And Speaking of Velociraptors...Relax!

It was barely light outside. Was it even light yet? I don't know. I can't remember. I was awakened from a dream in which someone was screaming, to the reality of birds screeching in the tree whose branches hang low over the back deck, outside the open sliding glass door, of the house I'm renting on Fire Island.

As the fuzz of sleep began to blow away I realized the chirping (screeching?, tweeting?, screaming?) was constant but without pattern. I couldn't latch on to it in order to fall back to sleep. I kept my eyes closed hoping that it would stop and that the cozy fog of sleep would pull me back into its depths again. As I was lying there I began to wonder what the birds were saying to each other. In the haze of partial alertness I wondered if the sound was coming from baby birds crying for their breakfast. Then I remembered the Velociraptors in Jurassic World, how they communicated with each other. What were they saying? What were these birds saying? Were they gossiping? Singing? Fighting? In that altered state between asleep and fully awake the mind can play all kinds of tricks and games, have all kinds of thoughts.

Five minutes later, ten, thirty...the chirping finally ceased. I remember thinking to myself, "Thank God she fed them." I drifted back to sleep.

I don't know how much longer sleep held me in its grasp as I refuse to have a clock on the bedside table and have no idea what time the birds started blaring at top volume. I do know that when I made my way into the living room, in the sleepy morning walk toward the bathroom, I saw that it was still in the 7am hour. This day had already refused to be slept away. I was up.

Before starting my trek into what I like to call "town" to get coffee at Floyd's I noticed the droplets of water stuck in the screen of the screen door. I'd managed to sleep through the midnight rain, awaking to its presence dripping from the flowers and trees in the early morning sunlight. The air was cool and fresh. The sounds of nature alive around me. So much of Fire Island parties into the night. Therefore, so much of Fire Island was still asleep. That has never been my M.O. on Fire Island. For me, my week in Cherry Grove is about being in a sanctuary of freedom, friendliness, and beauty; a place where people say, "hello" and "good morning;" a place where showers are outdoors and nude frolics are the beach are ok, encouraged, and met with nothing more than a passing glance.

It takes just a moment to stop and breath, look and see. It's about smelling the roses even when there aren't any roses around. Be. Exist. Soak it up. Life is short and vacations are even shorter. Whether its sitting on the sofa in the living room, lounging on a chaise on that back deck under the shade of that tree with the birds, or sitting under an umbrella on the beach, there is no time, no agenda, no reason for guilt because you're not doing something, no reason to hurry to get something done.

Relax.

A Summer of Discovery & Rediscovery

It's been a while since I've concentrated on writing about what I'm doing. It's been since August 19th to be exact. I've been doing things. Living life.

It's been a great summer. I hate to think of it as being over. Technically it isn't, but the kids have gone back to school.

This was my first summer as a resident of Astoria. I enjoyed the peace that my home brought into my life. I've had to remind myself that what I'm feeling these days is happiness. It's been a while since I felt truly happy.

One major thing that has been going on with me this summer is: I've been meeting with my friend Mandy on Tuesday nights to read. We're not reading books. We're reading what the other one is writing. It's been amazing. We meet for dinner and catch up on the goings on in each other's lives over the past week. We talk and laugh and eat. After the plates are taken away, we order coffee and pull out the pages for that night's reading. It has been so exciting and pleasurable to read what Mandy has been working on. It's a funny story and I can't wait to read the new pages each week. I look forward to finding out what new, ridiculous experience she puts her characters through. Sometimes it's just a paragraph or line that is the stand out. Other times it's the entire scene. I never fail to laugh though.

It's also been a confidence boost for me to have her read and critique my first foray into fiction writing. She sort of acts as an editor. She helps me clarify things that don't make sense. She doesn't necessarily know that I listen to her entire reaction though. There were things in my first story, Ocean Point, that I wrote because she mentioned that she couldn't wait to find out about such and such. They were things that I maybe wasn't even concerned with. However, writing those descriptions or explanations made the piece better. So thank you Mandy for just being you and wanting to know.

