Goats

Erika and Martin spent the weekend in Washington County, which is about 4 hours North of New York City. It is a rural county made up of lots of beautiful little small farms, most of which have not been gobbled up by Big Agriculture or Evil Developers.

It was the Audi's Maiden Voyage (picture above) and only one part fell off. It was a windshield wiper, which is not critical unless, of course, it's raining. But I digress.

Erika was initially tempted to visit Washington County by an al fresco dinner event that Slow Food was authorized to invite City People to. Picture 430 smiling attendees from throughout the county - farmers, artists, grandparents, tractor repair men - and 30 pasty, bespectacled, ridiculously overdressed New Yorkers all sitting down at long picnic tables outside the town courthouse in Salem to eat local cheeses, wines, and sausages, among other delightful hand-made treats. But the real draw was the goats. Saturday morning was spent at a wonderful Bed & Breakfast, The Hopkins House Farm with host Charlie Duveen, where E&M got to hand-milk a real, live goat and frolic with all of the other assorted dogs, cats and donkeys. Next they traveled to Sweet Spring Farm for a lesson on how to make goat cheese. It doesn't look that hard! On Sunday they visited a free-range pig farm (for contrast) - Flying Pigs Farm. While the pigs looked very happy mucking about in the grass and forest, and very low-maintenance in contrast to the goats (no twice-daily milking), M&E much preferred the quirky Nubian and La Mancha goats to the pigs. Next was Murray Hollow Bakers to observe bread-baking in a hand-built wood-fired oven. Yummy!

Their final stop was in Troy, New York, a suburb of Albany that has managed to bounce back from economic depression and is now famous for its farmer's market and burgeoning art scene. Another data point for the After New York search for a home. They were lucky enough to share a meal with Nicky and Steve, who spontaneously moved from San Francisco 6 years ago to purchase an abandoned Knights of Columbus Lodge in downtown Troy. They have spent the last 6 years lovingly cleaning (LOTS of cleaning) and restoring this place into Half Moon Hall, a neat office/studio/event space. It has 4 floors that include a ballroom, a bowling alley, and a bar. Beautiful!

I hung out with Auntie Marilyn and watched the rain come down. For sport, I showed her how I can find a water glass anywhere in the house and knock it over, soaking whatever it happens to be sitting on. I am so clever. What I need is a few goats around to rule over...

Suburban Bliss

Martin and Erika have created a strange parallel universe of suburban bliss in Manhattan. For two weeks now, they have been BBQ-ing on a tiny propane grill on the fire escape. Chicken parts (we really need some input from Dad Willett here on how to carve that Special Piece), hamburgers, lamb steaks, and tonight - lamb kebabs. Remember when Erika was a vegetarian?

And, last weekend, they took the plunge and purchased...A CAR. Yes, we have a car in Manhattan. Pictures to follow, when we return from our goat cheese making road trip to Washington County. Unfortunately it did not come with a neat little attached garage, but WE HAVE WHEELS! Martins is overjoyed, especially because he recently discovered that this particular car (a 1984 Audi 4000) has some esoteric part in common with an airplane. So he can at least pretend. Yes, we are crazy, yes we know how expensive this could be, no we don't know where we are going to park it. But it's still pretty thrilling, and it was a great deal! (Thanks Wendy, our real estate fairy turned transportation fairy). I'm not so crazy about cars (see previous posts about road trip in 1977 Buick), but I like Martin to be happy.

In other news, I gained another third of a pound, which means it is time for The New Diet. We start next week on wet food. I don't think they are going to BBQ it for me either.

Side note from Erika: If anyone feels like Manhattan is getting too suburban for them, they should go see a show at Spiegelworld. It's like Cirque due Soleil done by a sleazy French circus troupe who spent too much time in Argentina and the Black Rock Desert...

The Apocalypse in Jersey City

So, Saturday a water main broke in Jersey City and there was no water at all in Jersey City or Hoboken for almost 48 hours. Tuesday, there were TWO fire alarms (and subsequent evacuations) in Erika's building due to smoke on the 1st floor and then the 9th floor. Today, the loudest thunder I have ever heard woke us all up and then the rains started. We're talking Deluge-style rain. When Erika got off the PATH train in Jersey City, she had to trudge through a FOOT of water to get to her building, past a newly created "fountain" bubbling up out of the middle of the courtyard and into the turnstiles. Bad day for the Italian patent leather kitten heels. Drought, Fire, Flood. What's next? Frogs? A cloud of locusts?

There is an explanation. Erika accepts full responsibility for angering the gods. Last night, after two earlier, aborted attempts (due to inclement weather), she and Martin thumbed their noses at the weather gods and smugly enjoyed a lovely, dry, spontaneous picnic on the Great Lawn of Central Park while listening to The New York Philharmonic play some very sweet music. The soprano, Measha Brueggergosman (really!), made Erika's toes curl, she was so good. Balducci's supplied the no-cook, no-effort picnic, which consisted mainly of Roman Artichokes, Rice Krispie Treats, chick peas, and red wine. And there were fireworks afterwards! People actually audibly exclaimed "oooh" and "ahhhh"! Who says New Yorkers are jaded?

