Oh, deer

Ground Squirrels: Four down, one to go.

Bunny, with fluffy white tail: Still outstanding.

Now the question remains, what am I going to do with the buck I saw early this morning when I checked the (live) trap next to the wood pile?

-Bitter

This Morning

Good nights sleep. Check.

Ate breakfast. Check

Started the pool pump. Check.

Watered the vegetable garden. Check.

Counted the plants ravaged by ground squirrels, one new casualty. (Two tomato plants are growing back. happy day.) Check.

Threw rocks at wood pile. Thought I saw fur. Most likely a squirrel. Check.

Four-wheeled the garbage/recycling cans down the driveway. ( _waaaahooooo!_ ). Check.

Saw snails. Mating. (No pics since this is a family-friendly blog.) Check.

Baby hummingbirds. Still Alive. Check.

Contemplated the future of publishing. Check.

Email freelance editor regarding current WIP. About to do.

Ponder getting up early in the morning every day. Check.

Go eat lunch. In a moment.

-Bitter

Cheering, in the streets

It's 11:00 at night and people are out on the streets cheering and chanting "Obama".

I stick my head outside my 4th story apartment and listen to the cheers wondering if people have simply gathered at the park down the street or if they're marching.

I wonder, should I go join them?

My neighbors cheer as well. Some pop their heads outside their windows and chant too. Others just pull the drapes to the side and peer out.

It's too early to call, but Obama's ahead so far.

-Bitter

Update: It's 11:13 and it looks like the BBC had called the election for Obama with at least 297 votes.

Of course after the debacle a few years back, we in the US are a bit more conservative in calling the votes. The NY Times is reporting Obama ahead at 217 votes. Here's hoping the Brits have called it correctly.

Update II: People are setting off fireworks down the street. All of the networks have called the election for Obama.

Marie, and the bassoon

I just realized that I've used four hours five minutes and 20 seconds of my life to listen to this song. (With the volume cranked up of course, since it sounds better that way.)

-Bitter

Mac Keyboard, love it / hate it

Love it and hate it.

Loves: Ooooo shiny! Thin design, looks cool. The keys are super slim so you don't have to depress the keys very far, result, my fingers feel super sexy while typing.

Hates: Um, I'm used those big bulky keys as place markers, kind of feeling my way around the keyboard. Now I just have to type and hope I hit the right key... Mostly, I don't like that the volume keys don't work.

Did a little research and it seems like this is a consistent problem, tried to download the fix, twice, unsuccessfully. So no volume for me, as of yet.

-Bitter

Edit: Well I finally called applecare. It was an easy/idiotic fix. It looks like the default setting is for the volume keys NOT to work.

If your volume keys aren't working. Try opening up System Preferences. Click on Keyboard and Mouse, then "de-select" "Use all F1, F2, etc. keys as standard function keys". Stupid if you ask me.

They Didn’t Ask to See My ID, hmmmm

Well this morning, for the first time in my life, I voted in a Presidential Primary Election.

It was a surreal experience, and I’m not sure what to think of it. For the record, I’m a registered Republican but have Independent leanings, I’ve voted in Utah, Virginia, and now in New York.

I’ve never encountered anything like I experienced this morning, and I’m not quite sure what to think about it.

This morning came early (mornings usually do), I woke, dressed, and ran out the door into the cool misty morning to cast my vote in the Presidential Primary on my way to work. There is a candidate whose positions I value and wanting him to have a chance in the general election I headed to the polls this morning to help him on his way.

I trekked along the streets of Inwood over to Academy to my local polling station, PS 56, and followed the signs to a side entrance leading to the school’s cafeteria.

There wasn’t a line and I was relieved that I’d chosen to come early in the morning instead of battling crowds at the end of the day. I gave my address to the lady manning the table at the front, she hunted for my address (it ended up not being listed, I know because I discretely searched the page along with her), consulted with her colleague, and sent me over to table 83.

Most of the other tables had numbers hanging off the front of them, mine didn’t. It took a few moments to locate the right table. “Is this is table 83?” I asked the volunteers at the far side of the polling area. They told me I was in the right place and asked my last name.

I said, “Bitter.” The lady at the desk looked startled and looked back up at me.

