There's No Place Like Home

Despite the fact that we live in one of the biggest cities in the world, witness to crazy scenarios, commutes, and people, I often find myself most shocked when we leave our little metropolis and head to one of those distant lands called "suburbia."

Determined not to spend another weekend confined to a ten block area so as not to have to join our Queens brethren on the boulevard waiting for a bus, Paul and I decided to finally use the secondhand car we recently purchased (despite agonizing over giving up a parking spot) and take a day trip to lands far and wide. We headed to New Hope, Pennsylvania about an hour and a half away, as we had heard it was "cute."

Cute it was, though after two hours of walking around town, eating mediterranean food commenting "it's OK but not as good as Turkish Grill," and realizing New Hope really constituted the hope of many aging artists to lure well-off Manhattanites into purchasing overpriced art, antiques and stained glass, we decided to head back toward civilization.

Along the way to civilization we had to stumble through New Jersey where I nearly caused a traffic accident when I screamed out in glee at the sight of a Wegmans supermarket. A sight I haven't seen since I graduated college in upstate New York. I made Paul pull over and we proceeded to spend about as much time as we had in New Hope roaming around this "super-Wegs" that came replete with a toy train running overhead, free samples, and an attached beer and liquor store.

A cross between Whole Foods and Costco, but with cheaper prices and less "bulk" the store was a city dweller's dream. The natives, aka New Jersey soccer moms, navigated the aisles like I navigate the subway tunnels, whereas Paul and I walked around, mouths agape, unsteadily operating a shopping cart, like cold war Russians brought into a Walmart warehouse. One woman even remarked "Why is it so crowded here today, you would think they are giving away stuff for free."

Meanwhile I looked around at the 7 foot wide aisles devoid of pedestrian and cart traffic. I wanted to pick that lady up and drop her into the middle of the Queens Blvd Food Dynasty with a full size shopping cart with aises half as wide and people smushed twice as deep to really show her what "crowded" was. I felt like we had come from a poor country to the land of plenty. I

n an effort to locate a bottle of salad dressing I found myself separated from Paul and lost like a little girl on an afterschool special. After 15 minutes of aisle roaming I had to call him and said "help I'm lost in aisle 17 with a bottle of storebrand fat free thousand island dressing and 16 New Jersey soccer moms, grab the cart, pick me up and lets head back to the real world, where you walk to the store, buy just what you need, and don't have to deal with THESE people."

So while it is nice to get away now and then, everytime I leave I realize I should've just stayed home and learned the lessen the Wizard of Oz taught me years ago. There's no place like home, and no place like Queens!

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Saints on the Boulevard

We love our car, a 1988 VW Fox that Wesley bought just a few months after we started dating. She's been to Maine, Ohio, Pennsylvania a bunch of times, in to Jersey down to Maryland, and all around our great state of New York. She helps Wesley haul things for work, and takes us to visit our friends across the creek in Williamsburg. But she's a bit of a thoroughbred, and we've developed a good relationship with the folks at Manners Motors, off of Northern Boulevard on 45th Street and 34th Ave. We call our car Ellen Johnson, and we call the stretch of road over the bridge back to our side of the Boulevard "The Ellen Johnson Walk of Despair."

Yesterday I had to pick EJ up from Manners so I called Bliss 48 to take me over there. Got the car, drove home, no problem. I was headed to a party in Ditmas Park, and since the 7 train is all screwed up, the plan was to drop the car off in LIC proper and catch the E/V into Manhattan where I'd then get the D, the ultimate goal being to transfer to the R. Wesley's lot is over there, and since he was working an overnight he'd be bringing the truck back around 5 am, where EJ would be waiting for him to ferry him home. (I split a car home with 3 W'burg friends that cost us over $40, all told.)

My first stop was Lowery's, where I picked up a bottle of Pinot Noir to contribute to the soiree, a girl's only Valentine's Day party hosted by a dear friend I don't see nearly enough of. Then, I set off down the Boulevard.

I was cruising in one of the middle lanes, when all of a sudden I couldn't see. My brain could not immediately process what was happening, but instinctively I knew not to slam on the brakes. The front hood had flown up in my face, blocking my vision. I flicked my hazards on and used my rear mirrors to determine when I could come to a halt without getting rearended. I knew I had some time before I reached a red light so my chances of killing a pedestrian in the crosswalk were negligible.

