West Caldwell, New Jersey
Before heading into the city today we revisited the Train Diner. The Mildred Biddles clone wasn't there this time. Instead we had a waitress with Afghan Hound hair. Douglas ordered pancakes with two eggs (over easy) and sausage. I had the french toast with two eggs (scrambled with cheese) and bacon. We also had coffee and orange juice.
© 2005
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Saturday, July 30, 2005
Central Park
We spent Saturday afternoon at a picnic in Central Park. My friend Nicole, from college in Ohio, organized it. Excellent afternoon. Douglas, Nicole and her son Kai, our friends from college: Turtle, Eric and his wife Erica, Monifa; my friend Mark; and many friends Nicole made in graduate school - I can't possibly remember all their names but a few stand outs: Eboni, Rich, Raul, Fiona, ... oh geez, and about 10 more. Hopefully at the next meeting I'll do better about remembering names.
Central Park is huge. It was created via eminent domain in 1853. It is 843 acres, situated between 59th Street and 110th Street, making the park larger than the nation of Monaco. (By another contrast, the park is a rectangle 2.5 miles long and half a mile wide. South Bass Island is a wobbly 3.7 miles long and 1.5 miles wide.)
The plan of the day was to meet on the Great Lawn. Which, as its name suggests, is immense. Thank God for cell phones and the gift of patience. Nicole's voicemail message informing me that she had set up camp under "a big tree" was amusing. My call to Mark telling him we were lost and "near a big pond" was followed by a discussion disagreeing on whether it was the reservoir or the turtle pond.
Endurance won and we all met up successfully.
© 2005
Central Park is huge. It was created via eminent domain in 1853. It is 843 acres, situated between 59th Street and 110th Street, making the park larger than the nation of Monaco. (By another contrast, the park is a rectangle 2.5 miles long and half a mile wide. South Bass Island is a wobbly 3.7 miles long and 1.5 miles wide.)
The plan of the day was to meet on the Great Lawn. Which, as its name suggests, is immense. Thank God for cell phones and the gift of patience. Nicole's voicemail message informing me that she had set up camp under "a big tree" was amusing. My call to Mark telling him we were lost and "near a big pond" was followed by a discussion disagreeing on whether it was the reservoir or the turtle pond.
Endurance won and we all met up successfully.
© 2005
Sunday, July 24, 2005
Caldwell Diner Redux
Caldwell, New Jersey
We had breakfast at home this weekend, but managed to visit the Caldwell Diner again before seeing a matinee of Fantastic 4. Thumbs down on the movie, read the comic books instead. At the diner Douglas had a chocolate soda and I had a vanilla soda. Not as good as Tony's Place, but a close second. We also shared half of a canteloupe.
© 2005
We had breakfast at home this weekend, but managed to visit the Caldwell Diner again before seeing a matinee of Fantastic 4. Thumbs down on the movie, read the comic books instead. At the diner Douglas had a chocolate soda and I had a vanilla soda. Not as good as Tony's Place, but a close second. We also shared half of a canteloupe.
© 2005
Saturday, July 16, 2005
Caldwell Diner
Caldwell, New Jersey
I had a Western omellette with wheat toast and hashbrowns and Douglas ordered eggs (over easy) with pancakes and sausage. We both had coffee and orange juice. Nice atmosphere, but many loud children and teenagers.
© 2005
I had a Western omellette with wheat toast and hashbrowns and Douglas ordered eggs (over easy) with pancakes and sausage. We both had coffee and orange juice. Nice atmosphere, but many loud children and teenagers.
© 2005
Books and Guns
Every morning when I get off my subway car security officers in battle regalia and carrying automatic rifles greet me. They stand on the platform in pairs, fingers ready and eyes panning the mobs of commuters. I have no idea what their purpose is. If a train car explodes, surely they would die along with the rest of us, their trigger fingers still in position.
The New York subway system is penetrable. As in any city, anyone can enter the system with the required ticket or token. There are no metal detectors to go through, no bomb sniffing dogs walking the train cars, and no attendants asking if anyone else packed your bags. Instead we have riot-geared police officers, standing at the ready. Ready to mow us all down if something should happen.
When I get off work every day at five I visit a bookstore instead of rushing home. It's one of those behemoth chains that serve a great cappuccino and are open late. One of those stores that helped turn publishing into an entertainment factory of imitation and profit.
I missed these superstores while I was in France. Bright and cheery, open late, music and books, coffee and biscuits – the way a library could be. The French being sticklers for a moderate work schedule will never embrace them. But large bookstores are my guilty pleasure. When I lived in Cleveland at least once a week I'd find myself flying down route 90 towards a suburban strip mall to visit one. The line of cash register bells were the death knell of the private bookseller, a staple of the early gay rights movement. What was once argued philosophically was now being fought economically. Corporations making profit from gay shoppers and small feminist bookstores closing for good.
