.m. with The Peanut in tow. Coffee and pastries were provided and they staged numerous shots of Kitty and The Peanut nursing in various positions. The Peanut cooperated like a champ and the two of them managed to get pictures taken in all four "official positions" and I joined in for some family pictures. Everyone joked that The Peanut was a natural actress following stage directions... only natural for the child of an opera singer! I only hope that it will last through her teenage years.

As it turns out, if they use our pictures we will receive an additional $500. (Perhaps each... we couldn't decipher the contract). Keep your fingers crossed for us!

Great places to change diapers in NYC

1. Basement of Baby Gap on 6th Ave. It is a wholly depressing little space. They call it the nursing room. It's like wood veneer is ganging up on you and beating you to a pulp. [there is a joke there somewhere] To say that the design is horribly depressing is an understatement. As my decoration mentor, the Scottsman would say in his very proper British accent and creaky 80-year old voice, "J^&* Ch$%*, it makes me want to gouge out my f&*(^ eyes. Could they at least be bothered to provide ONE comfortable chair?"

2. Babys 'R Us, Union Square. They are totally focused on providing a great place to change your infant. They also try to shake you down for every last penny before you walk out the door. I saw them selling a baby wipe warmer. A wipe warmer? Really? REALLY? As for the decoration? It's fine. The plastic-coated upholstery makes me feel like I'm in some sort of institution of health, but otherwise, it is as boring as all get out.

3. Firefly. I feel sort of bad about this one. We were out with our cousins last weekend and hit Firefly for happy hour after a long day of walking and eating. It was Saturday night and we were the only people in the back room. Since no one was around, I went over to one of the banquettes and changed Millie's diaper. I made it back to my seat before my beer got warm. The closest thing to diaper-changing perfection that I've ever had. The decor was a cool, slick, NYC-sports bar look. There were great light fixtures and the poor back bartender was a good sport about chucking the dirty diaper. I think it is safe to say he's never had to deal with that before. Unfortunately, considering the number of guests there on a Saturday night, I fear this little gem may disappear from the Soho firmament before long.

Grand Theft Baby

Well, as you probably know, we have recently added a little girl to our family. She arrived on December 8, 2008. The days leading up to her birth were filled with many unique experiences as we began to prepare ourselves for discovering a new aspect of NYC.



Studying up



Baby classes in NYC, or I suppose any major city, were far different than our friends from the suburbs described.

Our class took place at 49th Street and 9th in Hell's Kitchen. A storefront, filled with $800 strollers and organic baby clothes (wait... does she wear them or eat them?) and large circular couch in purple velvet narrowed in the back where two classrooms had flat screen televisions and hardwood floors. A staircase led down to the prenatal yoga studio. The walls were exposed red brick and hanging near the top of the double high ceilings were five-foot tall, black and white artistic posters of smiling babies being held by multi-cultural mothers and the occasion stray nipple.

Our classmates were a motley bunch. Ken and Barbie were of the flawless, upper-east side variety. Type-A Couple were composed of a malpractice attorney (our midwife teacher visibly cringed) and a mother who described herself as "completely unafraid and ready for an orgasmic birth." There was a doctor ("Are you going to deliver the baby?" our teacher asked. "No, I'm a pathologist.") who was married to a lawyer. One dad worked at the biggest art auction house in the city and he and his wife live in Brooklyn Heights. They were probably the only couple that we could say that we'd LOVE to go out to beers with sometime. One of his many zingers in class was, "I'm still trying to get my mind around the concept of an epidural. Please... don't even SPEAK to me about episiotomies." One dad looked like Elvis and his wife made cookies with spelt flour that were totally delicious.

**********

Our teacher asked us, "How are you getting to the hospital?" Ken and Barbie said, "We're probably going to walk."

"How many blocks?" the teacher asked.

"4 blocks."

"Streets or Avenues?"

"Don't worry... streets."

"That should work out. If you are thinking of taking the train to give birth, I really wouldn't recommend it. Can you imagine being stuck in a metal tube under a river giving birth? And please, Dads, make sure you have cash on hand for a car service or taxi. Really, nothing will piss of your wife as she is in labor if you have to ask the driver to pull off at an ATM for cash."

***********
"Partners, you should consider scrubbing out the tub so that your wives can take a nice bath. It really makes a difference for the mom and relieves stress and can reduce the strain on her back." Ken and Barbie's eyes drift off into space. So do Type-A couple. It seems they had never scrubbed a tub in their life. You see, that is what "the help" is for.