I'm in the middle of Queens Boulevard, across from the McDonald's at 38th Street, and I get out to put the hood down. I can't get it down--it's stuck on the windshield wipers. I'm tugging and tugging and realize I'm in danger of having it slam on my fingers. People are driving past me and honking at me, which is really just so very rude, don't you think? I have no idea what to do. I tend to panic in car-related situations, and the tears start to come and turn into a full-fledged panic attack with hyperventilating.

At this point, enter the good Samaritans. 2 cars stopped for me--3 very, very nice men who calmed me down, and who wrestled with the front hood until it came down. They offered to call AAA for me, but I had my AAA card so they just made room for me to make the left hand turn into the parking area under the 7 train. I called Wesley, who advised me to pay for the meter until 10 pm and that he'd deal with the car on Sunday. I did just that, then took the bus at 38th Street to Queens Plaza, where I got the R to the Q and was at the party an hour later. And, boy, did I drink that Pinot Noir.

Many thanks to you for stopping, whoever you may be. I hope something good comes back to you because of it.

One Day a Week is All Nita Asks

I posted previously on my failed attempt to get a donut from Nita's Bakery on Greenpoint Ave. They only sell them on Sunday.
Do you want to know why the only sell them on Sunday?
Because they kick motherfucking ass, that's why.

Repair or Despair: Stranded by the 7 Train

I love Queens. I love Sunnyside. That said, occasionally, on long weekends, or say, every weekend in the month of March, I do occasionally like to leave the area, even if it is to just go deeper into Queens and grab some Indian food in Jackson Heights. Unfortunately the MTA has decided for the next 6 weeks or so the area of queens reliant on the 7 train is under house arrest where no one is allowed in or out.

In an effort to not leave us completely stranded the MTA was kind enough to provide us with shuttle busses in addition to the normal bus lines that come through the area. While I may not be an MTA thought leader, I wonder by what calculation those thought leaders came up with the idea that a BUS would be able to accommodate as many people as a 10 car subway train?

Now I know that work needs to be done on the train and platform, which is most evident on the Queensbound 45th road platform where large chunks of the concrete floor continue to go missing, though are covered up by large pieces of wood. But is there not a better way that this work can be done?

Would east siders tolerate the 4, 5 and 6 trains being out of commission for an entire weekend? Would the city tolerate this as it would likely strand and inconvenience thousands of tourists? Our subway system has been in existence for over 100 years, yet after all that time they can't figure out a way to make repairs?

So while the title of this blog is Let's Meet Up In Queens, you better have your own transportation to get here!

Hi, I'm Satan and This is My Home Depot

Hello, Queens. Satan here. Just wanted to let you know that I've opened up shop in Long Island City. It's a little place I like to call 'Home Depot.' Now, recently I've heard some grumblings about my humble shoppe, and I'd like to address these concerns now before things get out of hand and result in say, an angry torch-bearing mob ready to destroy every thing in it's path. We wouldn't want that, now would we? So, to wit, I offer my apologies and resolve to fix the following as soon as I am able to get away from this puppy mill.

The parking lot. My minions somehow managed to make entering hell, er Home Depot, a bit tricky. I assure you that they DID NOT intentionally design the lanes to go from one to two lanes, make one of those lanes a turn-only lane and the other too short to make a safe turn from. Why one lane stops in the middle of oncoming flow of traffic? I couldn't tell you. It makes no sense to me either. But, rest assured, we're working on it.

We are also making every effort to rid the lot of all the large, graffiti-covered moving trucks. We would also like to apologize that these trucks make it impossible to turn into the parking aisles without being able to see oncoming traffic. We did NOT intentionally make every turn blind. It simply isn't true. We're not EVIL, here. For cryin' out loud, people. I was an Angel at One Time!

As for the shopping carts. Or,as Tiffany From The Gardens likes to say, fingers up and arching ironically, "Shopping Carts". Do you think we don't KNOW that there's not any shopping carts? We know this. Any idiot can see that there's no "Shopping Carts", Tiffany. Then, why, do you ask, do my minions send you out into the parking lot to look for a "Shopping Cart" when they know you will find none? THEY'RE MINIONS! THIS IS WHAT THEY DO! Hello! Futile Efforts While We Laugh Quietly????? We wrote that book, Tiffany.