One of my friends in Boston used to work for one. Hers was located in the Boston center, near the former "combat zone". Twice in one week she witnessed homeless people using the children's section as a public urinal. The first discovery was shocking, the second enraging. It made me wary of dark corners in any type of store.
My new conglomerate bookstore is located two blocks away from the world trade center site. After work I walk to the store, browse through the comic book and magazine section, check what's new on the bestseller lists, wander over to the travel books. Basically spend an hour just looking. At 6pm I walk past the new construction site and enter the subway. The crowd has thinned and the soldiers have gone home.
© 2005
The New York subway system is penetrable. As in any city, anyone can enter the system with the required ticket or token. There are no metal detectors to go through, no bomb sniffing dogs walking the train cars, and no attendants asking if anyone else packed your bags. Instead we have riot-geared police officers, standing at the ready. Ready to mow us all down if something should happen.
When I get off work every day at five I visit a bookstore instead of rushing home. It's one of those behemoth chains that serve a great cappuccino and are open late. One of those stores that helped turn publishing into an entertainment factory of imitation and profit.
I missed these superstores while I was in France. Bright and cheery, open late, music and books, coffee and biscuits – the way a library could be. The French being sticklers for a moderate work schedule will never embrace them. But large bookstores are my guilty pleasure. When I lived in Cleveland at least once a week I'd find myself flying down route 90 towards a suburban strip mall to visit one. The line of cash register bells were the death knell of the private bookseller, a staple of the early gay rights movement. What was once argued philosophically was now being fought economically. Corporations making profit from gay shoppers and small feminist bookstores closing for good.
One of my friends in Boston used to work for one. Hers was located in the Boston center, near the former "combat zone". Twice in one week she witnessed homeless people using the children's section as a public urinal. The first discovery was shocking, the second enraging. It made me wary of dark corners in any type of store.
My new conglomerate bookstore is located two blocks away from the world trade center site. After work I walk to the store, browse through the comic book and magazine section, check what's new on the bestseller lists, wander over to the travel books. Basically spend an hour just looking. At 6pm I walk past the new construction site and enter the subway. The crowd has thinned and the soldiers have gone home.
© 2005
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Newark
Newark, New Jersey - founded 1666; population 280,000 (2005 estimate); 24.14 square miles (smallest of 100 largest US cities); 5 miles from Manhattan
Newark is the red headed step child of the US East Coast Megalopolis that stretches from Boston to Washington. To the eye, it's a rather depressed city. It's downtown has the necessary infrastructure of a large city: subway and tram system, large corporate buildings, parks, sweeping city hall plaza. But it just doesn't feel right. It's dirty and loud. Some of the buildings have scaffoldings that look like they've been up a long time. As if the intended refurbishing project never happened and the scaffoldings are a part of the building now. Like wearing a brace on your leg after an operation and then deciding the brace is too comforting to be temporary. I saw in Newark some potential. It's a city that can't decide what it wants to be, so stands committed to just being the best run down city it can. Which I'm sure makes Detroit nervous.
I found the city to be depressed not only economically but emotionally also. The people were not friendly. I witnessed a bus driver arguing with two passengers, drivers cutting through pedestrian walkways, and train station staff ignoring passenger questions. It made France look like a customer service paradise.
© 2005
Newark is the red headed step child of the US East Coast Megalopolis that stretches from Boston to Washington. To the eye, it's a rather depressed city. It's downtown has the necessary infrastructure of a large city: subway and tram system, large corporate buildings, parks, sweeping city hall plaza. But it just doesn't feel right. It's dirty and loud. Some of the buildings have scaffoldings that look like they've been up a long time. As if the intended refurbishing project never happened and the scaffoldings are a part of the building now. Like wearing a brace on your leg after an operation and then deciding the brace is too comforting to be temporary. I saw in Newark some potential. It's a city that can't decide what it wants to be, so stands committed to just being the best run down city it can. Which I'm sure makes Detroit nervous.
I found the city to be depressed not only economically but emotionally also. The people were not friendly. I witnessed a bus driver arguing with two passengers, drivers cutting through pedestrian walkways, and train station staff ignoring passenger questions. It made France look like a customer service paradise.
© 2005
I Said I Wanted to See a Real Doctor
I spent the better part of today waiting. I went to bed last night with a pain in my ankle. I woke up this morning with an intense pain in my ankle, foot, and calve. I have a hereditary condition my sister calls "Old Lady Foot". My mom calls it "Fat Foot". My dad simply calls it "the gout". Most of my friends call it "Oh My God What The Hell Is Wrong With Your Foot?"