“What?” she asked.

“Bitter.” I reaffirmed. I opened my mouth to make a joke about my last name, but she’d already turned back to the spiral bound book in front of her and didn’t seem interested. Instead I dug through my hand bag and pulled out my wallet.

She quickly flipped through the book until she found my name, and began to copy information down onto a small slip of pink paper. I pulled my drivers license out of my wallet and asked if she needed to see my ID.

She said, “No.”

I hesitated, then put my ID back into my wallet then shoved it back in my bag. The woman handed me a pen and asked me to sign beneath my signature for verification, then took the pink slip of paper she’d written on and turned it face down and slid it forward next to a stack of blue papers about the same size. After signing the book, I reached down to grab the slip of paper, but she fended off my hand and gestured to the voting booth.

I hesitantly walked over to the enclosed booth, a crooked white cardboard sign with the number 83 blazoned in black upon it hung on the side, and a woman drew back the curtain. “You’re republican right?”

Startled, I answered, “Yes”. I wondered if she was allowed to ask me that, stepped into the booth, and promptly stepped back out. The lever and knobs (most likely built back in 1940) looked so foreign that had to ask for instructions.

Here's what the booth looked like but sketchier.

New York City Voting Booth, originally uploaded by thepodger.

“Pull the lever to the right, turn the knob, then pull the lever back to the left and you’re done.” She smiled. I nodded and stepped hesitantly back into the booth.

I’m tall, 5’ 10”, but still I had to look up at the wall full of knobs in front of me. I stared trying to make sense of what I saw. Column upon column of names on blue paper. Some of the columns had one name listed others had several. I remember seeing Obama’s name and Clinton’s, in another column I found Edwards (hadn’t he withdrawn from the race?).

For a moment I wondered why when the woman had confirmed I was Republican, had she put me in a booth where only Democrats were listed. I almost stepped back out to ask, when I spied one column in pink crammed to the far right. A short list of Republicans.

I grasped the large lever at the bottom, pulled it to the right, counted down the names to make sure I turned the right knob, double checked, looked up and read the short list instructions listed on the booth’s wall (there were three, pull the lever, turn the knob, pull the lever back), then triple checked the knob, turned it and an X appeared beneath and to the right of my chosen candidate’s name. I hesitantly pulled the lever back to the left. Gears turned inside the machine, and I wondered at the simplicity of it. Surely there must be something more?

I stepped out of the booth. No one paid me much attention, the booth workers were clustered around the table I had signed in at, and not wanting to interrupt, I walked out and past the table at the front, bid them good morning, then stepped out into balmy cool mist and crossed Broadway to catch the A train.

I now sit and nervously wonder if my vote was cast, if I did things correctly.

I think of how they didn’t check my ID and wonder how much voter fraud happens, I wonder about them re-affirming that I’m Republican as faint thoughts of anonymity float through my head.

I contemplate why the Democrats were spread out across so many columns with the Republicans squished into just one column to the far right, and why the columns were not labeled with the office the candidates were running for.

I am curious as to how many registered Republicans voted for Democrats and how many registered Democrats voted for Republicans in the Presidential Primary. Perhaps that’s why they asked if I was Republican, so they could de-activate the Democrat side of the board.

But most of all, I worry about that pink slip of paper laying face down on the table. Was there something more I needed to do? Once I had voted, should I have placed that paper in a box, or was I supposed to leave it face down on the table? I suppose I should have interrupted the clustered group of volunteers around table 83 to ask if there was something further I needed to do, but I was unsure and hesitant, and now I worry did my vote count?

-Bitter


p.s. Polls are open until 9:00 pm today, have you voted yet?

Note To Self: post on blog

Have you ever stalled out? Not so much that you don’t know what to do, but that you have so much to do that it pulls you in all directions?

Well, that’s been me over the past few weeks. I have several drafts of posts for the blog, but no photos to go with them so I can’t post them (because of course all posts need photos), and I have gorgeous photos that are calling out to be posted, but they need verbiage to go with them.

Of course then there is the day job, the writing, the photo sessions for clients, the prepping for my trip to New Zealand (I’m shooting a wedding for a very good friend on Feb. 29th).

