Gung hay fat choi!

Yes, yes. Gung hay fat choi!

Its the year of the pig. And not the ordinary pig, the golden pig. In fact, a golden fire pig .... apparently the dicotomy that something golden might melt in fire, leaving the pile of gold colored metallic pig juice ... an incredible thing, as the year of the golden pig only occurs once every 600 years, and insures that every baby born this year will experience a prosporous and wealthy life. This idea is incredibly popular, so much so that Korea is expecting this legend to solve one of their national crises, as the Koreans is expect to have a 10% increase in birth rate this year, which is apparently much needed as its birth rate is extremely low (http://haacked.com/archive/2007/01/03/Year_of_the_Golden_Pig.aspx)

You can learn more about this at the offcial website, www.firepig.com.

To celebrate this most joyous new year, I planned on attending the Chinese New Year festivities in Chinatown last Sunday afternoon. Aviva and I had been down there the weekend before, shot off some gigantic fireworks, watched crazy chinese ladies run out into traffic chasing good luck parachutes than came out of the fire crackers and generally reveled in the crazy joy that typified the throng of smiling people and frustrated police officers filling the streets and stopping traffic. We saw rather first hand (although I ended up crushed up against someone facing the wrong direction) a dragon dance up the street and bless the different stores, and a little boy hang a lucky bundle of lettuce from the awning on his storefront. Then we wandered about and looked at shoes and sex toys and had really good chinese food with terrible service at the Golden Dragon Restuarant.

Having had a blast the previous weekend, I was excited to go back see some more dancing dragons. I met my friend Aimee on the subway at 86th and Lexington and in no time we were off at Canal street, passing the dragon fighters and crushed into the throng of people heading up Mott
. A with the weekend before there were tons of paper fireworks exploding all around, although unlike the previous week there was not enough snow to make up huge puddles of liquid paper. At Mulberry and Bayard (I think, certainly at some intersection right around there) there was a stage set up, and this seemed to be the epicenter of the New Years festivities. Different people kept getting up on stage and shouting about the various activities that were occurring, and after the first pass, during which explored the streets behind the stage and saw lots of delighted children chasing fireworks and playing with toy dragons, we returned to the stage.


Just in time to hear that there were pig races starting in 3 minutes on Hester Street. This is quite a draw so we hustled down to Hester, only to realize that a number of better informed people had already had this idea and that we couldn't really see any of the pigs. I could see the cages and Aimee, who is on the shy side of 5'3", really had to settle for listening to the squeals.


So we decided to get some food, as I had seen various buns as I was walking around and was suddenly rather hungy. We struck out twice in stores that sold only dried fish parts and noise makers, then found a chinese market where the real struggle was not understanding the signs or communicating with the non-English speaking staff, but actually moving in any direction other than the constant push of people out the back of the store. After buying a bun, eating it while waiting 20 minutes for Aimee to get to a register to buy sushi, immediately realizing I was hungry as she came out and going back in for another less rapid foray into the world of mystery buns, I ended up eating a total of 3 white fluffy buns filled with unkonwn meaty materials, although I think one was pork butt but I am not sure.

Following this unique culinary experience, we returned to the stage in time to hear a uniquely untalented singer, Sun May May or something, belt out something that would have starred on the first episode of American Idol, you know, the one where they show all the worst acts from that year. I think I must have been alone this opinion though, as the crowd seemed to be loving it ... even the dragons were dancing.

The group after her was actually great, the Staten Island Lion Dancers, who were really a group of girls and a guy in purple sweaters with cymbals banging rythmically while two guys dressed up in an elborate liion costume put on a great show. The lion jumped and spun, blinked its eyes and wiggled its ears and bent down to take the prayers of the kids in the audience. At one point the guy moving the lions front section hung off the shoulders of the back guy and spun in a circle, which was very impressive, and later he stood on the back guys shoulders to retrieve the lucky lettuce (a symbol of prosperity and good fortune) so that he could spit peices of it out into the crowd. Aimee caught one, signifying the fortunate year she has ahead of her.