***********





"Why on earth would we need spend a hundred bucks to buy a car seat? We don't even own a car!" said one father.





"Because the hospital won't let you walk home after giving birth," said the teacher. "You'll never use it again, but you'll need it for the first taxi ride home."

***********



The Obligatory Birth Story



We had planned to drive to the Birth Center when Kitty went into labor and on the eighth, as I was sitting at my desk sipping my 10:15 cup of coffee, she called to say that her water had broken as she was doing yoga. Since she wasn't having any contractions, the midwife said to just relax and hang out and because it will take awhile. The midwife even said that I could stay at the office for a little while and wrap things up.

I left at 12 o'clock after checking in with Kitty-- still no contractions. She had ordered pizza and we were going to have as soon as I arrived. I was surprisingly calm, even though the train was incredibly slow with occasional random stops between stations. It took an hour and fifteen minutes to get home. Arriving home, the pizza was waiting and Kitty was just hanging out. No contractions yet so we hung out, chatted and ate. I had versions of a quiet, calm birth. Where Kitty felt no pain. Perhaps I was hoping a stork would really end up delivering the baby to us.





When she felt her first "twinge," the time was 1:50 p.m. Immediately, the contractions were three minutes apart but very mild. We checked in with the midwife and she said to relax and have Kitty take a shower since the contractions were only frequent but not strong.





As Kitty got out of the shower, the contractions started getting stronger. They still weren't bad but we figured they weren't slowing down so we should just hop in the car and go.





Then everything went completely and totally insane.





I had packed the car and helped Kitty into the passenger seat. She popped the seat back and all of a sudden she started groaning. The time was 3:50 p.m. As we travelled through the streets of Brooklyn, the contractions got stronger and stronger. Soon she was wailing at regular intervals. She was clammy and pale and was gasping for breath between her groans.





************


At this point, I'd like to point out that the time was about 4 p.m. What happens at 4 p.m. in Brooklyn? Children get out of school. And how do they get home in Brooklyn? Via School Bus.





**************


Considering the groans eminating from my wife, I'm faced with a choice, do I pass those school buses, with their stop signs and flashing red lights? If I do, I risk the lives of my neighbors children. If not, I may end up assisting her in delivery on the side of Ocean Avenue.





I do what any good geek would do. I breathe deeply and and stay calm and focused, just as Master Yoda taught me. I cut around the buses as soon as their stop signs retract and the lights stop flashing. Niko Bellic taught me that hitting pedestrians causes the cops to chase you.





As I pulled up to the birth center, I realized that I needed to pull a u-turn across 4 lanes of traffic. I think it might be the first time Kitty really responded... "Why are we stopping?" Still in my zen-like state I said, "We need to pull a u-ie... I'm just waiting for a safe opportunity." The time was 4:20 p.m. By the time she made it up the short flight of stairs and into the room, she was told they could see the head so start pushing. At 4:50 p.m., our daughter arrived.

It's Christmas-time in the City

I have favorite things about the city at Christmas-time:

The sidewalks are clogged with vendors selling Christmas trees and boughs. Makeshift wooden frames keep the trees upright and wreaths are also stacked like donuts on the sidewalk. In the Village last week, a French girl sold me four boughs from a stack for "az much az you'd like to pay." (I payed three bucks.)

There is no doubt that the windows at Macy's and Rockefeller Center are tourist havens, but is there anything so quintessential? There is a reason that we go back every year to see the sights. It's comforting, even in the harshest winter winds.

The platform for the altar at Queen of All Saints is decorated with 14 evergreen trees, each at least eight feet tall. The servers look like they could start a snowball fight at any time, taking cover behind the boughs and peeking out while waiting for Monsigneur to shout "GO!"

The first snows make the city quiet and magical. On our street, children slide along, pushing themselves on old cardboard boxes. Before it all melts to slush, there is a layer of downy white on every stoop. With the first snow, delivery boys from take-out restaurants put on yellow slickers and wrap their heavy chain-link bike locks around their waist and ride their bikes through the snow delivering dinner to all the lazy New Yorkers who are doing their best to watch the delights from behind glass. I tipped five bucks for a twelve dollar pizza.

My Random Top Ten List for 2008

Please note: This list is only in regards to living in NYC. There are certain things that supercede this (birth of child, getting signed by an agency, international debut, etc.).

10. Arthur Avenue- the Bronx. Our first trip to the Bronx was a blast. We ate a family style meal at a Dominick's Restaurant (it was good, not great) but we got to tour the "other Little Italy" with some of our favorite friends on a beautiful day. Not a bad way to begin exploring the most distant borough!

