Time For Change

Unfortunately George Carlin was a wee bit before my time.

Rumor has it he was hilarious.

Actually, I’m well aware that he was the first ever host of Saturday Night Live.

And I’m well aware of his seven dirty words skit.

I’ve even used all seven of those words in a sentence.

If you don’t believe me, just ask my kids.

But one of his routines that I have seen, and that made me laugh out loud, is his routine on “Stuff.”

If you haven’t seen it, just click here, AFTER you’ve finished my blog.

I know he was just trying to be funny.

And he was.

But his was act was pretty darn true too.

Like the part about your house being a place to keep your “stuff” while you go out and get more “stuff.”

Or the part about “their stuff is junk” and “your junk is stuff.”

Except he used one of those seven words for junk.

There’s nothing really funny about moving.

I suppose if you are going to a bigger place... in a better place... it can be fun.

But funny, not really.

One of the little hidden gems of moving is the process of changing your address.

If you haven’t moved in a while, you have NO idea what fun you are missing.

Since we are in between homes at the moment, I hired a P.O. Box to be our home address for the time being.

Then I started writing down all of the places I needed to contact to change our address.

There were the obvious ones, like banks and credit cards.

And magazines.

The less obvious ones, like grocery stores and old employers.

And frequent flyer airlines.

And then there are the ones that I forgot all about.

When the list was complete, the tally had reached 77.

77 different places where I needed to change my address.

Talk about stuff.

Some companies made it easy by doing it on their website.

As long as you remembered your user ID.

And your password.

Or your security question.

And the answer to that question.

Other companies make you fax them.

Does anybody really own a fax machine?

Other companies want you to write them.

And then there are most of them who I needed to call.

As someone who is sans employment at the moment, I was fortunately able to carve out some significant time in my busy schedule to get this done.

And that still wasn’t enough.

The first call was to my old mortgage company.

Since I was in full multi-task mode, it was no big deal when they put me on hold.

For five minutes.

Then ten.

Then fifteen.

Really.

Apparently they “were experiencing high call traffic” or something like that.

But I finally got that one done and moved onto the next.

Did you know that menu options have changed?

I must’ve heard that one a thousand times.

“Please pay attention because our menu options have changed.”

Menu options?

Who did I call, Denny’s?

I wish I had a postage stamp for every time I was told that my call would be “monitored or recorded for quality purposes.”

Really?

As if the job of being on the phone with losers like me isn’t bad enough.

There are people whose job it is to listen to our phone calls.

Wow.

I’d rather dress up like a sandwich and hold one of those signs telling drivers that there is a Subway restaurant in that mini-mall.

At least they can listen to music all day.

One of the companies I called had a list of security questions to make sure I was who I said I was.

One of the questions asked, “what county did I live in when I was in high school?”

Really?

First of all, I went to high school 26 YEARS AGO.

Second of all, I went to three different high schools in three different cities on two different coasts.

I can’t remember ANYTHING I learned in high school.

How in the world can I tell you what county I was in?

I was also asked to verify my last four addresses.

Good luck with that.

By the time the day was done, I was wiped out.

But my mission was accomplished.

Well almost.

I still have about 15 to go.

And then I get to do it all again when we find a permanent residence.

That’s where those seven words come in.

Ground Control

At about 1:15pm Saturday afternoon, I was riding the C train from Penn Station to Ground Zero on the ninth anniversary of the day that changed the world forever.

I was one stop away from my destination when the doors opened, three men, dressed alike, busted into our train and started screaming.

Honestly, before I could process anything they had said, they had successfully scared the hell out of me.

(And I would imagine everyone else on the train).

I must admit that the idea of visiting the area where the World Trade Center was attacked is still a bit nerve wracking.

Visiting the area where the World Trade Center was attacked ON September 11 is downright eery.

But as I stated before, visiting Ground Zero on 9/11 was something that I felt I had to do. 

As for the three men who joined our train.

Well, as they came on, they shouted something like, “we are not here to cause any trouble, we are here to entertain.”

Then, within five seconds, which felt like five minutes, they turned on a boom box and did an amazing acrobatic meets gymnastic meets break-dancing exhibition.

All while the subway was in full motion.

At the end of the routine, they politely said if anybody wanted to donate money, it would be much appreciated.

Their routine included a series of flips and leaps and jumps, all in the narrow aisle of one subway train.

