Tonight is the West Village Chorale’s annual Messiah Sing, and I’m going for the second year in a row. This year my Grandma is coming down to the City and we are going together. My grandmother is my favorite person ever, and I am so excited! If you come, be sure to find us at intermission and say hello!

The details:

487 Hudson Street in Manhattan
It starts at 7:30 and you should arrive before 7:15.
Admission is $12, and $10 for seniors and students – no sales in advance.
You don’t have to sing (but it’s more fun if you do!)

The Brooklyn Flea is hosting a holiday gift fair in Manhattan every Wednesday – Sunday on December 2-6 and then 9-13. After that, they’ll be there every day from December 16-24. Hours are Noon – 7 except Wednesday when they are 6 – 9.

They’re even serving beer crafted by the brilliant Brooklyn Brew Shop (look for them in an upcoming episode of Hey Brooklyn, they sell DIY brew kits that aren’t cheesy). Even Stacy London came by to have a cupcake!

You should check it out if you’re around. More info by clicking the postcard.

Ghetto, low-rent screaming all up and down the block just past 11:30 at night. Someone had gone into her bathroom, I heard (and the neighborhood heard). She was going to “beat down that bitch that took her shit”. I call Rob to the front door and we stand in the shadows listening to her threaten and scream, right by our front door, until she is literally dragged away by her man. Guess what color they all were? It breaks my heart.

She’s scared because of what the doctor said, and wanted someone to go get pedicures with. I wasn’t around because now I’m in New York.

I’ve paid less for cars, GOOD cars, than this monthly rent. The apartment is gorgeous in the 100-years-old-but-in-perfect-condition kind of way. We decide though, that 400 square feet is too small.

Everyone thinks they are better than everyone else. Everyone thinks they are cooler, and everyone has an agenda and an ego, a business card, a pitch (and trust me, I have one, too). It is The Way It Is, and it’s usually awesome, but sometimes I’m SO TIRED OF IT.

The 24 hour fried chicken place is a constant source of temptation. But that’s not so bad.

I left with plenty of time to get to my appointment today but I went to 8th Avenue, not 8th Street. With fifteen minutes to spare, I drove the few miles to the proper address and arrived at 3:04. Ok. Not bad. I dropped off my gear and dashed off to park, thinking it would take me no time at all.

I ended up driving about ten miles in a three-block radius. After about fifty swear words, several angst-filled poundings on the steering wheel, and a handful of prayers to gods I don’t actually believe in, I found a spot and arrived back at 3:45. This was a new personal low of mine, and I was ashamed. Also, we are nearly out of gas, and I’ve gnawed off several fingernails.

My interview went well; I get to meet the most interesting people and today was no exception. Lotta offered me water, I accepted, and it came sparkling, in a glass, with a lime. Classy! Note to self: buy limes and put them in guests’ drinks. It shows thoughtfulness.

Her newest book comes out today, and I flipped through it while we were interviewing. The projects really do seem simple, and there are several patterns included with the book. There are things to make for toddlers, too, including bibs, rattles, crib bumpers and quilts.

Order here

I am so sick.

New Years eve, in the morning, I slipped on my bathing suit for the last time in a long time, threw on a gauzy skirt and tank top over it, and padded down to breakfast with the family in my flip-flops. Afterward I slathered myself with sunscreen and collapsed into a chair poolside in the hot sun, trying to soak as much of it in before I went back to New York, and the cold, and the snow. I went swimming with Rob’s super adorable nine year old nephew and his mom, and floated around on a blow up raft with my feet dangling in the water.

It took forever for our plane to pull up to the gate, and forever to get our bags and forever to get to our car. By the time midnight came around, we were almost home, and we listened to the countdown on the radio. Rob pulled over on the deserted side street, and we kissed quickly, said “Happy New Year!”, and continued on.

