Leaky Faucets

It’s just part of the code.  I should know.  I used to be a delivery guy.  Back in high school and college I delivered pizza for three summers.  We always carried change for a twenty.  The guy from the Vietnamese place yesterday only had a few singles.  He couldn’t change my twenty.  I had to give him four dollars worth of quarters in order to tip him.  I hated to do that, particularly since he was on bicycle and was probably weighed down a bit, but I had no choice.  Still, I tipped him well as I almost always do.  I remember those times when someone ordered five large pies and I expected a great tip but got totally stiffed.   I try to give them the benefit of the doubt.  And in New York, the delivery people are usually new immigrants who are probably supporting large families here and back home–usually in Latin America.  Not just some college kid who needs a summer job.  Tips are their livelihood and I totally empathize with that.  Still, you gotta carry change, brother.

We were having lunch with James yesterday at Max Brenner.  Toward the end of the meal, a busboy I had noticed came over to the table to collect our plates.  He was a midget or a little person to be politically correct.  As he spoke to us, I thought about how pleasant it was to be sitting down and speaking to someone at eye level.  Wouldn’t it be great, I thought, if a restaurant had all midget waiters?  It would make it so much easier to establish rapport when they’re not towering over you like a regular-sized waiter.  Perhaps a theme restaurant employing this idea could work.  Why not make it a Wizard of Oz theme where the waiters are dressed like the munchkins?

Some personal observations of the parenting experience so far: (1) Everyone talks to you when you’re with your baby; they want to take a peak at her, ask if it’s a boy or girl, how many weeks/months, etc.  Strangers come up to you in the subway, at parties, on the street and when you’re in line at Duane Reade.  As a person who is often invisible to others, I don’t mind the extra attention even though I’m not really the focus of their eager gazes.  (2) Seemingly every product created for infants is branded with Sesame Street icons such as Pampers for all different sized babies.  (3) Slow people on the sidewalk still annoy me, even when I’m pushing Ana in the stroller.  The absolute worst street in the city (other than the touristy areas of Manhattan) is 74^th Street in Jackson Heights which is filled with lollygaggers window shopping in the street’s Indian-owned music and jewelry shops.  Large families of eight or nine clog the entire width of the sidewalk make it difficult to pass with a stroller.  With Ana in the stroller, I can no longer effortlessly weave in and out of crowded city sidewalks like Barry Sanders dodging defenders.  Union Square yesterday was quite difficult too.  I’ll try to avoid these areas as much as possible when I’m out for a stroll.  (4) Once you become a parent you immediately join the child birthday party circuit.  We went to little Riley’s second birthday party this morning and we have another second birthday party to go to in May.  Before Ana was born, we were rarely invited to one of these events.

Finally got my jungle of hair cut today.  As usual, I went down the street to the Pakistani barber shop.  While waiting for the barber I enjoyed a little cricket.  The World Cup of Cricket was on TV and the broadcast was surprisingly in English not Urdu or Bengali or one of the other Indic languages that I couldn’t in any way decipher.  I have briefly observed some cricket matches featuring white-clad South Asian men in Flushing Meadows Park but had never seen the game on television.  I really had no idea what the rules were, just had some vague notion that it was like baseball except the “pitcher” bounced the ball, the bat was flat instead of round and a match could potentially last for like three days or something.  Well, this match seemed to be shorter.  West Indies defeated Ireland by scoring 190 runs.  That would be a pretty high score in American baseball even in this age of rampant steroid use.  I was trying to figure out how it worked and I think I sort of figured it out.  If you hit the ball past the infielder it was one point; if the ball went past a certain point marked with a line it was four points and if it went over the wall on a fly it was worth six points.  At first I didn’t think there were anything but ground balls in cricket, but this West Indian guy knocked one clear over the wall-just like a home run.  Damn!  Seems much harder to hit the ball like that when you’re hitting it off the ground.  The Irish fans that they kept showing in the crowd seemed to be happy with their beer while their team was getting whupped.  Hey, the game is kind of slow and there is not much action.  Heavy drinking elevates the level of excitement.