And there you go, it all adds up so quickly that when push comes to shove, one thing gets shunted to the side, -- and dare I say it dear valued readers, the most important -- the blog.

*sigh.*

I’d like to do better; I’ll try to do better. I can’t promise my posts will be as witty or up to par, but they’ll be here (more regularly).

Starting today, yet again, I resolve to post more often. :) So without further ado, I give you a new post.

An engagement session I shot back in November for a great couple Matt & Mary.

-Bitter

p.s. Oh, and thanks for the emails & posts reminding me that the blog is a priority and that you’re all waiting breathlessly to hear the latest happenings in the life of a NYC photo-lovin’-fiction-writing-foodie. (More food posts coming soon.)

Memorizing, phone numbers

The last couple of weeks have been hectic, and I'm looking forward to getting back to the blog in the coming days. :) For those of you who are interested, this time I was sucked into the photography world, the NYC Photo Expo, workshops and classes by people in the know, and meetings with other photogs. Man, time has flown, but it's slowing down now and I'm catching up on life.

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

Several times a year as I scroll through the names listed in my cell phone, I remember the good old days when I used to know phone numbers. I remember when I used to have them memorized and could recall them at whim or how muscle memory had been drilled into my fingers so much that my fingers knew patterns instead of numbers.

When this happens, my index finger hovers for a moment over the send button of my phone and I wonder if it's such a good idea that I don't know these numbers anymore. The moment passes, I hit send, and my phone connects the call.

The ease of calling someone and the rush of the moment usually keeps me from thinking too deeply of this disconnect and its ramifications, but today I read an article in the NY Times about outsourcing knowledge and it made me pause. And I thought of my cell phone, and how I rarely do math on paper, or how often I turn to the internet for knowledge I should be able to remember from classes in school. And I wonder again, it this something I want to keep doing?

The Outsourced Brain
By DAVID BROOKS
Published: October 26, 2007
I realized the magic of the information age is that it allows us to know less. It provides us with external cognitive servants.

Unfortunately, I'm still undecided. Which in and of itself is a decision not to remember.

-Bitter

Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix, the movie

I went to see Harry Potter #5 a couple nights ago, and boy was it fun. Spectacularly filmed and directed, the movie was wonderful to watch and was beautifully produced.

Let me reiterate before we begin, I loved the movie, and thought it was great, but overall I felt something was lacking, your average movie watcher won’t notice, but uber-Potter-fans out there will. Let me start by telling what I did like about the movie.

I arrived at the AMC Lincoln Square Cinemas 45 minutes early, theater #1 was already packed. For those of you non-locals, theater #1, aka Lowes Up, is an 876-seat theater with cushy burgundy seats, a HUGE screen, a balcony, and Thai inspired décor--complete with golden elephants in relief about the room.

The demographic for the evening: a lot of adults from mid-twenties to early forties, and many, many older teens. I was quite happy to note that there was not a stroller in sight.

The lights dimmed, everyone clapped, and when the previews were over, we clapped again. Excitement buzzed from one corner of the theater to the other, and it took a moment for everyone to settle down.

The WB flashed across a mist filled screen moving ever closer, yet the music didn’t start, turning into one of those delayed gratification things. After we passed through the giant WB, the music finally started and an excited chatter made the rounds again, accompanied by applause.

I noticed immediately that the music was different, that it didn’t evolve into the well-used themes from before, and now as I think back, the distinct musical tropes that John Williams uses in his compositional arsenal were missing.

Instead we got a whole other kettle of fish, which I was quite pleased with. Having only seen the movie once and not having listened intently to the score, I can’t describe the new musical themes except to say they were perfect. For me the new composer was a welcome change. During one part of the credits-- I’m a credits watcher-- the music became so sad, yet hopeful. For several moments while the music played, I felt anything was possible that I could rise up out of sadness and conquer the world. All because of the music, which demonstrated a masterful use of color, theme, and scoring.

Watching The Order of the Pheonix was fun with this particular audience. All the way through the movie as particular scenes began, people in the audience cheered, bubbling with anticipation for what was about to happen.

