I'm not asking anyone to pimp themselves out, but...

Conversations that include this phrase should probably be avoided at all costs. Unfortunately, I got trapped in one in the lunch room today. I definitely need to make more out-of-the-office lunch plans.

A woman on my floor is hosting her cousin from Florida while he's here for a medical procedure. She described him as smart and good-looking, and explained that she's looking for people to occupy him while he's recuperating. She actually said that she's putting "every attractive woman she knows on the list," and then heavily hinted that I should volunteer.

She also tried to sign me up for cat-sitter duty. I got out of that by explaining my terrible allergies.

Please, make those lunch dates forthcoming.

Aren't we the cutest family

Here are the photos. Also check out my sister's blog - her photos went up yesterday.



Here are dad and Bill. They're carving the cake.



Smile pretty! This is me with Faithe, my Goddaughter.



Mom and cousins Tammy and Caitlin



Uncle Jay, dad's brother.



Evidence of a good party; Aunt Carol and my cousin Meghan.



Dad and Bill, the morning after.

There are more photos to come, but this is a start. Enjoy!

Belated shout out to my sister on her birthday

I wanted to do this on Sunday, but things were a little hectic. I tried to do it yesterday, but Blogger was down. Bad Blogger!

Steph's birthday was on Sunday. Everyone should send her presents.

Operation 70 Surprise

That's what we termed the months-long effort to organize a surprise party for my dad. I'm happy to report it was a smashing success.

While the pictures (here and at 65 Maple Ave.) are forthcoming, I'd like to share a few of the highlights of our surprise party adventure.

Dad was really surprised. Really. I think he's only now fully come to terms with the extent of the deceit. His whole office staff and all of his family have been lying to him since April. The surprise factor was apparently heightened by the fact that somebody standing near the front door caught him with a camera flash as soon as he walked in, and he couldn't see for a minute through the spots in his eyes.

Almost his whole family showed up. This is a really big deal. We haven't seen one cousin in seven years.

We had way too much food. Way too much. My parents will be eating filet of sole and eggplant parmesan for at least a week. I'm taking some cookies and canoli to San Francisco, and Steph took a big plate home with her. It's a pity the eggplant wouldn't travel well.

This huge outpouring of affection for my dad was pretty powerful. We heard from friends of his dating back to the 1940s, and everyone had wonderful memories to share.

Beer pong. You'll see the pictures soon.

I'm not sure I'm up for doing this again any time soon, but it was tons of fun.

Mariachi en Mount Kisco

Westchester County, the first county north of Manhattan, and the county in which I grew up, is very white. While there are swathes of poverty, it's a mostly wealthy enclave of bedroom communities filled with commuters to the city. Dave Letterman lives in Westchester. So do the Clintons, Martha Stewart, and Felicia and Ammad Rashad, to name a few. My grandmother lives in the northern part of the county, which used to be quite rural but has started to become more suburban sprawl than apple orchards and small farms.

I met my grandma for lunch today in the village of Mount Kisco, a small, picturesque place with homes dating back to the colonial era and a cute little main street with typical shops, restaurants, and a movie theater.

As my dad and I drove down the main street, I noticed a number of taquerias and Mexican restaurants had opened since my last trip there a few years ago. Not too surprising, but unusual for an area that's pretty non-ethnic. Apparently, however, the population is changing, and Mount Kisco and neighboring communities have seen an influx of Mexican immigrants.

Indeed, driving down the street we passed a sight not often seen in the villages of Westchester, and more common on the streets of the Mission District of San Francisco: a Mariachi band. Well, it wasn't the whole band, just one guy. And he was without his guitar. But he was in full dress, down to the big hat and boots. And he looked pretty impressive walking his way down the mostly-empty street. Just as we drove past, he turned into one of the new Mexican restaurants in the area, where I would assume he was meeting the rest of the band. I hope the whole village got a serenade later in the evening.

Unless he was just a guy in a funny suit and hat.

Somewhere under the rainbow. In New Jersey

My whirlwind travels this week have taken me through Virginia and Washington, D.C., and all along the eastern seaboard to New York, where I am happily about to make use of a very comfortable bed in what used to be my brother's room, but is now jokingly referred to as "the guest room," even though it's really my place to crash when I'm home.

But I digress. Steph and I left D.C. in Rosa (her car) at about 1:30. Our trip to NY started out just fine; partly sunny, temps in the high 80s, and no rain. By the time we reached the middle of Delaware, the rain had started, and continued in spurts for the rest of our journey. Including the 116-mile length of the New Jersey Turnpike.

