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.

A Few Pre-Thanksgiving Photos

Everyone seems to be up and leaving for the holiday, but I'm still in New York until Wednesday afternoon.

Andre and Peppe spent some quality time together yesterday on the bed. Peppe lately has been very eager to sit with the boy.


As did TR and Andre

I Think I Am Officially Living In A Time Warp

As if spending my weekends in a home that is stunted in 1991, surrounded by trinkets of my younger years wasn't strange enough, I just found out that I have to take my driver's test again -- both written and road! Oh, and apparently I also need to sit through some classroom instruction as well.

I went down to the DMV this morning, ready to swap my old California license for a New York one so that Madre could put me on her car insurance so I can drive whatever car she gets to replace her smashed up Kia. The thing is, my California license expired a year and a half ago, and the limit for just transferring it is one year.

I could have taken the written test today and been that much closer, but the DMV does not allow you to have a baby with you when you take the test. It's a bizarre policy, but I didn't want to argue with the guy at the desk about it.

Larger issue: I have no idea how I'm going to pass this! The manual is an actual book, not like the few sheets of newsprint I had to study back in 1993. Also: what is a New York City road test like? Do they make you parallel park in Times Square during rush hour?

I suppose I should start reading that driver's manual.

Barn Cats And Other Connecticut-isms

I went out to Connecticut again yesterday, to visit La Madre and bring her some fruits and veggies, since she was running low. It was another lovely day and the barn cats were lolling about. TR asked, "How can you call them barn cats when your mom doesn't have a barn?"

This was a teachable moment. In Connecticut,we don't have stray cats, we have barn cats. These cats don't actually live in the house, but they do come into the laundry room in the evening to sleep, and they have their run of the yard. It's yet another term, like station car, that I've found myself using more often with my weekly trips to the 'burbs.

This week's artifact: my passport from when I was 10 years old! While helping Madre shred some old bills and bank statements, this popped up in a pile of papers. Why it wasn't in a more secure place, like a filing cabinet, I'll never understand. I love the photo, because it documents the beginning of a roughly 10-year period where I had more hair than head.

Beware Of The Doghouse

Last Christmas J.C. Penney had a genius marketing campaign called "Beware of the Doghouse" which was a video about men sent to a kind of purgatory for buying their wives and girlfriends bad Christmas gifts. The key to get out was to buy them jewelry. The have a sequel this year, which is just as funny.

Maybe it's because I was raised right, but I was always under the impression that jewelry was the only gift option for women during the holidays. I remember often going with my dad to pick out something in amethyst for La Madre, (she was born in February) and one year going to Tiffany's for an anniversary band.

That said, if you're a guy and you've never bought your woman jewelry, what on earth have you been thinking? If you're shopping for me and need ideas, may I suggest a bauble from Baccarat?

Here is last year's video. Genius.

I'm very curious to see if the commercial real estate market really is the next disaster waiting to happen. The Huffington Post did an interesting bit about a developer in D.C., although I would love to see what the story is in Manhattan.

One thing: Am I the only one who finds it annoying that the narrator pronounces it "Lay-man Brothers?" It's as if she never heard of the bank before.

This piece in New York Magazine about the woman who caused that horrible crash on the Tacomic Parkway this past summer is both creepy and sad. Everyone claims to have not known about her drinking habit? And how deluded is her husband?

I'm also reading about all the layoffs at the Associated Press and I am dumbfounded by the incredibly talented and dedicated people who got the axe, some of which are named, others which are on listserves the average reader doesn't have access to. No one was spared, worldwide, including National Desk editors who've been there for decades as well as National Writers.

I understand that the business of journalism is changing and the AP has likely been bleeding money for years, given that their clients, mostly newspapers, are going under. I wager that in five years time, there will be no Associated Press, or it will be a vastly different company that what we know now.

One of my favorite apartments in Manhattan is back on the market. It's on 92nd Street and Park Avenue, in a luxury, pre-war building with an attended elevator. It's a two bedroom with a 700 square foot wrap around terrace and some amazing views of New York City. It's one of the sunniest and happiest places I've ever been in. Slideshow is below, and full specs are here.

Gettin' Cozy With Sarkozy

My dedication to The Simpsons is well documented, and this week's episode was both bizarre and brilliant. Homer ends up in Paris, and Nicolas Sarkozy and Carla Bruni make a cameo. It's not even sweeps week.

