Little Jerks

I must preface it was a long day today. My team presented our bi-annual dog and pony show to the CEOs and management of our brands this morning, followed by a two hour briefing by one of these brands. I was suited up and donning heels all day. All I wanted to do was get home, throw on jeans and a hoodie and cozy up barefoot on the couch with a glass of wine. When my meeting let out around 3:30pm, I headed to Brooklyn to do just that, excited to make it home at such an early hour.

As I got within a half block of my apartment, I felt something hit the back of my head. Confused, I turned around to see a pack of boys who, at most, were underclassmen in high school. A few of them were laughing and one scooted down to pick up a wadded up newspaper from the sidewalk. I gave them a dirty look and said "Seriously?" before moving on. One of the kids, taller and clearly more mature, had separated himself from the group and as I passed the Social Club on the corner of 4th Place and Court Street in my neighborhood, I snarked to him "Classy group of friends you have there" just as I felt another THWACK in the back of the head, this time with something a little harder than newspaper.

Immediately I turned around and called out to them "Was that really necessary? Grow up!" and crossed against a red light purposely as a cab was barreling down the road to put space between me and the boys. As I passed Hanley's, the neighborhood pub, I felt yet another THWACK in the back of my head. Pissed, I whipped around and yelled "WHAT THE FUCK!" and almost made a lunge before letting it sink in that I was now surrounded by a pack of teenage boys who, if alone, wouldn't normally act like jerks, but together, could egg each other on to become....well, possibly violent. Also, I was in front of my walk up apartment and the vestibule in which I'd need to fish out my keys from the bottom of my bag and not a place I wanted to either make them aware of or spend any length of time considering the current situation.

Half of the little fuckers ran east to Smith Street. Half remained, a few of which made it clear they weren't involved. I honestly didn't know what to do during the taunting and snide comments the remaining jerks were making for a few seconds when my making it clear I was an adult and they were kids didn't work. Repeating to them the names I began hearing their friends calling from down the block and the sudden appearance of a few construction workers from the nearby site scared them off. Assured they were headed off my block, I called to the few uninvolved ones standing stupefied in front of my apartment entrance to meet them down the street as they were likely headed an alternative route south to Red Hook.

A guy walking his dog asked if I was OK. I assured him I was, just a little shook up. One of the Grandpas from the Social Club approached and said I should call the cops. Apparently this same group of boys harass people all the time on their way home from school. I thought it was a little silly, as I wasn't hurt and they were kids after all, but then I thought what if they ran into a lone kid their age or filled with adrenaline, decided to pull a worse prank on the next person.

Fuck it. I dialed 911 and advised them to send a cruiser from the 76th precinct to patrol the surrounding streets south of my block for a pack of teenage boys. A little over the top, I know, but better than me running down the street after them and/or me grabbing the ringleading little fucker Emice by the collar and throwing him down onto the sidewalk like I really wanted to, right?

Wowza

Coming home from work recently, I encountered this outside the neighborhood watering hole:

It's not terribly unusual to encounter classic cars in mint condition (think mustangs and other assorted muscle cars) outside of Hanley's, but this truck takes the cake. I've no idea who is its owner, but no doubt he's a colorful character.

Cooler Heads Prevailed

In catching up with a girlfriend I hadn't had the pleasure of seeing in quite some time, we had a star sighting at Frankies, the little joint two doors down from my apartment. Mr Paul Giamatti himself.

It took every once of control I had to not act on my instinct and send him a glass of Merlot.

You're welcome, Paul.

Yay! Snow! Yay!

The text awaiting me this morning from the Manfriend was an ecstatic proclamation that the school he teaches at had called a Snow Day. No two words in the English language can create such joy and mirth as "Snow Day" to children and apparently, those who educate them. My company had issued no such decree so I sloshed my way to work like everyone else unlucky enough to have to clock in.

Around noon, two new words brought out my giddy inner child via a message from HR. The email's subject line said "Emergency Closing". That's right, the agency was officially closing at 2pm and ordering everyone out so we could safely make it home. I practically skipped in my wellies to the subway.

I always love seeing the neighborhood blanketed in snow. To me, there's nothing more beautiful than brownstones on a winter day. Here's a few shots I took on Second Place:

The second brownstone in from the Carroll Street station exit on Second Place, has really unique foliage in the front yard. I've no idea what these plants are, but they always seem more suited for somewhere in Florida than in Carroll Gardens. I love this shot of them all nestled in snow.

I'm also a big fan of the above yard a few doors down from the Florida Brownstone. The owners of this brownstone keep the yard pristine. Immaculate even. The grass is manicured to perfection and greener than any competitor on the block, even in the winter. I've always admired the cherubic fountain pictured above, even more so in this weather.

I'm also a HUGE fan of this hot mess at the end of the block. Clearly for very different reasons. It's difficult to detect the sheer amount of crap the insane owners wedge into their 6x9 plot. Since moving to the hood nine years ago, I'm always delighted to see what new flamingos or gnomes await. Come Christmastime, not only does a three foot tall Santa in his sled and eight reindeer join the fray, but so do Tin Soldiers, candy canes and, I shit you not, a full on manger scene complete with Joseph, Mary and baby Jesus.

Last, but not least, we come to the Social Club on my corner. I've been fascinated with this club and the grandpas who are members (Well, except for you Frankie, you dirty old man!). It's always beautiful to me, no matter the weather or season.

I'm now going out to play in the snow while it's still around. I suggest you do the same.

One Outta Three Ain't Bad

The last few times Accuweather forcast snow, well, let's just say their inaccuracy was off the radar. Imagine my surprise during lunch when I stepped out to an actual snowfall. No worries, I thought, as I carefully and quickly manuevered to and fro my favorite lunch spot in my new suede knee-high Calvin Klein wedge-heeled boots. The snow squall was bound to pass soon, like the freak bursts The Manfriend and I encountered on Sunday passing over the Brooklyn Bridge.

The sidewalks greeting me in the West Village when I left work told a different story. Not wanting to ruin my new CKs, I searched under my desk for a replacement footwear option. Shoes accumulate under my desk like mad. I always keep a pair of flip flops handy for the forgotten mani/peddie lunch appointment and since 9/11, there's always some sort of a comfortable shoe I can walk the few miles home in if need be. Since I've made it through the crunch of Planning Season (much like accountants have late night after late night during tax season, media professionals have a similar hell that lasts a couple of months), I've been cleaning up my office and get back to some sense of order by purging wayward magazines, forgotton holiday rep gifts and the sea of shoes collecting dust under the desk. Just the night before, in fact, I brought home my gym shoes and wellies.

Unfortuntately, my only remaining options to commute home in were a pair of red leather Marc Jacobs boots, beforementioned flipflops or black leather four inch stacked wood wedge heels. I opted for the heels and slowly (oh so slowly!) made my way through the unshoveled sidewalks of the West Village to the F train and to my apartment in Carroll Gardens.

There were only a handful of storefronts in either the Village or Brooklyn that saw fit to shovel their sidewalks. When I passed 3rd Place (which by the way was quite beautiful - it's amazing how a layering of snow can completely transform the city's look) I knew I was home free.

Third Place, Brooklyn

And the shoes? They'll soon dry. According to Accuweather, we're in for a warm up. Which means the shoes will likely return to their comrades under my desk within days.