Walking home from work the other day, on the phone with A, I got a strange look from the man in front of me. I finished up the phone call with the usual lovey-dovey goodbye and looked up to find the guy still looking at me.
I realized that he probably thought I’d been expressing my undying love for him, so I held up my phone and said, “not you.”
He smiled, held up his phone, and said, “We’re on the same program.”
We are (almost) moved in. The movers came on Tuesday, two Estonians named Ingos and Ingos. They arrived in a Penske rental truck, like a couple of guys we’d hired from the Home Depot parking lot instead of the licensed, bonded, insured moving company we’d been promised. A says they were both very nice – apparently big Ingos apologized for the condition of our stuff (crushed boxes, covered in bird crap) and said ABM was terrible. On the whole, it could have been much worse, but the headache and hassle wasn’t worth the $500 or so we ended up saving.
Yesterday afternoon I went in search of a farmer’s market. There’s one on Fridays near the house, but when I went by last week it consisted of a table of apologetic vegetables, a stand with homemade jams and jellies, and a baker. I suspect that might change in the summer, when there’s more fresh produce coming in, but it wasn’t a very inspiring trip. I decided, therefore, to go big rather than local, and came across the Dag Hammarskjöld Greenmarket.
As I walked toward 47th, I was certain I had written down the address wrong. I walked along 2nd Ave, past the bodegas and the sandwich shops, the pharmacies and the bars, wondering where a farmer’s market was going to fit in. Then I turned onto 47th and saw it, a green gem in the heart of the city.
I’m back in New York after a weekend with the family. The airport slogs were brutal.
I booked the flight out of Newark, at 7 am. The price was better, and I figured the commuter trains probably started running some time around 5. I failed to take into account the fact that I was leaving on a Saturday.
I’m beginning to think that New Yorkers are a certain type of suicidal.
We went to Long Island to take a look at wedding venues this morning. The drive out took aroundt two hours. The drive back took almost four. The first accident was at exit 64, an overturned Jeep with the roof torn off. According to Google Maps, it happened sometime around 3:30. They didn’t unblock the lanes until almost two hours later. We passed another accident somewhere around exit 30 on our side of the highway, and there were at least another two accidents on the east-bound side.