Yesterday, we rented a car and drove back to Queens from Aya’s sister’s house in Pennsylvania. I hadn’t driven in a while other then when I parked Gahum’s minivan in our neighborhood a few weeks ago because he was too lazy to move it himself. The drive was pretty pleasant-it was sunny and the snow had long stopped. There was a little problem getting the rental car unstuck from the snow so we ended up with a smaller car which was fine with me. We’ll be driving a lot more now that we have Ana. We just can’t take her and all her accoutrements on the bus with us. I mean, we could, but we don’t want to. We don’t really need to buy a car, just rent one when we need to go out of town.

Traffic wasn’t too bad until we got to Manhattan. It took us two hours to get from Maki’s to Manhattan then another hour to get to hour house which is only about seven miles.

Saw an interesting bumper sticker on a car in front of us as we sat in crosstown Traffic. “Mondale Ferraro.” I had to do a double take and reassure myself that it wasn’t 1984. This was a brand new bumper sticker. I don’t get it. I guess the point is anyone is better than George Bush, even a ticket that lost two decades ago.

This wasn’t my first time driving through Manhattan, but it’s been a while. It’s a strange feeling being on the other side of the car-pedestrian continuum. Normally I’m trying to cross a street and thinking to myself “get the fuck out of my way you fucking gas guzzler.” This time I’m driving through the intersection thinking “you stupid pedestrian, stay out of my way. I’m trying my best not to kill you.”

As always, parking was the worst part of the trip. Finding a spot in Jackson Heights is normally very difficult, but after a snow storm it’s almost impossible. All the good spots you find that aren’t in front of hydrants or driveways are deluged with unsurmountable mounds of snow. So, after dropping the girls off, I made a few loops around the neighborhood. I had resolved to park at Mark Twain Diner–which is about a 10-minute walk from our place–if I didn’t find a spot this go round. But someone was looking out for me because I found a beauty of a spot near the corner of 34^th Avenue and 71^st Street. Someone had already shoveled it and it was huge. A terrible parallel parker, even I was able to back in on the first try. It was a bit far away, but I managed to bring our shitload of baby gear in three trips. It took over an hour.

Last task: fill up the tank and return the car to Budget near LaGuardia. I knew gas was expensive but I didn’t expect to pay $18 for half a tank of the Ford Taurus. It’s really been a long time since I filled up a tank myself. Not since gas has been this high probably. I dropped off the car a bit after 8:00 p.m. I was amazed how efficient and quick the system was. I didn’t even have to go inside. The attendant asked if I needed a bus to the airport. “No,” I said. “You have transportation?” “Yeah. My feet. I’m running home.” I imagine this is the first time he’s heard this. It was less than two miles away and there were no good public transportation options. I didn’t want to pay extra for a cab home so I had changed into my running gear and decided to hoof it home. I hadn’t run today anyway. Yeah, it was cold, but I’ve run in much colder. It was a bit icy in parts though so I had to be careful. I made it home without killing myself and got a good workout too.

Sometimes, like about an hour ago when Ana wouldn’t stop crying, I felt like screaming myself. Who would plug something in my mouth to shut me up until I fall asleep?

Just as I expected (see Feb 22 post), HBO suddenly vanished from our free cable “plan.” Well, the audio is still there, but the picture is now scrambled. But, really, the channel isn’t that good anyway outside of some of the original series-”Entourage,” “Sopranos,” “Real Time with Bill Maher,” “Curb Your Enthusiasm” (the first few seasons anyway.) Most of the movies they show suck, with the exception of the first “Die Hard” which I enjoyed for the umpteenth time a few weeks ago. The point was that it was free, and I, like most people (probably more than most people) like getting something for nothing. And, it’s also nice to get over on a big corporation, especially when it’s their fault.

Why do my feet sweat so much?  It’s so fucking annoying.  I only have to have shoes and sox on for a few minutes for my socks to get damp.  I try to take my shoes off whenever I can-all day when I’m at my desk at work.  It feels much better to let my feet breathe.  When I have to wear shoes for several hours straight my feet get so sore and uncomfortable.  Sometimes I wish I could live in Cavemen-times so I could go barefoot all the time.  There was no broken glass on the ground to worry about back then, right?

