Cue theme music…..dunna dunna dunna dunna “bat kitty”. There’s a new caped crusader in my life and she followed my roommate home the other night. Sure, she may be slightly gender confused by the name but consider it a marker of stealthy awesome.
And of course, you always need a gratuitous cat sleeping pose because what’s better than that. Hopefully, she won’t have an aversion to penguins because I find them pretty fracking adorable too.
Last evening, to kick off the official end of Summer some of my lady bro’s and I journeyed to the over advertised Museum of Sex.
The gift shop alone is a hysterical jaunt into the modern day sex culture. Entire photo books showcasing big boobies and butts.
The museum itself is a history of the way our culture has interacted with pornography and sex throughout the ages. There’s a room that encourages you to “explore and have fun”. However, the big ticket item that I highly recommend is the bouncy house with the theme of boobs. Also, the room of animal sex was highly amusing. It reminds you of a raunchy Museum of Natural History diorama.
If you’re looking for a quick visit to a quirky wonderland look no further. Just be careful to not get stuck between the deer sex sandwich. Bambi would be scandalized.
Time flies. Eight years ago I lived briefly in London. Navigating the cobblestone streets on Jack The Ripper walks, trying to understand cockney cashiers in bodegas, and attending The Royal Court Theatre’s Young Writers Programme inspiring my American pastiche with some international flair.
I lived in a Norwegian hostel called simply “The K House” where I resided alongside inspiring Norwegian natives and re-connected with my grandfathers roots. I made amazing lasting friendships: Marie, pictured above in appropriate gingham and I imagine I am side eyeing Ana not seen. For a time we shared Room 1, where we posted political cartoons on the door(very much against the rules)-drank cheap wine out of coffee cups, and discussed the meaning of life. We went to clubs with egg shaped toilets and saw The Lord of The Rings: The Musical. When I got international stitches in my hand-Ana unhooked my bra because my throbbing hand couldn’t make it to my back. They were interning at CNN and would come back with a plethora of international stories/metaphorical battle scars and we would trade these memories on bunk beds.
Since this time, I have been to Oslo and they have been to NYC. We go years without seeing each other in the flesh but when we do it’s as if I saw them yesterday. So today, when my time hop reminded me that eight years ago today on a blissful day in an English park we broke bread at a picnic with mostly digestives, cheeses, and grapes while throwing around a ball. It was simple, beautiful, and perfect.
The next time we come together maybe we can upgrade to a full scale croquet set.
A week for the ages…..a death in the family, new opportunities, the play that boasts starring Tony Shaloub but only really has him on stage for six minutes and the impending dong of another year. As my calendar year winds down and my new one starts it’s always helpful to find somewhere to think.
It doesn’t hurt that America likes to celebrate their birth on a beach too.
I finally made it up to my fathers ski condo in Windham, NY. Even if only for a couple of days it was peace on earth. The lamb and the lion chilling together got nothing on this experience.
You step on to the porch and immediately BAM-mountains for days. Looking forward, a small pond houses countless bullfrogs croaking back and forth to each other like two Jewish women kvetching over latkas and kugel.
I gazed upon this while drinking my morning coffee poetically enough out of a Red Rocks mug. Steps away, the hot tub purred and I thought this is the perfect place to not think…..wait, stop thinking. Stop thinking even about thinking.
The town has carved a trail that leads to civilization and we walked it to earn our morning goddess omelette at Higher Grounds, an artisanal coffee/breakfast/all around chacki shop. A concoction consisting of eggs, feta cheese, tomatoes, and avocado. The rye toast was fresh and thick. I recommend it to anyone looking for a quick nosh before an active day.
They’ve built several new bridges. The names are up for grabs for the meager price of $5,000, $10,000 or $25,000. Someone hurry and win the lottery so we can have some fun with this. I wouldn’t mind the thought of equally hiring a live action troll to live underneath one.
Before seeing Jurassic World-I am not ashamed to say for me my second time I beat my father at a friendly game of Skeeball. All of those countless hours in the basement of a Brother Jimmies midtown east playing the arcade game competitively have finally paid off. We also stopped by a local pub with an amazing craft beer selection called CaveMountain. I opted to try the flight which showcases their popular brews. The honey blonde was my favorite and not just because it could equally be used to describe me. I have found my beer soulmate next to a machine that dispenses fireball shots. Color me classy.
So much cinnamon whiskey, so little time.
Notice my expert tan line. I would like to use my red line farmers tan as a PSA to all ladies out there on the market for vintage swim wear.
And as we always have and always will-we hike. Quietly crossing muddy rocks this is our comfort zone. Finding our way to a half broken lean to we sit.
Circa 1989. I am already being escorted on hikes although I’m pretty sure I’m more invested in them now then I was then.
And for good measure I added a rainbow for so many reasons. Nature is our safe space. I can think of worse things.
When I first arrived I found two pieces of my past. One-my annotated high school copy of Walden. Underlined with notes…..I didn’t understand the value of solitude then. Now, looking back having a hoard of high schoolers annotate Walden is not going to teach them anything. It’s not until ten years later when life has been triumphant, lagging, difficult, euphoric, and a great many other adjectives that the value of silence, of nature is understood.
Secondly, I found a journal I had to keep in English class at the age of fourteen. There were many weird and fascinating passages but two in particular that made me uncomfortable.
Nostradamus was my favorite.
People are interesting creatures.
I understand why my father calls this place his fortress of solitude. Everyone needs a place to go when they feel as though they might fall apart. Mine just happens to be an episode of Grey’s Anatomy.