9. The Man-moon. Prior to the birth of our little girl, I had a chance to have a weekend hanging with one of my best friends from high school. On one evening we hit The Alligator for free pizza, Barcade- my favorite bar in the whole city, Union Pool for tacos from a truck and a night cap at Soda. Another night was spent drinking small batch bourbon, scotch and whiskey at Char No. 4. Nestle all that between two slices of gaming on the wii and you get yourself a great pre-baby-weekend-of-fun sandwich.

8. The Brooklyn Public Library System. For great service and a giant selection, go somewhere else. If you want to find the latest NY Times Bestseller list with very little wait, this is where to go. The service is uninspired at best, hostile at its worst.

7. The New York Public Library System. For giant selection with only a little bit of inconvenience, this is the spot. I've been having trysts with the Fine Arts Collection at Lincoln Center. This is the only library system where I can go to the branch by my office and pick up a copy of The Rake's Progress and Batman- Arkham Asylum. If you want a NY times bestseller and don't mind being hold number 845 out of 1,232 then use the NYPL, otherwise, see #8.

6. Metro North. Kitty's birthday celebration involved hopping the train to Cold Springs and traveling in the most civilized fashion upstate. We enjoyed a hike along the Hudson that went through an old stone house that was abandoned and ruined. Oh... and she did it while 6 months pregnant. That's my tough-as-nails wife! Lunch was startlingly good at the Foundry Cafe.

5. NY Comic Con. This year I went all out and got a weekend pass. Like eating 7 pounds of expensive cheese, watching the Lord of the Rings trilogy back to back to back or drinking a whole bottle of Veuve, sometimes too much is too much. This year I'm getting a ticket for Friday only. Everything in moderation.

4. The Business of Being Born. Never has a documentary so directly affected my life.

3. New York Magazine. Never has a magazine so directly affected my life.

2. The Wii. Nothing beats spending some time playing the vids and now Kitty joins in for competitive Tennis. She also has a circuit training course for me that includes Wii Boxing, crunches and pushups. After all that, I've been enjoying Super Mario Galaxy, No More Heroes and playing Medal of Honor Heroes 2 online against real life people.

1. Prosperity Dumplings. Prosperity Dumplings. Prosperity Dumplings. Never has a dumpling so directly affected my life.

I've seen fire and I've seen rain.

With a baby on the way, Kitty and I have made a pledge not to make any plans. Really, what's the point when anything could happen at any moment. Our rational is this: Hang out together, get lots of rest, watch a bit of tv, play some WiiSports and try not to get in too much trouble. After all, the next 20 years will be a sleepless, insane mess, right? (or not, perhaps)

The Water Breaks

As it turns out, water broke last Saturday night. I walked in as Kitty was reading in bed. "Does the ceiling look a little odd to you?" she asked.

I had been upstairs talking with Ms. C, our landlord, chatting about the fun of planning and how Kitty and I were making the most (or perhaps the least) out of these last few days.

Now I looked at the ceiling- puzzled and a little bemused. I pulled a chair up and poked the ceiling. It caved damply under the pressure of my finger. "Crap." I said, as I stood on the chair.

Back up the outside stairs to Ms. C's house I raced. She was surprised at a second visit so quickly and it was getting late. As her eyes got large, she said, "Let me call my brother."

Let's all keep in mind that here in NYC, water is a both a trusted companion and a feared enemy. If a pipe bursts, it can cause millions of dollars of damage to not only your apartment, but every apartment below. An overflowed tub can cause rifts for generations. Children stop playing with "negligent" neighbors. Lawsuits are filed. Decorators cheer. Years later, teenagers will fall tragically in love across these battle lines and only their mutual suicides will bring the families back together.

Luckily, Ms. C's brother figured out that it was only a leaky radiator valve. The water dried, he replaced the ceiling drywall the next day and this evening I'm putting on the last coat of paint.

Crisis averted and the Spud is 85% less likely to avoid an untimely Romeo/Juliet demise.

It always could be worse.

On Monday I was sitting at my desk at the office. My cell rings and I see it is The Cantor, my best friend from college. I can't imagine why an esteemed member of the Hebrew Nation would be calling me mid-day so I took the call. The Cantor lives with his family on the Upper East Side near the Temple where he serves. He has a doorman and some might say he has a "dee-lux apartment in the sky."

"Hey, man, I'm sitting in a coffee shop right now and I thought I'd give you a call."

"We'll what's new?" I asked.

