Monday, July 14

Camping with friends!

I've been camping before, but always in a suburban backyard, just yards away running water and a flushable toilet. This was a bit more real -- an occasion to be grateful for hand-sanitizer. We took MetroNorth to Tenmile River, which by the way, is not a typo.

Friends picked us up in their car. We bought groceries, firewood, and displayed restraint and did not visit the book sale happening in the little quaint town. Off to the state park! Without a sign or my knowledge, we'd crossed state lines into Connecticut at some point in our 10-minute drive. 


Frisbee golf was our first activity. I'd never played before, and everyone kept recommending that I throw "as if I were starting a lawnmower," and then we'd all laugh, since I've obviously never once used a lawnmower, except when dancing terribly, and even then, I usually prefer the shopping cart. City kid! 

Then we visited a lake and saw a frog. Joe was the last to arrive, so we had to leave him an old-timey handwritten note on the windshield of a car, because there was no cell phone reception. AT&T has not yet made its way to the state park (which was amazing until the moment we hit reception again and the deluge of emails arrived). We made a fire but sadly had left home graham crackers and chocolate, so had to roast marshmallows all on their lonesome. 


The sheer volume of stuff the five of us brought was amazing. We had three grills. An inflatable box for washing dishes. Four coolers worth of food. A keg, leftover from someone's 4th of July party. A tote full of frisbees, cornhole, tikki torches. A wizard-style canopy tent. Five chairs; two tables.

As a friend said, camping is essentially like moving apartments, but winding up in the great outdoors at the end.

Never have eggs tasted so amazing. Never. So good I had to take two pictures.  J and I had the NYC-sized tent -- and there was no real glamping for us. We slept on sleeping bags and our old quilt. (I'm proud, but also really jealous of the blow-up mattresses other people brought.)




Wednesday, July 9

I am making a list...

It's a list of words that only appear in fiction, which surely no one has said out loud in this century (and probably not the last one, either):

limn
gobbet
susserate
quim 
berm (added 1/4/15) 




Wednesday, June 4

Retro Snuff

I wonder why snuff grew out of fashion? I guess I also wonder how it became popular in the first place, but then I imagine living in the 1700 and 1800s sans television, radio, Kardashians, and under the threat of an infectious disease, and maybe sneezing from tobacco would be the best thing that could happen to your day.

Wouldn't it be amazing if snuff made a huge comeback? I can totally picture how it would happen -- first in some enclave in Bushwick, then wandering over to Portland and Austin ... finally it would become so widespread the New York Times would write a trend piece, and Chuck Schumer would denounce the evils of snuff on a weekend morning show.

Perhaps if the e-cigarettes hadn't become a thing, the mannered world of tobacco tins and discreet snorting of tobacco would have been on the rise. Please ponder, and enjoy this important photo-illustrated WikiHow with the fours steps to snuff-taking.

Tuesday, June 3

What I'm Reading: No Book But the World



Reading is a struggle lately, and Leah Hager Cohen's No Book But the World is sadly not the book to change that circumstances. I won't blame the book, which is prettily (too prettily?) written; it's a problem with the reader. I'm only sixty pages in -- too soon for a recommendation anyway -- but I will note that I did hit one passage that rang right:
"The November rain is blowing sideways, crazing the glass. What is it about extreme weather that gives one the feeling of having traveled back in time? As if the past somehow had more weather; as if weather is one of those things that has dwindled or languished with modernity."

Monday, June 2

A Visit to the Library on a Monday

Today I went to the library to work because I am worried the corner of the couch where I tend to perch most weekdays is becoming a bit too comfortable, and also because I was attempting to triple-task the laundry, returning an overdue library video (Dallas Buyers Club), and writing a complicated cover letter. The library felt like the perfect solution, although full disclosure -- were I not feeling underemployed lately, I would likely have perched at a coffee shop instead, an iced coffee spreading condensation close to my computer, while a timer for the laundry clicked down on my iPhone.

But I am glad that I went to the library. I have this very easily doable project in mind to visit and rate every library in New York. It is a sort of companion piece to my other easily achievable plan to ride the F train from end to end, Coney to Jamaica, getting out at every stop and taking a walk. Anyway my new local branch in Park Slope would get a solid B rating if I ever actually followed through on my project (points for the building itself, with its lovely high ceilings and feeling of significance; boos for shelving all fiction together regardless of genre).

Maybe you think you know the library from after work and weekend trips as a normally-employed person. But it's on the weekdays that the library lets loose, with a gamut of people from homeless to genius sitting, browsing, staring.

I sat today at a four-top table, across from someone's abandoned jacket, next to a man on a computer. We did not talk when I sat down, although we both took out headphones in unison when the woman at the table next to us starting a long but muttered conversation on her cell phone about how to use her computer. I would have given her my very best library disgruntled ssssshhh but didn't because who am I to shush. After thirty minutes, it occurred to me that the abandoned jacket might not have been abandoned, Maybe it was a carefully placed but not-so-effective ploy from my seatmate to get the whole table to himself. I stewed, and darted glances at him until I started to worry he would mistake my intentions.

Behind me was a cozy reading zone with fabric-covered armchairs and small round tables. I am suspicious of these areas in libraries. A teenage girl sat on the floor using a chair as a desk for her notebook; another girl sprawled directly on the floor. Maybe she was asleep. I sat facing the people at a bank of two double-sided tables, fitting about sixteeen computers, and when I finished my application I started another project but kept wondering what they were all working on. Did they wonder why I was there? We all worked intently, and I felt bad when I coughed. A man cat-corner to me flipped pages in his legal pad and made notes that seemed very important.

A man went up to the librarian arguing about his DVD that should have been on hold, and why wasn't it, and all the other people at the library would have helped him out except for her, she was so unreasonable. It went on for a bit, and I imagined how I would shut him down, move him along. I went back to work.

An older woman asked somewhat creakily if the fourth seat at the table (remember: it's me, computer man, and an "abandoned" coat) was available and we both nodded yes and the jacket continued to hang on the seat back, deserted. I saw that I got an email and held myself back from checking for ten whole minutes on the theory that if I waited awhile it might magically transform into a job offer but of course it wound up just being a "final day for your 20% off coupon" email from Bed, Bath, and Beyond. I looked up and the woman across the table had a brush and mirror out. She was combing carefully through her short white strands first with one brush, and then with a second that emerged out of her purse.

My time dinged. Laundry ready to fold. Don't even get me started on the people in laundromats in the middle of weekdays, or the weird and wonderful world of daytime tv watching that can be justified on a Monday afternoon visit. I left the library.

Monday, April 28

A delayed quarter life crisis

For my delayed quarter-life crisis, or my perfectly-on-time quarter-life crisis if I'm going to live to a biblical age, these the alternate careers currently under consideration: Beekeeper. Lawyer. (Bee-keeping lawyer?) Bar owner. Bar bookstore owner. Accountant. Professional dominoes player, Mexican train dominoes only. List maker. Farmer. Chronicler of foods that taste delicious with a poached or fried egg on top. Project manager. Reader of internet.

Suggestions welcome.