Another Rant Sports Blog Post.

Check it out, " Victor Cruz, Hakeem Nicks Keys to the New York Giants 2013 NFL Season"

Less Tech More Freedom When It Comes To Writing.

I have decided to hand write the CERN story after rewriting chapter one three times on the computer. The problem about writing on the computer besides the distraction of the internets is the grammatical mistakes I have been making. I have solved this problem by unplugging myself and using a moleskine notebook. These suckers aren't cheep but it's as if you are really writing a book when you put your pencil to the paper. Currently I am on page 50 of chapter 5. I prefer writing with a pencil and paper because believe it or not I have more control over what I am doing. This may seem strange but there is more freedom in working with analogue technology. This is only my first draft and I plan on typing it out after it is fully written and revised (edited).  Changes are really easy to make as all you need is an eraser, I can carry it around all over the place and I can work on it regardless of a power source. That's the very definition of freedom.

Blogging for RantSports 'bout my Giants.

Check out the links, yo.

New York Giants’ GM Must Draft Players that Can Stop Washington Redskins’ QB Robert Griffin III 

New York Giants 2013: Is Best First-Round Draft Prospect Manti Te’o?

Advice on Writing from the Internets.

I check out Reddit daily as you know by now, as this is part of the name of my blog. I came across an interesting writing tip for finishing a story. The author of this linked blog says to write both the beginning and end at the same time. He states when writing the End your mind now has an easy goal to focus on.

After you write your first chapter, or after you reach your first conflict, take a break and write the ending. Not all the ending, just the important part. It could be a chapter, a scene, or a series of scenes.

How does that help, you will ask? Let me tell you what it did for me, and I think that it is a pure psychological ‘trick,’ a writer’s Placebo, if you will.

I sat down and I wrote the last 3 scenes of my novel. They were the scenes where everything I worked over those 100k pages came together. Plot lines were closed, mysteries revealed, characters’ quests concluded. People shook hands and said goodbye.

As soon as I did that, somehow, deep down inside of me, I felt like I almost finished the book. It felt as if by the simple act of writing that final part, I have managed to close a circle and everything just fell into place.

Thinking about doing this instead of plodding along with my outline. I let you know the results.

CERN STORY- First Draft of 1st and 2nd Chapters (Re)Written.

After boothing at the Gotham Writer's Workshop two-weeks ago I re-wrote the first chapter paying close attention to the criticisms of the other writers. I flipped and combined the initial Chapter 2 into the First Chapter, while taking out the last part of Chapter 1 and used it as the beginning of Chapter 2.  This took a while as I changed some parts of the story to add details that weren't there before and took out devices that didn't work. Revising can be more difficult than writing the original. That being said I am still not satisfied with the first two Chapters as they need more description, specifically one of the characters who remains an enigma. Whether I choose to leave it this way and develop him later in Chapter 3 seems like an idea I am entertaining at the moment.

Recommended Reading for Everyone Who Lives in the US

"If you are confused by the notion that those least able to pay are the ones singled out to pay the highest rates, welcome to the American medical marketplace."

Link to the Time Magazine article.

"What are the reasons, good or bad, that cancer means a half-million- or million-dollar tab? Why should a trip to the emergency room for chest pains that turn out to be indigestion bring a bill that can exceed the cost of a semester of college? What makes a single dose of even the most wonderful wonder drug cost thousands of dollars? Why does simple lab work done during a few days in a hospital cost more than a car? And what is so different about the medical ecosystem that causes technology advances to drive bills up instead of down?....

Taken as a whole, these powerful institutions (non-profit hospitals) and the bills they churn out dominate the nation’s economy and put demands on taxpayers to a degree unequaled anywhere else on earth. In the U.S., people spend almost 20% of the gross domestic product on health care, compared with about half that in most developed countries. Yet in every measurable way, the results our health care system produces are no better and often worse than the outcomes in those countries."

Man's Reaction to Falling Meteor in Russia.

Redrafting 1st and 2nd Chapters.

Oh no, I was boothed recently at the Gotham Writer's Workshop Fiction Writers Class I am taking. This is just there way of having the author be silent through the whole critique. Basically, every one in the class has a say in commenting on what you wrote. In light of these recent critiques I will be combining the first two chapters into one chapter, adding changes to some of the characters, simplifying the sentences, and changing some bits in the story that don't seem to work.

I figure its better to revise with these critiques in mind before I start the most complicated part of the story, chapter 3. Stay tuned...

2nd Chapter, 1st draft complete.

Just finished the second chapter. It is 11 pages long. With the first that makes the first two chapters 25 pages in length total. Chapter 3 is already outlined so hopefully it will take a day or two to write when I have the time.

1st Short Story Update

If you go back to the beginning of this blog I attempted to write a short story about CERN and it's Large Hadron Collider. I posted around 3 short chapters and stopped. Currently, I am taking a fiction writing class at Gotham Writer's Workshop. I have restarted the story and will periodically post updates on my progress.