I have now moved on to another story - 327 Chesterfield Road. It's a different tale than the first. More challenging really. The first one was a challenge, don't get me wrong. When I'm writing about something that I did or experienced, I can give you every detail because it happened to me. I can describe it to the point where you feel like you're there. Writing something that is unfolding in my mind makes the details very difficult.

I think about where I want the piece to go. Then I concentrate on getting the words on the page. Then I concentrate on editing and clarifying and making sure that what it says conjures the image I have in my head. That's why I'm publishing one installment a week.

I'm constantly thinking about whatever piece I'm writing at the moment. The ideas swirl around in my head like water swirling down the drain of the sink after the plug has been pulled. And just like that stray piece of corn or that manages to cling to the sink, instead of going down the drain, I have kernels of ideas that stick. I have pulled out my BlackBerry® on the train more times than I can count and started to write about the people in these stories. Thank God for memo pad or I'd be screwed.

Anyway, it's been a great summer. My blog turned a year old. I went to Newport, RI. I went to Amagansett in East Hampton. I went to Boston - twice. I hung out in Central Park. I walked across the Brooklyn Bridge - twice. I ate at new restaurants in Astoria and Brooklyn. I hung out with friends in Astoria. I smoked a hookah for the first time. I published my first piece of fiction. I watched a lot of True Blood, Mad Men and SYTYCD. I reconnected with a cousin and met his family. I started publishing my second piece of fiction. I tried new wines. I cooked new dishes. I read three books. I got new music. I got a couple of new pieces of furniture. I took lots of pictures. I found happy again.

Thanks to all of you who continue to keep up with my life. Keep reading. I'm going to keep writing about me and keep creating characters with interesting stories to tell.

Cheers!

Boozy, Notorious & a bridge to Brooklyn

"The day Boozy and Notorious walked across the Brooklyn Bridge." Sing that using the melody from "Ode To Billie Joe".

I planned to go to the gym this morning, but just didn't get around to it. I chose instead to enjoy my morning cup of coffee watching last Sunday's CBS Sunday Morning and repeats of The Golden Girls alternating with reading the latest copy of Entertainment Weekly. Okay, so I should have gone to the gym, but it was a lovely way to spend the morning of a day off. I knew I was going to get exercise anyway.

At the subway, the first train to arrive was the M. I took it to Queens Plaza and waited to transfer to the R. I was paying no attention when I got on an E. I was typing directions for the day on my Blackberry. Thankfully, I looked up and noticed the E before the doors closed. It wouldn't have been horrible to be on the E. The R just puts me closer to where I was meeting Boozy.

When the R finally came, I played seat hockey, briefly, with an older man. I started to sit then thought he was planning to sit. Being a southern gentleman (laughter is not permitted here) I was going to let him sit. He chose to stand so I took the seat. The next thing I know we're hearing the sounds of someone informing us of New York City's hunger problem and wanting donations. Quickly, I started hearing the jazz sounds of the smooth-voiced Melody Gardot. I gotta block that shit out most of the time. I agree that there is a hunger problem. It's not limited to NYC. I just don't give money to solicitors on the train. There are organizations for that kind of donation. Sing it all away for me Melody.

The day was absolutely gorgeous. White cumulus clouds dotted the blue sky like cotton balls on a piece of light blue poster board. The temperature was in the mid 70's. There was a slight breeze. It couldn't be more glorious. There was peace in my soul as I waited for Boozy to join me for our adventure. There wasn't a hurried desire to get to the Bridge, only a desire to allow the day to unfold. That is not something I do often. It's a good feeling. I should allow myself the experience more often.

We stopped at Jamba Juice before getting on the N train toward Brooklyn. Boozy ordered the Mega Mango and I the Peach Perfection. We each added a free shot of vitamins to our smoothie. With our batteries charging from the smoothies and the vitamins, we stopped by an ATM so that we could pay for our adventure. We then made our way to the subway station at 49th Street.

