TRIP TO DOWNTOWN NYC

TRIP TO DOWNTOWN NYC

Tuesday I took the NC Crankettes, the Lady Crank, and Mr. Step-crank to downtown NYC….well it was more like I accompanied the above crowd as I did more following than taking.

The NC Crankettes

We drove from NJ to Staten Island and took the ferry to downtown.  Passing the Statue of Liberty was very exciting, especially for the Crankettes.

The NC Crankettes 

Just about as exciting was the aquarium in the SI Terminal which had many colorful reef fish including “NEMO”…I KNOW!!

From the terminal in Bowling Green downtown, we walked past the now famous Bull.  I remember when this statue was first unveiled right across the street from where I worked.  We would occasionally go up and pat it on the head or grab the horns, but mostly it was no big deal.  Now there is a line of tourists 100 feet long waiting for the chance to get a picture standing next to the bull.

The Oldest Crankette

We walked up Broadway past Trinity Church, and I pointed down Wall Street to show the Step-crank the site of the “Great Wall Street Titty Riot of 1970.”  (You will have to buy “Maybe It’s Just Me!” for that story.) We passed Zucotti Park now famous for the unwashed wanabe Hippies of today who are desperate for a cause to rebel against so they Occupy Wall Street.  (Way to go unwashed, your movement marked the start of a very nice bull market.)

We passed the construction of the Freedom Tower and saw the reflecting pools marking the footprints of the World Trade Center Towers.  We then went on to the World Financial Center and the impressive Atrium.  We lunched at a NYC Italian Deli, a delicious experience in it self.

We tried to visit the 911 memorial but the wait was too long and the Crankettes (read that Grandpa Joe) were getting antsy.  We worked our way to the South Street Seaport, had an ice cream break and circled around back to the ferry terminal.

On the Staten Island side we searched for the pedestrian way out (not the bus or subway routes).  The Lady Crankette insisted she knew the way, but Grandpa Joe exhausted and achy from the 6+ miles of city walking (city walking is way more tiring than other walking) refused to let a six year old lead the way and led the crowd to the promised land.  Stopped by police ¼ mile later we backtracked and took the Lady Crankettes advice.  Turns out a child would lead the way!

I barely made it up the mountain that must be climbed from the ferry terminal to reach the parking lot.  An hour later we were home. 

The Crankettes were well behaved and I think they enjoyed themselves.  The Lady Crank needs one more visit in order to find a knockoff Coach pocketbook, otherwise I think she also enjoyed herself.  The Step-crank suffered the whole trip from a massive allergy attack but I think he still enjoyed the trip.  He was certainly helpful in herding the Crankettes through crowded streets.  He seems to enjoy his newly inherited niece and nephews.  The feeling appears to be mutual.

The Cranky Old Man survived. But I did finish the day with a two hour nap.      

MY NEW LAPTOP

MY NEW LAPTOP

One day after I purchased my new laptop I turned on the machine and was greeted by a Microsoft message, “We are updating 1 of 49 programs; do not turn off your computer during this process.”  WTF? The computer was only one day old, why were there 49 programs that needed updating?

I wasn’t going to mess with Microsoft’s instructions so I left the computer alone even though I was anxious to play with my new toy.

Forty minutes later the last of the forty-nine updates were completed and I was instructed to restart the computer.  On the restart I was told to wait while files were reconfigured.  That message then disappeared and the screen did nothing, displayed nothing, and the little arrow was nowhere to be found.

Fifteen minutes later and there was no change.  Frustrated, I pushed the off button.  I turned the computer back on….still the screen did nothing displayed nothing and the arrow was still missing.

Mrs. Cranky, already tired of my whining (that's whinging for my UK and Aussie friends) about problems with the sensitive touchpad and not finding my files, sensed I was about to explode from frustration.

“Relax; I’m sure it is alright.”

“RELAX!!  The friggin fragging frumping thing is one day old and they got to mess with updating shit and now I got nothing!”

“It’s fine, just do a restart.”

“I friggin fraggin frumping did a power down and still it’s not responding.”

“Pull the power cord and remove the battery.”

I did as I was told, popping the battery out for three seconds and then powering up again.  Still the screen did not respond.  NOTHING!

“That’s it, I’m taking it to the “Geek Squad” and they better not have to send it away or I am going to freak out!”