At present I am writing the second chapter-- 5 pages in, with the third chapter already planned out. The first and second chapters constitute around 20 MicroSoft Word pages double-spaced. My goals, when writing, are 5 pages a day with 15-20 page chapters. Looking at my notes there are roughly 20 chapters.

At the end of every first chapter draft I will post a progress update.

MTA East Side River Access LIRR to Grand Central (Sand Hogs at Work)

*Photographs taken from the mta's facebook page https://www.facebook.com/MTA.info

Dialogue with Subtext. Writing Exercise.

Not sure what the subtext is but I tried to create some sort of underlying conflict. 

            “Listen, maybe this isn’t such a great idea,” the man said.

            “I told you about the car, I had a friend rent it form Avis at JFK. Just call your mark. I’ll park the car right by that school on 58^th street coming up here,” the driver said.

            “Some friend you are. Where?” the man said.

            “Right by the scaffolding on the right side of the street,” said the driver.

            “Alright, I’ll text him. Do see any cameras?” The man asked the driver.

            “No.” The driver said. “I can’t really see much with the window tint.”

            “Can you turn the radio down?” the man said.

            “What you don’t like the Notorious B.I.G.? Notorious is a classic”

            “You may be a guini but your no gumba. I don’t wanna hear that shit,” The man said.

            “I was just getting in the mood,” said the driver.

            “There is only one mood you need to be and that’s steady. Are you sure there aren’t any cameras around here. There has to be, it’s a fucking school. These days with all the school shootings they’d probably couldn’t open their doors if they didn’t have some security measures,” said the man. “Couldn’t afford the insurance,” he said to himself.

            “I don’t know its not like I have been here before,” said the driver.

            “You talk too much,” the man said.

            “Did he get back to you yet?” 

            “Yeah, the man said, “He’ll be at the corner of 58^th and 7^th Ave. in 10 minutes.”

            “Can I ask you a question?” said the driver.

            “What like how am I going to do it?” The man said to the driver. “Do I ask you how to do your fucking job?”

            “Hold up. I was gonna ask you where you wanted to go eat afterwards,” said the driver.  

            “Eat?”

            “Yeah, I’m hungry. I was thinking about going to a diner and getting a burger at a diner. And I was going to ask you what part of the city has the best diners?”

            “That’s easy,” the man said.

            “It is? What are you going to say Bay Ridge or Bensonhurst?” replied the driver.

            “For the best diners you have to go where the Greeks are so that would be Astoria. And in Astoria I know a couple of places –Neptune’s on 31^st, Jackson Hole Airport Diner on Astoria Blvd, and Bel Aire on 21^st” said the man.

            “So which one do you want to go to?”
            “I don’t fucking know, why not get McDonalds.”

            “Cause they have cameras” said the driver.  

            “Jackson Hole has the best burgers but Bel Aire puts us north of the Grand Central right by the Triboro or what do they fucking call it now?

            “RFK”

            “Right the RFK Bridge.”

            “Hey, I got eyes on that mook you told me about earlier. That Law School mule who double crossed your friends.”  

            “Hold on I’ll text him again.”

            “Yeah, that’s him.”

            “Hey,” the driver said to the man, “put your fucking hood up before you get out. I don’t want to get caught.”

If the City's Boroughs Were States.

Recent Audit Finds MTA Hiding $90 Million in Unaccounted Funds

In an update to the previous post about the MTA in case you were wondering. The NY POST is reporting that the MTA currently is hiding $90 million in unaccounted funds according to a recent audit conducted by New York State Comptroller Thomas DiNapoli. What doesn't the MTA upgrade the MetroCard system to a tap to ride card that can withstand daily use and is more durable, instead of a de facto tax on the poorest subway riders? 

The MTA claims by charging people who buy new Pay-Per-Ride cards a dollar for a new card it will cut down on $10 million dollars in waste. Leaving odd amounts on the card in my opinion is a better way to change people's behavior that is not punitive. Now we learn that the MTA has a $90 slush fund. What's next? 

In case you are wondering is it because have paid former executives 200K to do nothing in the past? Who knows how many former employes at the MTA are drawing Bobby Bonilla money from the system? 

If you google MTA and salary you will find interesting articles that begin like this.

TOP PAY FOR MTA OFFICIALS ADMINISTRATORS SET RECORDS FOR SALARIES.

Top officials of the Metropolitan Transportation Authority have set records for local government salaries with some executives getting low-interest loans, down payments for homes and other lucrative perks. 

MTA's top salaries are far higher than those paid in New York or other big cities, but agency officials and transit experts defend them, saying the private transportation industry pays far more and offers even more benefit packages to recruit the best people. 

Critics suggest the $295,000-a-year salary paid to MTA Chief Executive Officer Roger Snoble is a sign of the agency's desperation.

Fun Fact About the MTA Folks.

New Pay-Per-Ride Metro Cards will cost you a dollar starting March 3rd. However, you can avoid this fee by reusing your old Metro Card simply by adding money to the card. A new card will be issued to you free of charge if your old card is expiring or damaged. I wouldn't mind if the cards could stand up to the abuse but the Metro Cards the MTA uses are disposable and are not meant for repeated use. At the present time I can and do refill my card at most 5 times before I buy a new one (at most around 40 rides per each card). This will affect a lot of people who scrape together the change needed to get in and out of work in the City, and is a de facto tax raised by the MTA on the poor people of New York City (People who use wage works will not be affected.)