All with the train at full speed.

I don’t know if they caught anyone else off guard, maybe this happens all the time in New York.

But considering I had already psyched myself up for the scene at Ground Zero, I was definitely not prepared to see a dance routine -- as amazing as it was.

When I got off my train, I walked down Church Street towards the World Trade Center area.

I barely made it half a block before I was greeted by controversy.

The story of the Islamic Community Center/”Ground Zero Mosque” was definitely the hot issue in lower Manhattan.

There were protesters from both sides exchanging very heated words to anybody who would oppose their position.

And in some cases, some people who were on their side.

There was a two-hour rally hosted by a far right conservative group that opposed the building of a mosque so close to Ground Zero.

The rally was attended by thousands of people, hundreds of media and hundreds of others, like me, who had nothing better to do.   

Considering all the flip cameras I saw, I’m sure you can watch many versions of the rally on youtube.

If you have nothing better to do.

As you might imagine, the crowd on both sides of this topic was incredibly passionate.   

I saw dozens of heated discussions/arguments, but fortunately I did not see one physical altercation.

At one point, I noticed a man getting handcuffed and moved into the back of an NYPD police car.

But considering how many people were there and how many of those people were screaming at each other, that’s an incredibly low number.

At the end of the rally, the conservative group had to walk out of their venue and directly past a group of people with completely different beliefs.

There was a recipe for disaster and I was standing literally in the middle of it.

For a moment, actually several moments, it felt like a riot would start, but the true authorities moved in very quickly and moved everyone out.

They used police on horses, on mopeds, on feet, in cars, whatever it took.

And they did a great job.

After things settled, I spoke with one of the members of the NYPD, the one dressed in suit and tie, and I told him his people did an amazing job of being patient.

Which they did.

He said thanks, but then expressed that his fellow officers are the only ones that have not had a chance to grieve since 9/11 and that they were flat out exhausted.

The good news is there was no riot. 

Being right in the middle was quite an amazing experience and while I don’t share the passion of either side, I definitely respect the right that people have to voice their opinion.

I did not know anyone killed on September 11, 2001.

I did not live in New York at the time.

There is no way that I can truly connect with those that did.

But for one day, being surrounded by people who believe in something, even if its something that I may not believe in, was an experience that I won’t forget.

A Quick Trip

It has been a few days since my last posting and there’s a good reason for that.

I just got back into the big apple after a surprise trip home to see my family.

It was supposed to be a Gomer Pyle type of secret for the three kids with Surprise, Surprise, Surprise.

Unfortunately, the oldest two have big ears.

My son overheard my wife talking.   And my oldest daughter overheard her aunt talking.

But fortunately my six-year old daughter was totally blown away when she woke up from her car-ride nap, at the airport, staring at her dad.

That moment made it all worth it.

But there were plenty of other great moments as well.

Like the hug I got from my 13-year old girl, which was downright painful.

She squeezed so hard, she took my breath away.

Literally.

Just imagine if it was still a secret.

My time at home was just short of 57 hours, but this wasn’t about quantity.

This was all about quality.

And spending time together.

Watching TV, going to the park, playing video games, throwing the frisbee, drinking slurpees, getting the mail.

For a moment, it almost felt like I lived there.

We even got to go to the all-you-can-eat Chinese Buffet that the kids love so much.

The last time we were there, I got food poisoning.

This time, my six-year old got a stomach ache.

Things are getting better.

No wonder they love it.

It had been three long weeks since I had seen the family, but it had ONLY been three weeks.

Still, it has felt like forever.

I knew what the long distance runaround was doing to me, but I didn’t really understand what it was doing to them.

Especially my oldest child.

At 13, she’s at an age where she doesn’t always let me know how she is feeling.

Until now.

Between the initial rib-crushing hug, followed by a series of others that felt just like it, I could tell, she needed to see me.

We talked about school, about life, about me, about her.

We talked about something.   We talked about nothing.

But we talked.

A lot.

And it was great.

I’m certainly not suggesting that we didn’t talk before, but this was different.

I think she knew the clock was ticking on my time at home and she wanted to take advantage of every single second.

And so did I.

I made sure to visit my mother’s assisted living home to say hello.   I didn’t think surprising an 80-year old was a good idea, so I called ahead of time.

She couldn’t have been happier to see me.   