"It's full of fluid" a doctor told me six years ago. He had just run a series of tests - MRI, ultrasound, x-ray, one involving a feather and a needle - and had come to the conclusion that nothing was wrong with my bones, veins, or lymphatic system. I was just holding fluid in my left foot. Like a camel.
But this past week that same foot was giving me some agony. So, I visited a clinic in Newark, New Jersey. Again we did the litany of medical tests. Feather - tickles. Needle - prick! X-ray - bones accounted. Ultrasound - it's a boy! But this time the technician discovered a lump 0.5cm x 1.3cm right above the inside ankle bone. Even after 9 months in France my metric skills aren't so great (except with temperature - I know now that 30 degrees Celsius is really hot), but I'm thinking 0.5 x 1.3 is probably the size of two peas. Maybe smaller.
However, I can gauge the lump in terms of pain. On a scale of "hitting thumb with hammer" to "child birth", it's about a "dropping anvil on foot with every step".
I waited in the waiting room, I waited behind a screen, I waited in the x-ray lab, I waited on the ultrasound table. And I go back later this week to see a podiatrist. I'll probably have to wait some there too.
As you can imagine, at this moment my brain is overflowing with jokes about podiatrists. And anvils. I'll keep you posted.
© 2005
"It's full of fluid" a doctor told me six years ago. He had just run a series of tests - MRI, ultrasound, x-ray, one involving a feather and a needle - and had come to the conclusion that nothing was wrong with my bones, veins, or lymphatic system. I was just holding fluid in my left foot. Like a camel.
But this past week that same foot was giving me some agony. So, I visited a clinic in Newark, New Jersey. Again we did the litany of medical tests. Feather - tickles. Needle - prick! X-ray - bones accounted. Ultrasound - it's a boy! But this time the technician discovered a lump 0.5cm x 1.3cm right above the inside ankle bone. Even after 9 months in France my metric skills aren't so great (except with temperature - I know now that 30 degrees Celsius is really hot), but I'm thinking 0.5 x 1.3 is probably the size of two peas. Maybe smaller.
However, I can gauge the lump in terms of pain. On a scale of "hitting thumb with hammer" to "child birth", it's about a "dropping anvil on foot with every step".
I waited in the waiting room, I waited behind a screen, I waited in the x-ray lab, I waited on the ultrasound table. And I go back later this week to see a podiatrist. I'll probably have to wait some there too.
As you can imagine, at this moment my brain is overflowing with jokes about podiatrists. And anvils. I'll keep you posted.
© 2005
Saturday, July 09, 2005
Train Diner
West Caldwell, New Jersey
I had a short stack of pancakes, scrambled eggs with cheese, and bacon. Douglas ordered eggs benedict with hashbrowns and sausage. We both had coffee and orange juice. Our very friendly waitress reminded me of Mildred Biddles with her bleached blonde hair, bright red lipstick and blue eyeliner. If her hair had been up in a beehive I would have thought I was at the Skyway circa 1974.
© 2005
I had a short stack of pancakes, scrambled eggs with cheese, and bacon. Douglas ordered eggs benedict with hashbrowns and sausage. We both had coffee and orange juice. Our very friendly waitress reminded me of Mildred Biddles with her bleached blonde hair, bright red lipstick and blue eyeliner. If her hair had been up in a beehive I would have thought I was at the Skyway circa 1974.
© 2005
Monday, July 04, 2005
I Shop, Therefore I Am
It's a holiday weekend and what could be more patriotic than a trip to the mall? It's been very easy to sink back into the swing of things here. Particularly when it involves 25% off at Express Men and a 65% Customer Appreciation Sale at Macy's. We are now set for our day jobs. Four new shirts, a belt, and a pair of pants for me; Douglas bought one shirt, three pairs of pants, and two belts. Plus white handkerchiefs, three neck ties, socks, and flip-flops (in case we make it to the beach).
It's almost sickening how giddy this made me. It's been over a year since I bought a proper dress shirt. There's something about the trust between customer and salesman involved in this process that I find very soothing. Muhammed, the salesman, eyed our necks and judged our shoulders. Pulling the tape measure from his pocket he muttered his guess. "Yes," he said, "you're a 161/2." Then he eyed Douglas, "not you" and wrapping the measure around Douglas's neck he smiled knowingly. "151/2. Try the medium." He measured our arms and then made some recommendations. It was fun. I'm not convinced he approved of our tie selections - maybe we're too hip, or too outdated.
The day was happily topped off with a cinnabon. I bought the last one as they were kicking us out of the mall.
