The Silent Killer ...

I'm sitting at my computer just now, reading a comment from a previous post (and yes, Mistress, it is a kitchen in my pocket). C-Rex, the kitty (his current name after watching the original King Kong the other day and realizing that his fighting stance is very much like the t-rex in the movie) is sitting on the floor staring up at me. His posture is very stoic, his tail wrapped around his feet like a loose fitting scarf. His paws perfectly placed in a picturesque pose. His large green eyes staring up at me as if telling me something.

I smile down at him, being careful not to make any sudden moves or speak for fear that he'll take it as a signal for playtime. He seems very content just sitting next to my feet, observing.

I return my gaze to the monitor, debating whether I should continue sitting here in my robe or actually do something with my life and brace the frigid temperatures and head on over to the Gallery Mall to get my Christmas shopping wrapped up.

And then it hits me...

If it had a visual presence, I could discribe it as a menacing green cloud, slowly drifting across the stagnant air of a closed up, winterized room. If it were a cartoon, I could describe it as having glowing yellow eyes, pulsating with a wicked anticipation as it neared its destination. It has an evil grin, its stained teeth crusted over with years of neglect and sharpened to deadly points. It has a pair of boney claws reaching out to me, its nails ready to wrap around my throat in a death grip.

I suddenly stop typing, my senses short circuiting, trying to decipher what the hell is happening.

I look down at C-Rex, who stares up silently....waiting...

Three words escape my lips. The three words that have been repeated endless times in small rooms across the country.

"Did you fart?!?!"

More Pictures ...

My friend, O, still gets a kick out of the fact that the kitchen was even decorated for Christmas.

In Center City, most of the houses have very small kitchens. Most people are shocked (and quite jealous) at the size of my kitchen. Just wish I was more of a cook.

Behind Closed Doors ...

I just came across this site and HAD to post it on here. I was laughing so hard, even though the origin of this conversation is more than a half century old.

Here is the kind of conversations that go on in the whitehouse on a daily basis :

George: Condi! Nice to see you. What's happening?
Condi: Sir, I have the report here about the new leader of China.
George: Great. Lay it on me.
Condi: Hu is the new leader of China.
George: That's what I want to know.
Condi: That's what I'm telling you.
George: That's what I'm asking you. Who is the new leader of China?
Condi: Yes.
George: I mean the fellow's name.
Condi: Hu.
George: The guy in China.
Condi: Hu.
George: The new leader of China.
Condi: Hu.
George: The Chinaman!
Condi: Hu is leading China.
George: Now whaddya' asking me for?
Condi: I'm telling you Hu is leading China.
George: Well, I'm asking you. Who is leading China?
Condi: That's the man's name.
George: That's who's name?
Condi: Yes.
George: Will you or will you not tell me the name of the new leader of China?
Condi: Yes, sir.
George: Yassir? Yassir Arafat is in China? I thought he was in the Middle East.
Condi: That's correct.
George: Then who is in China?
Condi: Yes, sir.
George: Yassir is in China?
Condi: No, sir.
George: Then who is?
Condi: Yes, sir.
George: Yassir?
Condi: No, sir.
George: Look, Condi. I need to know the name of the new leader of China. Get me the Secretary General of the U.N. on the phone.
Condi: Kofi?
George: No, thanks.
Condi: You want Kofi?
George: No.
Condi: You don't want Kofi.
George: No. But now that you mention it, I could use a glass of milk. And then get me the U.N.
Condi: Yes, sir.
George: Not Yassir! The guy at the U.N.
Condi: Kofi?
George: Milk! Will you please make the call?
Condi: And call who?
George: Who is the guy at the U.N?
Condi: Hu is the guy in China.
George: Will you stay out of China?!
Condi: Yes, sir.
George: And stay out of the Middle East! Just get me the guy at the U.N.
Condi: Kofi.
George: All right! With cream and two sugars. Now get on the phone.

Happy Holidays...

Some pics of the house. Not this Christmas however. The electric bill skyrocketed with all of these lights (although you can't really tell how many lights there actually were).

The Outside...

The Inside...

For some reason, the site won't add any more pics to this entry, so I'll have to include more a bit later.

Have a great holiday season folks!!

Skippin' Across the Pond ...

It was recently brought to my attention through an old friend's email that my blog has been linked to a blogger who lives in England. Not for not, but I just think that's a kinda cool thing.

