Ah, the suburbs. I spent the holiday weekend out in Pennsylvania with TR's family. Part of the trip involved an outing to Target (always pronounced Tar-jhay) which to me, a New Yorker, was the ultimate novelty. So many products! So many colors! And it's all practically free! I could spend a week in there, and that's just in the shoe section.

Here I am with a watermelon Slushee in the fake Christmas tree aisle, keepin' in klassy. I think that just about sums up the whole suburban experience.


For the record, TR and I are those crazy people who not only travel with an infant, but with two cats, one of which, Valentino, we let loose in the car. Since I am my mother's child, though, I only packed one suitcase for everyone. And everything fit.


TR and Andre, sightly overexposed.


I was back in New York by Saturday, but that afternoon I was only interested in going to the gym and napping. Sunday found me back in Connecticut for more character building home improvement projects at La Madre's house. This week I peeled off some old carpeting on the main staircase, exposing the 100-year old oak stairs. Clearly the wall paper also has to go (I hate wall paper) but the stairs were a good start.


One problem is that that carpeting was quite firmly glued on 25 years ago and not all of it came off this round. While pulling it off, I kept shouting, "Who's the genius who glued carpeting to 100-year old oak?" I thought it was one of my brothers. Then I realized it was my dad. He suggested a product called Gunk Off, or something like that, so I'll see what that does. But at least the carpeting is gone.


True story about those stairs: They were not always where they are today. When the house was first built in roughly 1885, they were in the large family room in the front of the house. Around the turn of the century an Italian guy bought the house and added on a few rooms as a wedding gift for his bride. He moved the staircase from the front room to the foyer, which he also added. I love that he moved an intact staircase (and its banister) from one room to another. He also took the chickens out of the basement and laid cement down there. Now, in lieu of chickens, we have giant raccoons. Evolution, mes amis.

My dad and I were talking about the house and I mentioned that being there is like being in The Royal Tenenbaums, and he wholeheartedly agreed. That said, let's review the trailer. Such a genius, underrated film. Good soundtrack, too.



And as for the train...I am thinking of starting a separate blog called Seen On The 11:07 To Darien because the Sunday morning train I take out to Connecticut is always an adventure. There is one young, female conductor whom I love, because she's sassy and she yells at riders who put their feet up on seats or don't use luggage racks. She basically says out loud everything every other ride is thinking, because she can because she's getting paid to do so. Let's call her Sharon. Sharon often gets on the intercom and says something like, "Please make every seat available. Your bag does not need a seat when there are people standing in the vestibule."

This morning when we were still standing in Grand Central I had my earphones on and all of a sudden I heard her voice shouting out on the platform. I turned off my iPhone and saw her marching down the platform shouting, "You will put out that cigarette right now or I am calling the cops!" Sharon was angry, like, about to throw a shoe angry. It seems some foreign tourist thought it was okay to sneak in a quick smoke before we took off. Sharon showed them, in the least gracious way possible, that that wasn't a good idea. Welcome to New York!

Since this was a holiday weekend, Metro North obviously made no provisions for the extra riders and sent their typical eight-car train down from New Haven for the afternoon runs into Manhattan. The train I got on at 2:45 was not only late, but packed with so many people it could barely take any more. I squeezed into a spot in the first car, but was literally sitting on top of my bag with eight other young people in the very first vestibule. Since Connecticut is a civilized place, once we were rolling everyone just cracked open their books and read for the 40 minute ride in, as if being sardined into a tin can of a train wasn't even worth the energy to complain about it. No cells phones, no Nextels, no bleeping Blackberries.

And, as if the transportation gods were smiling upon us, no conductor took our tickets.