For those of you not familiar with the Turnpike, it runs the whole length of the state, costs $6 to travel from end to end, and stinks. Sadly, New Jersey just smells bad.

It rained on and off, and deluged for awhile as we hit north Jersey, close to the George Washington Bridge and our entry to New York. Then, as the rain tapered off, a huge rainbow appeared. It was this enormous arc, and we could see the whole thing. It appeared to stretch from the Vince Lombardi Service Station - the last rest stop before the Bridge - all the way to Ft. Lee (the last exit before the Bridge). It was awesome, and lasted about half an hour. And made what could have been a miserable Bridge approach tolerable. Even pleasant. Of course, hours of Bon Jovi tunes helped too. What better to rock out to the entire length of his home state.

You can now safely return to Starbucks

I had to check a few times before I returned to my favorite (well, most convenient) Starbucks, but it would seem the strange guy who gave me his business card is no longer frequenting that location. Thank goodness. I'd have had to walk a few blocks for the cinnamon coffee cake otherwise.

I must say I've gotten quite a response over the Starbucks-as-pickup-joint post, both on and offline. I appreciate all your suggestions, and hope to hear from Brian if passing out his business card to random women results in any dates.

The irony to this event, which I forgot to write about before, is that the night before that strange encounter, I'd been talking to somebody about my goal of having a date this year. It's a small goal, I know, but having already fulfilled most of the big ones for 2006, I thought I should keep myself busy with something small but challenging.

I'll let you know how it goes.

One run, four hits, two errors; Or it's only worse in Chicago

The Giants took a huge loss to the Brewers last night; 10-1 in a game, much like this weekend's series, that more resembled a little league game played by really slow-running 10 year olds. As I said the other day, I could have run faster than some of these guys, and my right knee is a mess.

So, for starters, the Giants lost to a team named after REALLY BAD BEER. Second, they lost to a team whose members include - and I'm not kidding - a guy named Prince Fielder. What's up with that?

Now, despite the error in the Examiner's NL rankings this morning, the Giants are below .500 and trailing the Dodgers.

I suppose it could be worse. The Cubs have hit only 38 homeruns at Wrigley Field this summer. They've given up 71. I guess booting Dusty Baker out of San Francisco was a good idea afterall.

The exceedingly good news is that both Hideki Matsui and Gary Sheffield should return to the Yankees in September. But we should have trounced the Red Sox long before that to regain first place in the division. Then, perhaps, we can look forward to an all New York World Series. The Mets, paragons of pitiful baseball, are playing better than in any season since 1986. I guess they should make a Series appearance every 20 years or so.

201

This is my 201st post. We should have cake.

Speaking of cake, my travel plans are set and I leave on Wednesday morning. Just don't tell my dad, as this whole thing is a well-kept secret (a miracle, from my vantage point, as half of Pelham knows about the surprise). It's currently 96 degrees in both D.C. (where I'll be spending a few days with Steph, yay!) and NY. I think I'm going to wilt and die in that kind of heat. Or at least suffer through six really bad hair days. I'll need to remember to bring a hat.

This land is your land.....

Today marks a very important day in American musical history. It's the birthday of Woody Guthrie. We should take a moment to remember him, and if singing a refrain of "This Land is Your Land" isn't quite for you, check out the Wilco recording of the song "California Stars," written by Woody but never finished. Wilco, along with Englishman Billy Bragg, finished it, and dozens of others, and recorded them in the two-CD Mermaid Avenue collection.

Starbucks: the pickup joint of the 21st Century?

I don't drink coffee, but I usually pop into the Starbucks on Montgomery next to my building for a mid-morning snack. Today, however, I ordered a non-coffee beverage instead. It's icky out, I'm a little tired, and something hot and sweet seemed like a good idea.

I was standing at the end of the line, with about four people in front of me, when the guy directly in front of me said hi. I didn't think he was talking to me, since I hadn't been looking in his direction and my mind was elsewhere. Then, when I realized he was actually speaking to me, I said hi in return.

It went downhill from there. He was trying to pick me up, but he just didn't have the skill. He asked what I did, told me he was out of a job, then pulled a self-made business card out of his wallet and told me we should get together for coffee. And that I should call him if I hear of any jobs he'd be qualified for.

He was shorter than I am, with a bad haircut and an illfitting suit. He's unemployed, and he tried to pick me up in line at Starbucks. And when he does work, he's in sales. Ick! And he drinks soy milk, and was really snarky with the barista about how much he wanted in his coffee. And I'm very allergic to soy milk.

