Jessica Alfieri
writes everything you see here.
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Two Years
I’ve known him seven years; dated him four; been his wife for two.
And I still really like this guy.
I’m not going to make a habit of being publicly sentimental, but I’m really glad that he’s still around after the many, many times I have freaked him out.
Like when he ate all the food in my single-girl refrigerator and I… may have yelled a bit.
Or when, while consuming that food, he left crumbs everywhere and I… did a little huffing and puffing, furiously wiping up after him.
Or any of the times when I suggested that maybe it was time to break up, and instead of agreeing, he gave me this look:
And a hug.
My point here is, I’m less crazy thanks to him. And also nicer, calmer, more flexible, happy…
I’m more of all the things I like about me because of him.
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Found
In a bathroom at the Omaha airport:
I’m so glad they put the cards into the baggy. Because that barrier definitely makes me feel safe taking one.
As with relationship advice, I think it’s a pretty good practice to avoid financial guidance that comes from a bathroom stall.
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The B-52
Not a member of our group, The Beehive Lady was one of our favorite attractions this weekend.
We saw her six or seven times, and each time, she kept the magic alive with her ‘do piled high and light.
Go, Nebraska!
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Room 112
I really enjoyed our room number. Eric didn’t get it.
We’re still recovering from a whirlwind weekend. More to come soon.
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Bathing Beauty
Think back to college, or high school, or grammar school - whatever it takes to get to a time when you thought you were super fucking cool. And now: How cool were you really?
I’m sure there are tons of examples of super cool behavior in my life (please don’t feel compelled to remind me), but the most emblematic for me is working on student film sets in college. I look back on those experiences with an interesting mix of we really had our shit together and we looked like a bunch of jackasses.
Like when we’d audition actors. Real actors would come and audition. (They were just trying to make it in New York, and hell, work is work. Especially on a potentially famous future director’s first film, even without pay.) And we, the managing crew, would sit and evaluate them from behind our clipboards, usually inside an NYU rec room, in some dorm or a meeting space at the Tisch building. Any place we could get our hands on.
Which means that these actors had to compete with ambient noise and other things associated with college.
My point is, however talented the crews were, perfect the sets looked (that was my department!), attractively the lighting shined, or elegant the camera work was, we were amateurs with next to no experience. Amateurs who also believed our work was important and that our talent entitled us somehow.
So when I noticed a little outdoor set in the works on Sunday morning, I watched the crew work for a while. I had a good laugh when they strung CAUTION tape to block pedestrian traffic. Plenty of (real) New Yorkers ignored it and passed through anyway. And then I cringed a little as they adjusted their angle to block the entire northeast corner of the square. It’s so easy to smell that musty amateur-hour aroma with things like this; you know they didn’t get a permit for that spot.
Look, a cone! These guys are pros.
Mme. Director giving some direction.
And then CAUTION tape came down when a brusk passerby walked through it.
Hi, cast and crew of Bathing Suit Movie! I don’t know what you were filming exactly (although it looked a lot like the OC meets Gossip Girl meets really strange set choice, and it was obviously one of those film school talking heads movies) but I want you to know that in a few years, you’re going to look back at this and feel just a little embarassed. Hopefully you’ll also laugh. Enjoy!
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Reuniting (and other stuff)
So, as I mentioned, we’re heading out to the Big Family Reunion this weekend. Eric’s mother’s mother’s side of the family all gets together from far flung places for a wild weekend of mayhem card games. (I kid.) There’s horseback riding, and boat …stuff?, and a Big Fun Softball Game, and I guess lots of other things, with about seventy people, all kinda sorta related.
But I’ve never been to a family reunion. Not ever. The closest thing I’ve experienced, scenery-wise, is probably camp. And that wasn’t even sleep-away. (Did I ever do sleep-away? I don’t have the greatest memory of Childhood Things: anything I remember is really just conjecture based on photos; if there’s no photo, there’s no memory.)
When I was a kid, most of my extended family lived within thirty miles. (That’s what the Tri-State Area will do for you.) So we got together, like, monthly, if not weekly. My grandmother regularly served “casual” twelve- to fifteen-person Sunday dinners.
And the bigger gatherings, with extended extended family folks, were a few times a year. When people got married, had their kids christened (or Penance-d or First Holy Communion-ed), or somebody threw a baby shower, or a great uncle retired, we all got together in some big hall, the walls of which were often covered in faux wood. Some of my favorite parties were held at these VFW-type places.
Last year, Eric and I attempted to attend the Big Family Reunion, but were thwarted by Northwest Airlines and the Memphis airport, who were responsible for our connecting flight. I’m hoping that the actual reunion is more fun than flying from Newark to Memphis and waiting for seven hours before returning from Memphis to Newark. It was a strange sensation to be back in our bed the same night we left.
Anyway, I’m eager to see what all this reuniting is about. All I know about this group - all I really know, like I know my name is Jessica - is that they really like taking group photos. This group and that group; and now with just this generation; now just that line of the family; now let’s add the grandkids. Snap. Snap. Snap. I’ve been told the permutations are ENDLESS.
It’s reportedly also a disorganized endeavor, with more than one person snapping at once, often catching two people in the same group looking at separate cameras.