On a more personal note:

Not to mention any names (you know who you are). Circumstances aside, I had a really nice time talking last night (Saturday). You know I luv you two. Always have & always will. But after the week you guys had and seeing how you are there for each other, my love and admiration has grown in leaps and bounds. Thank you for listening to my woes of late and giving some sound advice. (more of that saga transpired after you left, but that's for another time).

Again, I love you guys and I love our friendship.

xoxo
Your own Joey Tribbiani

City Planning at Its Worst ...

This month was the grand opening of Philadelphia's newest skyscraper, the Cira Centre. Located on the western banks of the Schuylkill River, atop the trainyard feeding into 30th Street Station, it is the tallest building in Philadelphia outside of Center City. It is a modern glass sculpture rising up from Amtrack trains passing through the yard below street level. A structure this city has never seen, it takes on a completely different look from every angle, seeming to almost disappear into the sky when the sun reflects off its glass. At night, a brilliant display of changing lights on every floor light up the facade like a carnival ride. It's a building so out of the ordinary from the typical skyscrapers built in this city that it stands out as a tribute of the future into which Philadelphia is embarking.

However...

Architectural planning has already been comprimised with the poor design of traffic flow around the area with the addition of this highrise. Situated alongside the circle of traffic that encompasses 30th Street Station, the Cirra Centre is also attached to a new parking garage that accomodates both workers in the building and Amtrack and Septa passengers, not to mention its location is about 50 or so yards away from the off-ramp of the Schuylkill Expressway.

In a nutshell, traffic around the train station complex has all but completely grinded to a halt, especially during evening rush hour. It's always been less than an ideal situation, with cars exiting the expressway and being forced to turn right at the top of the ramp, going around 30th Street Station (now past the Cirra Centre) and continuing on to Market Street, the city's main East/West artery.

To make matters worse, just a 1/2 mile west of the off-ramp on the Schuylkill Expressway, The Vine Street Expressway merges with the Schulkill, bringing with it traffic from Center City and I-95 from the East. So technically, you have 3 major highways that wind up using one off-ramp to exit at 30th Street Station. Top this with the endless parade of taxi cabs circling the train station and now the added traffic from the new parking garage next to the Cirra Centre, and what do you get?

Gridlock!...

Yesterday, I was on the bus coming home from work. Snow had already been falling, already doubling the 45 minute commute from King of Prussia into Center City. The bus was hot and crowded and I really needed to go to the bathroom. When I saw the skyline quickly approaching, I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that I was a few short minutes from home (and the bathroom). And then the gridlock. What normally takes about 30 seconds or so to get from the top of the off-ramp, around 30th Street and continuing down Market Street into Center City had slowly grown to an agonizing, bladder inflating 15 minutes! Cars exiting the expressway merged with 2 lanes of traffic circling the station which merged with 2 lanes of traffic exiting the new parking garage which merged with 2 lanes of taxi-traffic. Six lanes which then merged back down into 3 as it rounded the western side of 3oth Street, making it's way towards Market.

Granted, a parking garage was definately needed, but better traffic planning is also needed. Instead of spending God knows how many 10's of thousands of dollars used to computerize the lighting scheme for the outside of the new building, a bridge should've been built from the parking garage, over the railroad tracks behind the Cirra Centre and connecting to JFK Boulevard on the west side of 30th Street Station. This could've taken traffic from the garage away from merging traffic from the expressway and right out to Market Street 2 blocks west.

But noooooo...

No one ever thinks of traffic before the fact, only when horns are honking and complaints start rolling in from drivers.

The Cirra Centre is rumored to be the beginning of a new growth of buildings that would stretch into adjoining University City. I certainly hope someone's light goes off before the next shovel of dirt is removed from the earth.

The Cirra Centre officially opened it's doors in early December. The traffic nightmare around one of the country's largest train stations has just begun...

The Retail Bitch Session ...

My Friend, Michael, e-mailed me today to voice his own annoyance about the Christmas Holiday retail season. So, without further adeau, here is my guest blogger, Michael, and his rendition of "All I want for Christmas is to Bitch, Bitch, Bitch"...

Since I do not have a blog of my own, I wanted to rant about something that you could put in YOUR blog.