In 2003, the year the NYC subway token was phased out and the fare to ride the subway was raised $2.00. In that same year the State and City comptrollers charged the MTA with hiding almost a billion dollars from its books to justify the fare hike.

I would like the MTA to give me the option to buy a subway card that is designed for daily use and not disposable like the one they use today. Why do I have to fork over another dollar when my card doesn't work. How many times have you refilled your card in the Metro Card Vending Machine only to find out that it doesn't work? What happens then is you eat the money. Because the whole process to get your money back is designed to be such a pain in the ass you'll give up.  So when this happens again do I have to convince the booth operator that my card is damaged so I can pay for the rides without the surcharge? Or do I have to mail my card to Albany for my dollar? Welcome to living in NYC and oh yeah when is the subway fare going up again? What exactly is the MTA doing with all this cash?

Animated Lord of the Rings Map

Duck, Duck, Goose.

1st Person Multiple Vision - Writing Exercise

LISA

     “Thanks for picking me up today Jen, how is everything going today?”  I said after I got in Jen’s tan 2010 Toyota Camry. It was 8:30 in the morning and we had to be at work by 9 o’clock.

     “Tired.” She said, “What are you doing to for tomorrow’s game?”

      “Ah the Stupid Bowl? Jets vs. Seahawks - - da daaa da daaaaaa. Can I put the radio on?”

      “Yeah, of course Lisa”

      “Justin Bieber’s greatest hits.” I laughed

      “Didn’t he die in a plane crash?” Jen remarked as she turned left off of North Road and onto Boston Post.

     “No, I think that was Britney Spears, the Biebs is still alive but no one listens to him anymore,” I replied putting on some Crunch Dub-Step.

     “How can you like this shit?” Jen said.

     “I like them beats.” I smiled as I tried to poke her in her side rolls. “Plus, it makes the trip into work more eventful. Johnny and I are going to watch the game at a friends house in the residence halls.” I said. “Can I smoke?”

     “Just crack the window and ash outside. How are you two doing?”

     “Okay, I guess.” I was still enrolled in Monroe College taking courses for the finance and computer programming dual major, class of 2022. I needed spending money, so I took a job at Stew Leonard’s that’s how I met Jennifer Clinton. Until then I had to take a bus from New Rochelle to the Westchester Ridge Hill condo and mall complex in Yonkers. It used to take an hour each way . Now it takes 20 minutes thanks to Jen.

     As I smoked, the world rolled by in staccato to the crunch of electronic beats.

     “Who is the opening manager today?” I yelled.

     “Steven” Jen replied. “God, I swear I’m gonna have a pile driver for a headache today if I have to keep listening.”

     “Yes J-e-n.” I switched the radio to some classic rock station. “Hey Joni Mitchell, Big Yellow Taxi.” How appropriate I thought, Jen smiled. I lit another cigarette.

***

STEVEN

     I used to live in Colorado and program computer networks for CISCO Systems in Denver, but that was before my divorce from Kathy. We have two boys, Jason and Michael, I don’t see them much anymore. They should be in high school by now. When we divorced I moved out of state and took a lower paying job as a Stew Leonard’s Manager to cut the alimony and child support payments cause fuck her.  They love me here anyway.  Voted the “Best place to work in Connecticut,” in 2012 and 2013 the company employs over 3,230 team members and did over $600 million in business last year.   It’s a numbers business like any other. This store employs over 250 people and does over one million dollars a week. There is another Stew Leonard’s closer to the city in Yonkers. This store replaced a Whole Foods when it went out of business in 2017.  Most of the time I make sure that the employees are on time and performing their tasks, double-checking the tills and the drops the assistant managers pick up and drop off to me in the office. Aside from that I focus on quality control, which I can do from here. The job can get dull so every once in a while, once or twice a week, I bump a line off the desk.  It’s one of the few perks of getting in early and more effective than coffee. 

     “Hey, Charlie.” I yelled out. Charlie Smith-Hanna was supposed to be in by 8:45 AM to be ready for the cashiers who arrived at 9 AM. But he was late. Today Lisa and Jen were opening with Kit, Mark, and Wendy taking the afternoon shift. We would have to worry about this evening’s shift, as I would assume people would be stocking up on beer, wings, potato chips and dips, and whatever else they would consume for tomorrows game. I took the spread and the Jets to win by 2 touchdowns. J-E-T-S, JETS, JETS, JETS! Where the fuck is Smith-Hanna?

*** 

LISA

     “Can we talk,” I asked Jen before we started our morning shifts as we pulled into the parking garage at the Westchester Ridge Hill Condo and Mall Complex.

     “Sure thing, I thought we were talking,” she said taking a parking ticket from the machine. “What’s up sweetie?”

     “About today’s morning manager,” I said.