I realized quickly that the N train we were on was not going to stop where we needed it to - City Hall. We transferred at Union Square to the 6 express train to Brooklyn Bridge. Five-7 minutes later we were at our destination. All these years I've been in NYC and I never realized how quick and easy it was to get to the Brooklyn Bridge. I feel like I've wasted a lot of time thinking it was too far and too much time on a train. Somebody find me an "idiot" badge.

As we emerged from the underground station to the visions of blue sky, I turned to Boozy and asked, "Why don't we live down here." It was beautiful. Beauty accented with white tiles, green trees, and colorful fabrics. We found our way onto the bridge and began our journey across. You have to be aware of the cyclists. Boozy informed me that they get angry with the walking tourists. We were tourists today. So we stayed out of their way. However, being New Yorkers in reality, we weren't enjoying the walking tourists either.

It took no more than 30 minutes to walk across the majestic Brooklyn Bridge. Even pausing for pictures of the water, Brooklyn and Manhattan views. It was such a lovely walk. Slathered in sun screen and enjoying the shine.

We made our way to Old Fulton Street and joined the line of people on the sidewalk waiting for a taste of coal brick oven pizza from Grimaldi's Pizzeria. They don't serve slices and they only take cash. It's a New York destination. A fixture on the Brooklyn Bridge experience. (Thank you Boozy for that description.) Of course, I have to be honest here. I had never heard of the place. Boozy was the one who knew of it and suggested we go there.

Okay, so I don't really know how long we waited in line. It could have been 30 minutes it could have been 45. Time flies when you're having fun. We looked at all the pictures I had taken so far and talked. When we finally made our way to the front of the line, we were shaded by a big, old, beautiful tree. And just like that, we were being called inside.

Can you say crowded? Every red and white-checkered tablecloth covered table was filled. Elbow to elbow. 1950's rock n roll was playing loud on the sound system. I looked around for the jukebox. One wall was full of Frank Sinatra pictures, posters, memorabilia. It was a pizzeria where American Graffiti met film noir. The history was apparent. There's no telling what stories these walls and tables could tell. We ordered beer and pizza. Peroni for Boozy, Amstel Light for me and a large regular pie for us to share.

There are no pictures of the pizza because we devoured it. Boozy mentioned this to me and thought it would be funny to take a picture of the empty pan. No such luck. The second the last slice was taken, a waiter swooped in a took the pan. Two beers each and a whole pie later, we paid our $32, cheap, bill and headed back into the sunshine in search of ice cream. There will be no judgment allowed at this statement. We had already consumed beer and pizza in the middle of the day. There is nothing wrong with adding ice cream to the mix. Hell, it's almost called for. Bad is bad no matter how little or much you consume and all of this bad was really good.

The Brooklyn Ice Cream Factory was located a mere 351 feet from the door of Grimaldi's. How do I know that, you ask? Well, Boozy's phone gave her directions with distance in feet. It was at the end of Old Fulton Street. Before indulging in the ice cream, we walked along the water at Brooklyn Bridge Park. I had no idea there was such beauty simply across the bridge from Manhattan. The view of Lower Manhattan was breathtaking. Thirteen years later and I still feel amazed that I live here. It was smile inducing. After we had tired ourselves with the walking and the food and the beer and the park, it was time for a little sugary goodness. Boozy got Peaches and Cream on a sugar cone and I got Vanilla on a waffle cone. We started our trek back to the bridge. Remember what it's like when you have an ice cream cone in the sunshine? Good! Then you'll have a excellent picture of me trying to keep that ice cream from running down the cone and dripping off my hand.



As we started back to Manhattan, I noticed a large digital clock. It said 5:01pm. We had spent 3 hours in Brooklyn. We walked back across the bridge, facing the oncoming deluge of tourists. None of them seemed to get the concept of moving out of the way as we passed one another. There was no sense of shared space. Three people shoulder-to-shoulder, filling the space, and as Boozy and I approached, we were the one's who moved. It happened more than once with the same outcome each time. Annoyed, I just stopped moving out of the way. If we ran into each other, so be it. The southern gentleman from earlier in the day had given way to my true identity. For the record, it took us about 20 minutes to walk the bridge this time.

