Tag Archives: flowers

Lame Adventure 367: New tradition?

Last Wednesday at The Grind I sent my boss, Elsbeth, the following email:

Me: I’d like to take this Friday, Good Friday, off. I have a lot of praying to do.

Elsbeth emailed me back:

Elsbeth: Okay.

I had had a late night hanging out with Milton the Thursday before so I slept in Good Friday morning. As planned, I woke praying:

Me (praying): Please don’t let it be noon.

I looked at the time on my dumb phone and saw that my prayers were indeed answered. It was only 11:57. I showered and then stepped out to run an errand. I went shopping for bananas.  Upon returning to my sanctum santorum, I saw that in the span of my twenty-minute absence, a hydrangea had been placed in my building’s vestibule.

Hydrangea 2013

Hydrangea 2013

As I flirted with tearing a groin muscle to photograph it in natural light; I had to prop the front door open with my right leg while stretching the rest of my body like Elastigirl from The Incredibles to take the shot, it occurred to me that this is the first Easter season that my building has not had a traditional Easter lily in the vestibule.  How did I feel about that?

Me (thinking):  There must have been a half-price special on hydrangeas.

Personally, I prefer the lily.  It smelled fragrant, didn’t irritate my nasal allergies, and I think it’s an infinitely more attractive plant. Am I right or am I right?

Easter Lily 2012

Easter Lily 2012

On the other hand, pictured below is how Easter is traditionally celebrated within the confines of my hovel.

The size and feel of an egg, but it's actually an egg-shaped superball!

The size and feel of an egg, but it’s actually an egg-shaped superball!

When on a sugar high after stuffing oneself with chocolate matzoh, you might find yourself bouncing your superball egg like crazy.

When on a sugar high after stuffing yourself with chocolate matzoh, you might find yourself bouncing your egg-shape superball like crazy.

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Lame Adventure 332: Pink Pugs in Paris

As most of you don’t know, my commenting wingman, Mike G, recently celebrated his twenty-fifth wedding anniversary with the woman he calls The Bride.  Altogether let’s say:

Us: Awwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

What is even more monosyllabic-inducing to me is that this is his fourth marriage.

LA Readership and Mike G:  WHAT?

Just yankin’ ya, but let’s be realistic, I’m queer as, accounting for inflation, a nineteen dollar bill and this is not the site for sentimental straight sap.  I will say this about Mike and The Bride, out there in the hinterlands of New Jersey, they’ve produced three well rounded spawn.  The first-born, Son, is a university wrestling team member with clowns as his kryptonite, so anyone reading this that would like to get him in a headlock fast — dress as Bozo; D1 is their first-born daughter that decorated the car in glitter and feathers so it looks like a rolling drag queen, and D2 is their second-born daughter that hates squirrels after one had the audacity to run off the roof and use her head as a launching pad.  She’s now learning to drive and dreams of exacting revenge.

Alert squirrel on lookout for D2.

If they have any animals Mike hasn’t revealed them to me so I’ll improvise here.

Mike’s funky chicken Miriam.

The Bride and Mike both have Real Jobs that are called a word that’s as foreign to me as any words gassed in Aramaic, Careers.  From what he tells me, she’s even his Best Friend. There you guys go again:

You Guys: Awwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

With my extraordinary power of perception I’ve deduced that she doesn’t bitch at him to take out the trash or pick up his socks and he’d sooner cut out his tongue than say:

Mike G (never uttering): You know, that dress does make you look fat.

So there was Mike and The Bride in Paris without any of the Spawn nor did Mike stuff his pet chicken, Miriam, in his suitcase Borat-style.  They were alone.  In the city of light.  One of the most romantic places on the planet.  Being romantic …

“Hey Bride is that a dyed pink pug we’re looking at over here?”

… and taking pictures for Lame Adventures!  The Bride even downloaded them for us.  Their marriage sure works for me.  Let’s virtually visit Paris!

Cool flowers in hotel lobby.

Chocolate anniversary cake with edible gold courtesy of Hotel du Swank.

“Bord du smelly cheese” and bottle of bordeaux ordered by Mike.

Gaudy Ferrari with Dubai license plate in front of hotel their entire visit; motorist probably too cheap to park it in a lot.

Gallic Phallic Luxor Obelisk in the Place de la Concord.

Touristy Arc de Triomphe shot.

Cool Hugo-type shot inside clockface in former train station Musee D’Orsay.

Front gate to Abercrombie & Fitch. Yes, A&F or WTF?

The Louvre where Mike and The Bride soaked up more culture.

Eiffel Tower.

L’hopital des Invalides or in Mike-speak, the original Obamacare.

Love those flowers.

Mike optical illusion peeing in Jardin des Tuileries reflecting fountain.

Ferris wheel in Paris’s Central Park aka Jardin des Tuileries.

Mike’s eye view of Paris from Ferris wheel.

Final flower shot. Mike’s applying for his florist license.

Lame Adventure 289: Spring Preview!

Even though the weather is chilly again today and it’s not expected to escape the forties on Saturday, this past Thursday we had a lovely sneak preview of spring here in Gotham City with temperatures climbing 24 degrees above average to 71. Yet, it wasn’t a record high.  That was set back in 1987 when it was 76 on that date (March 8th) in weather history. I emailed this news to my Special Someone who has been away and added:

Me: Have I told you that I’ve become a meteorologist in your absence?