Wait. I'm sorry. I mean, we're getting more shopping carts. We want you to shop. We want you to buy many large-ticket items. Yes. We are getting more shopping carts. Real shopping carts. Without the locked wheels. And, we're going to have people - very concerned people - to help you with these large things. And, we'll have them push the carts out to your car and we'll put them in the car and these 'people' will wave while you drive away...

Where was I?
Oh, my Minions. I mean Associates.
Did you ever think that maybe they only look and act like they're not concerned? C'mon, people. Sometimes there's such a thing as irony. All you assholes, gentrifying the neighborhood and you think you're the only ones with a sense of irony. For cryin' out loud. My associates have worked very hard on their sense of irony and if it manifests itself in seemingly passive-aggressive behavior peppered with the occasional outburst of profanity directed at NO ONE IN PARTICULAR, then I think you should work with them on that.

Oh, and we're firing all of them anyway and replacing them with gentle souls who know where everything is and will help you find it.

But, we will continue to test for drugs.

And, as for the item(s) that you cannot find on every trip? It's out of stock, dude. Get used to it.

Fuck all of you.

I mean, have a nice day. Please come back soon.

A 7 Train Experiment

The 7 train at 40th Street is usually a nightmare on weekday mornings. Too many people, not enough trains. I hit the platform between 7:45 and 8 am, and I've often had to let 2 or 3 trains go by before I can actually squeeze on to one. Everyone is in a bad mood (me included), and in the recent cold weather tempers have been flaring.

This week, I attempted an experiment. I hopped a Flushing-bound 7 train to 61st Street, and got the Manhattan-bound train there. Instead of standing on the platform freezing, I was warm and toasty on the train, reading my book. The Manhattan-bound express was crowded, but it was nothing compared to the crowds that I was seeing on the local platforms. I ran this experiment on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday, and it basically took me the same amount of time. Or if it took longer, it felt less stressful.

I'm not sure yet if this is a winning strategy or not. Anyone else have tips for mastering the morning commute?

The Greatest Move Of All

Wesley and I just moved--but before you scorn us for deserting a neighborhood we claim to love so much, we only moved 7 houses down. Our former apartment was the top floor of a 2 family home that housed 3 families: a studio apartment in the basement, a 2-bedroom on the first floor, and a 2.5-bedroom on the 2nd floor. Friends of Wesley's discovered the place about 10 years ago, with Wesley moving in about 5 years ago (he had previously lived on another block in Sunnyside on the other side of the Boulevard). I arrived on the scene around the time of our wedding in December 2003, fresh from the West Village and full of attitude.

I had lived at the corner of Bedford and Leroy since April 1997, and before that I lived on the other side of Washington Square Park in NYU graduate housing. When I moved to Sunnyside, I was surprised and amazed at how wonderfully quiet it was. At my old place, there were 2 bars about 20 yards from my bedroom window, and I was frequently woken up in the middle of the night by cigarette smoke (post-smoking ban) and couples breaking up with each other. My favorite was a woman screaming, "You get back here and break up with me properly!"

Despite the loudness and chaos of the Wee-Vill, as my one roommate and I called it, I loved the convenience. I used to walk to the movie theater on 23rd and Broadway, or down to jobs I had in Tribeca. I was right around the corner from Film Forum, Grey Dog Coffee, and Evergreen Video. When we went out, if one bar was too crowded, we went to another. I could get delivery from a hundred restaurants.

Sunnyside couldn't have been more different. The movie theater is a dump that plays only the most commercial releases. My video store is Netflix--Hollywood Video is too far a walk, and the closer video store has no selection because its primary business is cell phone accessory sales. As for delivery? We have about 5 menus in heavy rotation: Mexican made by the Chinese, decent Thai, not-spicy-enough-for-Wesley Indian, pizza, and New Post Diner. Occasionally we splurge on Turkish or sushi.