"Well, I'm waiting for a tow truck to pick up my car. Somebody set it on fire last night."

"HEY-SUS!" I exclaimed. (He doesn't mind so much, being Jewish and all) "Is everything OK? Did anyone get hurt?"

"No. It happened in the middle of the night. I came out to switch sides for street parking and there was the burned out shell of my car. I guess it went up at about 2 a.m. and the firetrucks were here and everything."

He certainly sounded calmer than I would have been. I decided not to worry him with my little tale of woe.

Requiem for a Tuba

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/14/us/14tubaman.html

(subscription required)

My memory of the Tuba Man:

While Kitty and I lived and worked in Seattle, I was a member of the Seattle Opera Chorus. Perhaps more importantly, I was a busker down at the Pike Place Market on my lunch breaks. I would put out a coffee cup and stand on the corner singing my lungs out. I sang arias in front of tourists (not very well). It was a fun way to break down any last sense of fear that I might have had about performing.

One of the fun things about being a part of the Seattle Opera Chorus was that you could sometimes leave performances early (if we were done singing). I remember running out of the theater after shouting "Attenti agli sbocchi delle scale!!" at the end of Tosca. As I would leave the theater, beating the crowds by ten minutes (at best), I would wave to the Tuba Man as he sat blasting away "Ride of the Valkeries."

To the Tuba Man, my fellow busker: I wish I had given you a tip. I hope you're doing duets with Gabriel now.

"Where do we go now?"-- Sweet Child O' Mine, Guns & Roses

Well, we've had a great run here at the Chocolate Room! We talked a lot about the fun and weird and free and cheap things to do here in NYC. Together we made a trip to the DMV, we ate $1 dumplings, we watched the burgeoning love affair of my wife and a guy named Mamoun and we learned that a clever New Yorker really can drink booze for free.

So where are we going from here?

As you now know, Kitty and I are expecting a kid. It's pretty exciting and I'm thinking that there will be a lot of great new experiences to be had now that we going to experience the city 'a trois.'

Of course, we will still discover fun and exciting things to do here and I'll post about that. Also, I'll try not to make too many posts about my kid and its magic golden first dump... oh no, I will attempt to hold myself to a higher standard. After all, the Spud 0.9 is going to be born in the roughest, toughest city in the world and I'm sure there is a story in there somewhere.

People from Carolina know things

I won't talk much about Kitty's pregnancy because it was pretty laid back and I was told "it makes other mothers angry." I'm knocking furiously on wood right now. Consequently, we were thrilled about six months in when she got her first comment from the neighborhood about it.

Kitty and I were walking down Brevoort from the express train station when a voice came from behind us, "Well! SOMEone's having a baby! mm-HMM." At first we weren't sure if she was talking to us. We turned and smiled and waved. Our new friend wasn't content to leave it at that though.

"I just had my eighth. It's GREAT! Do you know what you are having?"

Kitty took the lead, "Nope. We're kicking it 'old school' and didn't find out."

"Well, I have eight BOYS. Nothing but trouble... Do you want to find out? Come over here, honey."

She opens the gate to her brownstone and meets us at a card table on the sidewalk where three older people are playing dominoes and smoking.

"Ma... hey, MA... Tell her what kind of kid she's going to have!"

The mother turns to us and smiles, gold teeth sparkling against the sunset. "I'm from Carolina, so I know these kinds of things," she says.

"Just relax, hon. Don't worry about what I'm going to do."

The old woman takes a drag off of her cigarette and places it down on the card table, the end hangs over the edge and falls onto the sidewalk. Still sitting, her hand reaches up and she places her hand on Kitty's throat.

After about thirty seconds she lets go, exhales her cigarette smoke and lifts the cigarette to her lips and takes another drag.

"I'm from Carolina, so I know these things... I felt two heart beats. It's a girl and HE," she motions at me with her cigarette, "is the father."

Baby Names

As some of you might know, Kitty and I are expecting an addition to the family.  In a few short weeks, our little Spud will be born and we'll have to choose a name.

If it is a girl, we'll call her Prosperity Mamoun and if it is a boy, Mamoun Prosperity.  I kid, of course, but if you have come to visit us here in the city, I'm sure you will know the references.

Mamoun's Falafel and Prosperity Dumpling are the only two restaurants in the city that we have gone to regularly and they always exceed expectations.

Mamoun's is located in the Village and provides hungry roamers with falafel (a deep fried chickpea ball) with baba ganoush, lettuce, tomatoes, tzaziki sauce and scorching hot sauce for $3.00 for each sandwich.