     “Steven Winters?”

     “Yeah, I don’t like him, he is a perv. It’s enough I have to tolerate his oogling, but do you know what he said last week?”

     “What?” Jen sighed as she pulled back strands of her blond and gray hair some of the strands fell out. She had been recently losing her hair, no one had said anything to her about it to her.

     “That I was fifty dollars short and it would be coming out of my paycheck.” I said. “Come-on, at most its 5 bucks, that’s on a bad day. He said I could make it up.”

    “How so?”

    “Yeah, I don’t know”

     “Just don’t get locked in that man’s office honey. You may be paying him back in blow jobs” She laughed as she warned. “Who was the assistant manager last week?”

    “Benny,” I said.

    “Sometimes I wonder if Benny ever got hit by a truck.” Jen laughed.

    I laughed too.

    “Do you have a favorite for tomorrows game?” Jen asked as she turned off the car.

    “No. Any team but the Jets,” I said.

    “Yeah, I wonder why. Come-on Lisa we’ll be late if we keep talking.”

    “Okay just don’t leave me alone with Winters, I think Smith-Hanna is the assistant so no worries about being late.”

***

PAUL

     “ Orange, Red or Yellow Stacy?” I called back before I left out the open door. “I’ll get what ever they have then, call me if you need anything else,” I yelled out when she didn’t respond. 

    “That’ll be fine.”

     I put the glasses back and closed the door behind me.

     “Glasses on.” I said. Nothing happened. “Ellium!.” I commanded as I walked onto the courtyard. In the left frame a tiny LCD screen appeared and an earpiece that are connected to the frames and inserted into the ear, came a female voice, “ How can I be of assistance?”

    “Supermarket.”

    “Hi Paul there is a Whole Foods in the Westchester Ridge Hill Complex on Market Street. Please follow the hi-lighted path to your destination. Will that be all?”

     “Yes.”

     During my brisk 15-minute walk through Archer Ave. and Market St, I passed a total of 10 people.

     “Actually no. Glasses on.”

     “Yes Paul,” the female avatar said politely. I hadn’t yet customized the VSC-2020s but when you purchase them at least the name of the buyer is programmed into the software. Voice recognition is activated when they are first turned on by the individual user. The whole customization thing is a pain in the ass.

     “What is the weather like today?”

     “Weather for Yonkers, High of 36 degrees falling to 26 degrees Fahrenheit with a 46% chance of snow. Will that be all?”

     “Yes, that is all. Thank you Ellium.”

      Not exactly the City but still quaint, Westchester’s Ridge Hill was a mall that was supposed to resemble a town in Florida or Arizona with one Avenue and a couple of streets. All of the stores and restaurants were within 15-30 minutes walking distance. There was also a tram but it wasn’t running at 9:48 on a Saturday morning. The sign on the supermarket says Stew Leonard’s not Whole Foods.   

     “Gatorade” I mumble to myself, “….Excuse me?” Over by the entrance is an employee wearing a white smock stacking oranges in evenly spaced patterns paying much attention to the detail of the spacing. “Sports drinks?”

     “You have to go all the way around until you see them. Sorry but there’s no easy way to it. But it’s right next to the canned goods,“ he said.

     “Can I ask you another question?” 

     “Whole Foods moved out three years ago buddy. Upgrade your glasses.”

     “Thanks.” As I walked through the supermarket I realized that it had no aisles, just cut thrus every once and a while so you have to snake your way and meander through the whole entire store picking out the goods you want to buy.

     “Ellium what is my schedule for this week?”  I said, talking to my glasses. Calendar dates for the week of Monday 2/3/2020 were projected into the left lens.

     “Should I add anything Paul?”

     The Gatorade was by the canned goods like the man said. It just took some time walking around the store like some abandoned Coney Island funhouse without mirrors.

     “No, but you can stop calling me by my first name all the time.”

     “How shall I address you then?”

      I also picked up some other items for tomorrows game.  And approached the register: Smoked Gouda, potato chips, sour cream, French onion dip, fresh broccoli, carrots and Gatorade were almost spilling out of my arms.

     “Don’t. You don’t have to use my name. It creeps me out.”

     “Yes, sir.” She said, as I put the items down on the check out counter.

      Stacy called right as the items were being scanned. Digging the phone out of my pocket I answered,           

     “Hello?”

     “Hey, it’s me. Can you get some beer too, or wine if they have it? I really don’t want to go over Frank and Sarah’s without bringing something,” she asked.

     “$45.42,” the cashier looked up and said to me, “How do you want to pay?” The name on her badge said JEN in thick black lettering.

     “What? Wait, can I get wine or beer before I pay?”

     “Sir?”

     “One second okay?” I replied racing through the store like some TV reality obstacle course. The beer was next to the bottles of soda and water by the canned goods where the sports-drinks were. It took me less than 5 minutes to get a 12-Pack of IPA Craft Beer. I must have set some sort of record somewhere.