If you read the articles on Sunnyside in this week's Time Out New York or today's New York Times and find yourself curious about life in our neighborhood, please take caution from this transplanted Manhattanite: Life here is not easy like it is across the East River. You will have to adapt. You will have to change. You will become a different person. This place doesn't look like Manhattan, it doesn't feel like Manhattan, and--surprise!--it doesn't have to be anything at all like Manhattan to be a wonderful place to live. If this scares you, then don't bother: there's a whole other borough to the south that you'll like better.

As for me, I like to think I've changed for the better. I'm thriftier, less demanding, more accommodating. In Manhattan, I thought I hated to cook. In Queens, I discovered my inner Top Chef.

Back to our move. In the last year, our living situation degenerated largely due to an absentee landlord who didn't care about livability. It used to be funny--his repairs were always done shoddily with the cheapest material available. There was a leak into the basement that he fixed by repaving the sidewalk. The result is an uneven patch that fills up with water whenever there's even the tiniest amount of rain. We called it "Cunniffe-manship." But when the first-floor neighbors proved unwilling to turn their music down and our landlord refused to stand up for our right to live in peace, we were at a loss. Our home life was fraught with tension; our peaceable kingdom had become a warzone.

Enter the old-fashioned concept of neighborliness. There are a lot of older people on our block, many of whom were born in their homes. Wesley has always said "hi," learned their names, even pitched in with the snow shovel when necessary. I guess we were not the only ones who noticed that the folks on the first floor were uninterested in community standards, because Wesley got stopped by one of our neighbors back in November. M. asked, "Are you happy where you're living?" Wesley said, "Why?" She said, "Because P's top floor apartment is going to be available. Her tenants are moving out." We met P, just seven houses down, who couldn't have been happier to rent the apartment to someone who already lived on the block. Her previous tenants spoke highly of their experience renting from P, who lives on the first floor and has the entry way beautifully fixed up. We walked our stuff down the street on Thursday, and here we are.

Watch for forthcoming posts on the Carpet City on Northern Boulevard (take that, Home Depot!), as well as an update on the situation at the YMCA. One of the managers called me to assure me that things would be changing for the better. I haven't been in a month because of illness and travel, but I'm headed back today to resume my 4x/week running schedule.

They Paved Paradise and Put Up a...CVS?

Paul, who loves to photograph anything rusty, crusty, or delapadated asked me to join him on a jaunt down to the former home of Blooms and the Butcher Block, currently known as cinder-block-monstrosity on Queens Boulevard so that he could photograph the enormous crane that has been brought in for the construction project.

When we arrived we found out that the crane was gone, but a smaller one was lifting giant buckets of concrete skyward to be applied to the upper layers of this bomb shelter in the sky. What had been for months a giant, deep, open pit in the earth that had apparently disrupted the structural integrity of the neighboring buildings was now looking like a remote wing of Riker's Island.

People were standing on all corners looking the concrete going up. The common sentiment was "what the hell is going in there?" And like a sign from the gods, or ummm corporate America, I looked over to see "Coming Soon, CVS."

CVS? CVS? We have Rite Aid, Duane Read, Eckerd, Sunnyside Pharmacy, 99 cent stores, and the infamous South Pole. What kind of city planning gap analysis did the CVS scouters come up with to determine that what would best fill the open wound left in the ashes of Blooms would be another chain drug store! And why the heck do they need such a big building to do it? Have they not seen the enormous T mobile near the other burned on site on Queens Blvd and 46th street? The store is pristine and enormous and completely EMPTY.

So to whomever is constructing that large gray slab of building on the south side of the boulevard, I would've forgiven you for its anti-Sunnyside structure had it been filled with an ethnic or mom and pop shop operation, but for a CVS to be moving in seems like discount shoppers stomping on the grave of Blooms.

Sunnyside Gardens Gets Gentrified The Old Fashioned Way

By getting 'Landmark' status...
Oh, brother

One of Our Own Takes the First Shot

When William Grimes was reviewing restaurants for the New York Times, he would conceal his identity when making a reservation by using the name, 'Ron DeFeo'. In case you didn't know, this is the name of the original Amityville murderer, upon whose story the book and subsequent movies were based. Ron woke up one night and murdered his entire family.