Every now and then it’s good to wake yourself up. Sometimes a thought provoking book, movie or play is just what is needed. Wake up from what, you ask? From superficiality. From thinking about small things. Yourself. Not looking at the big picture. Not caring about what happens outside your home. Your block. Your neighborhood.

Seven or eight years ago, Aya and I went to see a screening of “My Dinner with Andre” at Lincoln Plaza Cinemas. It was mind-blowing. We talked about it for hours afterwards, comparing it to empty blockbusters of the day such as the new Star Wars movie, the first of the three. I don’t remember much of the actual dialogue, but I remember how captivating it was. The writer, who was also one of the two main actors in the film (in fact, they were really the only two characters) was Wallace Shawn. Previously, I knew him from the Princess Bride; he was the funny looking guy with the lisp who uttered a few memorable lines that were incessantly repeated by one of my closest college friends: “You only think I guessed wrong! That’s what’s so funny! I switched glasses when your back was turned! Ha ha! You fell victim to one of the classic blunders! The most famous is never get involved in a land war in Asia, but only slightly less well-known is this: never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line!! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!! Ha ha ha-”

Mr. Shawn also played a recurring character on “The Cosby Show,” an eccentric neighbor of the Huxtables who always injected humor into his brief appearances on the show. More than anything though, Wallace Shawn is a playwright and a stage actor. I’ve always wanted to see one of his plays but never have. Once, five or so years ago, I tried to get tickets to one of his plays, but it sold out quickly and the run was short. With “Aunt Dan and Lemon,” a few years back, I was also late on the TDF discount tickets and couldn’t afford the full price.

I was scanning the TDF list a few weeks ago and saw that his play “The Fever” was available. There were several dates in February and early March. But with the new baby, it didn’t look like we’d be able to go. But when my mom offered to baby sit Ana, I seized the chance and got two tickets for today’s matinee. It was at the Acorn Theatre, a small minimalist space on 9^th Avenue and 42^nd Street in a Theatre Row complex with a few other small theatres.

In an unusual gesture, the audience was invited to have champagne (actually California sparkling wine) with Mr. Shawn on stage before the show. He does this every performance. There was a crowd of sports-jacketed Upper West Side intellectual types around the playwright and star of this one-man show. Among this group, he is a legendary cult figure, though not well known among the rest of the population, especially outside of Manhattan. Though I’m not much of an autograph hound, I wanted to at least say hello to a writer I greatly admire. I also had Aya snap a photo of us. (See above) He amusedly referred to it as a “celebrity moment.” I guess he doesn’t get this type of request often. While I was waiting for my turn, an older white woman informed him that her son knew him from “The Cosby Show.” Her son was Geoffrey Owens, who played Elvin, the husband of the eldest Huxtable offspring, Sondra, who often got under the skin of Claire with his sometimes chauvinist remarks.

The play started with a hilarious introduction about the theater and how people are usually treated (not too well in his view) and how this was, well, different. No pre-recorded announcements about turning your cellular phone off, no unfriendly ushers, and free champagne.

Things then immediately got dark. Literally and figuratively. In character, as a bourgeois urbanite, Mr. Shawn launched into a 90 minute monologue steeped with irony about the ills of the world. About people with comfortable lives and the others with far from comfortable ones. He mainly focused on the third world poor, those who couldn’t hope to climb up the economic and social ladder and even those who endured torture and murder at the hands of the powerful. Then there were people like he and his friends who had money and didn’t necessarily want to help those who didn’t. Fever was a metaphor for a guilty man’s soul in search of answers. In the end, it made me contemplate my own life and what I was doing to help or hurt the desperate souls of the world. It left me guilty but also reminded me how much I can do to help people, especially in the Philippines. I hope I don’t forget about this message. Like I said we all need a reminder from time to time.

And by the way, it really felt great to get out without the baby. We need to do this at least once a month. Must find a babysitter pronto.

My brother and his friend John recently acquired a bar in Cleveland. They are supposed to open up today. This has been a lifelong dream of Paul’s so I’m really happy he’s finally doing it and I hope it works out. I can’t wait to hang out there this summer. For any of you in Cleveland or passing through town check out Now That’s Class. Guaranteed to be a crazy good time.