Near the beginning, I loved it when Harry produced a patronus charm and flung it around. I loved the way the kestrals were portrayed; they looked quite real and were fabulously executed. I absolutely loved (yet again) the fight scene at the end, you’ll know what I mean when you see it.

And, if you can believe it, there was even a spot in the middle when everyone gasped in surprise and shock. This is quite hard to do with an audience that already knows the story. All in all, the movie was well executed, and if I hadn’t read the books and had only been a fan of the movies, it would have been just great.

Unfortunately, I’m an avid fan of the books, and have read them each many times. So for me, I came away from the movie with a vague sense of disappointment.

The movie felt quite a bit short. I suppose that having watched Pirates of the Caribbean, At World’s End so many times in a row didn’t help, but never-the-less, it felt a little rushed.

Speaking of Pirates, I suppose my level of expectation has risen to an obscenely high level and needs to be readjusted. Yet I hoped anyway. How could the director of Harry Potter ever hope to match the ease in which Pirates left bread crumbs for the careful watcher?

So with my Pirates, At World’s End bias admitted and pushed aside, let’s move forward.

I think that when you get right down to it, the reason why I am so disappointed with Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix, (the movie) is that there were too many missed opportunities to delight and surprise us, the loyal readers and fans of the series.

Yes, I know that the movie would be ten hours long if the screenplay matched the book scene for scene. And I understand why it is necessary to cut things from the story, (keep the plot moving forward and keep pacing strong). But there were many instances when things could have been tucked into the movie that readers would recognize, know, and appreciate; but that the average watcher couldn’t care about. And more importantly, there are times when the audience trilled with excitement at the beginning of a scene only to have the buzz fall flat as a gutted scene left us wanting.

And this is what my disappointment boils down to; I think the director aimed to please just the surfacey fans of the series. The ones who wouldn’t miss the details, and wouldn’t recognize the strangulated scenes that left us to deal with weakened characters.

I’ll soften my opinion by saying, perhaps the choices in what to show and what not to show was a case of do it all and end up with something mediocre, or choose a few things and succeed beyond their wildest dreams. If this is the case and they chose the latter, then they succeeded. The movie was brilliant. But frankly I’m one of the ones that wanted it all.

It was a mistake to leave so many of the little details out. In the end, it will just succeed in alienating the loyal readers of the series, the ones who made the movies possible in the first place. (For example look at the poorly made movie, Eragon. Except Eragon was so badly gutted and rewritten, it doesn’t even deserve to be mentioned on the same page as Pirates and Potter.)

It wouldn’t have taken much to keep us going. Just a little bit here and there. As we noticed the trail of crumbs left us, we’d have felt like we were part of the inside crowd and ‘in the know’. Instead what we see are the missing things and are left puzzled, saying, “But Why?”

Yes, I’ll go see it again. It was a great movie, and very well done. I just wish it hadn’t left me wanting.

-Bitter

Spoiler specifics behind the cut, (the things I wish they'd done differently) and just a few of them since I’ve um, written enough already!

Update, . . . so blogger doesn't allow me to selectively put part of my posts behind a cut, it's either all or nothing. I'm going for the nothing route. If you don't want to read any potential spoilers, don't read past the line of *'s.
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
It wasn’t until most of the movie was over that I began to notice the missing parts.

I wish…

-that we’d have seen the screeching portrait at the Order’s head quarters. We saw the troll’s leg, but not the portrait screeching. Just catching a glimpse of her screaming in rage would be enough.

-that both times Harry entered the Ministry of Magic, that he would have been given his visitor’s badge. They didn’t have to talk about it, or show a close up. Just the simple act of him emerging from the telephone booth with it on, would have been enough.

-that the script writers hadn’t written in Cho Chang as the betrayer of the ‘Dumbldore’s Army’ and since they did, the least they could have done was tattooed the word “Snitch” across Cho’s forehead in purple boils. As it stands, Cho gets alienated, the hex that Hermoine so cleverly worked into the sign-up sheet gets left out, and the whole group ends up in detention writing who knows what with those ‘special’ quills that Harry used when writing, “I will not tell lies.”

-that they would have shown the swamp in the hallway that Delores Umbridge couldn’t clear up.

-that the scene where the twins wreck havoc on the school wouldn’t have been as weak as it was.

