shall we resolve?

. . . to once and for all get the place painted this summer
. . . to get fit enough to make it to 14,000 feet and down again
. . . to have all those eye tests and colonoscopies and dental exams
. . . to find paying work in a new career
. . . to learn languages
. . . to love
. . . to actually use Quick Books this year
. . . to be a better person
. . . to be badder than ever

Will you join me, or do you have your own revolutions?


let it snow, let it snow

The weather just seems to just keep doing what it's been doing all around this nation of ours. In Santa Fe, at Cowboy's house, that was snow and more snow. I think I know what that object is. Do you? In Louisiana, that was rain and more rain. And here in the tropics of New York, it's just balmy all the time.

pork shopping

The birthday season continues, with Berber, Wolfen, Justin, the Artist Known as Chang, sister Ping, Nevvie, Holly, Ivy (I kid you not), Dada & etc all celebrating. Angelina and her entourage arrive in town today for a hastily assembled meeting of Jeal-Anon, for those of us NOT being feted with birthday galas and 21-pound hams.


the birthday girl

Well, I was kind of hoping for a picture of the actual event, but it hasn't materialized. This is a great picture of J, though, who turned a nice round number a couple days ago, and no, that's not her daughter but her granddaughter, who photographer Donna Ferrato characterizes as "the Empress-To-Be."


they signed the lease

. . . and will move into this elegantly rehabbed mill building the day after Wolfen's birthday. Not sure how all the truckloads of stuff that have been transported to staging areas all over the Northeast ever fit into our apartment in the first place. The loft should be big enough.


twas the day after christmas

This picture was taken with my brand new Christmas camera, which is very small and cute but which I don't know how to use quite yet. Perhaps inspired by the cheerless scenery, or the fact that Wolfen was wearing a bathrobe over her clothing in the car, or by Ruby Montana of fame, the cubs decided that we needed to start a country band called White Trash Patio. Just the thought of the song titles! the stage sets! the costumes! had our heads a spinnin' like we'd just drank a magnum of Colt .45. Or maybe got too close to the neighbor's meth lab.
Still not sure why the flag was at half mast in Connecticut, though.


the good news

The good news is: today is NOT the shortest day of the year. That was yesterday. The solstice occurred at about 7:20-something p.m. As a devotee of The Golden Bough, I know a lot about winter solstice celebrations and how fires bring back the sun (son, in Christian tradition), but the other good news is I'm not going to tell you about any of that now. I'm going to Brooklyn to get the truck fixed. Again. Right after the cub goes up to the Bronx to get his car fixed. Again.


nutty as

How did fruitcake become a national joke? Johnny Carson once cracked that there was actually only one fruitcake in the U.S. that was simply passed from person to person. Whatever the reason, no one sends me fruitcakes any more. I think they're too embarrassed. A whole one is too much, but a slice or two isn't amiss at this season. So if someone gives you a fruitcake you don't want, toss it here.


plan ahead

Wonder if the stalker from Spain will show up at the front door. . .


the fourth night

On the first day of Christmas my true love sent to me
a laundry bag under the tree
On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me 2 Tide detergents
and a laundry bag under the tree
On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me 3 rolls of quarters, 2 Tide detergents and a laundry bag under the tree
On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me 4 fabric softeners, 3 rolls of quarters, 2 Tide detergents and a laundry bag under the tree.
On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me 5 mismatched so-o-o-cks. . .
12 washers washing
11 shirts a sudsing
10 jeans a spinning
9 tighty whities
8 colored t-shirts
7 ripe bandanas
6 driers drying
5 mismatched so-o-o-cks . . .


it's a miracle!

The Ghost of Christmas Present drops in on Riverside Drive on the third night of Hannukah.
Other miracles:
It is springtime in New York City, and the crabapples are blooming.
I was able to finish the crossword puzzle Friday, Saturday and Sunday.
The household vehicles were all repaired last week, and the amount of stuff that fit in the truck last night for portage north (Wolfen and the Cub move imminently) was its own wonderment. The fact that it had fit into the apartment at all in the first place was the real miracle. Not to mention that everyone in the household is still speaking.
And speaking of Wolfen, for the first time, at age almost 25, she became addicted to a handhheld video game. I don't think that's a miracle, but it is distinctly odd. I'm not sure she was able to put it down to go to bed last night.


chappy chappy

the imagined life

Good morning. This is your captain speaking. Skies are clear in New York City, and as far as the eye can see I have nothing to say. Or nothing I will tell you all, anyway. Please feel free to invest my life with all your wildest dreams and fantasies. Some of them may even approach the truth. But you'll never know, will you? Because this me, this Captain Claudinkus, is just a computer construct. So use me any way you please—I'll never tell.

P.S. Do you prefer this larger type size?


outer boroughs

Brooklyn, Bronx and Beyond.



Thanks for all the calls. And thanks to Dolores, Dangerman, La Otra Rubia, the Subway Singer and the others for showing up on a school night.



It's also my birthday, so I will be holding court for anyone who wants to drop by and have a glass of—water?
PS For those of you who want to read the fine print, if you click on the image you can see it a lot bigger.


holla back

A blog can be a masturbatory form, a report from Boredomland, dateline My Life, of what "I" am thinking/doing.
Or, it can be more of a community of loosely connected people who can't be in the same room having a conversation.
Yes, here it comes: Aside from CBA weighing in from down south in Beautyland and Otra Rubia from the Bronx (who, BTW has two nice new Ikea cabinets up against the wall today), and, oh, we must not forget Ace who gave us that splendid Christmas letter the other day, nobody has anything to say. It doesn't have to be witty or wild. Naughty might be nice. Really just "How y'all doin'" is enough, just to let us know you're out there.
This is the semiannual plea. Won't do it again for another six months or so. I promise. Although come to think of it, I'm not sure that I will keep this act going for another six months if you guys don't want it. Maybe it's time for the end. Maybe it's time for a vote.