© 2005
It's almost sickening how giddy this made me. It's been over a year since I bought a proper dress shirt. There's something about the trust between customer and salesman involved in this process that I find very soothing. Muhammed, the salesman, eyed our necks and judged our shoulders. Pulling the tape measure from his pocket he muttered his guess. "Yes," he said, "you're a 161/2." Then he eyed Douglas, "not you" and wrapping the measure around Douglas's neck he smiled knowingly. "151/2. Try the medium." He measured our arms and then made some recommendations. It was fun. I'm not convinced he approved of our tie selections - maybe we're too hip, or too outdated.
The day was happily topped off with a cinnabon. I bought the last one as they were kicking us out of the mall.
© 2005
Saturday, July 02, 2005
Rainbow Diner
Verona, New Jersey
I ordered the whole wheat pancakes with bananas and strawberries. Douglas had a waffle with berries and bacon. We both had coffee. Inspite of its name, the diner was not gay themed.
© 2005
I ordered the whole wheat pancakes with bananas and strawberries. Douglas had a waffle with berries and bacon. We both had coffee. Inspite of its name, the diner was not gay themed.
© 2005
Back in the US
Presently, Douglas and I are staying with his family in West Caldwell, New Jersey. It's been a hectic two weeks, but we're happy to have a comfortable base. It provides some sanity to the pace of heading into the City (New York City) every day for interviews, and finally, for work.
Douglas has been working on a capital campaign for the NY chapter of the National Mulitple Sclerosis Society. I found a position with a city club, the India House Club, in lower Manhattan. Yes, for the next couple of months I am their Director of Membership. I've had one day of training and jump in feet first on July 5. The woman I'm replacing trained me in a day last week. She had some colorful things to say about the club, it's employees, and, of course, it's members. I can hardly wait.
This past week, I put in some time for my friend Mark's consulting firm, integrating the file system for a natural bio-identical hormone replacement doctor. Quirky and interesting. Check her out at www.drerika.com. And, if you're going through menopause and want to try something other than the mare's urine derived hormone replacement therapy your doctor probably has you on, give her a shout.
We are (almost) back in the swing of being in the States. I've become reacquainted with diner food (pancakes, eggs, toast, potatoes AND bacon!!), re-joined a gym (to work off the bacon), and gotten lost on the NYC subway system (but getting better at it).
Spending nine months out of the country I was in for a few shocks - ie.: Britney Spears is pregnant?! Nicole Richie lost weight?! Sandra Day O'Connor is retiring?! I'm looking forward to becoming reacquainted with US Popular Culture.
Douglas's mom and step-dad have been very kind to us. Their home is big enough that we haven't had any bathroom hogging fights yet. If we're here for the whole summer, I believe I can say, it won't be too big of a problem. Of course, it would also be nice to be closer to the city. But I'm enjoying my life with the Tunnel and Bridge Crowd. For now, anyway.
That's about all the news for this week. More to come. As always.
© 2005
Douglas has been working on a capital campaign for the NY chapter of the National Mulitple Sclerosis Society. I found a position with a city club, the India House Club, in lower Manhattan. Yes, for the next couple of months I am their Director of Membership. I've had one day of training and jump in feet first on July 5. The woman I'm replacing trained me in a day last week. She had some colorful things to say about the club, it's employees, and, of course, it's members. I can hardly wait.
This past week, I put in some time for my friend Mark's consulting firm, integrating the file system for a natural bio-identical hormone replacement doctor. Quirky and interesting. Check her out at www.drerika.com. And, if you're going through menopause and want to try something other than the mare's urine derived hormone replacement therapy your doctor probably has you on, give her a shout.
We are (almost) back in the swing of being in the States. I've become reacquainted with diner food (pancakes, eggs, toast, potatoes AND bacon!!), re-joined a gym (to work off the bacon), and gotten lost on the NYC subway system (but getting better at it).
Spending nine months out of the country I was in for a few shocks - ie.: Britney Spears is pregnant?! Nicole Richie lost weight?! Sandra Day O'Connor is retiring?! I'm looking forward to becoming reacquainted with US Popular Culture.
Douglas's mom and step-dad have been very kind to us. Their home is big enough that we haven't had any bathroom hogging fights yet. If we're here for the whole summer, I believe I can say, it won't be too big of a problem. Of course, it would also be nice to be closer to the city. But I'm enjoying my life with the Tunnel and Bridge Crowd. For now, anyway.
That's about all the news for this week. More to come. As always.
© 2005
Caldwell
Caldwell, New Jersey is the birthplace of Grover Cleveland - the 22nd and 24th president of the United States. I have no idea what else he did. But Caldwell is a great town, with tree lined streets and beautiful homes.
© 2005
© 2005
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