Honestly, I wonder if it was some kind of prank. Like he had a hidden camera and was taping how women react. Or maybe he had a goal of distributing his business card to a specific number of people each day.

I did say just last night to somebody that I should try to get a date. But I didn't quite mean like that. However, if anybody else out there is looking, I guess the Starbucks at Montgomery and Post is a good place to cruise.

I've just become my own scheduling nightmare

It started innocently enough early last week. I entered an event into my work Outlook calendar for March. I was a little disturbed by scheduling so far in advance, but the event (though I now can't remember what it was) deserved the forethought.

Then, today, as I was scheduling a meeting for a bunch of folks at several campuses (probably blog worthy in it's own right, as it was really challenging and quite a hassle) I realized I needed to add a few other events into my calendar.

Then I took out my paper calendar - yes, I still write things down on a calendar with pretty pictures - and I realized my dilemma. My Outlook calendar and paper calendar no longer match. While they haven't in some time, I no longer know what I've entered into Outlook that's not also written down. Yikes!

Please, if I've stood anybody up in the past few weeks, or missed a meeting or rehearsal, let me know. In the meantime, it's time to start seriously researching electronic organizers. I've done some casual looking in the past, but I think it's time to make a commitment, or spend the next several months not quite sure where I'm supposed to be.

Anyone have any hand held recommendations? Horror stories? Please share.

You can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant

Nope, it's not Thanksgiving. But today is Arlo Guthrie's birthday. Kinda makes me want to sing the whole song. If only I could remember all the words.

Viva Italia!

Absolutely the wrong time to turn off my ipod

Warning: this post contains sensitive content that might disturb some readers, especially male ones. Read at your own risk

I was on the L streetcar yesterday, travelling between Castro and Church stations in the final leg of my underground journey before getting on the bus to get to Mass. I usually keep my headphones on as I venture above ground, but I wasn't too happy with my musical choices, so between stations I turned off my Ipod and took off my earphones.

I'd seen a man and a woman get on the train at Castro St., and they were talking quite loudly about her bout of the flu. She was really suffering, she told her friend, before adding that the stress of the pap smear she had to get while she had the flu made her miserable.

"You know what a pap smear is, right?" she asked her friend.

Unfortunately, he said no.

Now, there's got to be 100 ways to vaguely tell a guy what this procedure actually entails. The best, off the top of my head, is to explain that it's the exam a woman gets at the gynocologist. But she just wasn't that bright.

"It's when they stick a speculum up your vagina."

Yup, she actually said that. I started laughing, and the rest of the train cringed. And her poor friend, he looked like he wanted to dig his way through the floor of the streetcar.

Accidental death and dismemberment

I now have $30,000 of accidental death and dismemberment coverage through my fabulous new job. My fabulous new desk job. Where I sit at a desk most of the day, interspersed with trips to the file cabinets, mail and copy rooms, and restroom. Can somebody please tell me why I need accidental death and dismemberment insurance for a job that, hopefully, won't put me in the way of anything that could accidentally dismember me?

Steph (my sister, as opposed to the others) pointed out that in the event of The Big One, my overhead cubicles could give way, and the crap inside of them could fall out. But most likely, I wouldn't be dismembered so much as knocked out and maybe buried under boxes of old stationery.

I suppose there could be a freak paper cutter accident. Or my fingers could get chopped off in a file drawer.

But if I were to accidentally die on the job, wouldn't that be covered under my life insurance? And what's considered an accidental death anyway? Would it have to be accidental on my part, or on the part of another party?

All these questions. Anybody have the answers?

Official Adultdom

As a kid, several factors contributed to how I envisioned the adult world. The models for adultdom were my parents, relatives, and the motley crew of company we kept. While I don’t think I ever had one idea of what being an adult meant, I know that several things informed my vision:

Dressing up for work
Working in an office with a revolving door
Being able to stay up late on weeknights
Deciding what to have (or not have) for dinner
Being able to have long phone conversations

Why, you may ask, am I reflecting on this today? Well, I’ve lived on my own, away from home, for close to a decade, and I’ve been on the opposite coast from my parents since 2000, but with low-paying jobs, school, and the insanity I’ve lived in for the past few years, I never felt like a true adult.

Until I walked through the revolving doors to my office building this morning. As a kid, when my dad worked in a big building in Manhattan, I’d play in the revolving doors, walking in circles until my parents got annoyed. They were a novelty, after all, something I only saw in my dad’s building and on the rare occasions we traveled to other buildings in the city. Now, every day, I can play in my own building’s doors. At least until security gets ticked off. That is the measure of true adulthood.