-that in the final fight scene at the Ministry, we would have seen the jelly-legs curse, or the brains that get attached to Ron.

And lastly, I’d like to tell you about one particular scene that left me feeling iffy. It’s the one where Delores Umbridge is throwing Sybil Trelawney out of the school. It was beautifully set-up, Emma Thompson, as usual, did a fabulous job setting the tone and scene. All the students were there, anticipation was building, and low and behold, Dumbledore stormed out into the courtyard to save the day, only he didn’t. People cheered when the doors to the school flung open and he appeared, but what followed next was a pale imitation of the original. As Firenze failed to appear and Dumbledore strode about not doing much of anything, the excitement in the theatre ebbed and eventually fell flat.

These are just a few more things I wish we’d have seen. In all, the acting, directing, CGI, and music was fantastic. It’s just the little things that let us down, it wouldn’t have taken much to delight us, just a crumb here or there.

It appears the director needs to be reminded that it’s the little things that endeared us to Harry in the first place, and if you leave them out, well notice and wonder, “Why?”

The Phone Jack in My Apartment, not included

Problem solved!, originally uploaded by HOARY HEAD.

Due to the fact that none of my neighbors with unsecured wifi decided to be online last night, this post comes to you a little later than planned.

As you might have guessed from the paragraph above, I don’t have internet service at home. And yes, I’ve been one of those people, using the open Wifi connections from my nice neighbors, whether they’re in my building or the one across the street, to check my email and blog an occasional post from home. Hey, they’re either leaving it open on purpose to share, or don’t know enough to password protect it. I always assume it’s the former, because in this day and age, gheesh, securing your networks are one of those no brainer types of things.

However, I finally reached the point where I need a constant, stable, connection that runs faster than 11 kbps. Yes, you read that right. 11.

You see, I have grand plans for my site, and lots of cool stuff to design, upload, and give away for free. But it requires a connection of my own.

So like any self-respecting paper-pusher, I researched my options for the cheapest connection possible. Yes, I even looked up free-wifi spots in the City. But unfortunately, most of them are in mid-town and below. And no, I don’t want to haul my laptop out 100+ blocks at 11:00 pm to check my email or blog a new post. Let alone, the thought of me and my 20” iMac G5 sitting on a bench in Bryant Park. Can you picture it? I thought not.

I looked at cable options, they want you to buy the TV, phone, and internet combo for $100/month. Um, no thanks. I haven’t used a land line as my primary phone since 2002. And haven’t plugged a phone in the wall since 2004. Besides, I don’t need cable tv. As an aspiring author, the time suck that happens when I sit in front of that beautiful glowing screen is impressive. Whole weeks disappear at a time, unaccounted for. I think it’s a conspiracy.

So, no. No TV, no need for a land line, so I don’t need my internet provider to be cable.

And then I found Verizon. If I signed up online, I could get DSL in my apartment for $25/month without local phone service. It was perfect, sign me up, I want it now.

I opted for the free DSL router. If I ever decide to get wifi, I’ll invest in a wireless router later. (And yes I’ll share, and yes I’ll block people that hog my bandwidth, and yes I’ll permanently block people who watch porn over my network. It’s my bandwidth, I’ll share, but only a little. The phone company won’t like me, but tough.)

I scoffed at the $199 option to have a phone tech come to my apartment to check my lines, and run a line to wherever I wanted my computer. Being pretty handy, I decided that if I wanted my computer connection in a different room, then I’d just buy a 25 foot phone cable and run it there myself. So I clicked, no thanks.

A warning box popped up. Was I sure that I didn’t want someone to come? And second, was I sure that I had a phone jack?

I know where the cable wires run in my apartment. I’ve seen them in my bedroom, and how they run through my kitchen to the front room. So I knew the phone line couldn’t be too far away.

I clicked yes I’m sure. And another prompt come up announcing that if I changed my mind and had a tech come to my place, a fee would be assessed later.

I laughed, clicked okay, and continued my merry way through the rest of the contract.

I should have known better.

As a writer, couldn’t I have seen the foreshadowing? Why the multiple notices and offers to come check the phone line in my apartment? Why the exorbitant charge?