***

STEVEN

     “Morning Jen, Morning Lisa. You two look pretty today I see.” I lied. Jen’s hair had been falling out for quite some time now and it was kind of gross to look at her. “Can I see you in my office Lisa?” The store just opened at 10 AM and there were already some people shopping, but Jen could handle a few customers herself.

     “Am I in trouble?” Lisa said, as she was counting her till I had given her.

     “No. You don’t have to count that out.”

     “If this is about you saying that I was short last Saturday I think I do” Lisa smiled. She was beautiful in a careless way that time will take from her gradually, but what did she know? “Jen, have you seen Smith-Hanna?”

     “No, Steven we came in together as usual.”

     “You were short by $50 on Saturday Lisa.” She had put up her dark hair in a ponytail and I thought it looked cute. The angrier she got the more her hair bounced and jittered around.

     “Did you ask Benny?” She looked at Jen and Jen look back at me.

     “Huh? I was lost for a second. “Where did that guy who was at your register go Jen? An old man and a woman had just arrived to Lisa’s checkout counter.

     “I think he left,” She said casually.

     “Without paying?” I asked.

     “Hi, “ the man said to Lisa.

     “Just one second Sir, I have to finish with the till,” she replied to him. 

     “Yeah, what a jerk,” said Jen.

     “Did you ask Benny about the drop he made?” Lisa repeated herself.

     “Not yet.”

     “Hey what’s that on your shirt?” Lisa asked, pushing in the Jets pin with her finger.

     “My Super-Bowl MMXX flair.”

     “What about the other team?” she said putting the till in the cash register.

     “I don’t support the Seahawks.”

     “Well don’t talk to me until you speak with Benny, I’ll speak with you and him but I’m not going to your office, you can fire me if you want.” She began scanning he man’s items.

     “Alright then let’s hope its an honest mistake.” Fuck this. I left to see what else was going on. “I have to find Smith-Hanna. Have a lovely day ladies.”

     “Thank you,” they replied, as I turned my back, feeling as if I was being flipped off picking up some crap and Purple Gatorade from Jen’s register, who drinks purple? I’m off to give this shit to Smith-Hanna to restock. I’ll check the security camera later.

***

PAUL

     “Hey, JEN?” I called out, “Where is the rest of the stuff?” The beer was getting heavy so I switched it from under one arm to the other. No one replied. An elderly woman looked back casually as the supermarket radio station played some dance song from the 1980s. 

     “Hello?!”

     “Wait your turn,” said the woman standing in front of me, her hair was gray and short. She wore some throwback glasses and a purple jump suit that zipped up with white shoes.

     “JEN, can I check out now? I got the beer where is the rest of the stuff.” I continued,. “You know, politeness still accounts for something these days. What makes you think…” the woman standing in front of me continued by this time she was looking directly up at me, almost into my nose. Everyone stopped what they were doing and all looked at me, or at her yelling at me.

     “Look I was here before, a minute ago, checking out.” 

     “Forget it,” the old woman said and turned around. “I apologize for this man’s lack of civility today,” she addressed the old man and two employees who then began their activities as before like nothing had happened. How fucking embarrassing was that? JEN went to another register turning on the light to let them know she was open to scan their items.

     “Is that all?” said the cashier who had short thick brown hair whose nametag read LISA as I put down the 12 Pack of IPA Craft Beer.

     “Yes,” I said. No I meant, where is my other stuff? 

     “That will be $18.59.”

     I pulled out a $20 bill from my wallet and paid the cashier. “Is there another store that sells sport drinks around here?” I asked.

     LISA looked at him, “Is that your hat?” she said.

     “Yes, Super Bowl MMXX. Do you think we will win?” I smiled at her confident in the Jets new rookie running back and retooled offensive line as she bagged the 12 pack of IPA Craft Beer and gave me my change with the receipt.

     “No. The Jets suck.” LISA said and then turned to the next costumer, “Hi, welcome to Stew Leonard’s. Did you find everything you came for today?” As I left the store all I could think was, “Gatorade, fucking Gatorade.”

That is all.

1st Person Single Vision- Writing Exercise

     “Can you believe it?” she said excitedly about the new place. “Two and a half bedrooms, two baths, a GIGANTIC living room with an outdoor patio? What the fuck? This place was a steal,” Stacy said to me when we moved in twirling like it was the Sound of Music and she was one of the Von Trap sisters. I couldn’t break her heart but it was a condo complex in an outdoor mall in Yonkers in the middle of the boondocks. It overlooked a parkway, graveyard, and was not a stone’s throw away from an electrical switching station. Moving from Long Island City after a third of it was permanently flooded to Yonkers was a shock but at least we could have a dog now if it didn’t’ get run over, electrocuted, or buried in a ditch.

     It was the beginning of February and the move was simple enough but there were too many boxes lying around half-opened, stacked on top of one another, pushed out of the way into the corners. We lived on take out from mall restaurants for the first two days. The cable guy couldn’t come until the 15^th for whatever reason but the televisions were already mounted in front of the couches right by the fireplace and bedroom. Some part of me wanted desperately to by a big ole white bear skin rug, tell Stacy to invite her girlfriends over, ply them with wine and see what happens. But we had two boxes full of movies and an empty apartment ready to be filled, stacked, and sorted with the discretion of our conspicuous consumption beliefs and patterns.  A world full of possibilities.

