Oxi Day

Today is a big civic holiday in Greece. (By today I mean Sunday.) It is/was Oxi Day, which translates to No Day. It's the day we celebrate the country's refusal to let Axis powers stroll through the country and use it as a base of operation during the war. So instead Italy attacked us and thus we entered World War II. It happens every Oct. 28.

Also on Oct. 28, Dick Cheney arrived in Dutchess County to do a little hunting and Porter Wagoner died and The Red Sox won the world series.

It's been a busy day.

Today also marks the seventh day in a row that I have work. This is because, just as George Bush did on this same weekend back in (when was it Deadman? 2003? 2004?), the veep has rolled into my life on Halloween weekend when a friend was visiting from out of town and thus said friend had to spend the weekend exploring the city alone. And I didn't even have a Philosophy Student Party to take her to!

That is also why this blog is woefully out-of-day. I can't wait for Nov. 6 to come and go. I hate elections. Actually, I need to rename Election Day as my own personal Oxi Day.

Your weekly stalker update

I'm happy to report that downstairs stalker has seemingly made friends with most of the people in this building and the next and thus I don't see much of him. The downside of this is that he has everyone over to his apartment until all hours and they play loud (bad) music and talk even louder. The entire building reeks of cigarette smoke and there is often vomit in the hallway and half-empty cups, which slowly grow mold until I get completely grossed out and throw them away. I know it's seems like I live in a frat house, only the people involved are in their late 40s/early 50s. This seems a small price to pay, however, for my freedom.

The other stalker, however, has stepped up his stalkerness - as if he has to cover both stalker shifts on his on since the neighbor-stalker has slacked off. Most mornings, he's driving his little golf cart by my apartment, picking up nonexistent garbage from the yard. Inevitably when I go out to walk the dog, he finds us. On Thursday or Friday — I can't remember which now — he passed me once and said hello and then circled around and stopped just in front of me and got out of his cart, so I couldn't avoid him. He says, "So are you and your boyfriend still together?"

"Yes."

Disappointed "oh" response and then, "I was just asking because, like, you know, I really like our conversations." [He sounds like someone mocking a California surfer accent.] "They really stick with me." As he said this last part, he sort of tapped his chest where the heart is with his fingers.

My stalkers can't just be scary. No. They have to cheesy too.

The long awaited answer to 'Which way is up?'

It's about TIME!

I was just complaining about this problem this past weekend. In the best of situations, I am bad with direction, but coming out the subway, I am ALWAYS turned around. I wish they would put these things at every stop!

If you've ever struggled to figure out which direction you're facing when you step out of a subway station (and there are no landmarks or sun to guide you), you won't have those problems at four subway stations in Midtown anymore. That's because the Department of Transportation and the Grand Central Partnership are placing temporary directional compass decals outside them.

DOT Commissioner Janette Sadik-Khan explained, "Not a single person, native New Yorker or visitor, can truthfully claim that they have not, at least once, been confused as to which direction to walk when emerging from a subway station." The decals, funded by the GCP, were suggested by a resident. Here are the locations:

150 East 42nd Street (south side of East 42nd St between Lexington Ave and Third Ave) - Entrance to 42nd Street/Grand Central station

The Grand Hyatt New York, 109 East 42nd Street (west side of Lexington Ave between East 42nd St and East 43rd St) - Entrance to 42nd Street/Grand Central station

570 Lexington Avenue (south side of East 51st St between Lexington Ave and Park Ave) - Entrance to 51st Street/Lexington Avenue station

509 Madison Avenue (south side of East 53rd St between Madison Ave and Park Ave) - Entrance to Fifth Avenue/53rd Street station

The View from The Top Racket

For once I had Saturday off and so I went into the City to watch the LSU-Kentucky game at our alumni bar Tutle Bay Grill & Lounge. This was a mistake, because every time I go there, we lose the game. So, sorry everyone, that was my fault. It was also a mistake because a Miller Lite bottle there costs $5.40.

But this is not an entry about LSU football, instead, I'm here to talk to you about a different sort of rip off, The Empire State Building. I dragged a friend of my from Queens, who was born and raised in Long Island and has never lived anywhere but in a three hour radius of NYC (and only in NY state), to the bar. She was amazed by the school spirit.

She, in turn, dragged me to the Empire State Building because as a New Yorker, she had never been. (She's also never been to the Statue of Liberty, the U.N., etc.) I thought it would be a good idea, because though I have been, I've never been at night. It was a chilly on the 86th floor in October. It was also pretty to see the city at night with no haze, no smog, all lit up. Unfortunately it was also $18! I couldn't believe it! My guide, which was written in 2006, has the price at $13. So in a year it has gone up $5. And it will just keep going up because people continue to line the walk for the view.