You know what I find the MOST annoying part about holiday shopping? It's not the long lines. It's not the guy behind you talking on his cell phone so loud that everyone in the store knows about his wife's doctors appointment tomorrow at 3. It's not the never ending wail of children wanting this or that, "PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE can I have it?" and it's not Salmonella, the cashier who couldn't care even less about her job if she really really tried.

No, its women with purses. Yes. I said it. Women with purses.

I mean c'mon. You know who you are. You know you are in line and are expected to pay for the crap your carrying in your hands. You could very easily have your credit card ready and help the line move along at a nice clip.

Uh-huh. Nope. You have to wait till the cashier has rung everything up and told you the total of your purchase and THEN you hike your fifteen pound bag up onto the counter. You open it and rifle through it for at least two minutes to find you wallet. You then proceed to pull out every credit card you own until you find just the right one. Oops. No, not that one. Use this one.

Then after you scrutinize every item on the receipt like you were searching for secret codes, sign it, you finally put your card back into you wallet. The receipt gets folded up and put in that special pocket in your bag. The one with the zipper that gets stuck sometimes. The wallet then has to go back into the bag, way down in there so you have to search for it at your next stop. The bag gets slung over your shoulder, and you pick up you purchases.

And being that I'm the guy behind you in line, I have had a small stroke by this time and don't even know what the hell I came in there to buy in the first place.

Joy to the world.

The Retail Whore

Not a Happy Snow Bunny ...

Thursday...

Snow storm on the way...

Birthday tomorrow...

Party on Saturday...

Everything falling apart...

There's a girl I work with who (for some God only knows what reason) travels down five hours from central New York to work the weekends here. She's supposed to arrive early tomorrow afternoon so that I can take off and enjoy my birthday. She's scheduled to work Saturday morning and then head back home Saturday afternoon. I have off on Saturday so that I can enjoy myself at M&O's 2nd annual Christmas extravaganza.

I was excited yesterday at the thought of a snow storm heading our way in time for my birthday (something that hasn't happened in my lifetime) and couldn't wait to go out and play (or at least drink at the bar).

But here I am at work (45 minutes late due to a car fire on the Schuylkill Expressway) and I just received a call from the girl from New York. They already have 29 inches of snow on the ground and another 10 on the way tomorrow, so she's not coming down. Already short staffed here, now I'm stuck working later than I was originally scheduled for tomorrow and I not only have to come in on Saturday morning (which means I can't go out tomorrow night for my birthday), but I also have to work on Sunday (which means I can't "over"enjoy myself at the party on Saturday).

This just plain SUCKS!!!!!!!!!

Someone Is Listening ...

It's a little late this year, but I was walking through Rittenhouse Square this afternoon and the illuninated balls were dangling from the long stiff winter branches overhead.

The Evil Uncle ...

Thanksgiving is usually spent at my brother's and sister-in-law's house out in the boonies. It's always a fun time, with plenty of wine being passed around the table, an all too enormous Italian feast and plenty of joking and ribbing one another. Mostly my dad is the brunt of many of the jokes, especially now that he has finally broken down after so many years and accepted the fact that he's old and needed hearing aids. But he turns them down whenever there's too much conversation going on the the room and all he claims to hear are metalic echoes bouncing around inside his head.

This past Thanksgiving, I once again realized how old I actually was when my nephew and brother started a verbal exchange over when my nephew will be able to learn to drive. My brother's response: "When you're old enough to afford your own apartment."

Knowing the joking tone of his father's voice, my nephew replies: "Well how will I be able to find an apartment without a car?"

"Do what Uncle Chris does. Take the bus."

D'OH!!!!

* * *

(Jump ahead two weeks)...

Yesterday, I was invited back for Christmas dinner. With a new job beginning on December 26th and no more having to wake up at 3am in order to make it to work by 6 to open the gallery for after-Christmas returns (of which my place gets very little), I graciously accepted.

Since my brother lives out in the boonies close to the Pennsylvania/Delaware border, whenever I went out there for family get togethers, I would have to take the train out to my parents' house and then climb into the backseat of their Ford Explorer and ride with them, constently chanting from the back seat: "Are we there yet? Are we there yet?" (anything to consistently drive my folks batty).

This year, with training for my new job beginning the day after Christmas and having to travel over to Jersey for two weeks, I decided to rent a car for the duration instead of figuring out how many trains or buses I would need to take. So I'll have a car on Christmas day to go to my brother's place.