Now, in an act of murderous irony, Queen's own William Grimes is hastening the death of our dear borough, while, irony of ironies, lamenting it's loss.

Read it here , if you must.

New York Style Eats and Their Queens Style Drivers

I'm ready! Whose got my back? These sum bitches, driving around, knocking people to the friggin curb, swerving, nearly missing folk. ME. And my dear, dear, car, The USS Ellen Johnson. She is not subject to vanity or pain. But, I am motherfucker.

I occasionally take a walk around the nabe. Today was something. Ran into some new Asian joint on Skillman. Something called 'Quaint' as well. Things are changing.
Anyway, I ended up passing down the loud, brown block of the deadliest Blvd of them all, when I was nearly crushed by a delivery vehicle for this dump - New York Style Eats. I yelled and immediately reached for the cellular and dialed up '411 and more', connected and started my rant about the delivery boys.

I don't know what I was expecting. Motherfucker wasn't it. Kick your ass wasn't it. So, I turned around - I was already in line at On The Run picking out my numbers. It is my day off, you know... 3, 34, 44, 50, 54. Damn. He, whomever he was, had called me out. So, I walked out and strutted back down to see this heavily-accented man in person.

I walked in and holding my phone up, signaling that I was the caller, said, 'who is the one that wants to kick my motherfucking ass?' Guy at the counter thought it was funny. Finally, the bossman identified himself - 'You no call here. You go." I responded as I did before, 'Drive your vehicles slower or I will kick your ass.'

I don't have kids. But, I like them enough. I once pulled a kid out of a sure hit on the deadly spot on The Blvd and 46th. He nearly started to cry cuz I yelled at him to be more careful. I forget how easily even tough kids can get scared.

One of these days, one of these drivers is going to nail one of these kids. It'll be because the kids try to break against the traffic and the guy in the gray minivan delivering for New York Style Eats didn't get his ass kicked by me, as he was out with his BLTs and short stacks when I came in.

The old man at the counter was all bother. I wonder if my challenge will lead to any change. I hope so. It's been years since I got in a fight with a food service provider. But, in this case, sober, but still angry, I could say I'm doing it for the children.

If you see those bastards driving like assholes around Sunnyside, let us know here at Queensrocks. We'll take care of that shit, tout suite.

NEW YORK STYLE EATs
45-02 QUEENS BOULEVARD, QUEENS 11104
718-937-4121

Current violation points: 26 (2 points shy of failure).

Donuts or Bust - Nita's European Bakery.

Sunday mornings can be awesome. I don't think I really new how to appreciate a Sunday morning until I moved to New York. My old home town didn't have a brunch culture (also known as 'The Fisting'), didn't know how to spell New York Times, and revolved almost entirely around football and therefore booze.

But when J. from down the block told me about creme-filled donuts at The European Bakery on Greenpoint Ave., I knew Sunday's in Queens were about to get a lot better.

But, I'm having one of those weeks. Okay, ten day stretches. Hmm. Anyway, after dealing with some bidness over by the river this morning at 630 or so, I found myself outside this joint by 8. Earlier in the week I had gone in to scope out the place and bought what turned out to be damn fine - if small - muffins and a groovy little thing called a coffee ring. But, I was ready to dig on a donut. I NEEDED a donut.

Do you know who the Soup Nazi is? I used to work around the corner from Soup Kitchen International. It was good soup, made famous (better??) by being immortalized on an episode of Seinfeld. It wasn't too far from true. And, talk about a real - at least before the immortalization - New York Experience. There really is nothing like the desire for good food coupled with the trials to get it that will make New York eating, New York Eating.

Anyway, I ordered the donuts. I got, 'No donuts, today.' 'But, it's Sunday,' I countered. 'No donuts,' was all the response I could get.

So, if I'm up for it, and if God's willing, some time soon I'll be telling you about a creme-filled donut and a real New York experience. But for now, I'm just going to wolf down this crispy-on-the-outside-chewy-on-the-inside cinnamon roll and listen to Kristen Shaughnessy talk about the morning papers while I read the NYTimes online.
I love her. I love the Times. And, though I long for a donut, I love these cinnamon rolls.

NOTE: Nita's received a respectable 13 on it's last inspection.

