They Really Want Me To Move

Normally, at 7AM on weekdays, I'd still be at home. I'd probably be making some coffee or sitting at my computer, getting myself ready to work at home in my pjs.

But nooooooo. Instead, I have this incessant drilling and banging going on directly outside my apartment building at the old Red Cross building that makes me want to throw heavy things out my window and yell at them, "Your death was so three seconds ago." Had I known that the Red Cross' departure would come to this, I would have been leading the rally on my street to keep the Red Cross there, despite their annoying street parking habits.

It's a conspiracy to drive me up the walls.

I Like Being A Bum

I do plan on writing about my adventures in Europe eventually, especially now that i've kicked my jet lag to the curb. In fact, I plan on writing a series of vignettes or short, impressionistic scenes that focus on one moment or give a particular insight into a character, idea, or setting, according to Wiktionary. So brace yourself for some intense stories that I'll write in between searching for a new pizza peel to go with my new pizza stone and cleaning out my tennis bag, where I found the four lemons that I bought two days ago.

Before I delve into writing my next great and highly anticipated series, I have to comment on this recent arctic freeze that has hit Manhattan. All of a sudden I can't wear shorts and a t-shirt to the gym when I go on the weekends from my apartment. This leaves with me two options: 1) wear street clothes to the gym (who the hell chose "street" as the proper adjective for regular clothes? I'm not a hooker.); or 2) wear sweatpants or track pants over my gym shorts.

I do the latter, like many people, but with track pants. I could wear sweatpants and come off looking like the guy who can't, as Seinfeld would say, "compete in normal society," who's miserable, but wants to at least be comfortable. But I won't wear sweatpants in public for that very reason.

When did wearing sweat pants in public become a bad thing? I have a couple of pairs that I wear for sleeping, and one time I mustered up all my courage to wear them outside so that I could pull off this "I'm so cool, I don't care" attitude. Well you know what I found out when I went outside? Wearing warm sweatpants in cold weather is FUCKING AWESOME. I'm not even remotely kidding. It's like being out in the cold, but enveloped in this toasty, warm fleece blanket. It's the closest a human can get to recreating the feeling of being in bed in an outdoor setting, without actually being in an outdoor bed.

I was totally enjoying myself on my way to the Equinox at the Time Warner Center (home of Anderson Cooper. Swoon.) I was working from home that day, so it was the middle of the week, and there were lots of people who were dressed nicer than me in their work clothes. Well even if they weren't in their work clothes, they still would have looked more polished than me.

At this point, I felt compelled to make these people aware that I was dressed like this because I was going to the gym, and not because I'm unemployed or the Gap was having a sale, and this was all I could afford.

I started stretching my arms, doing shoulder and tricep stretches. Then I started to jog, even jogging in place, while waiting for the light. I was kind of bobbing my head, side to side, like I was waiting to enter the boxing ring. When I actually got to the gym, I was out of breath and felt like I was in a sweat pant furnace. I was so out of breath, that I kind of garbled with "Thank (alien-speak)," when the gym front desk girl wished me a good workout.

In short, I ended up looking like a douchebag who was overly afraid of wearing sweatpants in public. I'm not sure if my experience really proves anything except maybe I shouldn't be let out in public by myself.

I Need Some Viagra

I got back Sunday from my jet setting across Europe. When I finally got home, I thought I was going to kiss the tarmac at JFK. I was just so homesick and could not wait to get back to New York. While Milan, Frankfurt & Istanbul were fun, I missed New York oh so much. For example:

• My doorman. I almost gave him a hug when I saw him. He completes me because if he's not there when I come home every night, how would I get in?

• Tourist pinball. In the morning, I get to shove tourists out of my way. I suppose this could apply to any town or city where you live, but in New York, it's a past time.

• New York Smells. As bad as Chinatown can smell, a crowded subway tram in Istanbul is 10 times worse. Let's just say people in Istanbul have interesting bodily scents.

• New York City tap water. I can actually drink the tap water in New York. Now, I actually can only remember drinking New York tap water maybe three times in the 8 years that I've lived here. But staying at a hotel in Istanbul where bottled water is 12 YTL (about $8.00) in the minibar, while on the street it's about $0.30, made me take a pledge to appreciate New York City tap water.

I'll stop there because I've gotten into trouble for bitching before, and also I'm kind of rambling incoherently at this point since my mind is still entering this weird jet-lag induced limbo at about 7:30 each night, where I'm too tired to sleep, and at the same time too tired to do anything else but sleep. The upside to this is that I get up at 5:00AM, fresh as a daisy, not that I get anything accomplished between 5:00AM & 8:00AM, unless you count going through my DVR as an accomplishment (I do.)

But as I was researching this evening jet lag remedies, I came across this article. Ah, Viagra. Awesome way to kill two birds with one stone.

Istanbul!

I've been in Istanbul for two days now after a stops in Milan and Frankfurt. Now I'm finally here experiencing life as a Turk, drinking lots of Turkish coffee and eating lots of baklava.

Will blog more soon, but hi to everyone from Turkey!