When the Bear found out that Kitty was pregnant, he said, "Congratulations!  Who's the father?"  The answer is easy, Mamoun.

Prosperity Dumpling is on Eldridge just north of Canal and they provide perfect pork and chive fried dumplings (5 dumplings for $1) and a sesame pancake sandwich with veggies ($1.25) or with beef ($1.50).  Kitty and I just got home from our almost weekly trip.  As we stood on line that went out of the door of the 10 square foot restaurant/stand, she said, "this time, I'm getting a second sesame pancake for the Spud."  We stood outside the little place and my eyes closed as I ate my pork dumplings.  On our way down the stairs to the subway, Kitty said, "Next time, please, don't ever let me eat two sandwiches.  I'm in a carb coma.  Don't get me wrong, I'm glad I had to try it to know, but now I'm sure... just let me eat one.  Not two."

Election Day, 2008

Today was my second experience voting in New York City. My district is in the Clinton Hill/Bed Stuy neighborhood. It's been that has been-- shall we say-- smitten with one particular candidate.

My first trip to the polls was for the primary. I got up early and the streets were barren. As I turned the corner to enter P.S. 56, a man leaning against a tree whispered, "Vote [censored]." We were well within the "no campaigning zone" but the man didn't seem to mind. I gave an uncomfortable semi-smile. "I see you're voting... you'd better be voting for [censored]." Of course, now I was turning into the building. He called after me, "I hope you are voting for [censored]!"

As I walked into the building a woman was talking on her cell phone.  As she smoked her cigarette (the first illegal thing she was doing) she muttered, "Vote [censored]... " as I walked by her.

Of course, once I got inside the voting area, everything was by the book.  It was so "by the book" that when I got to my polling station, my name wasn't on the roster.  Apparently the DMV had struck again and hadn't processed my registration from May.  Curses on you, DMV!!!  A thousand curses!!! You are my nemesis, now and forever.

Fast forward to November 4, 2008.  After watching a bruising campaign for both candidates, I woke up early and walked over the polling station with my voting confirmation in hand.  As I turned the corner, I saw a small line leading out of the front of the building.  It was 6:15 and the polls had opened only a few short minutes before.  As I walked up to the building a woman walked out with her daughter.  She lifted her up in the air and raised her up and down saying, "We made history! We made history!"

I looked past the happy woman and her daughter and I realized that the line went down to to the corner and turned right.  It then went about half way down the block.  Armed with my coffee, I went to the end of the line. 

The couple in front of me were definitely long time residents of our neighborhood.  "In all my years, I never saw a line this long," the wife said.  "I can't believe it," says her husband.  As I stood behind them for the next forty minutes as the line moves slowly but steadily forward, I heard them greet the people they knew.

"I have never been so happy to be at the end of a line," said one woman as she walked by.  The line was now down to the next block.

A woman walked past me towards the end of the line, tears running down her face as she said, "I can't believe it...  I just can't believe it."

When I got into the polling station, everything moved incredibly quickly.  I found which line I should stand on and then only one person was ahead of me.  Schools were closed for the day because all of the polling places seem to be public schools and kids couldn't eat lunches.  Instead, parents all over had their children and the kids watched as they got a civics lesson from their parents.

Evening arrived after a long day of work and Kitty and I watched election results come in over the Cnn.com.  (since we don't have tv).  At 11 a.m., when they called the election I heard people cheering outside of the window.  I put on my jacket and stood out on the stoop.  A man had come outside, put his car radio on full blast and was dancing in the street.  From the Shuttle train platform people were calling out, "we won!  we won!  HE won!"  Strangers were shaking hands and hugging as they moved past each other through the doors of the train.  Windows were opening up and down the street and people were leaning out cheering.  As I heard the people calling out to their neighbors and cheering, news radio must have announced the winner because all of a sudden, from Fulton and Atlantic, I heard a car horn go and then another and another until a chorus rose up on either side of our small block, adding to the music and the people cheering and the lone man dancing in the street. 

My new favorite blog.

http://cakewrecks.blogspot.com/

This interview took place via email between Marc Bantel and your intrepid blogger, freebie superstar.
How did you get free tix to see Neil Diamond?

Well, I got them from my day job with the Red Cross in Greater New York.

So how was the concert?Great. The dude is 67 years old and he filled... I mean... FILLED madison square gardens. It was vaguely surreal to go into the show and be the youngest people there, but he came out with tons of energy, didn't take any breaks and sang for over 2 hours.Also, they are taping it for distribution so it would be cool to actually get the video at some point.

