An Optimist and a Gentleman

"Every man takes the limits of his own field of vision for the limits of the world."
Arthur Schopenhauer (1788-1860)
Studies in Pessimism

I read the quote above while riding the L from 14th Street to Bedford. The MTA sponsors SubTalk. Under the banner of Train of Thought and Poetry in Motion, they posts pithy prose, poetry, and quotes. I once met a girl who decides what to print on those traveling posters. Her job is so wonderfully specific, and she has had such an impact on my ability to answer questions in certain categories of Trivial Pursuit.

Maybe it's limited, but I expect people to act like mensches or at least better than me. Last night, I sprinted a block to catch a bus for a wheelchair-bound guy. The guy was incapable of waving his arms (hopefully or angrily) to get the driver's attention, as he needed both hands to furiously spin his wheels to catch up to the bus. I felt like an ass for being an ambulatory bi-ped, for being irrationally angry at the bus driver, and for being mildly miffed that the guy on wheels didn't nod or say Thank You, even as we made eye contact while he was being lifted onto the bus via the the mechanical platform.

I like to think I'm an eternal optimist. This would explain my chronic disappointment.

going, going, gone

Today I witnessed two Final Destination-esque scenes while walking to work. First, I crossed paths with a couple pushing their stroller and crossing with the light. Some jerk-o was texting while turning onto Broadway during morning rush hour and almost flattened them. Then I saw an unattended halal cart with a long sharp knife resting on the cutting board. I took a picture. I was amazed that no idjit with a vendetta came by, swooped up the knife, and slaughtered a gaggle of pedestrians before performing harakiri. I gawked for a minute, giving dirty looks to anyone that looked like they were harboring homicidal tendencies, before I realized the hallal chef was futzing around with groceries at the back of his cart and could/would monitor (or not) his own cutlery.

Hours later, I was making sure the laptops were charging in their carts for the weekend, and I noticed one cord wasn't plugged in and wouldn't slip into the outlet when I poked around blindly. I took it out, recognized the metal prongs were skewed, and tried to bend them back. But I'm a weakling. So, idjit that I am, I put my left hand on the outlet, locating one of the slots with my finger to use as a guide, and with my right hand, I jammed the plug into the outlet. An excruciating jolt traveled up my left arm, and I screamed like a banshee while jumping away from the cart. A teacher came in and wondered if I'd seen a mouse. I was surprised I was still alive and told her she should be grateful not to have to deal with my fried corpse on the floor.

I'm going to make a t-shirt stating, "I'm not suicidal. It was an accident."

Novemburp

I'm full again. Though in my quest to avoid scurvy, bleached flour, and plaque in my arteries for at least one meal, I supped on hummus, crackers, carrots, blackberries, strawberries, and tomatoes. And chocolate.

This week alone included the requisite foodfest that celebrates Thanks and Giving (and in my case, Forgiving), Dim Sum twice, Chinese and Thai dinners, a lunch spread at my cousin-in-law's bat mitzvah, and a swanky meal at Delmonico's, "America's first fine dining restaurant." Among other claims to fame, Delmonico's created Oysters Rockefeller, Lobster Newberg, Baked Alaska, Eggs Benedict, and Hamburger. They also say they originated the term "86'd." I've been curious about Delmonico's ever since reading Caleb Carr's The Alienest and The Angel of Darkness and salivating during the long descriptive passages about Dr. Laszlo's Kreizler sensual meals at the restaurant.

My stomach wasn't the only organ getting a workout this holiday. No family gathering will ever be the same. It hurts to hold back tears. I get a burning at the back of my eyes, a sharp lump deep in my throat, my sinuses stab, and my heart and lungs feel worn. Then there's my forehead. I never used to worry about looking older, but the topographical map of my face has changed drastically this year. I have grooves where there were never grooves before, I can't get my eyebrows to separate, and I look like I'm constantly frowning. My fake smiles look even faker. I'm gonna have to come up with some compelling reasons not to get Botox in Thailand on my next trip.

Thankfully, my family is manageably dysfunctional and hilarious, and it's impossible to dwell on our grief when multiple people in the room are having a gas attack or watching Curb Your Enthusiasm or ridiculing the state of my mother's garage. We took advantage of being in the suburbs where supercenters prevail and visited Sam's Club, Target, and Wal-Mart in a 10-hour period. I was too busy reeling at the piles of stuff down every aisle and the enormous shoppers to properly collect any material goods.

I'm afraid of the suburbs. I imagine I'd feel like a total hottie for a week or two before I stopped exercising, drove everywhere, gorged on fast food and Cheesecake Factory sized portions, stocked up on elastic waist paints, and joined the growing ranks of Type 2 Diabetics. My New Year's resolution might have to include the word willpower.

use it or lose it

This is the 3rd Friday the 13th this year. Apparently three is the maximum number to have in a 365-day period. While I'm not paraskavedekatriaphobic, I can't help but recognize that this is another example of how 2009 has been unequivocally unprecedented. And what a nutty month November has been so far too.