Back on Manhattan soil, we decided to walk to Chinatown and catch the R train at Canal Street. We stopped at an outdoor seating area to rest and drink a little water. We were giddy. Kinda punchy with laughter. I think it was happiness. Yes, I was happy and Boozy was happy. We had a fantastic day doing something neither of us had ever done before. The experience was perfect.

Photo Album

24 hours in Amagansett

Ah the Hamptons. A place of lore and wealth. At least that's what it had always been for me. My experience with the Hamptons had been through the eyes of characters while I watched the ladies of Sex and the City attend a party, Blair on Gossip Girl plan her next scheme or the Beales of Grey Gardens descend into squalor. As a resident of NYC for a little more than 13 years now, going to the Hamptons is finally something I can say I've done.

My moment came randomly. The executive director of the theatre where I work, hence known as The Boss, for the second summer in a row has taken the month of August to chill in the Hamptons. This year she was able to move in a week early and she invited the management staff to have a relaxing day at the house. None of us thought that my immediate boss would go and the other two guys I work with definitely didn't want to go, but I was desperate to go. Not desperate like "I'll kick, scream and pout" if you don't let me go, but desperate to find a way considering the most convenient opportunity ever, had finally presented itself in my life.

My boss, who is always good to me, found a way for me to be the representative from my department to attend. Excited beyond belief is how I felt. I was going to the Hamptons with friends and getting to stay in what was sure to be a fabulous home.

Departure time between 2:30pm and 3pm on Monday. I joined Ladybird, Miss JJ and Princess Fehr in a CR-V and we began our 24 hours of leisure. We faced the required traffic upon exiting NYC. It's just a fact of life. It doesn't matter at what hour you're departing, there will be traffic. It wasn't major delays, or even minor, just more leisurely than we really wanted for our leisure.

I don't want to make light of the travel or the traveling companions. There was lively conversation and music in that vehicle as we made our way toward the summer destination of many wealthy New Yorkers. However, it was just a lot of I-495 connecting to NY-27 and watching the GPS and reading the Google Maps print out before we finally found ourselves driving in what to me could be any country town in America. Seriously, I looked around at the corn fields and large pieces of empty land and thought of my own home town, Arlington. It made me think about growing up in my small town and how I knew I had to get out of there and live somewhere bigger. I always knew that. Small town life was not for me. The interesting thing is that living in the City, the first thing I think of as a vacation getaway is going somewhere that is reminiscent of the town where I grew up. It's just relaxing and I think there is a sense of safety because it's mental familiarity.

We passed many winery's on our way to Amagansett. That perked me right up. So many winery's, so little time. Upon entering the Town of East Hampton, we crossed into the hamlet of Wainscott. Nothing much to write home about there. Lot's of nursery's with beautiful landscaping. Hydrangeas are everywhere in the Hamptons. I love hydrangeas. Then we find ourselves crossing into the village of East Hampton. The village of East Hampton as well as the hamlets of Wainscott and Amagansett are all part of the town of East Hampton, I'll explain. I did a little research. So it seems that a hamlet is a term people use to reference a community within a town that is not incorporated as a village. A village is an incorporated area located within one town. Therefore, the Town of East Hampton has the incorporated village of East Hampton and the hamlets of Wainscott and Amagansett. Hope that's clear. It is for me now. Anyway, back to Main Street. It is the main thoroughfare of the small village of East Hampton. On either side of the road it looks like part of 5th Avenue and part of 57th Street in Manhattan combined and the progeny of their coupling settled in East Hampton. Cynthia Rowley, Coach, Tiffany & Co., Elie Tahari, Gucci, Ralph Lauren, Hugo Boss, Tommy Hilfiger, BCBG Max Azria, Chloe, Michael Kors, and Tori Burch. There were also many Citarella locations, interesting local shops, and the requisite Starbucks. You just can't get away from the coffee giant's chain of stores no matter where you go. I'm sure there are stores I missed or can't remember, but it was amazing to see them there and to know that at least for the summer months, they can sustain themselves with the wealthy clientele who darken their doors.