Now NBC has gotten into the act and you can pay to go to the top of 30 Rockefeller Plaza. They are late to the game, but what with the popularity of the show by the same name (actually shot at a building in Queens, which they renovated to look like 30 Rock), they too could probably get $18 a head. It's now cheaper to go to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island (and you have to take a boat to get there!) than it is to go to the top of a building, look around for five minutes and then leave.

To spare you the $18, the view follows:

The Hard Times of a Stalker

So as I type, Stalker #2 (Apartment Worker Stalker), is painting lines in the parking lot just outside my window. I know because I was just forced to have yet another stilted conversations with him as I encountered him when I returned from walking the dog. And I had just been thinking how nice it was that I managed the walk without running into him.

So he starts with the weather, moves to "When my boss asked me to come down here to do this, I said 'Sure. I'm good at doing lines.' It's a good thing he didn't catch my meaning." And he finishes with talk of the Colorado Rockies and how well they're playing. (He used to live in Colorado. He told me this during the last conversation...you remember, the one in which he played air guitar.)

Seriously where do these people come from?

I am glad for one thing, though. I've been griping about that parking lot needing lines drawn because it's circular and no one knows how to park out there. A LOT of wasted space! I just wish one of the other guys were out there doing it.

Reviews. Catching up

Am I behind! I just realized that I haven't mentioned what I've been viewing in quite a while. I mean there's a reason I haven't updated you on what I've been reading...I haven't. At least not in English. Spanish is consuming my life and you'll see that in the movies I've been watching as well.

I did, however, finish "Marley and Me." It is sappy. Easy to read. Not the greatest writing in the world. And yet, at the end, I was crying like a baby. Anyone who has ever loved a pet will understand and thus it is obvious why this book did so well.

Movie-wise I've done better. But only because on my current Netflix plan I get only two movies a month and I feel like I HAVE to watch them or else I don't get my $6 worth. So since The Candidate, I've watched the following films (with mini reviews attached):

The City of No Limits. My rating: See this movie. In Spanish and French with English subtitles, this flick is a great film noire featuring the incredible Spanish actor Fernando Fernan Gomez. Really. He's an amazing actor and he should bet getting as much acclaim as any of those white men with English accents people are going on about, but because he makes Spanish language films, he does not. The Netflix plot synopsis: This haunting drama set in Paris revolves around Max, a former titan of Spanish industry who's become terminally ill. As his family members gather around him, the delusional Max talks incessantly about a plot against Rancel, apparently an old acquaintance of his. When Max becomes increasingly earnest in his ranting, his son Victor decides to take him seriously and investigate his story.

300. My review: Rent if you like this genre. Based on the comic book, it is gory and full of testosterone. I liked it. But then again, I like comic books. The Netflix plot synopsis: About the storied Battle of Thermopylae, a conflict that pitted the ancient Greeks against the Persians in 480 B.C.

Hot Fuzz. My review: Stop everything to see this. Look, I liked Shuan of the Dead OK. I wasn't all crazy for it like my friends. But this move, by the same guys, is hilarious. I found something painfully familiar in the desire to be village of the year. It reminded me of where I work, somehow. Netflix plot synopsis: A top London cop is ready to die of boredom when his superiors transfer him to a sleepy English village to work alongside a blundering but well-meaning young constable. Craving some real action, the big-city bobby may just get his wish when the town begins to stir with a series of grisly "accidents." Is foul play afoot in this seemingly idyllic hamlet?

Mala Uva. My review: If you want something funny with a cheesy, unlikely, sorta happy ending, this is for you. The name of the film in Spanish means "bad grapes", but they called the English release "The Hit Man." I like Bad Grapes better. But either way, it's about a retired hit man who has a vineyard and a daughter about to marry when his crop is damaged beyond repair after grafting French vines with his Spanish ones (a nice dig at the French by the filmmakers). Anyway, he comes out of retirement and wacky adventure ensues. I won't give you the Netflix plot synopsis because it's not quite right.

Next up is The Queen with Helen Mirren and I'm still reading the Che biography.

FINALLY!!!

A good use for DNA testing! Finding out who your baby's daddy is and freeing men wrongly imprisoned 20 years ago for a crime they didn't commit is all nice and good, but this...THIS is what DNA was truly meant for. Roland won't have to wonder about his lineage any more!

Tests help mutt owners find identity
By NATE JENKINS, Associated Press Writer

Rascal's mom looked like Lassie. And his dad? Well, that's a good question. Rascal's ears make it clear that he was the product of something besides a collie, but his owners couldn't say exactly what. So Kathie Svoboda of Lincoln dabbed a swab in her pet's mouth, mailed it to a lab and, a few weeks later, unlocked the mutt's canine heritage.