Angelina sends in this about her latest exploits.

Harry sends in a link to his latest movie short

And don't forget Wolfen's guitar string bracelets featured in People last week.


an afternoon in hell

The serenity is on the surface. Despite the sunshine and the sparkling windows, the staggering view and the gleaming table top, despite the Web at our fingertips and brains enough for four, despite the will and the tools and the ability to follow directions, we were wrestled to the floor by


Yes, I'm aware that this has happened to others before. But that was others. This time it was me. I wonder if I will have to drive back to New Jersey and buy La Otra Rubia another shelf to replace the one that I smashed or whether the glue will hold.
I will find out today when we open the book and begin to read Chapter 3 of

The History of Sleaze


christmas letters

Yes, 'tis the season of the Family Annual Report, and boy am I looking forward to it! (I have this one cousin who does the whole thing in the worst imaginable doggeral, which sounds even worse when she reports that something bad has happened—there's no way you can really brighten your dog's death or your husband's losing his job.)
This year's haul kicks off with the following from my sister:

"Here we are again! And guess what? We don't have anything to say.
Don't get your hopes up, though, we'll say it anyway."

That pretty much puts the genre in a nutshell, don't it?
Please weigh in with such portions of your own holiday reports that you don't mind the rest of us laughing at.
With, with. Laughing with.


this or this?

I like the plastic/ stainless thing. I like the wheels, also. The Cub doesn't like plastic, though. He's into full metal jacket.
What do you think?

I have until spring to decide.


not for kids

Anyone here ever been pregnant in New York City? Please raise your hand.
You? And you?
So did the behavior of friends, coworkers and even passersby change towards you at all?
Yes, you in the front row.
"People I barely knew started asking me personal questions in the office. Some of them even patted my belly without asking!"
"Yeah. At restaurants people frowned at me if I ordered fish. Or coffee."
"The thing that bothered me was perfect strangers telling me disgusting horror stories."
"They kept telling me what to do with my own body! With this attitude."

There are only two other situations in which people think they have a right to tell you how to live:
If you smoke or if you drink. (You will be immediately struck dead if you do either while pregnant, so nobody will have to tell you anything.)
My friends and family have been complaining to me about my addictions.
Let me see, now. I have been drinking far too much lately, and yes it is making me fat, and yes, I have heard that that it can affect my liver. Someone told me that smoking is bad for you, too, and I'm pretty confident studies prove it.

Yet there are some other self-destructive behaviors that you all might want to be on the lookout for in the people you love or in, for that matter, perfect strangers who are making your medical costs or taxes higher or just plain bothering you:
Extreme weight gain or loss
Bad marriages
Fingernail biting
Profligate spending
Infrequent dental visits, mammograms and colonoscopies
Keeping irregular hours
Not eating five servings of vegetables or fruits a day
Too many kids
Obsessive/compulsive disorder
Listening to excessively loud music
Not enough exercise
Having unprotected sex
No seatbelts

I'm sure I've forgotten a lot of things.

But remember, you especially owe it to your near and dear to do an intervention if you observe such self-destructive behavior. Because their business is your business. Because you love them. Call them on it. They'll thank you one day.
Unless they're really, really contrary.

Oops, I think this post was meant to go on whatismyfuckingproblem.com
Or maybe whatisyourfuckingproblem.com

globetrotting photog confirms flight



hot mulled cider

Here is a seasonal recipe for hot mulled cider:

Cut down Christmas tree in the country
Bring it up in the elevator in the city
Invite over a bunch of old friends and lovers
Put a half gallon of cider into a pot
Add clementines and some peel
Add cloves, grate in nutmeg
Remember that you left the cinnamon sticks at the bar
Decorate tree
Yak with friends
Drink Beaujolais Nouveau


i kean't

An all-day shopping trip to Ikea in Paramus, N.J., during Christmas season. Can you imagine anything more fun? An excursion so long you have to stop for lunch and don't get home until rush hour. Maybe I will get that bumper sticker that reads: "Yes, this is my truck. No I won't help you move."
Oops. This is becoming an entry for whatismyfuckingproblem.com. I forgot: This is the nice site.
So let me ameliorate the effect of the foregoing by saying that the problem of what kind of cabinets to put in Hannah's Beach Party City may be solved. There are these aluminum slats that roll up like a garage door, see, and . . .


season of the witch

As soon as it turns cold—and it has just done so with a vengeance over much of the country—our thoughts turn to Palm Springs and the charming motelier Ruby Zee Montana at the Coral Sands.
And speaking of Ruby, she has just started her own blog, mainly about little dogs and her weird friends (of which I am proud to be one). I have linked to it on the right (under "Links," duh) on this page and also here Ruby's Blog Check it out, keeping in mind that it is less PG than this one. Though we know that for you, Dear Readers, this is rather a selling point than not. You have proven that over the past couple days.


sex sells

Well, the s-word seems to be in the international language. I got hits from Slovakia, Argentina, Hungary, not to mention assorted college campuses in the U.S. They all musta been mighty disappointed when they found out how much x-rated stuff was available on this site.


sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll

I have vowed not to take any more pictures until this year's are edited. However, since mostly all I'm doing is editing pictures, I have little to say and less to photograph. I have been trying to get you guys to pick up the ball , but in vain, I'd say, except for Mr. Li and La Otra Rubia. So I have overbilled this entry in the title hoping for a little fresh blood. I expect the next thing that will happen is links to porn sites. Unless even the Google crawler is bored out of its poor little artificial intelligence.