This was East Hampton. Many of the homes had names and the lawns were beautifully manicured. Oh, and Grey Gardens is there. Those of you who know me know that the prospect of actually seeing Grey Gardens made my heart flutter.

We arrived at our destination on Scrimshaw Lane and I just felt myself relax as I looked at the house in disbelief. Simply stated, it was sprawling. It was gorgeous. I was overjoyed at the idea of staying for just one night. I couldn't imagine how The Boss felt about staying for a month. One immediately asks the question of, "How can I come back to the City after this?" Of course, we all have to return to the reality of our lives at some point. However, living in that house, surrounded by all those trees and the sounds that emanate from them, paired with the relaxing pool and nearness of the ocean would make returning to normal hard for anyone. I didn't even think about the people who live there year round for whom the beauty I was marveling at was just normal life. An everyday occurrence to be taken for granted.

I was thankful. Thankful to be there. Thankful to be invited. Thankful to work in a facility where the people truly get along and enjoy each other's company. People who get along so well that there was never a question that spending the evening together would be awkward.

The Boss showed us around the house. There were at least 8 bedrooms, with living areas, a kitchen and other rooms thrown in for good measure. Almost every bedroom had its own private bathroom. It was something to marvel at as we made our way through the labyrinth of twists and turns and stairs to levels both up and down. One could easily have gotten lost or confused. My room was off of the kitchen, through a gate, left up a set of stairs, across a small foyer, turn right and pass through the laundry room into a small open space used as a children's play area and up another set of stairs. It was yellow, my favorite bedroom color. It was lovely.


After the tour, I quickly found myself on a plushy lounge chair by the pool with a glass of white wine in my hand and the highly enjoyable Princess Fehr sitting beside me. The stress of the City was gone. We left it somewhere on NY-27. The air was fresh, the sounds were peaceful, the mosquitoes were biting and the OFF! was being sprayed. Oh, and Eliza, the golden retriever, was wet from the pool and constantly ridding her body of the water by shaking next to Princess Fehr and me. A sight that made everyone laugh, every time. Eliza's reason for coming to us was we had made the mistake of throwing her ball, so she kept bringing it back to us. I got wise and started throwing it across the pool to the grass on the other side. It took her a while to figure out where it was and bought Princess Fehr and me some wet-dog-free time. There were moments, however, that I found myself covering up completely with a beach towel to protect myself and my precious drink from the spattering of water as she continued to shake and shimmy next to us. This elicited laughter from the crowd as well. I'm nothing if not good for a laugh.


I can't remember when in I put on my swimming trunks, but let's just say by this point I have them on.


A few more people had arrived and dinner was prepared. We had steak and ribs. That's all I can remember. Oh, yes, we had switched to Pinot Noir Rose by this point. So that's white wine and Rose so far. It's funny, but I can't remember what else we had on the table, by the pool, for dinner.

As the evening progressed we found ourselves in the pool again. We were swimming and diving and jumping. Eliza was big on rescuing. There was a moment where I was using a floating tube and she jumped in the water, bit down on the tube and began to pull it out from under me. She swam to the stairs, climbed out of the pool, and took her rescued tube to safety. This would be something we would all watch until we departed the next day. It was always funny, but there were times when we would only jump in when she was not readily available to rescue us.

There was a small group of us that had moved to the other side of the pool. The side where I kept sending Eliza to get her ball earlier in the day. We had a fire over there and chairs circled around it. We were still drinking wine. I had moved on to regular Pinot Noir by this point. That's white, rose, and red for those keeping tabs. There was a bottle of tequila, as well as other things, being passed for those who wanted to partake. There were huge marshmallows for s'mores. I made at least four myself and then started just roasting marshmallows with chocolate stuffed inside. This was not my idea. I copied it from a co-worker sitting next to me. I remember making two of those. The next day, rumor circled that I had made 12 s'mores. Lies I tell you, all lies. I was inebriated, but not that unaware.