Collie and cocker spaniel, as suspected, along with a twist — Shetland sheepdog.

The growing availability, and declining cost, of high-tech DNA tests are giving dog owners long baffled over the makeup of their mutts something to do besides shrug and speculate.

The tests, which cost as little as $65, are the result of several years of work by scientists who gathered a large pool of DNA samples from thousands of dogs to create a sort of genetic roadmap of breeds.

For years, owners have been able to get dogs tested to prove they are the offspring of parents that breeders said they were. In the new testing, DNA markers that help tell breeds apart are checked against the thousands of DNA samples to find out Fido's ancestry.

A new test unveiled late last month by Virginia-based Mars Veterinary uses DNA from blood samples taken by veterinarians and sent to a lab in Lincoln. Within four to six weeks the genetic puzzle is solved for the dogs' owners.

The method can test for 134 of the 157 dog breeds recognized by the American Kennel Club. The company plans to have data for all the breeds by the end of this year, said Paul Jones, a scientist in England who led the method's development.

The test Svoboda used covers 38 breeds and doesn't require a trip to the vet. It has been on the market since early this year, and its producer, Beltsville, Md.-based MetaMorphix, hopes to test for 115 breeds by year's end.

"People spend hundreds of dollars a month on accessories for their dogs," said Brad Mitchell of MMI Genomics, a subsidiary of MetaMorphix. "We kept saying, `This is going to be big, this is going to be big.'"

Mars Veterinary officials say 86 percent of mutt owners don't know which breeds are in their dogs' backgrounds and that consumer surveys they conducted show 60 percent of mutt owners would like to know.

The cost of a cheek-swab test is $65; the cost of the blood test is up to vets but could range between $100 and $200.

There are limitations. Because DNA gets more muddied with each generation, great-grandparents are the oldest relatives that can be mixed breeds themselves in order to secure a reliable answer for the mixed breed in question.

Not everybody is convinced the mutt DNA business will take off.

"I think most people interested in a mixed-breed dog wouldn't want to pay the price" for the tests, said Richard Oberst, a veterinarian and professor at Kansas State University.

Svoboda said she got Rascal tested only because her daughter was curious.

"We thought it was silly," she said.

Mallo-yummie!

I know New York is all known for its cuisine, so it probably speaks to my lameness that the newest food I have discovered comes, not from some old time deli or swank New York cafe or a world-known pizza institution. No, the food I present to you today is made by Nabisco. I give you Mallomars cookies.
I had never even heard of these cookies until someone brought them to work one day. I was all like, "What are Mallomars?" And you'd think I'd insulted the Pope, or something. They were all, "You've never heard of MALLOMARS?!"

Then I bought a box. (They're like Smores, really - a Graham cracker cookie and marshmallow covered in dark chocolate. I'm thinking about putting one in the microwave and seeing if I can make it even more Smore-like.)

According to Wikipedia, the Mallomar is produced seasonally by the cookie company. So that might explain my recent introduction to them. And the fact that since I had that first Mallomar, I've noticed that the grocery stores have a huge display of them at the front when you walk in. It also explains why they're about $5 for a box. More expensive than Girl Scout cookies.

From the box I learned that the Mallomar was created by Nabisco in 1913 (same year as the Moonpie, Wikipedia says) and first sold to a grocer in West Hoboken, NJ. I also learned that more than 70 percent of all Mallomar sales are "generated in the shadow of the Big Apple." We are also "the most loyal Mallomars fans."

Well, they just got one more fan.

Tale of Two Stalkers

It’s been a great week for my stalkers. Last night the original stalker/downstairs neighbor got wasted and sat under my bedroom window serenading me with his slurred dialogue with his dog who was outside and some guy named Frank who was on the phone and, apparently, is getting married. I also got a little verbal abuse when it became obvious he was parked there for the night and there was no getting around him when I needed to take my dog out.

Meanwhile, stalker no. 2/workman stalker stopped me yesterday as I was walking the dog and relayed to me his weekend adventures which involved “getting ripped” at a bar (his friends were buying him “all kinds of shots” and he went out back of the club and “smoked a little herb”). At the bar, he saw some 12 year old guitar phenomenon who was “wailing on some Hendrix, Zeplin” etc. And he illustrated by playing a little air guitar for me.

Then he asked about my weekend. I responded with the standard, “I didn’t do much.” I swear, it was like watching a train wreck…or a bad sitcom, in which they mock bad 80s sitcoms.