The Lion dance was great and we were pumped for the next act, but it turned out the Sun May May was back by popular demand, popular meaning the announcer really liked her, as the crowd thinned a bit when she came back out, and thinned more when she started singing the same song as before. So having had enough of the crowds and being afraid of Sun May May, we made our way back to the subway, stopping only to pick up a turtle for Aimee and a golden pig for Avivas friend and settled in for the long ride back home.

An Icy Excavation

So yeah, I feel like I have passed a test or been initiated or something, as had to dig my car out of the snow last weekend for the first time. I had given Aviva a bit of crap for the tiny, cute shovel she kept in her car ... but I gotta tell you I would have given anything to have a shovel half that size about 48 hours ago.

So last week was a big storm, or at least the biggest we have had this year, and I have queried all my NY contacts and all of them say that the storm is a reasonably large one. Anyway, it dumped snow on us, which was great ... I spent several days just glorying in its whiteness and beauty. The day after the storm we got so much snow that no one who lived more than 5 blocks from Einstein came to work ... except Cheo, who is crazy and just barreled down the Hutch in his minivan to get to work. "Don't worry PJ, there is no one on the road and I only drive 55." Now I just watched a number of SUVs and other cars spin out going 35 the last time there was ice on the roads, and at that point there was way less than there is now. Crazy Chilean ... its like he has a symbiotic relationship with winter. He walks around outside with just a long-sleeve shirt when it is maybe 15 out. I think in the summer he will melt.

Anyway, the snow stayed pretty for 2 days, then it got nasty and slushy and the roads were flooded and ridiculous and everyone was grumpy except me and Cheo, me for the novelty and Cheo for the cold. I was also pleased because I did not have to drive in the ridiculous weather, my car was happily nestled into its parking spot a few spaces down from my building, on the correct side of the street to avoid snow pile up ... so on Saturday afternoon, after my epic push-up/yoga workout (which I do because there is too much snow on the ground to safely run without using my face to stop), I stroll out of the building intending to take my car up the street to the car wash/oil change and then head over to Avivas.

I figure its been a few days and it is much warmer now, like in the mid 30's, so I will not have any problems getting the car out. In fact, I have to admit, I did not even think about possibly having to get the car out until I saw that there was still snow around it. You see, despite my higher education, I am actually rather dull and had not considered the fact that just because the weather was over 32 degrees, the snow would not all turn to water immediately. In fact, this is so far from reality that I would have to draw you a map for you to find your way into my alternate universe ... the snow stays, forever. Just like in the mountains where you ski. Its not such a novel concept, I just hadn't thought about it.

So I head out to the car and get in and start her up, and Matilda purrs and hums, and then I throw her into gear and step on the clutch ... and smell burning rubber. Turns out, spinning your wheels on ice while in first gear is a good way to burn the tires and the clutch. No problem, I saw Aviva rock her car out the other morning I can do this ... first of all, my car is a 7 speed stick shift and much harder to move back and forth into reverse, and second of all, Aviva is good at this. I get nowhere. So I get out, thinking I will just kick the ice off and be on my way.

Bad idea. My toe still hurts. Ice, like steel, is very hard.

I look around in my car and try to come up with something to dig with, now thinking about how nice it would be to have a little shovel. I settle on the ridged metal portion of my club (the thing that goes on the steering wheel to pretend to keep your car secure while you are not in it). This turns out to be a less than inspired choice, as I basically spend the next hour slow sawing and jabbing away small pieces of ice from my wheels. First I do the wheels on the left, get in and the car makes more smell. Realizing I should try to excavate the wheels on the right side, I bruise my palm and cut my fingers up on the solid mass of ice that has moved, as a glacier does, underneath my wheel and bumper. I pick at in, get in and try again. Nothing. I am rocking but not rolling.