This is a nice montage of Homer walking around Paris, yearning for Marge. I love the gargoyle that turns into Moe.

It was another sunny day in Connecticut yesterday and I spent it helping La Madre with small home improvements and assorted trash collection. We also threw away an entire bag of her shoes, which was a great celebration for me, but slightly painful for her. Madre has a slight shoe problem. We're working on it, one day at a time.

When I wasn't enforcing my role as the Shoe Czar, I wandered around the house and checked out the artifacts. My personal favorite is the shrine of photos of myself that I set up in my mother's living room. This is my senior year portrait, when I was 17. Lookin' sharp. I spent a lot of time getting my hair that high for that photo. Ah, 1995.


In 1991 I pasted a note on my bathroom because I was tired of having to wait for it in the morning. It's hard to see in this shot, but it reads, "Unless your name happens to be Pauline and you are of the female gender, under no circumstances may you use any of the bathroom facilities beyond this point. Thank you, The Management."


...because God forbid anyone used my Saved By The Bell body wash. Note that the scent is Zack-berry. I found it in the back of one of the cabinets. I told you her place was a time capsule. It's like This Old House meets The Royal Tenenbaums.

Andre, originally uploaded by thomasr9.

While I was in Connecticut, TR took Andre to the MoMa. They had a nice man day.

It's been a busy few days. I had to show a few apartments on Friday and yesterday was a serious cleaning and chore day on the 21st floor. I did no less than eight loads of laundry, which is ridiculous for two and half people, but now the bedding smells really good.

Today I'm off to Connecticut to help La Madre out with some things -- gathering up the recycling, more leaf raking, etc. It should be a nice day to frolic in New England.

The New York Times piece about Megan Fox is quite good. And she comes across as pretty articulate in the video. I think she's my new Brooke Shields.

La Madre, the Grande Dame, is back home after a week in the hospital. Rob and I picked her up yesterday and she seems eager to walk normally again.

I've known Jen since we were five or six years old. Coincidentally she works at the hospital, so she was our inside gal and made things very easy for us out-of-staters. She is also Andre's biggest fan.


Best thing about the hospital? The food was cheap! $2.50 for a cheeseburger, which was flame broiled? Yes, please.


In a few weeks this guy may come and stay with La Madre to help make sure she gets up and about. His name is Seamus. Maybe he can do something about the giant (read: 50 pound) raccoons that have always lived in our yard. True story: On Sunday evening I left a large, plastic jar of cat food in the laundry room. Yesterday, the jar was not only open, but completely empty. The raccoons, with their opposable thumbs, opened the jar and ate all the cat food. Their species in evolving, I tell ya.

The Quotable TR: Tuesday Morning

Me: Everyone who sees Andre says that his Papa must be a big guy.

TR: I'm not that big.

Me: You're 6'3!

TR: 6'2. But I feel small on the inside.

Halloween 1987, originally uploaded by La Pauline.

I'm off to Connecticut today to see La Madre and do some yard work around the house. In the meantime, here's a shot of me, Halloween 1987. I had just seen the musical Cats, and was a little obsessed.

A Land Rover Landed On La Madre's Car While Driving -- And She Lived To Tell

We had some dramatics on Wednesday afternoon. My phone rang and on the other end was my brother Rob, telling me to get on the next train to Connecticut. A state trooper called him to report that La Madre was in an accident on the Merritt Parkway in Fairfield, but would give us no details over the phone. That's never a good sign. TR came home from work to watch Andre and off I went.

From what I understand thus far, La Madre was driving her Kia in the right hand lane headed south and going 50 or 55 when a Land Rover, most likely going far to fast, flipped over the median in the opposite, northbound direction and landed on the hood of her car. As you can see from the photos, a second later and it would have landed on the roof. Then this would be a very different blog post.

La Madre was pulled from the car and right now she can't really move unassisted. No broken bones, no concussion, but completely immobile. She's been in the hospital for two days, and the docs are still running assorted tests on her. All I know is that that cat has nine lives.





And here's a shot of La Madre from last year, without a Land Rover on top of her.

Another awesome episode of Sarah Haskins' "Target Women."

Friendly Reminder

Friendly reminder, originally uploaded by La Pauline.

Vaynerchuk Says: Technology Has No Feelings

I love everything Gary Vaynerchuk does, and I love his insights on tech and publishing. I also love anyone who swears at an audience as much as he does.