Also. There’s an in-laws photo, and I’m a new in-law. And that right there is some added attention that I do. not. want.
So what’s my plan? Hide behind my big-ass camera and take the best reunion photos they ever did see. I doubt I will avoid the in-laws photo, but it won’t be for lack of trying.
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Witty
Eric and I are Boardgame People. Not in the have they been outside since 1997? sense, but we like a good Scrabble fight, we’re both on a mission to bankrupt each other in Monopoly, and quite a bit of screaming goes on during Catchphrase. (Which I suppose is more testament to taking things seriously than loving boardgames…) Still, when a boardgame comes out, the marriage goes on hold for a few hours and the claws come unsheathed.
Boardgames for us are like boxing. With our brains.
Anyway, our friends are typically not enthusiastic boardgamers. We used to have a game night with some of Eric’s coworkers who were at least mildly enthusiastic, but that dissipated as these things tend to do when a bunch of busy people try to match schedules with no real glue to the endeavor.
I don’t know how I got to be such a fan of the boardgame in the first place. My father won’t touch one with a ten foot pole. Rolls his eyes like a teenager when we (I) ask him to indulge us (me) and play a round of… anything. And I don’t remember this aversion to games when I was a kid, so his adulthood hate is confusing. Aren’t you supposed to become a bigger fan of things that keep you inside and entertained as you get older? (I know, Dad. You’re not getting older.)
A few weeks ago we were scheduled to have some Sunday night chinese food at his place, and since it was freshly delivered and yet unplayed, we decided to bring over Wits & Wagers, which we’d read about for months before remembering to buy.
“Hey, Dad. We brought over this game…”
[HUFF]
“It’s called Wits & Wagers… It’s supposed to be really fun, like hardly a boardgame at all… You’re witty, right? Let’s just play one round…”
And we were in. (I’m his only daughter; he hardly stood a chance.)
We opened the thing up to find it as good as all the reviews promised: a little trivia, a little strategy, a little gambling. Like playing educated craps.
And now we’re about to bring the thing out to Omaha to play with a completely different crowd. This weekend is Eric’s family reunion, and to be fair, I don’t yet know 90% of the people I’ll meet this weekend, but I imagine that many of them might fit into the boardgaming category I mentioned at the beginning of this post.
(Just kidding, Family Reunioners! …Just kidding.)
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Car[e]-Free Streets
Summer Streets is Bloomberg’s plan to make us all gooshy in love with him, and forget how overcrowded and broken our beautiful city is. And although I was skeptical at first, it mostly worked.
(I heart you, Mike!)
It was surreal to wake up on a Saturday morning without the honking of horns, the roaring of engines, and the ker-chinking of heavily laden chasses. Taken with the fact that construction at the park halts on the weekend, you might think I’m going to say I spent the morning in bed.
But I wanted to see an I Am Legend-like New York.
Which I could have, if it weren’t for all those other people who also wanted to see it.
(Those don’t look like mannequins.)
Eric and I left the house at 8:30 and found a brisk morning for August, bright and sunny, perfect for this car-free experiment. It was as if Bloomberg talked the heat and humidity into quitting along with the traffic. Talk about friends in high places.
At first, it was lovely out there.
We strolled up Park Avenue with similarly minded pedestrians: eager to enjoy, but also to keep to ourselves and keep the flow going.
Cyclists came out, runners came out, strollers came out; even road-skiers and a single Segway-er came out.
(That’s him over there on the left.)
It was fascinating to watch foot traffic that wasn’t confined to the sidewalks.
When humans have enough space, we let common sense rule. Walkers stayed to the left and right, allowing runners and cyclists the middle space for speed. A natural hierarchy took effect. And when people needed to change lanes, just as they’d learned in driver’s ed, they looked over their shoulders before moving.
The sidewalk highway is bad in New York because it’s so crowded that the rules go out the window. People weave across lanes in a way that would get you a DUI arrest in a car. Too rarely do people peek over their shoulder to make sure they’re not cutting somebody off.
And then there are tourists: stopped traffic, confused reverses, and sudden turns, which, to be honest, accounts for much of why the sidewalks can be such nightmares in the first place.
Meanwhile, just below Park Avenue on 42nd street, it was business as usual:
As lovely as the car-free street experiment was, by 11:00 the crowds were too annoying to stand, reminding us of the cold, hard fact: we’re over capacity. Even something as nice as having the entire two-way avenue to ourselves turned mob-like when everybody remembered to show up. Eventually it felt more like a road race than an afternoon walk.
Still, I’d never before had the chance to look any higher than the yellow warning signs inside the Grand Central tunnels. And it’s actually beautiful in there, or, it would be, if cars didn’t plow through it every day.
Go see for yourself. The experiment continues for the next two weeks: Saturdays, August 16 and 23, 7:00 am - 1:00 pm.
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Striking Similarity
Banana Republic’s Fall line offers this:
(Ruched Leather Coat)
…which I couldn’t help but associate with this:
(Dilophosaurus, the adorable little thing that killed Newman Wayne Knight Dennis Nedry in Jurassic Park)
Banana’s message: the ladies, they are fierce.
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Resisting Arrest
Six police vehicles, including the “under-cover” cab detectives.
A drug bust right outside my window. According to Eric, “this shit just got real”.