I notice the car behind me, full of old chinese ladies, is also stuck. I watch with interest as they rifle through the recycling across the street and come up and old swiffer and use this to try to break up the ice. I giggle a bit as they are unable to use the swiffer to do anything. I notice the only guy stays in the car, behind the wheel, gesticulating. Then I offer to help and push the car over the much smaller patch of ice and they are free. They offer to help me but 3 800 year old chinese women do not seem like they will be able to help, particularly when they are dealing with human sized mound of glacial sediment under my front bumper. This happens several more times as I struggle to free Matilda. Eventually I think I would have liberated every car on the street but my own, as generally all they seem to need is a small push ... but not Matilda. She is wedged in good.

So after an hour of futilely jabbing at the ice with the club and getting other people out of the ice, I go back into my building and knock on the managers door because I know he has a shovel and I hope to borrow it. I knock on the door and the managers on answers and get his mom. "Please to hold on, I am on the long distance." I tell her no problem, that I can wait. "Is urgent?" she asks. I tell her no, that I just want to borrow the shovel if it is alright. She says its fine, that I should just wait a minute.

I wait 45 minutes. I knock again in the middle. I know she is there but no answer is forthcoming. I return to my club and the ice.

After another 20 minutes, a nice guy name Nathaniel offers to help as his wife is bringing groceries into his house. He pushes and I grind the tires, shake the car, ram the curb and get nowhere. Nat gets a shovel, large and plastic but strong enough, and I break up the ice around the front and back. Nothing. More breaking and pushing. Nothing. Digging and swearing to go along with the breaking. A small prayer before the start and hallellujah!!! I am lose. Up on the curb, almost ramming the car in front of me, backing up and nearly killing Nat, back into the curb, slipping and sliding to the left and I am out in the street.
I get out and thank return the shovel and thank Nat profusely. Who says New Yorkers aren't nice?

Just 3 hours later and I am on my way. A novel and fully enjoyable experience, although in the next few hours I will come to truly regret the epic push-up workout from earlier ...

Snow is great

So I have been getting into work later recently as I keep getting up in the mornings and having to spend about 45 minutes to walk to work, as opposed to the normal 10 minutes it actually takes, because keep feeling compelled to play in the snow. It is so nice and makes everything beautiful and clean looking. I love seeing my footprints in the fresh snow, and I have even made a couple of snow angels in the middle of pelham parkway.

I was walking home from the subway last weekend, pretty late, about 0130 in the morning, and the snow had blanketed everything and it was relatively quiet (as the roads were very icy and dangerous and thus no one was driving ... or at least very few people were driving and those that were were most likely driving badly ... but that is another post) and the trees were bare and the path I was walking on was covered in a thick sheet of ice and it was starkly beautiful, like the moonlit night from an 18th century english poem, all pictureaque and gorgeous.

I know winter causes some problems, I will tell you about my first experience digging my car out of the snow in short order, but despite the car digging, running preventing, dangerous to drive disgusting slushiness that the snow results it, I think its great.

Winter Fashion and Doggy Jackets

So you may have guessed that it is getting colder here ... as almost all of my posts recently have included some discussion of the weather. And thats because its fricking cold!#%$@! I mean, I have lived in the Czech Republic and it was nowhere near this cold ... admittedly we had a mild winter that year ... because of the wind. The damn, omni-directional Bronx wind that follows me everywhere, even into Manhattan and out of the city. Its like the tempurature does not even matter, its the second part of the statement " X degrees, but feels like X-20 degrees because of wind chill."

