Greg and I got back a few days ago from a definitely blogworthy trip to NY. We went from this past sunday to monday for my cousin’s brother’s wedding but we had a bunch of notable experiences that I will try to recount. I would have written sooner, but we came home to a flooding crawl space, work, and some kind of GI ailment for me so now is the first time I have a chance to write.
We left on Sunday morning and we took the train.
Experience 1: We stopped at J2 pizza for lunch (where you might remember we bumped into a certain hassidic-reggae star in January). No, we didn’t see him again, but this time the first people we saw were Eden’s babysitter, her husband and her two kids. They live down the block from us but it is so typical that we saw them in NY. Awesome.
Experience 2: We took the subway downtown to my brother-in-law’s apartment in TriBeCa. Unfortunately the train we were on was rerouted and we had to switch trains. For some reason, the new train did not arrive for 20-30 minutes. You may not know this, but Sunday was the Gay Pride Parade in Manhattan. Greg and I were fortunate enough to be stuck in the 14th street subway station with hoards of gay and lesbian people who really weren’t the fun kind. For some reason we got stuck with all the fat and smelly gay men who had quite suggestive t-shirts on, as well as the lesbian women who looked like they had more testosterone than my husband. I am not being prejudiced, (remember what one of my favorite movies is) just observant. It was quite memorable. I don’t think I have seen so many rainbows since Rainbow Bright was popular and everyone dressed up as her for purim when I was in third grade. On we go.
Experience 3: Walking around SoHo. Really, the only experience that came out of it was the huge realization that I am just so not cool. Oh well. Also, Greg and I were passing by a cute trendy café and there was a woman standing outside with a telephoto camera. I got Greg to go up to her and ask her who she was waiting for, but she got an insulted look on her face and said she was a fashion photographer. For the record, I did not believe her for a minute. She reeked of Paparazzi (when you lead my lifestyle, you learn to pick them out). I wanted to stay there and wait for the celebrity in question, but Greg wanted to keep moving. I guess I will just have to read US Weekly this week to see who she was stalking.
Experience 4: We met some friends for a pre-wedding dinner (the wedding didn’t start until 7) and we went to a Moroccan place. Before we walked in, I didn’t know it was Moroccan and I was skeptical of the food. I must say, the food rocked. Not only did I enjoy the company of close friends, but I got to enjoy some pretty good Sephardic (please pronounce that like a New Yorker) food. Here is a shout out to E, Y, T, and A who not only picked us up in their car, but also enjoyed the tube socks experience with us. Nuff said.
Experience 5: The wedding. I haven't been to a good sephardic wedding since my cousin married a Moroccan in Israel 12 years ago. I forgot how much fun they are. My cousin's brother married a Syrian girl. There were definitely a bunch of firsts for me at that wedding. It was fun to see people cheering as the wedding party walked down the aisle to the chuppah. I also enjoyed seeing my cousin Ari make the announcements under the chuppah in a Sepharadit accent. That is always fun. Most of the bridesmaids looked around 14 and ordered a lot of liquor from the open bar. I know they were older than 14, but I am not sure if they were 21. Whatever, I am old. The dancing ROCKED. All the fun belly dancing and sephardy la-la ing were done. I missed the part where the Chatan and Kallah changed clothes to come back into the wedding. I am still not sure why they do that, but it is cool anyway. In any event, a fun time was had by all and the food was pretty darn good.
Experience 6: The morning after the wedding, Greg, Benj and I walked around downtown Manhattan. We made our way to the Irish Hunger Memorial (don't ask, Greg wanted to see it) . On the way there and back, we passed by Ground Zero. I hadn't actually been there since the attacks, almost 5 years ago. I felt a lot more emotional than I expected to. Part of me figured that the time has passed and that things move on. The other part of me remembered the people who were lost on that day, including a childhood friend's husband. I couldn't help but get choked up and remember the amount of patriotism felt after that day, or the way the country pulled together in a time of need. But, time goes on and people have to walk by Ground Zero every day on their way to work. They can't stop and get emotional every time they pass by. I am glad I got the opportunity to visit there.
All in all it was a great trip. I had six memorable experiences that I was glad to recount and I look forward to making another NY trip sometime in the near future. It is always a good time.
I often hear my father and other males of his generation lamenting the fact that their mothers threw away their precious baseball card collections that would surely be worth thousands today. I have always had visions of my grandmother going into a closet and taking down a shoebox or album filled with priceless cards and simplychucking them into the nearest trash can. I always thought it was somewhat insensitive of my grandmother and the other women of her generation that they just didn't care about their sons' possessions and thoughtlessly discarded such important icons of of the time.
That was until today. I had a major epiphany as I sat in Ezra's room with a garbage bag. Much to the chagrin of my father in law, Ezra doesn't collect baseball cards. But he does collect pokemon, yu-gi-yoh and zatchbell (if I am spelling thse wrong, I really don't care) cards. Anyway, Ezra has albums for these cards. He has shoeboxes. He has tupperware boxes. That doesn't stop them from ending up all over the floor, under his bed, on the bathroom counter, on the living room carpet, you name it. So, what did I start doing? Throwing them in the garbage. Would I be doing this if they were in the shoebox or album? Of course not, but I can't imagine that if he really truly cared about them, they'd be strewn all around the house. It might happen that in the year 2020 the magnomite card I through out will be worth thousands of dollars. I guess I will have to follow in the footsteps of my grandmother and the other brave women who took the abuse of their sons who couldn't have cared less for their cards when they were 7.
In honor of my first trip in a hybrid car today, I had to post this. I had been wanting to post it for a while, but never had a good excuse.
I like to be part of the solution, and not the problem.
part 1
part 2
part 3
(If you are offended by some of the language, I apologize. This is just too funny not to post.)