It suddenly dawned on me this morning (and I'm writing it down now on here, so I don't forget to actually go through with the plan) that, in all the times I've gone to Thanksgiving dinner over there, I was always tagging along in my parents' backseat. This time, I'll be taking my own transportation. What better way to get revenge on my brother's stab at my taking public transportation than to present my nephew with the ultimate gift?

That's right. While my neice opens her gift certificate or something and politely thanks her uncle for the gesture and my brother and his wife accept a bottle of wine and some foo-foo dessert, I will casually hand my nephew a key tied to a bow and say: "Your gift is in the driveway."

Sure, it'll be far-fetched, but I know my family, and I know that it'll take a few brief seconds to realize that it's just a joke. My nephew, on the other hand, being an overly anxious teenager on Christmas day, will surely bolt out of the kitchen, down the hall and outside to see what awaits him.

Merry Christmas from your Evil Uncle...

God, I love the gift giving season...

Winter Wonderland (Update) ...

Even though the local media put the fear of the Snow Miser in the hearts and minds of its viewers, causing them to stay at home instead of heading out for some Christmas shopping, the expected snowfall was a complete dud. The storm moved out to sea south of the city, bringing us only a coating of the white stuff. I was stuck at work with no one to talk to and missed out on a few drinks with the Mistress, but at least I didn't miss out on the expected funfilled snowy night out on the town as I feared. Maybe next time ...

Winter in the City ...

I just received an email from the one and only Mistress Jenn inviting people out for drinks tonight. Here it is, the first week of December, a few days before my Birthday, a new job beginning just after Christmas, stuck in my current job with extended holiday hours and a snowstorm on the way.

Snowstorms was another thing that lured me to city life. I remember several years ago, a former co-worker who lived in Center City Philadelphia talked about meeting up with friends during a blizzard and walking the streets, entering the only establishments that were brave (and smart) enough to open during such an event: bars.

I, at that time, lived in Delaware County, about a 20 minute drive from the city. During that same blizzard, I was stranded at home, my car buried under snow drifts six feet high, repeat sit-coms on the telly and my parents calling me inviting me to a party a few blocks away at one of their friends' house. Knowing that all of my city friends were out strolling through the winter wonderland that was downtown, I stewed a while longer in my mexican inspired (but not made) throw, staring at the images flashing before me on the television screen. I vowed then and there that I was going to abandon the suburbs and move into the city.

It had only taken a few more years, but I made it into the city. The blizzard of '03 was the first big time storm to hit and shut down the city since I had moved five years earlier and it was everything I had always imagined it would be. It was February 16, my friend's birthday. He was living in Jersey, but we had already decided that, since he worked in the city, he was going to take the train in and just stay overnight at my house. That way he wouldn't have to worry about driving in what was promising to be the "storm of the century".

It was a weekend storm, starting out late Friday night and snowing through most of Saturday. By the time we awoke Saturday morning, local television stations have all pre-empted their children's cartoon line-up in lieu of continuous coverage of the storm, with reporters stationed throughout the region, getting anyone and everyone's reaction, as if the information hadn't been already beaten into the viewers' heads for days leading up to that morning.

"This is incredible..."
"I have no food in the house..."
"I had no idea..."
"What am I supposed to do with my car?..."

Me? I was raring to get out and play. Like a little kid, I was up at the crack of dawn but my friend, who bartends and didn't get home until about 3am, was still sound asleep. I tried to be as quiet as possible as I walked throughout the house, putting coffee on, watching the t.v., staring out the window. By the time he had crawled out of bed and was standing infront of the coffee pot, I had already been outside twice and shoveled the walk clear.

We had already made the decision to just go and check out the city, walk the streets and take in the scenes. Once we made it to Rittenhouse Square, we were both amazed at how many people were out and about. The snow was still coming down hard and the wind was whipping it around, stinging what exposed skin there was on the body, but people didn't seem to mind. Automobile traffic was all but non-existent, as people treked through the streets, oblivious to changing traffic signals overhead warning them to stop (had they been driving). The surrounding skyscrapers were completely shrouded by the low ceiling and falling snow, making the only visible architecture the rows of victorian and colonial storefronts lining the avenue. Walking through this surreal cityscape, no towering glass structures, no cars or trucks blaring their horns, no visible blacktop street benieth the packed snow, the only tracks outside of footprints being an occational bicycle tire track, it all made me wonder if this was what it must've been like at the turn of the century, when families would stroll through the streets on a Sunday afternoon, dressed to the nines, fruit carts lining the curbs of the cobblestone streets, an occational electric streetcar clanging its bell in the distance.