But now I know. Not having a phone jack in your NYC apartment must be a lot more common that I thought.

When I saw Spiderman 3 a few weeks ago, I thought it was quaint when Peter Parker called Mary Jane from the payphone in his hallway. I remember thinking, are there really places still like that?

No, my apartment isn’t as bad as Peter’s. It is at least two times better, the layered paint is there, the bowing lathe and plaster walls, the smells of old building, but it’s larger, my door opens quite easily, and with the two dead bolts I installed myself, quite safe. (Yes they work.)

But both Peter and I have no phone. I searched high and low, along baseboards, and through cupboards. In the back of my mind I knew it must be there, that I’d find it eventually. How could I have missed something so simple? Maybe it’s behind my bed, and even though I’ve already moved the bookcase in my front room, I feel the urge move it again.

How is it I wonder that an apartment could make it to 2007, and antiquated as they are now, still not have a phone line installed? I think the line should have been installed in the 50’s at least. Right?

So a few NYC rental questions for you all you ‘in the know’ out there. If there is no phone jack in my apartment, is it legal? Is my landlord required to have one installed? And I suppose more to the point, who should pay for it? Me or my landlord.

On a side note, I saw my Super this morning on my way to work. I asked him in passing, “If I were to have a phone jack in my apartment, where would it be?” He suggested the front hall closet, and said he would check with the management. The hall closet. I never would have thought about that.

Tonight, when I get home, I’ll be going through all my closets. Particularly the one in the entry way, the one I haven’t opened since I sealed it shut.

Why did I seal it shut? Well, because it sucks all the smoke from the inscent burning lover that lives below me and sends it up to mine. Sans scent, aka smoke only.

And why does my super not know where the phone lines are? Well, I think he only uses a cell phone like me.

Welcome to the 21st Century, caught between the old and the new, moving forward one jerky step at a time, while trying to save a buck.

-Bitter

Update 6/28/07: I found a phone jack in my front hallway, now I just need to see if it works. Cross your fingers for me.

Three Steps More Ghetto, than harlem ever was

, originally uploaded by Susan NYC.

Earlier today I surfed by the Inwoodite, an online spot for news in my hood, and found out that first, gunfire must be a lot more common in my neighborhood that I thought. And second, that like, Inwood is like “3 steps more ghetto than Harlem ever was.” (see number 43)

I guess my moving checklist back in January should now be expanded to five items.

1. Stay in Manhattan. -Check.
2. Find, at least, a 10 by 12 foot space to rent. -Check
3. That won’t leave me broke at the end of the year. -Semi-check.
4. Dump roommates. -Check.
5. Move to ghetto. -Check.

4.5 out of 5. Not too shabby, if I say so myself.

On a side note, it took me 2 hours and 15 minutes to ride the F and A trains home from Coney Island on Saturday night… On a brighter note, Mermaid Parade photos coming soon, stay tuned. :)

-Bitter

Thanks Neighbor, you're the best...

Ah the joys of living in The City! The fresh smell of garbage in the late afternoon, the layer of dust that covers everything in my apartment, yes mom I dust regularly. What more could I ask for? Oh,...Music! What else?

I'm not talking Broadway here, but good old, share your music with your neighbors type of thing. All day yesterday my friendly neighbor across the street serenaded me with all sorts of tunes. First they played some pretty great Cuban Jazz, great improvs on the piano and bass, then came a schmaltzy instrumental version of the Carpenter's "Close To You", before moving on to some great Mexican Mariachi music, complete with a tenor singing his heart out and swaggering trumpets. Wide vibrato, you know the kind, guitar interludes, nothin' but the best. (It really was quite good! Honest.)

The other day, my other neighbor played us a complete Wagner opera. I couldn't quite place which one it was, but it was quite lovely! The leading Soprano and Tenor were superb. Their vocal ranges were versatile and a pleasure to listen to. The only thing I wished was different, was that I'd had enough guts to lean my head out the window and ask them who was singing so that I could buy a copy from iTunes. I did, however, feel a tinsy bit sorry for my neighbors that don't quite appreciate Opera.