Heat + Humidity + Fur = Less Active Kitty

Why hasn't Pawlene been blogging lately?

Have you heard about the summer weather we've been having? It's all I can do to drag myself from under the bed to the tiled bathroom floor to find a cooler place to lay my belly. The only respite we've gotten has been LOUD thunderstorms and brief but torrential rain showers. The latter occur only when there is some music-related event happening in Central Park. Erika has planned and cancelled TWO picnics now. The last picnic wasn't technically cancelled, it was just moved indoors. Instead of listening to the New York Philharmonic perform Mendelssohn on the Great Lawn, we blasted Beethoven's Ninth on the stereo in the living room of our apartment with various assorted good-natured friends. At least Batch 2.0 of the S'more brownies did not go to waste. They aren't *quite* the same as Citizen Cake's addictive (and pricey!) morsels, but they are darned close. More experimentation is necessary as soon as Erika and Martin drop the 5 lbs they gained from the first two batches. This week, it's hummus. Just dry cat food for me, thanks.

Erika and Martin found an ideal way to beat the heat on Sunday - after lazing around Central Park and catching up on phone calls, they spent 2 delicious hours at the well-air-conditioned Ziegfield Theater watching Ratatouille. The movie was delightful (despite the slam on the French), but the Ziegfield was out of this world. *Friendly*, charismatic ushers! *Good* popcorn! Acres of seats! A tiny personal sink in each ladies' bathroom stall! Ok, it's the small stuff but WOW, Erika had forgotten that movies used to be like this. Does anyone remember the good old Varsity Theater in Palo Alto, BEFORE it turned into a chain book store? Now THAT was a Movie Theater. Poor Martin didn't even know about pre-movie organ music. Is the Stanford Movie theater still open? They sure don't make them like they used to...

You're a Kitty!

In honor of my birthday (yesterday - I turned 7), here is the cartoon that had Erika, Martin, and Andy in stitches the other night. Personally, I don't get it.

Guest Rant: Erika on the PATH train

Happy Birthday, Martin!!!

Pawlene is still recovering from last week’s bath, and has kindly agreed to let me use this space for a rant that has been slowly building for the past 2 weeks. 2 weeks and 2 days, to be exact.

I hate the PATH. For the uninitiated, the PATH or “Port Authority Trans-Hudson Corporation” train, is the fastest, cheapest way to get from Manhattan to New Jersey. It’s an underground subway system, much like the New York City subway, that travels under the Hudson River. Now, I *adore* the subway – it is often faster than taking a cab, I love the folks who sing and play music in the stations and sometimes on the trains, I love how frequently it runs, I love the choreographed chaos at the big stations like 42nd Street where thousands of New Yorkers expertly thread through and around each other as they rush forward to make their transfers. I really love those infrequent conductors who personalize their spiel with an addendum to their announcement: “Now arriving 34th Street: Penn Station, Madison Square Garden, Home of the World-Famous Knicks!” I even love the rats – I once counted 9 separate rats frolicking and foraging between the rails at Penn Station. Rat-spotting is my favorite past time while waiting for a train. But I digress. This rant is about the PATH.

After just a few days of taking the PATH train consistently to and from work and various Manhattan-based appointments, I noticed a steadily building feeling of resentment and distaste for my daily commute. I decided to analyze the problem, briefly querying Martin, who also hates the PATH (to the point of being willing to spend over 3 times as much to take the ferry). No, it’s not just because the PATH goes to New Jersey, or because it happens to carry us to our j-o-bs. In order to figure out why I hate the PATH so much, I decided to compare the PATH with my beloved subway. What is the difference between the PATH and the subway?

1. The Stairs vs. The Conveyor Belt

To access any subway station in New York City, you must use stairs. Yes, of course there are elevators for those who need them, but really, everyone uses the stairs. Sometimes there are a LOT of stairs, but there are always landings to rest on, large expanses to cross in between, turns to break it up. Sometimes you will have to go down the stairs, only to go up more stairs (and down still MORE stairs) before your reach your platform. This may seem inconvenient, but it’s great exercise, and it’s all part of the commuter ballet and the novelty of utilizing a mode of public transportation that has been in existence for over 100 years.

In contrast, when you reach the Exchange Place station in New Jersey (re-modeled in 2003), where Martin and I both exit the PATH train, you have a choice of taking either the elevator or the escalator. There is one set of stairs, but it is the longest stretch of unbroken stairway I have ever seen. It’s daunting just to look at, and this is coming from someone who used to choose to get up at 0 dark 30 every Tuesday just to run up and down these things in NW Portland. And so we go from horizontally speeding mechanized metal box to vertically elevating mechanized metal box. This has the unnerving effect of being completely out of control of one’s own destiny. The escalator is slightly better, because we can choose to take the passing lane and hike up the escalator, but I still get that “lump of meat on a conveyor belt” feeling. It’s very futuristic, I suppose, to just shift yourself from one moving box or belt to another until you reach your destination with very little actual effort on your part, but I like the novelty of moving at my own speed up and down stairs. The feeling of insignificance is intensified when we leave the station and walk along the waterfront to our respective workplaces because the scale of the buildings in waterfront Jersey City is designed to impress (they are Powerful Financial Institutions), and make you feel small. Not to mention the TWO depressing memorials we pass in less than a quarter of a mile. One, honoring the victims of the Katyn Massacre (a Polish massacre by Soviet troops in 1940) dramatically and hugely depicts a man in the moment just after he has been stabbed in the back by a bayonet. But Jersey City itself is another rant.

