Enduring Edges

As we confront conversion to robots and drones taking over our everyday lives. Hearken back to another time. The clang clang of a bell out the window. Mister Softee? No. Much more resonant. Like a trolley. What could it be? Mike taps the disk with a blade. A relic from 1941 still serving the community. The Knife Sharpening truck. And a customer. Perfect after Turkey-carving day.

Or. For those scissors to cut down NO PARKING signs.

Post Stuffington Post

Balloonistas from far and wide have left the ‘hood. Bleachers still up. Banging and clanging to come for the annual return of our sidewalk. Soon. We hope. Along Central Park West. Can park on our block again. Even if the No Parking signs linger. Scissors at the ready or they’d be up until May.

A rollicking fun weekend. Delicious non-turkey feast at the Oxbow. Parades. Family visits. Post Stuffington Frittata. Respite from politics. Even if. Some wore their opinions on t-shirts for lively dinner conversations. Until next year.

Gross Golf Match

Tiger v. Phippy. Las Vegas. Snorting, sniffing, heavy breathing caddy disgusting. Nobody told them to turn off his mike? That would have been the most smack the talk got. Neither Woods nor Mickelson had the personality ever or the talent anymore to make the post-Thanksgiving pay-per-view event slightly compelling. Bad golf. Loud snot. Boring coverage. All for $19.95. Unless you got it for free on the Bleacher Report website. Please let it be over soon!

Low Blow

Howling frigid wind kept this year’s balloons low. Coldest in NYC Thanksgiving history. Die-hard parade goers came with their usual ladders and snacks. Most only lasted 10 minutes before retreating. More face masks than turkey hats. Even they didn’t help. Really lucky in our cozy warm perch.

See ya next year! 

Marching Orders

It’s that time of year again. Bleachers banging and clanging until they’re up. San Remo and Langham building guys erect wooden barriers around their shrubs. Slanted boards across windows. No Parking Signs for 3 days. Sweepers screaming and cleaning. Tow trucks at dawn. Opening up the streets. Taking down the traffic lights. Room for the balloons. Metal gates sliding and gliding along the curbs. Ready for the Macy’s madness to descend upon the ‘hood.

If anybody comes this year. Forecast. Windy and cold. Even the Grinch may stay indoors.

So lucky our microwave is big enough for a 25-lb. frozen turkey!!

Welcome to the IRL

Injured Reserve List (IRL) has replaced the NFL. Washington Redskins’ QB Alex Smith. Another on the long bench of fractured players. Fox Sunday’s Jay Glazer devotes an entire segment to the gory banged-up details of who can’t start each week. It’s longer than Rob Riggle’s comedic picks.

Condoleezza Rice is up to coach the Cleveland Browns. She should be Commish. For a new equation. Less Mass X Speed = Fewer Broken Bodies.

Something’s gotta give. Besides ligaments and bones.