Malagueta vs. Manhattan

I'm not much of one to rabble-rouse, but all the Manhattan-centric
ideals that permeate New York living get a bit old. I understand their origin. I moved to New York City and that's where I intended to make
it. Then, I moved to Queens and I said, nope, this is where I'm going
to make it. I fit here. (I'm on a bit of free-floating diatribe,
forgive me. I gave up booze seven months ago after an incident at The Courtyard on Queens Blvd. - and I took the
treatment option. I know when to say when. Anyway. After the booze, I'm now strictly on
the Ambien. It's pretty harmless, some late night domain name
purchases, overbidding on ebay on occasion, nudity (mine). But, when I
post on the stuff, it gets difficult to maintain my focus and grammar.)

Anyway, Claire and I went to a Brazilian restaurant for our New Year's
Eve celebration in the Queens. While we were away for Christmas in
Montreal, we bought a subscription- full-on - from zagat.com. So, I
used that to find a restaurant. It suggested 'Malagueta'. It said
things like
A "refreshing surprise" in Astoria, a "well-rounded" lineup of
"excellent", "authentic" Brazilian dishes etc.

Now, here's what happened with that posting and how it got so far away
from the truth. People from Manhattan made the trip out to Astoria,
found a 'cute' restaurant run by amenable folk from the home country
and they thought it was just the greatest thing. They could run back
to Manhattan and tell their friends, pals and colleagues all about it.
"It was an adventure", "some of them know how to really cook", and so
on. Until more of them come. And they write the reviews, send them to
zagat. Tim, Nina and some other putz ex-copywriter do what they can
with it.

Here's the truth about the place - Malagueta is nice. The people who run
the place couldn't be nicer - for Brazilians- and if you know what I
mean great. If you don't, it's not an insult. Brazilians don't make a
big deal out of serving people. It's a job, it's done and it's done
well. They bring the stuff, tell you what it is and that's that.

Manhattanites come over, eat here, think it's quaint and that's what
ends up in Zagat.

We're from Queens. We ate there, we know there's better food to be had
and that's it. The sausage with yuca fries was tepid and over-cooked.
The fish Claire had was drowning in sauce and cheese and salt. My pork
loin didn't have enough sauce to bring it back to life from it's
terrible death in a hot searing pan. We're from Queens, we know
there's five other restaurants doing a better job within three blocks.

It's not the death of Malagueta. If they read this, they'll
understand, they'll fix it. We'll go back next year, we'll eat,
that'll be that.

Send us a list of your favorite restaurants in Western Queens. Don't
say Donovan's. Donovan's is the best restaurant on the planet. I hear
there's a bakery on Greenpoint that has special doughnuts on
Sundays...it's not in Zagats, but it'll be up here soon, I hope.

The Y Responds

Dear Annie
Thank you for your concerns and questions that you have expressed to us. I am consulting some of my other staff in regards to theses issues and I will be in touch with you by the end of this Week. Thanks for your patience

Stay tuned!

Finally! I Write a Letter to the Y

"I'm mad as hell and not going to take it anymore!"

Dear Linda:

I was given your card by the front desk as the right person to whom to direct a complaint.

I have been a member of the LIC YMCA for about 2 years now. I am a runner, and I love that the YMCA has an indoor track so that I can train in the winter without risking the weather. It also gives me a safe place to run year round, as there are no safe places to run outside in the Sunnyside area because of all of the trucks and fast drivers.

I prefer the track to the treadmill because I train for races (including the NYC Marathon), and it is important for training to be able to adjust your speed as needed, instead of having to punch a button up and down as on a treadmill.

I am writing because on a number of occasions I have found the indoor track to be a very unsafe place because of the inconsiderate/oblivious nature of some patrons of the YMCA. Although the rules say to stay single file unless passing, and to only go in one direction, many people simply ignore these rules and do as they please on the track.