The only thing that surprised me about the impromptu concert in the street, was that I didn’t hear a vigorous, "SssshhhhhheeeeuuuuuuddddUuuuuppp!" from anyone. Nope, not one call for peace and quiet. From my vast experience learning about NYC neighborhoods from the movies, I would have expected various amounts of people hanging from their windows shouting all sorts of epithets at each other.

Oh, so back to the friendly neighbor across the street, they have quite a sound system. I can clearly and crisply hear all the details of the music from any room in my apartment. They really are quite thoughtful, sometimes people only play things loud enough so you can hear the beats and base line over and over again. Most of the time it gets quite old, because the same genre of songs usually has the exact same beats and baselines, and only vary the vocals and melody on top… You can imagine how tiresome that gets after oh' say about five seconds or so.

Due to my training as a classical musician, I’ve been able to pick out that my neighbor is playing recordings from a few decades ago, the scratchy sound every now and again coupled with the recording quality and choice of songs leads me to believe that said neighbor is either playing these songs off of a suped-up LP player, or has purchased several re-mastered versions of their favorite songs on CD.
Oh rats, they've turned it down. Now it doesn't sound like I have front row seats anymore, but am back in the nose-bleed section of a concert hall. Currently being played, a Mariachi serenade. Performed by a trio, a couple of voices, a guitar, the music is very evocative. I can vividly picture myself down in Mexico somewhere, sitting at an outside at a café. Drink in hand, gentle warm breeze wafting by, significant other sitting by my side. Mariachi band playing in the distance. Perfect.

Here's hoping your neighbors are as thoughtful as mine, too bad the WIP that I’m currently word-smithing doesn’t take place in Mexico…

Meanwhile, I’ll sit back and listen to the great salsa music that just started up and wait for some gallant hero wearing a Zoro mask to scale the brick wall to my apartment, complete with an American-Beauty long-stem red rose clutched between his teeth, to whisk me off to Acculpoco where we'll sit on the beach and eat mangos.

-Bitter

Don't Block the Box

Slight detour for a moment:
This morning as I was blissfully brushing my teeth with my spectacular Sonicare toothbrush, my fingers decided to become lazy (I think I was half asleep) and they let go. Much to my dismay it bounced off my leg with bristles merrily dancing, ricocheted off the tub onto my shin then hit the floor.

For those of you wondering what is so wrong with that, I have one word. Toothpaste.


Yes, this is my toothbrush…the Macro Photography group I belong to on Flikr.com ran a contest featuring plastic. This was one of my entries. Yes, I admit I'm crazy not only to have taken the photo, but actually posted it online…twice.

The foamy toothpaste had splattered all the way down my navy slacks. At first I thought I‘d use a damp towel to rub it off, sometimes delusional people think this works, I of course knew it wouldn’t but hoped anyway. As the minutes ticked by, my dark pants began to look like they’d been airbrushed with white paint. Damp towels a no-go, I tossed them into the dirty clothes basket. Out came my black pants, good thing I had a pair waiting in the wings.

Now back to our regularly scheduled program:
Don’t block the box. The first time I came to The City, I was frightened by some of the intersections, more correctly, just the ones with lines crisscrossing them.



When I first encountered an intersection that looked like this, I was afraid to cross it. I wasn’t sure if the lines meant no-entry, or something more sinister. With much trepidation, I learned to drive through or briskly walk across them. (I say briskly because I feel self-conscious when I cross those lines, like I'm on stage and everyone is waiting for me to trip. My sub-conscious thinks that if I dart quick enough, no one will notice me.)

Later I learned the true meaning behind the lines. Don’t Block the Box. These helpful stripes are there to remind vehicle operators not to block the intersection. If you think, “Oh, I’ll just squeeze over there, or run the light,” and you don’t actually make it out of the intersection before the light turns, you might end up with a big fat ticket.

So those of you day-trippers or newbies to The City, when you see the lines, slow down and wait. When traffic is backed-up, squeezing your car over to the other side really isn’t going to get you to your destination any quicker. Besides, if one of NY's Finest is nearby, cash will be flying out of your wallet quicker than you can say ouch. (Well not literally,...more in line with a rather large IOU.)

Oh, and don’t honk either. Sure, you’ll feel better, but the poor pedestrian standing next to your car is now deaf.

-Bitter