After taking a walk outside on this beautiful Thursday, my colleague, (not) Under Ling (anymore), was feeling warm when she returned to our stuffy office.

(not) Under Ling (anymore):  Can we open the door?

She knows I have a peeve about people leaving the door to our office open.

Me:  Why open the door?  Why not open the window?

(not) Under Ling (anymore) gives me a look that asks:

(not) Under Ling (anymore)’s Look asking:  Who’s going to do that?

Me:  You’re practically thirty years younger than me; you’re going to do it!

My Look barking:  You know that there’s no way I’m going to risk pulling, straining or dislocating any precious body part just to open the window.

Hearing that message from My Look loud and clear (not) Under Ling (anymore) carefully climbs atop a counter to open one of our windows.  I build her confidence from the confines of my chair.

Me:  There are bars; you’re not going to fall out [muttering inaudibly] I hope.

(not) Under Ling (anymore) is a very svelte individual.  As she struggles to dislodge the stubborn window she asks:

(not) Under Ling (anymore):  Why are there bars on our windows?

Me:  To discourage us from throwing ourselves out.  We set the standard for Foxconn.

(not) Under Ling (anymore):  Hey, it’s stuck!

Me:  Get Greg to do it.

(not) Under Ling (anymore) asks our department’s hero, my sidekick Greg, to intervene.  Greg leaps into our office in a single bound resisting the urge to sing:

Greg not singing: Here I come to save the day!

Me not saying what I’m thinking if he would sing:  Just open the window, will you?

Greg muscles the window open.

Our first opened window of 2012.

The warm breeze is pleasant prompting me to take a stroll to personally check out just how lovely this day is in Tribeca.  It is a perfect day for many reasons.

Whenever I can forgo boots for sneakers I have happy feet, even though the seam from my sock was actually slicing through my little toe like a dagger.

There is torture happening inside this Jack Purcell sneaker.

Cute Italian compact cars look cuter.

A trashed coffee cop underneath barely detracts from this Fiat's cuteness.

Great weather is a great way to flaunt one’s sleeve tattoos.

Rachel who's got great tats flaunting them. My liver spots offer no competition.

Although I have easily walked down this stretch of Hudson Street hundreds of times before, I’ve never noticed this flower power wallpaper until now.

I feel transported back in time to Haight Ashbury circa 1967.

Flower stands just look even more colorful on a warm and sunny day.

I'll take one of everything.

A box of shamrocks offering a blunt reminder that it is still March.

Green beer, green bagel and green tongue-time is coming.

Pursuing a mate.

"C'mon, baby, check out my collection of pizza crusts in my nest."

Relaxing on a Duane Park bench with a Special Someone.

Special Someones Sasha and Vaughn.

It’s a good time to go bopping in a pink tutu.

But keeping it real with the winter boots.

It’s a great time to go tree climbing.

"Bet you can't do this, Lady!" "Bet you're right, Sonny!"

An even better time to pretend you’re an area rug.

“I’m dreaming I'm a shag carpet.”

A building built in 1891 carries its age well under a clear blue sky.

You still look fascinating for 121.

It’s terrific biking weather.

You don't even have to pay to park. Yet.

One of the nicest surprises happens at 6:03 in the evening while exiting the 72nd Street subway station on the Upper West Side.

It's 67 degrees!

Lame Adventure 277: Funny Valentines

Valentine’s Day is fast approaching.  It’s a day I find reliably disappointing for once again I’m Special Someone-less.  When I last checked my inner melancholy-o-meter, with 1 being “good riddance” and 10 being “suicidally depressed”, I’m somewhere in the middle.  I will admit that I’ve lost all motivation to shave so under my clothes I resemble Chewbacca a little more every day.  I miss those Backrubs on Demand and I wish she had returned the book she borrowed, Middlesex, by Jeffrey Eugenides, among a few other reasons why I regret fighting like cats and cats.

Overall, in my 369 ¼ dog years, I can recall experiencing few romantic Valentine’s Days, but in that same time period, I have been bombarded with countless reminders of what I should do to celebrate this day with the Special Someone that usually eludes me every February 14th.  See examples below.

Say it with a classy card*.

*Card available from Noble Works.

Say it with flowers* provided no one is deathly allergic like me.

*The say it with flowers site.

Say it with a Jacques Torres* chocolate puzzle heart.

*How to get a chocolate puzzle heart.

Say it with Salmon Provençal and a Chicken Leg*.

*Maybe not.

I asked my buddy, Coco, a certified vixen of the heterosexual persuasion, to share any of her tales of man-woman Valentine’s Day joy.  Allow me to hand the keyboard to my pal.

Coco: VD.  Valentine’s Day is a Hallmark holiday.  Venereal Disease is a gynecologist’s holiday.

Thank you for that insight Coco.  Embedded below is a video Coco shot while hanging halfway out her narrow bathroom window of my sidekick, Greg, standing on her fire escape playing , My Funny Valentine, on his saxophone.  Enjoy and here in Lame Adventure-land we hope you share our gift of music along with candy, flowers and of course, that crowd-pleaser, Salmon Provençal and Chicken Legs, with your Special Someone.