The dogs jumped all over us and we kissed and patted them all hello. It was a few minutes before either of us realized something was off: the furnace. The thermostat read 49 degrees, although the heat was set to 70. We called the landlord, the super and 311, but no help came until the morning. It was, literally, a “three dog night”, with the five of us huddled together as the temperature in our bedroom dropped even further.

We waited for hours the next day while they tried to fix it before we gave up and packed everyone up to go to Rob’s parent’s house. We eventually got a phone call saying it was all done and the heat was working again. We waited until after dinner to give it a chance to warm up and then drove home again. We we arrived, it was as cold as ever and the furnace still wouldn’t kick on.

“We’ll be back in the morning” we were told. “Something must have gone wrong.”

Yeah, no kidding.

“I can’t spend another night in this cold!” Rob declared, and I agreed. We packed up again and drove the hour back to Rob’s parent’s house, and the next morning, it was finally warm in our apartment.

Now we are so, so sick. Rob spent most of Friday laying in bed, full-on miserable, while I slumped on the couch feeling “not so great”, but ok. Carissa had come over to collect her stuff from house sitting, and we watched movies. Saturday I couldn’t get up until well after the sun had gone down again. I spent the day mostly awake, reading, and, at one point, getting attacked by a giant house fly that had survived January by living in my bedroom. He was HUGE, and he wasn’t going down without a fight. It was horrible. He kept flying into my face, and tried to steal my sandwich.

We have mice, too. I saw them, and not a “glimpse” of a mouse either; I stood by my stove and watched them boldly play on top of the burners and dirty plates and cups: their own mousey jungle gym. They didn’t notice me if I didn’t move, so I stood quite close to the stove, and watched them for a while. If they weren’t infesting my house with their mouseness, I would think that they are pretty cute.

I tried to set traps for them involving complicated series of wooden spoons, boxes, trap doors, cardboard tubes and soda bottle caps, but nothing worked and I kept being outsmarted. The score currently stands Mice: 2, Amber and Rob: 0 (call me a granola hippie douche bag if you want, but I’m not breaking their necks with normal traps). We’ll keep trying. When I catch them, I have plans to insert them exactly where they belong in the Circle of Life: I’m giving them to Bra the cat. Bra is pretty cool. He has gone from running away at the mere sight of me to scurrying out of the way cautiously and watching me from a distance, to not moving at all as I brush by, to letting me stand near and look at him from a few feet, to cautiously sniffing my outstretched hand, to letting me pet him with one finger behind an ear, gently, and just for a second before he gets too scared. We’re growing fond of one another.

I went to a meeting today and had to commute home in rush hour Manhattan traffic. It was tough; twice I missed the subway by mere seconds and once I had been waiting right where the doors open, but people shoved me out of the way and the doors closed on my face and arm. “Ah!” I shouted, “THE SUBWAY DOORS ARE SQUISHING MY FACE!”, except, of course, it sounded like, “Tha! TH’ THUBTHAY THORS THAR THUISHING THY THACE!”

Someone behind me grabbed my left shoulder and heaved, thank god!, and with another big yank I was able to rescue my handbag which was half in my hands and half on the train in danger of going downtown without me. I thanked my quick-thinking rescuer and scowled (painfully) through the windows of the subway at the people who had shoved me aside and were going merrily on their way with their faces unbruised. Assholes.

I took another subway in the wrong direction, and then, because I took so long getting home, Rob left our home subway stop where he was waiting for me with the car and I had had to walk seven blocks in the rain. And the drummers! My god.

There were these guys with bongos that got on the subway to “entertain” everyone with their music, hoping for thank you money. Ok, fine, it’s New York. I expect that, and usually it’s pretty cool to stumble upon a car with musicians. But they’re drummers. DRUMMERS. The first (only?) requirement of drumming is that you need to have rhythm. These guys did not. I wanted to hit them with my purse and yell,

“One!” *smack* “Two!” *smack* “Three!” *smack* “Four!” *smack* LEARN TO COUNT TO FOUR!”

