Steggy

I'm posting this photo of me, my sister, and Steggy at Dinosaurland because I am feeling sluggish and tired and kind of dinosaury today. I was out late because I forgot the #1 rule of traveling in Brooklyn after 11 p.m.

Avoid the G train.

Bag Class

I went from teaching class to taking class again last night, from comic book coloring to bag-making in Hoboken.

Here's last night's output, a handy new yoga mat bag. Though my yoga mat has never left home. I always use one at the studio. "Always" being a bit of an exaggeration. I hardly ever go to yoga class. In my defense, I'm a little busy...

More Sunday Photos

Here are some more photos from Sunday's hike. Nice to look at because today it's hideously gray and rainy in Manhattan.







Here's a whole gallery if you want to see more.

Sunday Muddy Sunday

It's been THREE YEARS since Roberta, Kraiger, and I climbed Mt. Tammany at the Delaware Water Gap.

Which is dreadful. We really need to get outside more often.

Yesterday morning, we headed out west again, this time crossing the river and going into Pennsylvania. We parked at a lot at a trailhead and headed up the Appalachian Trail to the top of Mt. Minsi.

The previous night skies had been filled with thunderstorms so we brought spare shoes and left them in Roberta's car. Full of eggs and toast from the diner in the actual town of Delaware Water Gap, we headed up the 1,060-foot mountain.

The steady hum of Interstate 80 accompanied up all the way to the top, but the autumn leaves were just turning. The view of Mt. Tammany and the gap itself was stunning. The walk itself was mostly easy enough that Roberta suggested we walk the New Jersey section of the Appalachian Trail next year. But the last 20 minutes or so got rocky, slippery, and difficult. I think I bruised both my big toes in my barely used hiking shoes. I think 72 miles of walking along NJ's Kittatinny Ridge while carrying a 40-pound pack would just about kill me. I'm probably more qualified to walk the West Virginia section, which is four miles long.

Now I Get It

Last night, Denise and I went up to Journal Square to the old Loew's Theater to see "Carrie." Today they're showing "The Wolf Man" and "Rosemary's Baby," but I'm selfishly guarding my Saturday. I've been overwhelmed and today is for me. Not for friends or work or class or being social. All mine and you can't have any.

The theater is so cool... Roberta and I were last up there to see the band Magnetic Fields (with Claudia, but you don't remember that because I wasn't blogging in 1992). It's a grand movie palace from the 1920s.

"Carrie" turned out to be highly entertaining, with lots of inadvertent funny moments. I don't think that the gym teacher smoking or slapping a student were intended to be time capsules when the movie was made. And the girl's shower scene evoked audience snorts. Lots of 'em.

I thought back to some girls I didn't know in junior high. They saw me in the girls bathroom every day before lunch and took to calling me Carrie. At the time, I vaguely knew this was not a compliment. I do sort-of resemble Sissy Spacek, but my mother does a lot more. Anyway, they weren't calling me Carrie because of my cheekbones.

Now I know why. I had really long hair, was terribly shy (which still exists but in a different way, where I don't open up to anyone without getting to know them really well), and probably hid under my hair. I learned early on to wear invisibility as a shield, in the rough-and-ready neighborhood I grew up in. I'd try not to be noticed. Being noticed could mean getting beaten up.

Being Carrie might not have been a bad thing. They left me alone.

JC and Kids

One of the top 100 places to raise kids?

#13?

Really?

Nah... c'mon. We have one of the top high schools... but what about all the other schools which have not been rated anywhere even close?

But there is a part of me that just wants to say that diversity rocks for kids, and boy do we have it.

Hip Supermarket Bag

I made this bag last night at M. Avery Designs in Hoboken. It's a supermarket bag, but it may be too nice for the supermarket. Maybe this is a sack for trips to the greengrocer or the farmer's market, not to ShopRite.

I'm taking a 4-week long bag-making boot camp this time. Last night was the easy bag and I still had to finish it up at home. I better try to get ahead for next week—I have to choose between the laptop sleeve and the yoga mat bag.