When I went to bed that night, I was still connected to my brain enough to know that I should take a couple of Excedrin and drink some water in order to combat a hangover the next day. I slept like a rock. I barely moved. I knew this because the bed linens were barely ruffled.

I was in the room that had an Asian theme. When I found out I would be in that room, it was only natural to me that I bring my kimono. When I told The Boss I was bringing it, she burst out laughing. The kimono story made it's way into the staff meeting so everyone knew I was bringing it. So, when I got up the next morning, I emerged from my room in my kimono. There were only a few people up to appreciate it, but those who were, did. I woke up that morning at 8am. By 10am, with the smell of sausage and bacon in the air, I had to excuse myself from the table. I didn't tell anyone where I was going, I just made my way back to my room and laid on the floor. I was feeling a little queasy. It was weird. I thought I had done a sufficient amount of hangover prevention the night before. I guess I hadn't. I laid in the floor very still. I just thought, "If I lay here very still, it will pass." Eventually, I got up in order to move to the bed. Bad idea. The back of my tongue and throat gave me that old familiar feeling just before I vomit. I ran to the bathroom and found myself hugging the porcelain god. There was the coffee, the only thing in my stomach. I couldn't believe this was happening to me. My first trip to the Hamptons and there I was throwing up with a hangover. What a waste. I'm usually pretty good about knowing when to stop drinking because hangovers are no fun at all. The older I get the longer it takes to recover. Who wants to waste and entire day recovering? Not me, but that's exactly what happened.

Ladybird, came to check on me. You see, no one knew where I had gone. He came into my wing of the house and called my name. I mustered the strength to say answer him. He opened the door to find me laying on the bed. I explained my situation and he laughed a little, told me to feel better and closed the door. I continued to lay there, unmoving. He came to check on me a little later. I was still in the same position. He said that I would never live this down. I smiled as I acknowledged him. I knew that was the truth. First trip to the Hamptons. Everybody knows it. And here I am wrapped in a kimono, laying as still as possible, fighting the need to vomit, while all of my friends are out enjoying the beach, pool, weather, whatever. So smart am I.

I finally felt well enough that I could function outside of the bedroom. I made my way downstairs for the second time that day. All of the people who were scheduled to arrive on Tuesday had arrived. They all knew of my situation. All I could do was keep my dark glasses on and smile. I'm sure there were a few times I shook my head in disbelief that this was actually happening.

Ladybird, asked me if I still wanted to see Grey Gardens and if I felt well enough to do so. I wanted to, so we made our way to the CR-V. As soon as we started driving I had to roll the window down and take a deep breath of fresh air. My stomach wasn't as sure that I was ready for this as my brain was. Once the road got smoother, it was easier for me. We knew the general vicinity of where we were going, but not exactly where. The GPS was a little funky and would not let us put in the address for Grey Gardens. We made our way to Lily Pond Lane and peeled our eyes for West End Road. There on the right was #4 West End Road. That meant that the house, concealed by trees and flowering bushes across the street had to be #3. We backed up the vehicle and though an opening in the trees we could see the porch. There is was. Grey Gardens. I've seen the documentary countless times. I loved the musical and the HBO film. It's such a fabled story of two women who refused to leave their crumbling home. Two women who would rather live without plumbing and with cats and raccoons than give up the only thing that was truly theirs. Two women who had been born into aristocracy and had watched their fortune fade and their friends retreat from their lives. I was struck by the fact that I was actually there in front of the house. It was real. This was actually the East Hampton that Little Edie so despised. Even though I was still a little nauseous, I was so happy to be there and seeing that small glimpse was a highlight of my trip. I wasn't able to get a picture of the house. That is an unfortunate regret, but there just wasn't enough of the house visible. I was there though, and it will live in my memory.