But these guys were “free stylin’”, which is to say they were too, ahem, “chemically altered” to keep a beat. The noise made me feel slightly crazy. I changed subway cars to get away from them, but at the next stop they moved, too, and I had to go back to the first car to get away from Annoyance, the musical.

During my switch, I realized I was on the wrong subway, so when it stopped I found the correct one, an endeavor that involved all sorts of complicated shenanigans. When I finally got myself sorted and found a seat on the correct subway, I heard drummers on that one, too. Like the first guys, they sounded awful. I thought to myself, “How many off-beat drummers could there be in this city right now?” and then I saw them and kind of froze for a second, horrified. It was the same guys.

I was going to move but I figured there was no point. They’d just find me again. I sat glumly, shoved between two fat people, and endured them pounding on their instruments like drunks (which they probably were).

The drumming stopped and they took off their caps, walking up and down the car hoping for money. “A small donation would be appreciated,” he said to me, smiling.

I seriously hate this city sometimes.

My house is officially de-peopled after being packed with great friends.

At some point Rob had joked about holding a Podcamp in our apartment, and I said, “Oh right. Try the third of Never!” But then all of the cool people I met in Montreal were chatting one night, saying how we miss being around other people who understand checking your email forty times a day, taking 500 photos in an evening and carrying around a Flip cam just about everywhere. And someone else said, “We should meet up in New York.” and then someone else said, “I totally just bought my plane ticket.” Then I said, “You all should stay here… we have the room.” and Rob said, “Oh my god. My wife has been sucked in.” And so they all came and we did… stuff that was fun.

If you’ll need me I’ll be recovering all week.

We trekked to Connecticut today to get some stuff out of the old house before the new tenants move in on December 1, and while we were there, we also went grocery shopping. Because everything is so much cheaper in Connecticut, we kept holding things up in the air and going, “Look at the price of THIS! It’s practically free!” We were gleeful filling our cart with bargains, and packed the car to bursting. We also stocked up on liquor for the weekend, because we have a ton of friends flying in from out of town to stay with us, and we don’t throw lousy parties. It’s all so much cheaper! If you need to move to New York City, make sure you have some cause to drive up to Connecticut a few times a month; you’ll save tons on groceries.

I’m a huge fan of homemade, cheap or free costumes that rely on creativity, rather than a purchased costume that looks cheap and is actually expensive.  I wasn’t planning on being anything for halloween but the spirit caught the best of me as I was getting ready for the parade, and I pulled together a costume last second.  I think it came out pretty good.  I went as a mad scientist,

and Rob revised his tried and true ninja costume, which I think is hilarious.

His ninja costume is really a tee shirt, and my rocking mustache was made from a few bits of scarf fringe that I crazy-glued to a piece of scotch tape. The hair is all my own… it really does get that big.

The parade was awesome, but LONG, and we had to get there early to get a good spot meaning we were there for several hours.  I forgot how deeply I hate the standing around, crowds, cold and waiting of parades.  Next year we plan on being IN the parade; the revelers marching seemed to have way more fun.

Sarah Palin was a popular costume.  One was walking around with her boyfriend dressed as a polar bear that had been shot, another saw spotted a stranger in a moose costume and they instantly staged a photoshoot together.  Several were walking around, pausing every few minutes and squinting into the distance shouting, “Hey Look!  I can see Russia!” and many of them had tiny devil horns poking out of their Sarah Palin wigs.  I love New York.

Have a great weekend!

Today in Park Slope (a charming Brooklyn neighborhood that looks like Sesame Street) two equally scruffy hipster dog walkers met in the middle of an autumn-leaf-and-rain speckled sidewalk. Each of them was walking a sizeable motely crew, and the two groups collided, intertwined, and tangled their leashes all together as everyone sniffed everyone else. The scruffy hipster guy and the scruffy hipster girl tangled together, too, and began laughing as they tried to sort themselves out again. It was exactly like a scene in a mid-90’s romantic comedy.

I hope they fall in love.