     “Hey, where is the electronics box? I want to see if there is a coaxial cable we can plug into the wall. Maybe we can get basic cable?”

     “I don’t know Paul, I think it may be in a box titled office or electronics.”

     “Stacy, Can you brew me a cup of coffee at least? I’m going to look in the boxes we put in the office or second bedroom. Shit what are we going to do with all this space?”

     “I don’t know, first world problems Paul.” She said yelling almost from the master bedroom.

     “Yeah.”  I mean when a place is empty it sounds empty but this place sounded beautiful. When I got to the second bedroom I just wanted to yell back, “R-I-C-O-L-A.” But Stacy would find that shit annoying sometimes.

     “Coffee is ready.” After 15 minutes of looking in a pile of unlabeled boxes I found the cable and grabbed some coffee when the doorbell rang.

     “Hey are you expecting someone? It’s S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y.”

     “I think it may be a package from Amazon,” she said.

     Should I care that I look like a bum? I opened the door trying not to.

     “Hey.”

     “Package for Mrs. Bart. Just sign here please,” the man dressed in the FedEx deliveryman uniform for today said.

     I had to take off my glasses, “Sure” I replied as I fumbled with them and, “Thanks,” when I closed the door.

    She came in half dressed after just having taken a shower, “Is this it?”

     “Yeah, is that it? You know if I was a deliveryman and you came to the door like that I’d pass out due to blood loss.”

     “Get away” she said smiling as I tried to grab her exposed breasts walking away back to the bedroom. “Hey can you do me a favor and get me some Gatorade at the store? I think I had too much to drink last night.”

     “Think? Which way is the store again?”

     “Just use the glasses that I got you for your birthday.”

     “Awesome.” But not exactly I got my coat, wallet, keys and phone, put some pants on and walked out the door, “ Orange, Red or Yellow Stacy?” I called back before I left out the open door. “I’ll get what ever they have then, call me if you need anything else,” I yelled out when she didn’t respond. 

    “That’ll be fine.”

     I put the glasses back and closed the door behind me.

    “Glasses on.” I said. Nothing happened. “Ellium!.” I commanded as I walked onto the courtyard. In the left frame a tiny LCD screen appeared and an earpiece that are connected to the frames and inserted into the ear, came a female voice, “ How can I be of assistance?”

     “Supermarket.”

    “Hi Paul there is a Whole Foods in the Westchester Ridge Hill Complex on Market Street. Please follow the hilighted path to your destination. Will that be all?”

     “Yes.”

     During my brisk 15 minute walk through Archer Ave. and Market St, I passed a total of 10 people.

     “Actually no. Glasses on.”

     “Yes Paul,” the female avatar said politely. I hadn’t yet customized the VSC-2020s but when you purchase them at least the name of the buyer is programmed into the software. Voice recognition is activated when they are first turned on by the individual user. The whole customization thing is a pain in the ass.

     “What is the weather like today?”

     “Weather for Yonkers, High of 36 degrees falling to 26 degrees Fahrenheit with a 46% chance of snow. Will that be all?”

     “Yes, that is all. Thank you Ellium.”

Not exactly the City but still quaint, Westchester’s Ridge Hill was a mall that was supposed to resemble a town in Florida or Arizona with one Avenue and a couple of streets. All of the stores and restaurants were within 15-30 minutes walking distance. There was also a tram but it wasn’t running at 9:48 on a Saturday morning. The sign on the supermarket says Stew Leonard’s not Whole Foods.    

     “Gatorade” I mumble to myself, “….Excuse me?” Over by the entrance is an employee wearing a white smock stacking oranges in evenly spaced patterns paying much attention to the detail of the spacing. “Sports drinks?”

     “You have to go all the way around until you see them. Sorry but there’s no easy way to it. But it’s right next to the canned goods“ He said.

     “Can I ask you another question?” 

     “Whole Foods moved out three years ago buddy. Upgrade your glasses.”

     “Thanks.” As I walked through the supermarket I realized that it had no aisles, just cut thrus every once and a while so you have to snake your way and meander through the whole entire store picking out the goods you want to buy.

     “Ellium what is my schedule for this week?”  I said, talking to my glasses. Calendar dates for the week of Monday 2/3/2020 were projected into the left lens.

     “Should I add anything Paul?”

     The Gatorade was by the canned goods like the man said. It just took some time walking around the store like some abandoned Coney Island funhouse without mirrors.

     “No, but you can stop calling me by my first name all the time.”

     “How shall I address you then?”

     I also picked up some other items for tomorrows game.  And approached the register: Smoked Gouda, potato chips, sour cream, French onion dip, fresh broccoli, carrots and Gatorade were almost spilling out of my arms.

     “Don’t. You don’t have to use my name. It creeps me out.”

     “Yes, sir.” She said, as I put the items down on the check out counter.

      Stacy called right as the items were being scanned. Digging the phone out of my pocket I answered,        
      “Hello?”