Back to the house, it was time to retreat to my room once more. I needed to lay down and just sleep. I took a nap and felt better still when I awoke. I came downstairs to find food on the table. There were grilled chilled legs, grilled sirloin burgers, pasta salad, and peaches. I managed a chicken leg and half of a burger, as well as, a small portion of pasta. This was good. Finally, after an entire day, I felt like eating and was able to keep it down. There were merely two hours left of our time in Amagansett at that point.


I know that I wasted the entire day due to the previous night's alcohol consumption. I have beat myself up about that. It will just become one of the stories of my life that peppers into the conversation for humor. The story of how I had 24 hours in the Hamptons and spent most of it recovering. Ah well, that means another trip is in order. Maybe this time just a day trip on a train to the village of East Hampton. Maybe a visit to the beach or to the stores that line Main Street. I don't know. What I know is, I was there with friends. They may laugh at my situation, at me or with me, but they are my friends.

The generosity of The Boss is an amazing blessing in my life.

I laughed, I drank, I relaxed, I smelled, I heard, I vomited, I saw, I remember.


Next trip, not as much vino, see the ocean and take a picture of Grey Gardens.

Labor Day in Boston

The day wouldn't start out right if there weren't pancakes involved. There is a peaceful, easy feeling, to quote from The Eagles, sitting in Neal and Stephen's living room while Neal makes pancakes on the griddle and Stephen fries bacon. I'm usually enjoying a cup of coffee and chiming in on the conversation. There's usually a New York Times or a Vanity Fair being perused. This morning we enjoyed our pancakes and bacon while watching yesterday's episode of CBS Sunday morning. I never paid any attention to this news program until I started coming to Boston 6 years ago. Neal records it every week and I've spent many a Sunday on his sofa watching it in my pj's. Now I too record the program.

It was a truly gorgeous day here in Boston. High's in the upper 60's. We set out for the Esplanade. The Esplanade in Boston runs along the Charles River. The river was scattered with sail boats and the walkway was full of cyclists, joggers, and people strolling with and without dogs. There were people sitting on top of blankets unfolded on the grass. There were sunbathers sitting out on floating docks in a last ditch effort to soak up the last rays of summer sun. The sky was a beautiful blue and the sun was shining bright. There was a nice breeze blowing that kept the day cool and comfortable.

Walking along the Esplanade was such a lovely way to spend the early afternoon. There are so many places in NYC where the same thing is possible. I could walk around Central Park or along the Hudson River just to name two. I hardly ever do this. Taking the time to just get out and enjoy the beauty of nature was so relaxing. Imagine how relaxing it would be if I wasn't four hours from home, but just across town enjoying it where I live. I've got to encourage myself to enjoy my own City's outdoor spaces.

I recently found out that Neal enjoys Sticky Toffee Pudding. It's a British pudding that he had while in Britain. I learned that the restaurant Stephanie's on Newberry is one place here in Boston that he has enjoyed it. Having just gone to Tea & Sympathy and enjoyed the Treacle Pudding, I was all about finding a place to have a little Sticky Toffee Pudding today. With Google put work, the first place we went was Croma on Newberry Street. Turns out Croma has now become Pazzo and Pazzo doesn't serve Sticky Toffee Pudding. According to the hostess they have a great Creme Brulee, but that's not what I'm looking for.

We continue to wonder around town. We headed toward Borders. This is very dangerous for me. I have a stack of books in my "to read" pile that comes up to my knees. I do not need another book. While crossing the street a very cute guy and I smiled at each other. We did the three second turn. Basically, you turn to look and see if the other person has turned and looked. He did. Obviously I did too. We both turned again, and again, and then he stopped on the sidewalk and waited to see if I was going to return and talk to him. Fear and my lack of living in Boston prevented that from happening. Mostly fear though which led to regret. The new me reverted to old tendencies. There was nothing to be lost from going over and introducing myself to him. I could have made a new friend. Boston and New York are a mere four hours apart. I will never know. I let an opportunity pass me by yet again. The fact that someone found me attractive enough to stop on the street, however made me happy and excited. So on to Borders. I go to the magazines because I don't need another book. I end up buying another book. Stephen told me of a friend of his who loved and recommended My Life In France by Julia Child. I loved Julie & Julia so it seemed natural that I would buy this book. After reading the first paragraph I knew I wanted it and would look forward to the read.