Things to remember and consider more when a little additional time passes:

1. I spent 18 hours in a state of shock and disbelief between the phone call from my doctor telling me the lab sent her delayed results from my visit over two months ago and I tested positive for something, and the phone call with an apologetic explanation that in fact she'd mixed up my lab results with someone else's.

2. I got my second speeding ticket in 19 years of driving, because I didn't know that the Palisades Parkway is a speed trap. If knowing is half the battle, knowing=$132.50 and the battle=$265.

3. I couldn't tell if I was being mocked or flirted with or both because I'm skeptical of people's motives, and a wolfish smile is just too freaking hard to interpret.

4. I now recognize that it's not early onset of incontinence, but rather the fact that I consumed three coffees, two Diet Pepsis, and an apple juice before getting in the car for four hours and needing to stop twice.

5. I am loved.

Halloweezerthon

I'm still tired from the weekend. Friday happened. Then Saturday, when I finally ventured into the real world again, I watched the first wave of trick-or-treaters doing their annual sugar crawl down Broadway's storefronts. I grew up in the suburbs, so it’s funny to see costumed kids making the rounds in liquor stores, nail salons, delis, Dunkin Donuts, Lens Crafters, pizza places, bars, retail shops. My sister said she even saw some kids going into the sex shop on Amsterdam Avenue. “Trick or treat” indeed.

Later, at my third consecutive concert of the week (Blondie, Chargertron, Weezer), I thought it was hilarious to dress as a whorticulturist, and Tammy rocked it as a Robert Palmer girl. We marveled at the audience full of sexy cats, sexy Ghostbusters, sexy nurses, sexy cadets, sexy witches, sexy fairies, sexy bees, sexy angels, sexy Dorothys, sexy Snow Whites, sexy pirates, sexy zombies...

After seeing the umpteenth girl teetering in stilettos with thigh highs and some campy get-up, Tammy asked what would the most inappropriate costume to make sexy. I thought for a couple seconds and rattled off sexy undertaker, sexy breast cancer survivor, sexy AIDS baby, and sexy pedophile. She didn't play along which was weird since the game was her idea.

Marathon Sunday was awesome. I watched from a spot between Mile 12 and Mile 13 in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. It's so incredible to see all sorts of people fulfilling a goal. They (and my triple-marathoning sister) inspired me to participate 5 years ago, and even if I never run another marathon, it's nice to know that I can and did. The Achilles Track Club makes me cry without fail. I watched one woman running with two guides, and the sign being held stated: Seiko, 75 years old, blind, 12th Marathon. She finished in 8 hours. It's amazing to consider how many of the 40,000 participants of the the 2009 ING New York City Marathon finished after Seiko.

one way or another

I had a couple of Full Circle moments this week. Most notably, I saw Blondie play a totally satisfying concert at the Brooklyn Museum of Art in honor of the Who Shot Rock & Roll exhibit opening. I tried to see Blondie in concert in Brooklyn a couple of months ago, but my new friend’s predilection for Nathan’s hot dogs thwarted my plans. This time, there were again hot dogs involved; Perhaps as a nod to Game 2 of the Phillies/Yankees World Series, the private preview for museum members was graced with standard stadium grub including pretzels, popcorn, beer, wine. I enjoyed my weiner with relish.

lullabye of broadway

Tonight I saw Superior Donuts, written by Tracy Letts and starring Lenny. He has a real name, and a legacy of performances besides This is Spinal Tap I can never remember, but he'll forever be Lenny to me. It was a great play. Different enough from August: Osage County that it only makes sense to say Superior Donuts is relatively gentler. Letts is a terrific playwright. At one point, young Franco says to Arthur (Lenny), "You know what my dad told me? Never. Stop. Moving." It was perfectly uttered by a 21-year-old down on his luck, yet optimistic, quickwitted, and enterprising, to an almost 60-year-old hippie proprietor of an ancient doughnut shop in desperate need of a new lease on life.

I've been putting my TDF subscription to good use this season:
Finnian's Rainbow - shlock.
Oleanna - still remains for me Mamet's most awkward and frustrating dialogue even after 16 years of watching a variety of Mamet productions.
Next to Normal - awesome and original, with only one dumb scene near the end.
After Miss Julie - Sienna Miller is just gorgeous, but her character is annoyingly bi-polar.
Brighton Beach Memoirs - slower than it needs to be.

Fingers crossed a ticket comes through for me for The God of Carnage before the cast change on November 17th...