       “Hey, it’s me. Can you get some beer too, or wine if they have it? I really don’t want to go over Frank and Sarah’s without bringing something,” she asked.

     “$45.42,” the cashier looked up and said to me, “How do you want to pay?” The name on her badge said JEN in thick black lettering.

     “What? Wait, can I get wine or beer before I pay?”

     “Sir?”

     “One second okay?” I replied racing through the store like some TV reality obstacle course. The beer was next to the bottles of soda and water by the canned goods where the sports-drinks were. It took me less than 5 minutes to get a 12-Pack of IPA Craft Beer. I must have set some sort of record somewhere.

     “Hey, JEN?” I called out, “Where is the rest of the stuff?” The beer was getting heavy so I switched it from under one arm to the other. No one replied. An elderly woman looked back casually as the supermarket radio station played some dance song from the 1980s. 

     “Hello?!”

     “Wait your turn,” said the woman standing in front of me, her hair was gray and short. She wore some throwback glasses and a purple jump suit that zipped up with white shoes.

     “JEN, can I check out now? I got the beer where is the rest of the stuff.” I continued,. “You know, politeness still accounts for something these days. What makes you think…” the woman standing in front of me continued by this time she was looking directly up at me, almost into my nose. Everyone stopped what they were doing and all looked at me, or at her yelling at me.

    “Look I was here before, a minute ago, checking out.” 

    “Forget it,” the old woman said and turned around. “I apologize for this man’s lack of civility today,” she addressed the old man and two employees who then began their activities as before like nothing had happened. How fucking embarrassing was that? JEN went to another register turning on the light to let them know she was open to scan their items.

    “Is that all?” said the cashier who had short thick brown hair whose nametag read LISA as I put down the 12 Pack of IPA Craft Beer.

    “Yes,” I said. No I meant, where is my other stuff? 

    “That will be $18.59.”

     I pulled out a $20 bill from my wallet and paid the cashier. “Is there another store that sells sport drinks around here?” I asked.

     LISA looked at him, “Is that your hat?” she said.

     “Yes, Super Bowl MMXX. Do you think we will win?” I smiled at her confident in the Jets new rookie running back and retooled offensive line as she bagged the 12 pack of IPA Craft Beer and gave me my change with the receipt.

     “No. The Jets suck.” LISA said and then turned to the next costumer, “Hi, welcome to Stew Leonard’s. Did you find everything you came for today?” As I left the store all I could think was, “Gatorade, fucking Gatorade.”

Skeleton of Richard the III Found Under Parking Lot in Leicester, England.

The Award (if I had one) for Best News Story of the Day (Week, Month, Year) goes to the BBC when it reported DNA results have confirmed the skeleton found underneath a Leicester parking lot in August 2012 is Richard III remains, the last of the Plantagenet Kings of England. He died on the battlefield in 1485 and was immortalized by Shakespeare in the last lines of his eponymous historical play of the king, "A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse." Recent historical research suggests that Shakespeare was acting as a propagandist on behalf of the Tudors in maligning Richard III whose death ended the War of the Roses.

Read more about Richard III  (Reddit links).

Our Super Bowl Party Spread

There was much more than the lumpia, sliders, mozzarella and tomatoes on a toothpick, sausage balls, guacamole, chili, and wings you may or may not see in the picture.



** overheard -- Best Line of the Night- Mary, "Ray Lewis must have just killed the lights."

Cat(ch)

3rd Person, Limited View Writing Exercise.

            “Get Gatorade she said,” Paul Bart intoned to himself as he left the condo overlooking the Sprain parkway in Yonkers in search of something he could easily find in a Queens bodega. This was before Stacy was promoted to Senior Vice-President of Valley Stream Communications, a subsidiary of one of the last two U.S. telecommunication companies after the Chinese Multinational Huawei Technologies bought AT&T and Verizon Wireless.

            “Red, yellow, or orange STACY?!”  he bellowed back into the apartment. Stacy was in the bedroom trying on different earrings that arrived in the morning that Paul had signed for in his worn LA Dodgers T-shirt and plaid blue boxers, coffee in hand, bed-head in full effect. Pulling his glasses off he thanked the deliveryman, and tossed the Amazon package on top of the pile of moving boxes that still had yet to be un-packed and put away.

            “I’ll get what ever they have then, call me if you need anything else”, he said.

            “That’ll be fine” ,she called out from the bathroom busy with the drone of the blow-dryer.

            Gathering his jacket, wallet, keys, phone, and New York Jets cap, Paul Bart walked out the door and into the courtyard of Westchester’s Ridge Hill Luxury Condo and mall development. The trees planted in the outside mall 10 years ago were barren and the weather was unusually cold for the beginning of February. He headed east on Archer Ave, walking past luxury department and boutique technology stores. “ Supermarket?” He said to no one in particular.  A yellow line appeared on the inside of his glasses bending south on Market Street. Whole Foods was three hundred yards away. All he had to do was follow the line. The avenue and streets of the outdoor mall were quiet in the morning. Paul only past a few young professionals walking to the gym for a morning workout, a family of four, and an elderly couple walking in the same direction to an IHOP restaurant. The chain restaurant had filled an empty space left vacant from some high-end seafood restaurant some years back.