The quest for the Sticky Toffee Pudding proved to be futile. The next restaurant we went to, Troquet, was closed for Labor Day. I guess the Sticky Toffee Pudding will have to be something saved for another trip to Boston.

The day turned to night after walking around Boston for the better part of seven hours. Sticky Pudding is left to the imagination and a new book is on the verge of being read. Now back to my glass of J. Lohr Paso Robles.

Dirty ~ High

Today started like any other. Wake up, put the coffee on, watch backlog of television while drinking coffee, gym.

After that though, the day took a turn toward the fantastic!

I went to the Museum of Sex. According to newyorkpass.com, "The mission of the Museum of Sex is to preserve and present the history, evolution and cultural significance of human sexuality. Through its exhibitions, lectures and publications, the Museum of Sex is committed to open discourse and exchange."

The first floor was all about animals. Some animals have regular heterosexual sex and some animals have both hetero- and homosexual sex. It's not an issue. It just is what it is. I watched primates have sex. Crazy sex. I saw Zebra, Turtle, Elephant, Rhinoceros, and Dolphin penises. I saw many penises from the animal kingdom actually. Some of the penis-like appendages actually belonged to the females. Some of the creatures actually have genitalia of both genders and some actually switch genders during the course of their lives. It was a very enlightening experience with a little Darwin thrown in for the evolution contingent.

The second floor was all about us - the humans. The exhibit starts off with a bang by showing pictures and printed blurbs from interviews with people who invented or use sex machines. A mechanical machine with a dildo attached to use for your pleasure. I saw pictures of a pre- then post-op transexual. I read the story of how she just didn't feel like a man and how she could finally relax after the surgery because she felt whole and normal. She spoke of feeling like she had just been born in the wrong body. She just wanted to live the life she felt was supposed to be hers from the start. There were 1950's sex education videos playing, metal Ramses condom cases, and books for men and women on how to perform oral sex. There was a small yet terrific black and white photography set displaying outdoor sex, explicit vintage sex, french postcards, male physique, burlesque and pin-ups. Then I turned the corner to find Anime - Japanese animation. Of course it was X-rated animation both hetero- and homosexual. I put my bag down on the bench next to me and sat down to watch for a while. Somehow I even tuned out the laughter of people younger than I who obviously were a little embarrassed. I moved on to robot sex and the birth of robot children after that. Who has time to come up with all of this? Robot children? It was a little freaky. There were life size "real" dolls for both men and women. As if robot sex wasn't kinky enough, I found myself in front of a female latex body suit and a video of someone wearing it and the words above it announcing to me that I had stepped in front of the kink section. Medical fetishes, pony fetishes, cannibal fetishes, BDSM. It was all there and represented with costumes or toys or videos. There were dildo's, anal beads, horse hair whips, cock rings, and paddles. The final thing to the exhibit and something I found very interesting was the Condoment set. Yes it's spelled correctly. It was salt and pepper shakers formed from inflated condoms that produced one-of-a-kind, unique shapes. I'm not sure what it would be like to offer that up to mom and dad, but it sure was original.

After stepping back into reality I decided to take the train across town and hang out for a while at The High Line. The High Line is a 1.45-mile section of the former elevated freight railroad of the West Side Line, along the lower west side of Manhattan, which has been redesigned and planted as a greenway. Check out Wikipedia.org for more information. It is a beautiful new addition to the parks of NYC. There are benches and chaise lounges along with wild flowers and sunshine. It is a perfect place to read a book, listen to music, write in your journal, or have a conversation with friends. The perfect place to de-stress your life.

Today was interesting, informative, and beautiful. I finished it by meeting friends for dinner and drinks with lots of laughter thrown in the mix.