2. The Clientele

The most noticeable difference between the New York City Subway and the PATH is the clientele. Between Jersey and New York, you get pretty much one type – professional commuters, en route to or from their white-collar office jobs. Men with short hair cuts in blue shirts and khakis, women in flip flops with enormous purses. No harmonizing crooners. No pan handlers with tales of woe. No smelly bums [Ok, Martin just contested this myth with a truly terrifying tale of Stench]. But definitely no hipsters. And no fashionistas to remind us why we are grateful that the 80s are over. Again, this may sound like a good thing to many of you, but I miss the eye candy. The main reason for the homogenous clientele is the limitations of the PATH train routes. It’s only 13.8 miles and it only goes to 4 places, and you can’t get off and walk if you don’t like it, unless you’ve brought your SCUBA gear. The NYC Subway, on the other hand, is comprised of 842 miles of track. So many places to go! The possibilities and permutations are endless…and YOU are in control of how you reach your destiny. More than on the PATH at any rate.

3. The Stations

There are two kinds of stations on the PATH – large, modern, recently re-modeled stations (Exchange Place) and tiny, cramped, ancient stations. The ancient stations in New York City make me think of either bygone eras when people actually cared about (and for) their surroundings (beautiful tile mosaics) or the fact that nobody really knows where all of these tunnels go, how they connect, or what is living in them (bizarre stalactites of some unidentified calcified mineral leaking from the roof, The Mole People by Jennifer Toth). The older PATH stations, in contrast, just make me vaguely claustrophobic and depressed. I always feel like I’m going to hit my head on the ceiling in the Pavonia station, and then I start to wonder what exactly is coating the ceiling – whether it was an intentional “granite-like” texture that some mis-guided interior designer decided to spray on, or if it’s just grime that has gotten caught in an impossible-to-clean layer of asbestos. The “décor” is invariably generic and utterly without charm or aesthetic value. And, there are no trash cans. The PATH stations were clearly not designed with the customer in mind.

4. The Wind

Any rant about the PATH would be incomplete without mention of the winds that rush forcefully through every station. It has something to do with the design of the tunnels. In the New York City subway system, there are tunnels upon tunnels leading and merging in and out of other tunnels. The strange effect that this configuration produces is that of “leftover air”. In the underground, the temperature is almost always what it what above ground the day before. So, if it was 90 degrees in Manhattan on Monday and 70 degrees on Tuesday, it will be 90 degrees in the subway station on Tuesday and 70 degrees on Wednesday.

PATH tunnels are designed differently, and produce an entirely different effect. According to the badly written Wikipedia entry for the PATH: “The tunnels are separate for each track, which enables a better ventilation by so-called piston effect. When a train passes through the tunnel it pushes out the air in front of it toward the closest ventilation shaft it front, and "sucks-in" the air to the tunnel from the closest ventilation shaft behind it.” At any rate, the effect is that of standing in (or fighting against, if you are trying to leave the station) a gale-force windstorm while you are waiting for your train. Try that in a dress, with long hair, wearing sticky lipstick, and attempting to read the paper. It’s hard, and creates additional undue stress in my commute.

In Sum

I love New York City because I can choose to do, see, eat, and experience (almost) anything I want, whenever I want. I value diversity and freedom of choice. It’s why I don’t go to Starbucks (yet another rant). The PATH train reduces my options in many ways, and forces me to travel in a claustrophobic, boring, uncomfortable little box instead of meandering through the streets, admiring the wonders and humanity of this amazing City on my way to work in another boring little box.

State Cat

"The Way Life Should Be" appears to have won out over Maine's OLD official state motto, which was "I Lead". We know this because it was on the sign Martin and Erika drove past when they crossed the border from New Hampshire. They were up there or "down east" as they say in Maine, over Memorial Day weekend to celebrate their 1-year wedding anniversary (yay!). Erika decided to do a bit of research into the slogan, and made an Important Discovery along the way. The coolest thing about Maine is that they have, along with a state motto, a state flower, and all that other stuff that you have to memorize in junior high - a State Cat! Yes, the Maine Coon Cat is Maine's Official State Cat. As far as Erika can tell, Maine is the only state with an Official State Cat. From the Maine Secretary of State's page: "Maine Coon Cats are tall, muscular, big-boned cats; males commonly reach 13 to 18 pounds, with females normally weighing about 9 to 12 pounds. Maine Coons don't achieve their full size until they are three to five years old. Their voices set them apart from other cats; they have a distinctive, chirping trill." THIS IS SO *ME*!!! I must be part Coon! Tall? Yes. Muscular? Well, sort of. Big-boned? ABSOLUTELY. Plus, I chirp. I also bark upon occasion, but that is another blog post.