On Putting It Off

I went to a talk on procrastination yesterday.

Yes, that's right. I attended at talk... did not GIVE the talk.

I am pretty good at procrastinating. But actually, what I took away from the talk is that I'm nowhere near as good at it as I think I am. I careen through an enormous list of self-assignments every day, and while they do distract me, I'm getting superhuman numbers of things ticked off my list.

The list is key. A list is concrete. Vague notions don't get done. Concrete ideas help. Even aggressive terms help as opposed to wishy-washy terms. And why are we so into procrastination?

Distractions. So... many... distractions. As I type this, I've stopped to check Facebook, send a note, take a vitamin, and think about what to post on Roberta's Facebook page for her birthday.

Humans are instinctively programmed to procrastinate. We hate change. We like what we know. I am well aware of this and you can see it in your own actions as well as in the loony actions of the masses. I have, same as everyone else, occasionally chosen familiar misery over potential pleasure. I have railed against other who do this, especially exes, when they prefer the comfort of their disappointing status quo over moving forward and trying to overcome their self-imposed limitations.

And that's where I learned that I am doing all right on the procrastination front. I have, ironically, been trying to reinstill some kind of appreciation for routine into my own psyche for the last few years.

It is working. Just slowly. By the time I really appreciate it, I'll be renewing my passport.

Anyway, I left the procrastination talk, picked up some sewing materials, came home, did laundry, went to the supermarket, cooked dinner, then thought about slacking off the rest of the night.

Instead, I taped up plastic over the windows for the winter and re-coded an old website for a friend. I couldn't stand the idea of letting my procrastination instincts win.

Procrastination will win, but I can fight it. Starting now.

Stay Busy, Don't Stop to Think

As part of my incessant quest to stay as busy as possible as avoidance technique (yes, life blows, let's pretend not to notice), I have attended several New Yorker Festival events this weekend.

My favorite lines so far?

Rachel Maddow on writing a book: "Writing a book makes me want to blow my head off with a shotgun."

Neko Case on aging, to a male interviewer: "At least no one is calling you a cougar."

Today, I am procrastinating by going to see a talk on procrastination. New York is my kinda town.

Bright, Shiny Choo-Choo

I had about 25 minutes to waste last Friday afternoon. Shannon was visiting NYC and in 30 minutes, he'd return to my office and pick up his suitcase. In 20 minutes, the office assistant who shares my office would leave for the day. I wanted to go back when he'd left just because I get really squirrelly and petulant when people are in my space. Squirrelly and petulant might even be an understatement. The right term might be... oh, I don't know. Psychotic rage, maybe.

Any space. Office works as well as home.

Penn Station, which is the train station under Madison Square Garden, is across the street from my office. So I wandered around Penn Station, looking for the wine store to note its location for the next time I go to the Astoria supper club after work.

Ah, there it is. Now what?

I saw a map and some schedules. What is this Long Island Railroad anyway? I'll read these maps and schedules. Maybe I'll learn something.

I like maps.

There's a schedule for the Airtrain.

I'd never considered taking the Airtrain from Penn Station. I've only been in my current office for a year and from other locations in Manhattan or Jersey City, there are a half-dozen convenient, cheaper ways to get to the airport.

Hmmm. Shannon could go on this train to Jamaica, then get on the airport monorail there. Looks like it takes 10-20 minutes less—at least—than the A-train to the Rockaways.

I bought him a ticket. When he showed up at my office, he asked "What's the best way to get to the airport now?"

"Don't worry about it. I've got it covered. Here, check your e-mail before we leave."

"Fine. Less for me to think about."

We've known each other a long time.

The train was clean, modern, easy, had a seat, and whisked him to the airport in style.

I never saw the point of the Airtrain before. The subway goes to the same place and has better connections. But now I got it. Fast. Easy. You could fall asleep on that thing.

I got it so much, in fact, that when Thanos flew in a few days later, I instructed him to come straight to my office.

On the Airtrain.