Did you dance in the aisle?

Not in the aisle, but he got us up and dancing for the first couple of numbers (holly holy and another uptempo). The crowd went nuts for Sweet Caroline. If I had one nit against the concert, it was that he did the song 3 times in a row. Three times... wtf? Always leave the crowd wanting more... Rule #1 of showbiz. By the end, the audience had shot their collective wad on the song.Did he wear anything sequined or in a jumpsuit style?Nope. Black suit. It was kind of a Johnny Cash look. He was totally fit, though. We sat behind the stage and basically watched his a$$ for 2 straight hours. Mostly I watched the monitors.Did you embarrass your wife?Not really. She danced with me.

What did he play as an encore?

confession time, we left a bit early. It's a pain to get out of MSG and with all the people with walkers, we figured it would take a lot longer. (I KID!!) Best guess, we missed Cracklin' Rosie and Coming to America.

Was anyone silly enough to try and "open" for him?

Dude. Pearl Jam wouldn't even be able to open for him. The dude sang for over 2 hours straight. No intermissions, no breaks. It was pretty damned amazing.

How many cougars did you spot?

Kitty: Have you seen the racks on the ladies here?
Blogger: Store bought or home grown?
Kitty: Store bought. They have 20 year old bodies attached to 50 year old faces...

How long of a show did he put on?

see above.

Did he interact with the crowd well?

Sort of... He definitely talked to the crowd a bit but it was a bit scripted at times. Not a complaint... it usually went with film clips up on the monitors.

Other comments:

Sitting behind him, we got an incredible view of what it was like to be on stage. The bulk of the audience rolled out ahead of us and it was almost like being on stage with Neil.

We wore earplugs and it was the best thing I've ever done. I would have totally gone hoarse and that would have sucked. I could actually hear the details of the music much more clearly because they took out the distortion of the loud volume. That being said, his band was incredibly tight. He's been touring with them for about 30 years and they knew everything cold. They were totally fun to watch. I saw the mike cord running down the drummer's back and for an instant I thought the dude was on oxygen. Wouldn't be surprised... the band didn't age as well as Neil did.

The main reason we left early was that a bunch of younger people (our age) sat behind us and by the end of the night they were completely smashed. They were talking at each other so loudly and being so freaking rude that it killed the rest of the night for us. I was especially pissed because Neil was singing a couple of slow songs about the price of being a star and touring and it was really speaking to me as a musician and I could barely hear because of the yutzes behind us. They were too drunk to reason with them at all. ugh. Downer on the end of the night.

Spring Break on My Commute

Happy Passover!

It's a wonderful season here in the city because Passover means that it is Spring Break for the high school kids. With no high school kids, it means empty trains into the city. With empty trains into the city, it means not smelling that heady mix of phermones and Drakkar Noire (or whatever the kids wear these days. That means also that the trains don't run late and it also means that today I got to work in a record 22 minutes from station to station! I'm chipper as a squirrel finding a leftover nut from last fall.

The Chocolate Room... a playroom.

http://www.criticsrant.com/bb/reading_level.aspx

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I am pleased to announce that my blog was rated by some computer system as being written at Elementary School level.

Story Time is at 9 a.m.
Snack time is at 10 a.m.
Gym class is at 11 a.m.
Lunch time is at noon.
Recess is at 1:30 p.m.
Pre-calculus and Differential Equations will be at 2 p.m.

Class dismissed!

Making Friends

Thanks to a regular schedule of Mass, Kitty and I have made some interesting new friends. One of them is a 72-year-old opera fan by the name of George. Technically, George is a "SuperFan" of opera. He has an encyclopedic knowledge of shows and remembers every singer he ever saw. He has been attending since he was nine years old and has seen the truly legendary singers perform here in the City and around the world.

Last night we attended The Daughter of the Regiment at the Met. It was a fantastic production with lively staging and truly superb singing. We had a grand time chatting with George and his other opera buddies up in the Family Circle. There are great opportunities to read about the show, so I won't get into it here. Besides, to steal a great line, "Talking about opera is like dancing about architecture."

My point, and I do have one, is that George lives in our parish and so we all took the train home together. He had us gasping for air as we chased him through the streets of Manhattan on our way to the Columbus Circle Station and he was still revved and ready to go after the show, while we were falling asleep.

When I get to be 72, I think I'd like to be back living in NYC, going to the opera with Kitty (maybe she'll be a fan by then!) and able to out walk a couple of spring chickens as we head to the subway.