“I’m coming with you.  When you go all rag ass on people they never help you out!”

We pulled in to Best Buy and headed straight for the Geek Squad desk.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes, I just bought this frumping machine yesterday.  This morning Microsoft updated forty-nine programs and the friggin fraggin frumping thing has not responded since.”

“Hmmm…can I try it?”

“Suit yourself” I said and handed the PC to the Geek.

He opened the laptop up and noted the lit-up non-responding screen.  He then pushed the off button, waited twenty seconds and pressed the power button again.

“We already did that.  We even pulled the battery to shut off all power.”

As I said “power,” the computer came to life and was ready to go to work.

“WTF!”

“Sir, to power down you need to hold the power button down until the blue lit ring goes out.  Even pulling the battery does not immediately shut down the machine; you need to give it several seconds.”

“Is that in the instructions?”

“Yes Sir, it is.”

“Thank you.”

Getting along with the new computer is going to take some time.

WHY I RUIN GOOD SHIRTS DOING CHORES

WHY I RUIN GOOD SHIRTS DOING CHORES

 Nothing upsets a woman quite like her man ruining a perfectly good shirt doing dirty chores.  Why do men wear a good shirt to do gardening work, change oil, or paint a room?

Sometimes, I admit, we just do not think.  If we see something that needs fixing while wearing a good clean shirt our one track minds go right to the task without even thinking of the consequences of dirt or grime.  Often, however, the fault lies at the clean freak gene that makes up every woman’s DNA.

Women do not save dirty shirts.   When a shirt gets a stain it gets thrown away.  Often it gets thrown away as a penalty to her man for soiling the garment in the first place.  Dig in the garden in a clean shirt; it will get thrown away.  Do a quick paint touchup and drip onto your new shirt; it gets thrown away.  Fix a sticky door and get grease on your shirt; it gets thrown away.  Spaghetti sauce on your new shirt?  Bye bye new shirt.

“Look what you’ve done!  Now I have to throw it away!”

The next time the man plans to do a dirty job he cannot find a dirty shirt to work in.  They have all been thrown away.

While I was married to the unstable wife, I had a beautiful pair of overalls.  They were 45 years old.  They were my Dad’s.  They were broken in and comfortable.  Paint and oil stains covered 80% of these overalls.  The overalls had multiple pockets and hooks to carry hammers and screwdrivers.  I loved those overalls.  I kept them in my smelly basement on a hook by my tools.

When I prepared to work on a dirty job, I always put on the overalls.  Even if I wore a good shirt underneath, the overalls protected everything.  If I got paint on my hands, I could just wipe it on the overalls without guilt.  They were perfect.

One day the wife assigned a painting project to me.  I bought the paint,  purchased new clean brushes and taped off all the molding.  I removed everything that could be moved and covered everything else with a tarp.  Fully prepared to start the job, I went into the basement to pull on my overalls.

They were gone.  They were not on their hook by the tools.  I went into panic mode.  The wife noticed.

“What is wrong with you?”

“I can’t find my overalls.”

“Where were they?”

“In the basement on a hook by my tools.”

“That dirty old thing?”

“Yes, that dirty old thing.”

“I threw it away; it was covered with oil, dirt and paint.  It could never be cleaned.”

“What!!  Being dirty, oily and paint covered is what made them perfect.  They could not be ruined.  Plus they were super comfortable, and they were my Dad’s.  They were covered with my Dad’s dirt, my Dad’s oil, and my Dad’s paint.  I loved that pair of overalls!”

“I’m sorry; I’ll get you a brand new pair.”

My wife did buy a brand new pair of overalls.  Crisp, clean, shiny and starchy.  They even smelled brand new.  They were about 100 washing machine cycles away from being comfortable.

I never wore those new overalls.  I couldn’t do it.  I could not bring myself to get them dirty, and they reminded me of losing my Dad.

I painted that room in a new clean shirt.  It was a shirt that my wife had bought me that I never liked.  I wiped paint drips all over it.  When I was done with the room that shirt was an unclean-able mess.

When I was through cleaning up and putting the room back together again, I tore that shirt off and threw-it-the-fuck-away.

When I divorced the unstable-one several years later, those new overalls remained in the basement.  I never wore them and refused to take them with me.

That is why I ruin good shirts doing dirty chores.