She wasn’t as happy to see me go.

The number one question on everybody’s list was, how is New York?   How is the job?   How are you doing?

Ok, that’s three.

I answered them all, as many times as they were asked, but I always tried to give the kids a little something extra about their new home.

We took a trip over the local Farmer’s Market, where we bought some kettle corn and honey roasted peanuts.

I told the kids that I bought some honey roasted peanuts last week on the corner of 42nd Street and 5th Avenue.

And across the street from that, I bought the best italian sausage in the city.

And down the street from there, I bought an authentic New York Pretzel.

I could tell from their reaction, I was speaking their language.

Can you tell that our family enjoys its food?

Honestly, I think they are very excited about the move.

But until we sell the house, nobody’s moving nowhere.

And that is the hard part.

For now, they just know New York as the place that stole their dad.

With every mention of Broadway or the Garlic Bread at Carmine’s or a ride on the Subway or a trip to Yankee Stadium, I can see their excitement level rise.

The challenge is keeping up that excitement until the move actually happens.

Or until I see them again.

Apple Bottom Genes

I was planning on keeping my new hometown a secret.

At least that was the plan.

But with each day I walk around this amazing city, I think to myself...

...Self...

THAT’S A BLOG.  

AND THAT’S A BLOG.

AND THAT’S A BLOG TOO.

Through the first seven entries in my new journey, I’ve managed to make vague references to the greatest city in the world.

Well, enough is enough.

I AM A NEW YORKER.  

And proud of it.

If I want to write about yesterday’s journey through the subway system, where I took three different trains to go 17 blocks, then I’m going to write about it.

Just for fun, take a look at the map of the New York subway system and tell me it doesn’t look like Russell Crowe’s wall in A Beautiful Mind.

And if I want to write about the eight-cent tax on sliced bagels, but no tax on unsliced ones, I’m going to write about that too.

Why don’t they just call it the anti-Semetic tax?

Just because we own all of the banks on 5th avenue and all of the jewelry stores on 47th street doesn’t mean we can afford an extra eight cents on a sliced bagel.

And if I want to write about eating dinner from a street vendor near Times Square, I’m done with the secret code of...

... so I decided to have a meal from this place.

The truth is tonight after work, I enjoyed a beautiful lamb and chicken combo from a street vendor near Times Square.

Not just any street vendor, but KWIK MEAT.

Yep, that Kwik Meat.

The 2008 runner-up for the Vendy Award.

You know the Vendy Award, the annual award handed out for the most outstanding street meat.

Street meat, that’s what us New Yorkers call it.

Well tonight after work, I was told “you gotta go up to 45th and sixth to the get the best street meat in the city.”

I thought all the vendors were the same.

“Trust me," he said.

So I headed up to 45th and sixth... Yada Yada Yada... $8.50 later ($9.20 with the tax), I had a great dinner.

GREAT!

I can still remember my mom telling me that I couldn’t eat off the floor, so I can only imagine how she would feel about me eating off the street.

But she obviously never tried Kwik Meat.

Let me tell you, this stuff was good.   Real good.

Well, actually I won’t know how good until tomorrow.

My dad split many of his years between Los Angeles and New 

York.  

He always raved about the Big Apple, but I never really understood why.

Until now.

There is just something electric about this place.

The buildings.   The taxis.   The restaurants.

But that stuff about this being the city that never sleeps is a bunch of hogwash.

A friend of mine was in town this week and we met up for a late dinner.   

No problem, this is New York.

Plus she was staying in one of the busiest parts of town.

Well, so much for that theory.

One place stopped serving at 9:30, another at 10.

Is this Cleveland or New York?

We eventually found a place and had a great meal.

There are so many restaurants in this city that you better be great or you will be gone by breakfast.

Its no wonder why you try to walk so much in this place.   

Its to avoid having your belt buckle explode on you.

I guess that gets us back to Kwik Meat.

These vendors are on EVERY corner.

In the morning, you can get a muffin on one street.

Three bananas for a dollar on another.

Coffee on another.

Then later its a pretzel.

And a hot dog.

And wash that down with the lamb & chicken combo.

I would call that a perfect day.   

Actually, I would call it a normal day.

At least the pretzel part.   

My goal is to break Cal Ripken’s streak by eating a pretzel every day for the next 17 years.

I think I can do it.

It sure will be fun trying.