As I wondered this, our travels brought us across town and to our first destination, Woody's, for an enormous cheeseburger and a beer. It was about 2 in the afternoon and the place was packed with revelers all out enjoying the snow (by being indoors with a martini). We ordered our food and drinks and chit-chatted about nothing in particular as we watched the overhead televisions with the continuing coverage of (cue menacing music): The Blizzard of '03.

By the time the sky grew dark and the streets were aglow with the ambiant glow of the overhead streetlights, my friend and I had walked to several bars and had several drinks. The snow was still coming down heavily and our stomachs were growling for something a little more substantial. My friend suggested dinner at Friday, Saturday, Sunday, a quaint little restaurant off of Rittenhouse Square. I was alittle short on cash and, seeing that it was his birthday, I didn't feel right about having him pay. He poo-pooed my objection, saying that, since he had lived in Florida for so many years, he had forgotten how much fun a snow storm was and that being with me made it the best birthday in years. He decided to treat for dinner and we headed back home to change pants and warm up a bit before heading back out into the storm.

I called the restaurant to see if they were open and to make reservations. We realized soon enough that reservations were not needed. Aside from us, the only other people in the place were the owners, sitting at an adjoining table. They bought us a bottle of wine and we ordered dinner.

It ended up being a fun-filled day of drinks, laughs, good food and good company. By the time we were leaving the restaurant, the city was completely quiet. Cars who's drivers were brave (or stupid) enough to drive were abandoned at odd angles along the curbs. The snow had stopped falling, save for a few drifting flakes caught up in the diminishing winds. In the distance, a rogue diesel engine of a snow plow can be heard moving through the streets, clearing paths for emergency vehicles. As we made our way home, I commented on this being one of the big reasons for me moving into the city. The burbs, as sprawling as the lawns may be, held you captive in your homes on days like this. The city allowed you to move about and rediscover things you normally took for granted.

Ironic then that I should be living in the city still and being stuck at work in the burbs as Mistress Jen is finding people to go have drinks with in the first snowstorm of the season.

(sigh...)

Wendy Jo Sperber ...

I just read that Wendy Jo Sperber, best known as Amy in the hit sitcom (of the time) Bosom Buddies, has died after an eight year battle with breast cancer. It's always sad to hear about the people you've come to love (or at least grow fond of) from television or movies, especially when they're your age. One of the best things I've seen her in (and it may have even been her first role in a major movie) was the lovestruck teenager in the movie 1941 with John Belushi. I think I'm gonna have to hop on Netflix and get that film to watch again. The swing dance number she performed in that movie just showed the energy that woman had, despite a weight problem.

Do you have your own Wendy memory from tv or film? Let me know! In the meantime, you will be missed, wendy.

After 11 Agonizing Months ...

...My New Year's resolution is happening.

As of today, December 1st, I am writing my resignation and will no longer be pushing the works of "The Painter of Light". It's been a long time coming, especially in the last year and a half when I had to pretend to like "Little Miss Hysterectomy", a back-stabbing be-otch who tries to weasle her way into each and every sale and/or client I have. She's been working in this gallery (transferred from another gallery that had closed a few years ago) and almost immediately, her antics began. I've given her the above name because of the operation she had last January. I was hoping that having her insides scraped and removed (sorry for the gross image, but that's how much I hate her), she would've have calmed down like a cat or dog being fixed. But noooooooooooooo. There have been times when I've been so angry with her and her sneaky tricks, my friends and I would sit around the bar and discuss easy ways of eliminating her from the picture.

For the most part, however, I like most of the people I work with and, after five years, writing this letter will be hard and sending it, even harder. Maybe a singing telegram or a male stripper would be more appropriate.

I'm exciting (and frightened) about starting my new job. It's something completely different, but it's also got far-reaching possibilites. My friends are very exciting because I'm no longer commuting out to the boonies (I think, however, they're more excited about the 50% discount I'll be getting).

Anyway, wish me luck and I'll let y'all know what sort of reaction my letter will bring.

Caio!