            “Stew Leonard’s Fresh Farm Foods” read the sign in front of him. It was a little busier than Arther Ave. and Market St. as people were busy stocking up for Super Bowl MMXX. “Gatorade, gatorade?” He muttered to himself.

            “Excuse me?” Paul asked one of the employees restocking the Florida oranges into neat geometric patterns.“Sport drinks?”

            Turning to face him momentarily, “You have to go all the way around until you see them. Sorry but there’s no easy way to it. But it’s right next to the canned goods.“

            “Can I ask you another question?” 

            “Whole Foods moved out three years ago buddy. Upgrade your glasses,” the employee said returning to stacking the oranges.

            Thanking the white smocked employee, Paul walked around the store until he got to the section and grabbed a litter bottle of purple Gatorade. On his way to the checkout counter he picked up some smoked Gouda, crackers, fresh broccoli, carrots, potato chips, French onion dip and sour cream.  Eventually he came to the supermarket checkout with only two out of six registers manned by a cashier.

            “Hi” Paul said to the cashier, who wore a red apron with STEW LEONARD’S scripted yellow in the front, and a white nametag that said, “Hi my name is JEN” written in black. He set down the items he juggled in his arms onto the black conveyer belt and stared at the magazines titled SELF, Ms., EnQuire, and BODY in front of him as the cashier began to scan the items. They all seem to have smiling pictures of film stars or models in bikinis during this time of year. As he casually noted the sign for the register wasn’t lit, Paul felt his phone ring in his pocket. Stacy was calling. “Hello?” he answered.

            “Hey can you get some beer too, or wine if they have it? I really don’t want to go over Frank and Sarah’s with out bringing something”, she asked.

            “I’m at the… sure,” he told her. “Hey do you sell wine here?” he asked JEN, his hand covering the cell phone speaker.

            “$45.42,” the cashier told him, “How do you want to pay?” she said drolly.

            “What? Wait, can I get wine or beer before I pay?”,he said.

            JEN looked at him with dull blue eyes, and what was left of her dirty blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail. “Sir?”

            “One second, okay?” Paul hung up on his wife and started to jog back through the store leaving the items he was about to pay for at the register, back through past the ice cream vault stacked with 56 flavors, past the seafood market, finally finding a 12 pack of IPA craft beer. He was back by the register before 3 minutes had passed but felt like 15. JEN was not at the register 3 where she was before that wasn’t lit. She was helping to bag for register 5 where there were two other people waiting to be rung up.

            “Hey, JEN?” Paul called out, “Where is the rest of the stuff?” He repositioned the 12-pack of IPA craft beer under his armpit so it looked like he was carrying a football. No one replied. One of the customers looked back casually, as the supermarket radio station played a Gloria Estefan song that seemed to seep into and fill the dead spaces.

            “Hello?!”,he yelled, waving his arm

            “Wait your turn,” the blue haired lady in front of him snapped back at him.

            “JEN, can I check out now? I’ve got the beer. Where is the rest of my stuff?.” He continued, paying no attention to the woman in front of him who was now looking directly at him. “You know, politeness still accounts for something these days. What makes you think…”she tailed off, shaking her head

            At this point in time everybody seemed to be watching the elderly lady looking up at Paul scolding him like a child. The cashier had stop scanning goods, JEN had stop bagging them, and an older man stopped taking out a card from his wallet to leer.

            “Look I was here before, three minutes ago, checking out.” He started to say.

            “Forget it,” she finished saying simultaneously and turned around. “I apologize for this man’s lack of civility today,” she addressed the old man and two employees who then began their activities, as before, like nothing had happened. Turning a beat red Paul stood in line and waited patiently till it was his turn. A few more customers lined up behind Paul. JEN went to another register turning on the light to let them know she was open to scan their items.

            “Is that all?” said the cashier who had short thick brown hair whose nametag read LISA as Paul put down the 12 Pack of IPA craft beer.

            “Yes”, he replied after a brief hesitation.

            “That will be $18.59.”

            Reaching into his pocket Paul pulled out a $20 bill from his wallet and paid the cashier. “Is there another store that sells sport drinks around here?” He asked the new cashier.

            LISA looked at him, “Is that your hat?” she said.

            “Yes, Super Bowl MMXX. Do you think we will win?” he smiled at her as she bagged his 12 pack of IPA craft beer and gave him his change with the receipt under it,  careful not to touch his hand.

            “No. The Jets suck.” LISA turned to the next customer and said, “Hi, welcome to Stew Leonard’s. Did you find everything you came for today?”, with the sincerest of smiles. As Paul left the last beats of the song played out as if on cue. “Gatorade, fucking Gatorade”, he murmured to himself and walked out the store.

            

What's aboot the cold weather eh?

Recent weather New York City - Central Park

I can't remember it being this cold for this long for the NYC region in well...ever.