Understandably this inescapable wind, and a number of recent discussions I have had with Aviva and the girls at work, has led me to pay a lot more attention to my wardrobe. Not that either thing has really changed my wardrobe, but as you may well know, having me even pay attention to what I wear is kind of an amazing thing. Now I have a lot of kind expensive, high-techy outdoor clothing, you know, the windproof/waterproof/ultralight/fleecelined/moisture wicking stuff designed for ice climbing and battling super villains. This stuff is extraordinarily practical ... in fact I can wear nothing but a T-shirt under my heavy jacket (shout out to my Aunt Debbie who bought it for me before I went to Prague) ... and the thing is, practicality is not sexy. Nor is it attactive. Or fashionable. Yup, it turns out that looking like you are going to run the iditarod as you walk down 5th avenue does draw a reasonable amount of attention, but not the good kind.

Having said that there are so many wierd and crazy people here walking around dripping paint or literally on fire or walking on their frozen hands, that I don't really stand out much. This craziness was on display in a particularly obvious form last weekend, when i found myself up at an ungodly hour, taking the subway to central park on Sunday morning to run the New York Road Runners Grid Iron Classic, a 4 mile race through the park before the superbowl. Now it could have just been earlier than the superbowl and been at 2 in the afternoon, but no, it needed to be waaaaay before the superbowl, and be at 9 am. So I get out of the subway, wearing my iditarod jacket and ultrathin running pants with socks that were way too short, thanking god that I bought running gloves the previous afternoon, and I see a number of other runners shuffling their way toward the park.

I look to my left and see a 40ish asian guy next to me. A glance down confirms that he is running the race by the time chip on his shoe. I look over at him, shaking, and say "We're all nuts, right?" He looks back, grins and says, "Lotta crazy people in New York. Lets go run the race." And we head off into the park with the other 4,474 lunatics who decided that 13 degrees with 15mph wind is good running weather. By the time the race starts I still haven't found my friend Koffman and my hands are not longer connected to my nervous system, yet I am proud to say I pulled out a pretty good time, 31:15 for the 4 mile course, and that was running in and out of lots of people. I would like to think I could have run faster without the human impediments, but I don't know, I think the weaving really motivated me.

I finish, still not able to feel three of the fingers in my right hand, and hustle out of the park, finally meeting up with Koffman and getting a ride up to the 125th street subway station in Matilda, who Koffman is borrowing for the week to move to Brooklyn. I subway back into the Bronx and for reasons I don't think merit discussion end up walking 3.5 miles over to my work in 20 degree weather, still wearing my running pants and freezing. Now I am wearing my high-tech jacket and good, warm clothing and am still cold, yet I am passing people wearing much shoddier clothes, and less of them and then seem fine .. maybe I am just to thin-skinned? Or maybe I am exhausted because I stayed up too late and ran a race in freezing weather ...

Still, I have consistently noticed that despite the abundance of high-quality, high tech clothing, most people prefer ot bundle up in more fashionable, less effective garments (Or, up here in the Bronx, the garments aren't more fashionable, they just wear more of them so that everyone looks like a black or grey marshmallow). Now, its not that there are not very fashionable high-tech garments, there certainly are ... but those are the really expensive ones that never go on sale. The cheaper ones I can afford are always the ones like the purple, pink and white fleece socks I got at an REI sale in Seattle last year.

So I futz and putter with my clothing, walk down the streets either freezing and barely fashionable (thats the really the best I get ... apparently my jeans are sadly out of style, possibly never having been in style) or warm but artic explorer chic. I am good with being comfortable, but I would love to develop that New York sense where I am no longer completely sacrificing fashion for function.

And while I am walking, I often look down, a little to protect my face by burying it in my warm jacket but mostly to avoid the increasing amounts of dog shit that dot the streets in the winter as Manhattanites become unable or unwilling to walk there dogs very far away from the buildings in the cold and the wind. Back to the looking down at the street, I notice the dogs are dressed in a variety of wool/lambskin/gortex doggy jackets of varying styles and thicknesses, from the light silk wraps covering the horse-sized dogs that seem to be walking their owners to the full-on eskimo jackets that make chihuahuas seem like small, furry 50's era vacuum cleaners. Despite their looks, or probably just completely irrespective of them, these dogs are probably extremely pleased with their threads, as I imagine that dogs get as cold or colder than we do, because the current fur styles in the city do not provide a particularly good windbreak. So I look down at these well-dressed canines and realize that they are better dressed than I am .. I guess I really need some new pants ... honestly, only in New York could trying to avoid piles of dog shit in winter lead me to fashion paranoia through canine clothing envy ...

