You know those ads for Firestone or Michelin tires, where the cars are careening around mountain passes with no barriers and boulders are falling into the road? Usually it's in the middle of a giant storm that you only see during Storm Week on the Weather Channel, and it looks like having those tires are all that stand between you and becoming a tumbling fireball, even if you've only got a drivers permit and are driving an Adobe (the sporty little Mexican car that's made out of clay). As if the wrath of God can be held at bay by steel-belted radials and tread zone technology.
Well that storm--the one that kicks off the tidal wave that drowns New York* and masks the arrival of the alien fleet--slouched into our neighborhood on Friday and single-handedly smacked around our weekend plans. It was one of those things that had a domino effect which spilled over well into Sunday, long after the clouds had passed.
It's not that we had a bad weekend per se. It's just that most of our plans involved walking outside with an infant, and we hate putting her in "the bubble". It feels like we're wrapping a plastic bag over her head (which we practically are) and it has the added bonus of trapping greenhouse gases underneath, much like Venus' atmosphere. It took until Saturday afternoon for the storm to end, and by then we'd had enough of our apartment. So for some reason I suggested we walk to Red Hook.
Red Hook is supposedly an up-and-coming neighborhood in Brooklyn, and there was an art festival at the waterfront that sounded like a nice weekend excursion. The promise of fresh-air, panoramic city views, and a new adventure was quickly sapped by the following:
- Red Hook wasn't as close as we thought.
- There is a big gap between the "up" and "coming"
- It was a dreary depressing day, and the longer you walked the more you noticed it
- Most art isn't that interesting
- It's even less interesting when you're drenched
- Especially when you get there just as everyone has given up for the day
So our little adventure turned out to be a nearly endless journey with little to show for it. Cheeky was cranky and exhausted, Oodgie's feet were killing her, and I was trying to be chipper ("Oooh, we should come back and go to that restaurant....in our car") while silently wishing I was at a bar with a tall cool one in my hand.
Unfortunately, the family was still a little wiped out on Sunday, when we went to ECG's for brunch. Things were OK for a while...we checked out Henry's birthday present (pretty cool, but is it better than this?) and ate some nummy egg dish thingy. We had grand plans for another day of fun and frollic, but after more walking (there was a street fair nearby) and a botched nap that sent Cheeky into her "kneeling and flailing" maneuvers, we decided to pack up early and head home. Oodgie and I spent most of the trip back accusing the other of being in a foul mood (which is probably true...I may have threatened some people who were IN MY WAY on the subway stairs). By the end of the night we were all just glad to crawl into bed and sleep it off.
Anyway, we got an A for effort, but a C- for execution...pretty much par for the course. This week should be better, what with Tuesday's festivities and a radar map that doesn't look like someone spilled key lime and spinach on it. Besides, I have to get everyone psyched up for our next little excursion...I hear Greenpoint
* I'd like to apologize, as this marks the third reference to "The Day After Tomorrow" I've made on this blog over the last few months. It's a significant milestone in that (a) I try not to over-reference anything, which is against my nature, and (b) because it pretty much sucked. I just wanted to acknowledge this and let you know I will do better in the future to limit Roland Emmerich's influence on this blog. I feel dirty.