Explosive Night

One of my least favorite nights of the year is October 31.

It could be that I don’t really enjoy having a bunch of strangers ringing my doorbell.

For hours... and hours.

It could be the outrageous calorie count that comes with the holiday.

And the days after.

Or it could go all the way back to when I was 12 years old.

When I was the victim of a drive-by.

A drive-by egging.

I was walking around the neighborhood.

With a full pillowcase of candy.

At the end of a very successful night of trick or treating.

When some local high school hoodlums threw eggs at me from a moving car.

I’m not sure if the eggs were intended for me.

I’m not sure if they knew who they were throwing at.

And I’m not even sure if they hit me.

But those oval shaped tubs of cholesterol clearly did some emotional damage.

A few minutes later I was walking home.

Alone.

In the dark.

(Not the smartest plan I now realize.)

When someone quietly came up from behind me.

And knocked me to the ground.

Fortunately I was not hurt.

Physically.

But my entire pillowcase was gone.

Candy and all.

Now we didn’t exactly live in the worst place ever.

So this night of attacks was very much out of the ordinary.

But it left me not feeling all that great about Halloween.

To this day, I still take my kids around the neighborhood on that night.

And sometimes I even enjoy it.

But I’m always looking over their shoulder.

And mine too.

Halloween is on a very short list of holidays that I don’t love.

I love Thanksgiving.

And Christmas.

And Passover.

Pretty much any holiday that has anything to do with food.

But one holiday that is a close runner up to Halloween is the fourth of July.

Now I love the United States.

And everything it stands for.

And I respect our history.

And I love celebrating our birthday.

But what I don’t really love is the fireworks.

Don’t get me wrong, I definitely L O V E fireworks shows.

With all the ooohs and the aaaahs.

Sitting in a stadium, watching the show.

But nowadays you don’t have to go that stadium for the show.

You just need to go to your local neighborhood.

And you’ll hear more explosions than a Michael Bay movie.

And that freaks me out.

Last night we were invited to a local party where the main attraction was a chef.

Ranked as one of the top 5 BBQrs in the world.

And after eating his pulled pork and brisket, I’m wondering who is ahead of him.

All of the guests were asked to bring a side dish.

So my wife made her pasta salad.

It is ranked 7,582 in our county.

Once dinner ended and I was submerged in a food coma, the show started.

Well it wasn’t announced as a show.

It just turned into one.

Fireworks, firecrackers and just plain fire were exploding right in front of us. 

For two straight hours... at least.   It was still going when we left.

There were probably a hundred or so people there.

So we all had front row seats.

I moved my lawn chair back a little, to the third row.

Sitting behind someone else’s kids.

You know, in case something went wrong.

I’m not sure where all these fireworks came from, but they couldn’t have been too hard to find.

There are these shacks all over the place now, selling all types of explosive toys.

I always drive right past them, so I don’t really know what exactly they are selling.

Or what it costs.

But I was told we were witness to a show last night that cost “thousands of dollars”.

Holy economy Batman!

At one point when one of the cool ones went off.

I heard, “there’s goes $20.”

$20 x two hours worth of $20.... yep, that’s a lot of cash.

The guy next to me had a laundry basket of fireworks.

So he was extremely popular with the kids.

You know that whole thing about young boys loving fire.

IT’S TRUE!

But the adults seem to love it too.

Me, I came for the brisket.

And I enjoyed every single bite.

Maybe we need to BBQ on Halloween.

Two Worlds Apart

I just completed a spur-of-the-moment week-long trip home to see my family.

Following the developments of last week, that’s where I needed to be.

And boy did I pick a good time to go.

Halloween.

I got plenty of hugs... and kisses... and Hershey Kisses... and Reese’s.

Lots of Reese’s.

My son must’ve collected at least 50 of the yummy peanut butter cups during his trick or treating.

Seriously.  At least 50.

So many Reese’s that it reminded me of the old commercial where the guy with the peanut runs into the girl with the chocolate.

Two great tastes in one candy bar.

It took my daughter about one second to find those commercials on youtube.

How did we ever live without youtube?

Well, the trip was incredible.

I was able to bring lunch to school for my kids.

And see choir practice.

And basketball practice.

And dance practice.

And we were able to practice being a family again.

My not-so-secret double life in New York City felt like a thousand miles away.

Actually, it was two thousand.

But it might as well have been a million.

Don’t get me wrong, I love... loved New York.

I loved pretty much every thing about it.

I even loved the people.

I wouldn’t say that I am an expert on analyzing New Yorkers, but over the last few months, I accumulated a pretty good sample to form an opinion.

Loyal.  Check.

Genuine.  Check.

Real.  Double check.

Cold.  Can be.

Like the Coolatta at Dunkin’ Donuts.

But you pretty much know where you stand.

I get the feeling that many people in New York don’t realize that there is another world outside of New York.

And when you are here, it’s pretty easy to believe that.

When I got back home to life with the family, I fell right back into my four-corner offense, taking things one moment at a time.

As soon as I got off the plane yesterday at LaGuardia, it was right back into the two-minute drill.

Or the New York Minute drill.

The noise, the pace, the excitement.

Nothing like it.

It took me about three New York blocks, even with it raining, to realize that this is where I want... wanted to be.

Of course, I don’t have a job in New York.

Anymore.

And not to mention that I don’t think that $1.049 million, one-bedroom, two-bathroom unit with 760 square feet in the West Village that I saw listed in the New York Post yesterday would be a good way to raise a family.

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love where my family currently resides, but this is New York!

The Big Apple.

Gotham.

The Melting Pot.

The City that Never Sleeps.

Pick your nickname.

Even after being away for seven days, seven FANTASTIC days, Manhattan felt like home as soon as I got back.

As I write this note from the place where I will be spending the rest of the month, tying up loose ends, I can literally hear a series of sirens going off.

Wow, what a beautiful sound.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved... love where our home is too.

The people are great, the life is great, it is a perfect place to call home.

I went to go work out at the local gym there a few days ago.

As I walked to my car in the parking lot, the car next to me started backing up and probably came about ten feet away from hitting me.

At least ten feet.

Not exactly a dangerous situation.

But if was enough of a situation in my town where the driver of the other car felt obligated to stop.

Felt obligated to roll down his window.

Felt obligated to... apologize.

Apologize?

For going backwards at one mile per hour and not coming close to hitting me?

He’ll never make it in New York.

On Halloween night, we walked the kids through our local neighborhood taking candy from strangers.

I think that’s page 16 of the parent handbook.

We stopped at one house I had never been to before.

I didn’t know the people, but it was Halloween, so we stopped.

When we got there, they gave the kids candy... AND... they gave the adults Vodka Jello Shots.

Amen!

I gladly accepted it... and enjoyed it... without any hesitation.

Hey kids, don’t ever accept Vodka Jello Shots from a stranger!!!

Stupid on my part?

Perhaps.

But it was good.

And this was small town America, what could possibly go wrong?  

If you listen real closely, you can hear John Mellencamp playing in the background.

Now come on, would I have accepted a Vodka Jello Shot from a stranger in New York?

On the corner of 26th Street and 5th Avenue?

I don’t think so.

Addendum:   So my friend Phil is visiting me this weekend from LA.   I met him at Grand Central Station and we walked down Park Avenue.   

When we got to the corner of 33rd and Park, there were two men standing outside of a dark Pret A Manger Restaurant, which had just closed.   

One of the guys was holding a box filled with fresh cut fruit cups.   He said he was going to throw them away and asked if we wanted them.   

Yada yada yada.  

We now have breakfast.

So much for that theory.