Bish Bash I was taking a bath

So last weekend, ansty from enforced urbaness (not a word but urbanity means something else), I decided that despite the weather, or perhaps because of it, I needed to get outside and away from the city. So I did some research and Sunday morning found Aviva and I standing in my living room looking enough gear to camp for a week, as it obiviously takes too long to put much thought into packing when you have a whole car to fill up ...

So 20 minutes later, we had lugged everything downstairs and were driving about 2 hours (turned out to be 2.5 hours because of a bizarrely inept deli worker) north of the city to Bish Bash Falls state park, in Columbus county right on the Massachusetts-New York state line. The drive was quick, and the whole trip up there would have taken less than 2 hours, except that we stopped at a grocery store to get some lunch. Thinking that sandwiches would be fast, we headed back to the deli and met the girl I will henceforth refer to as the deli slug. The slug made good sandwiches ... but it took her an hour. AN HOUR!! New mustard, then new pepper, then to chop the pepper, then to get the meat, then to get different meat, then to flirt with the meat guy, then to flirt with the cheese guy, then to ask about the onions, then to rechop the pepper ... ridiculous. To be fair, she charged us basically nothing and we were on our way, finally.

We got to Taconic around 1145 and bundled ourselves up for the long hike, a very slow process I am becoming well acquainted with, and then started to walk out to Bish Bash falls, which is just across the state line in Massachusetts. It was actually pretty nice out, around 35 and sunny ... and I know that statement alone shows how far I have come in my weather perceptions ...

We took a look at the map on the way there, and noticed it was about a mile walk, somewhat deflating our adventurous prospects. But we were undeterred and after an overequipped stroll up we arrived at Bish Bash falls ... and its is breath taking. I mean, literally dragging the frosty breath out of your lungs beautiful. Like a bunch of clouds drifted down from the sky and settled in on top of an 80 foot waterfall. The water has frozen in such a way that it provides a screen over the surface of the waterfall, but you can catch glimpses of the water running underneath. And the ice is reminiscent of cave formations, with stacks of icy flowstone and stalagtites coasting up and down the falls. It took me 25 minutes just to stop staring at the thing and move down to the foot of the falls, where it was like we were in a winter wonderland ... a freezing river flows, slushes and gurgles its way through piles, fields, drippings and drifts of snow and ice dusting and covering everything. It was awesome ... as the were the long awaited sandwiches, which we sat down an ate at this point. Then I could not contain myself and Aviva watched as I futzed around the base of the falls, running back and forth across the icy, snow-cover rocks. Of course I fell in, but only up to one knee and I was so excited that I was not even cold. It was tremendous.

After about an hour at the falls, we walked back to the car, took off some of our hard-core hiking stuff and took another short hike along cedar creek up to what should have been a lookout point but was in fact nothing due to our inability to follow the mysterious and badly marked trail. It was still a lot of fun though as we criss-crossed the creek about a dozen times, wandered off the trail and up a nearby hill and saw yet more beautiful ice structures, from beards of icicles stretched across the hill sides to tiny ice-falls to sap that had frozen on its way out of a log and formed an orange icicle. Wonderful.

After being lost-ish ... we were never really lost as we were walking up a creek, but we did spend a bit of time not knowing where we were ... we headed back towards the car as daylight began to fade, and headed back to New York. Aviva DJed the whole way back with my iPod, as we discovered on the way up that the CD player in my car does not work, rendering the 3 books of CDs she brought useless. We got back, flopped on the couch and ate trail mix while watching Old School ... great end to a great day.