For those of us who are running, this makes the experience potentially very dangerous. Here is a list of the dangerous actions I routinely observe on the YMCA indoor track:

- Groups of teenagers walking slowly 2 or even 3 across, paying no attention to runners coming up behind them
- Unattended children during family time on Saturdays and Sundays
- Teenagers and adults who stop suddenly without looking behind them to see if anyone might run into them
- Groups of teenagers hanging out on the backside of the track where the windows to the pool are. This is especially dangerous because the corner near the punching bag is a blind corner.
- Teenagers and adults who walk the wrong direction and ignore requests to walk in the right direction

I visit the Y 3 or 4 times a week to use the track, and observe this behavior almost every time. It's especially troublesome in the busy after-work hours, which is the only time that a lot of us can come work out.

I love that the YMCA is a place where teenagers can come and be in a safe place, and I also love that it is a family-friendly environment. However, I would appreciate it if the rules of the track were strictly enforced so that we can all be safe and enjoy our workouts.

The staff upstairs is kind and well-intentioned, but I have never seen anyone actively monitoring the track. Those of us who come to the Y to train and improve our fitness should NOT have to interrupt our workouts because of rude patrons and an inattentive staff. I am growing tired of having my time at the Y characterized by feelings of frustration, annoyance, and even anger.

On a side note, there is one other small thing that really only applies to runners. The track is set up so that the directions change every other day. However, most runners train every other day, meaning that if I come Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, I am running the same direction all three days. On a very small track, this can lead to injury. It would make so much more sense and be much safer for runners if the track went one direction Sun-Wed, and the other direction Thurs-Sat. That way, somebody coming on alternate days will get the benefits of the alternate direction.

Thank you for your time, and I look forward to your response.

Nominate Us for a 2007 Bloggie...Please

If you are reading this between now and 10 PM Thursday, January 11th and you like what you are reading or just want to give props to Queens, please nominate us for a 2007 Bloggie. http://2007.bloggies.com/

Thanks!

The Aubergine Cafe

In the no-mans land smushed between Sunnyside and Woodside on 50th street and Skillman Avenue resides a gem of a cafe that has Paul and I going back again and again. The Aubergine cafe, which I believe is Irish owned and operated, features fresh coffee drinks, sandwiches, quiche, paninis, pastries, and salads.

Exposed brick lines one wall which also features newspapers and magazines that make ones' dentist office look under stocked. The small space is big on personality and flavorful food. A favorite of mine is the roasted red pepper, mozzarella, basil and olive tapanade sandwich and side salad. The quiche of the day are also delectable.

The only flaw we found in our latest trip, which is no fault of the establishment's, is the Park Slope nature of the clientele. On our latest Sunday afternoon jaunt we found the place to be filled with parents who couldn't care less that their toddling children were running around, screeching at the top of their lungs and at one point even banging on the glass of the pastry case. While we're all for family friendly dining, I wish that parents of rude children would realize that not everyone wants to be friends with their family!

So take a stroll to the outer limits of Sunnyside and partake of what the Aubergine has to offer, but if your kid is not well behaved, do us all a favor and get your coffee and sandwich to go!

(Photo credit: Paul Grove)

New Years Resolution Playing Out at the Y

Lynn and I live on different sides of the tracks, so we work out at different places. I'm inclined to pay her spot a visit, if only for the entertainment factor.

Me, I rock it down at the Y on Queens Boulevard and 32nd Street, in the shadow of the 7 train at the spot where it makes that near-hairpin turn that makes rush hour so much fun. I posted a year ago about the insanity that prevails on the track at the Y, and for awhile, things seemed to be getting worse. They instituted "family time" where children of all ages could be on the track as long as they were accompanied by an adult. The Y has a very loose definition of "accompanied"--I think that multiple zip codes can be involved. Things got really, really bad, and I lost my temper a few times. I know! Can you believe it? Sweet li'l me? It was chaos.

But then, cooler heads prevailed, and now children under 12 are banned from the exercise area completely! Now, the track is a much safer place. Because it's the beginning of January, it's crowded with new members who are trying that walking thing, but I can train those people. I have a "Please stay to the side" or "Comin' through" that seems to do the trick.

Of course, there's a guy who I've seen on the track 3 times now who only walks in the wrong direction, and when you say, "Wrong way!" he just looks puzzled. And there was the lady in the locker room who climbed up onto the bench to change into her bathing suit. Right next to me. I don't need to be eye level with, um, you.

But I'm cool with it all, now that the children are safe from being killed on the track. I might even smile at the desk people next time I walk inside.