News from Patras

I guess the next step is to get rid of all the gypsies and Albanians? Greeks hate Albanians. They're the new Turks.

Authorities in the city of Patras began demolishing a camp right by the city's port that was home to nearly 4,000 illegal immigrants, mostly Afghan. Illegals would stay in the area and try to board ships bound for Italy or other European destinations.

The Greek Red Cross had given the immigrants a few days warning of the impending demolition of the camp. The question now is, where do they all go?

Authorities said a similar establishment at the port of Igoumenitsa (northwestern Greece) would soon be razed as well.

Not even Memphis-STYLE BBQ

My new old beau and I (he will henceforth be called TomClancy as he is ultra paranoid and would loose it if he found out I was using his real name on the INTERNET WHERE ANYONE COULD SEE IT or something like that, despite the fact that the only people who read this blog are a few, very bored friends and some guy in Indian who stumbled upon it by accident and accidentally set it as his homepage and can't figure out how to unset it!)

So wait, where was I?

Oh right, TomClancy and I went out for BBQ this weekend, as I mention at a local joint called The Piggy Bank. While I knew, in my heart of hearts, this was a bad BAD idea. I did it anyway. People at work had raved about it. It was Zagats rated. We weren't in NYC, so there's plenty of land to have a real smoker on. It could work, right? Wrong. It's not that the barbecue was bad, but it wasn't great and it certainly WASN'T Memphis-style BBQ, as advertised. If anything, I'd say it was more Texas style. It was runny, in that vinegary way that Texas barbecue has. And it was tomato-based, so it tasted like what I consider real BBQ, as opposed to North Carolina barbecue, which is very heavy on the vinegar and yuck and light on the yum and sauce.

I had a pulled pork sandwich. Uninspired. The slaw was pretty good, though. TomClancy had the Carolina-style pulled pork sandwich, which was based on the South Carolina mustard barbecue. It was also very vinegary, though. Though TomClancy is from South Carolina, he hadn't had the mustard-based 'cue before and didn't care for this version of it.

We also ordered a small side of ribs. These were immensely better. Though it was the same lame sauce and there was no dry rub on the meat, it was actually cooked well. Moist and falling off the bone the way good barbecue is supposed to be.

The best thing we had by far were the chicken strips, though. They were an appetizer and nothing to do with barbecue at all, but were deep friend to perfection.

I don't get it, though. They had the meat right - that's the hard part. Anyone can make a decent, thick BBQ sauce. How did they screw that up? Hmm...maybe they need someone to help them in the way of Memphis-style BBQ? Do I smell a job possibility? Or maybe just a reality TV show in the making?

You say park, I say potter's field

I found this little item pretty interesting. They've got Washington Square Park all torn up for a complete restoration or something like that. I've gotta get down there and get some pics that I'll post here. In the meantime, remember the next time you're down there protesting the war or attending a wiener dog convention that you're hanging out on a grave yard:

Mostly intact skeletal remains from at least four people were discovered Wednesday morning by city archaeologists doing soil testing as part of a restoration of Washington Square Park in Greenwich Village, city officials said. The discovery could have significance for scholars studying the history of the early United States; the area of the park was used as a common burial ground, or potter’s field, from 1797 to 1826.

The Parks Department immediately announced that the skeletons would be left in the ground out of respect and that some of the plans for renovating the site would be adjusted so as not to disturb the burial site.

According to Jama Adams, a Parks Department spokeswoman, at least four relatively intact burials were uncovered. At one site, 70 to 80 human bones, possibly belonging to two individuals, were found. At a second site, three to four sets of skeletal remains were found. The archaeological work is being done under supervision from the city’s Landmarks Preservation Commission, which has responsibility for maintaining the historical integrity of the park.

Who needs Frank Lloyd Wright when you got Kate Spade and a boyfriend?

Well, I would update you on my life, but I've been very busy going out on actual dates with the guy I've been seeing, so I just don't have time. Also, I have a column I'm supposed to be writing, but am not. I have to tell you about the decidedly NON-Memphis BBQ Memphis-style BBQ I had today for lunch, but that will have to wait till morning.

Also, because looking at Chicago architecture in a snowstorm wasn't crazy enough, today I went shopping (with the afore mentioned guy) at a outdoor outlet mall in sub-zero weather. It was not just cold, it was damn cold! We went to Woodbury Common in nearby Orange County. I bought a dress, which was about all I could afford. And the afore mentioned guy bought me a warm wool hat. (Did I mention it was cold?) Also, for some reason, we decided to go on this crazy shopping excursion spur of the moment and took no gloves or hats with us. I had a nice warm jacket, but he had a windbreaker without its fleece interior. Needless to say, there was much coffee drinking and popping into stores we had absolutely no interest in.

Anyway, I'm busy thawing out now...I finally have some feeling back in my fingers. Stay tuned for the update on New York BBQ.

Snow, but not in New York

As far as I know, I'm not pregnant. [See my friend's blog.] But apparently hell IS about to freeze over, as Mississippi got snow. See photos from friends and family below:

Don't be alarmed. Those explosions are planned. No. Really.

Public reminded about construction blasts at World Trade Center site
by The Associated Press

Don't be alarmed.

That's the Port Authority's message to the public about construction blasting at the World Trade Center site.

Seven controlled blasts were scheduled throughout the day today.

New Mike the Tiger

This is Mike VI. In case you want to learn more about him:

A GROWING LOVE AFFAIR
LSU's 400-plus pound mascot, Mike VI, is winning the hearts of fans young and old
Saturday, January 05, 2008
By Billy Turner
Staff writer

It was a Wednesday, days before Christmas.

A gray sky sheltered Tiger Stadium, but beyond that enormous building, stacked between the football and basketball homes of LSU Tigers, was the environment that housed the newest of Mike the Tiger, a 15,000-square foot area.

Out beyond the athletic facilities, a warm wind kicked up, and drops of rain began to fall. The sky was ominous to the East, with black clouds forming a marching army.

Still, families came by to see the large feline, staring in past the glass or past the fencing.

Mike VI was oblivious to all that. As the rain drops hit him, on his stomach since he was lyingon his back like a house cat that had escaped to roll in the front yard, he didn't even tense. He didn't care that moisture was gathering. He seemed to care about nothing.

But when a leaf blower cranked up to his left, the howl piercing the air outside his palatial home, he cared. He rolled, and the enormous cat leaped to his feat. He strode to the edge of the cage and peered out. A golf cart rolled by, and that seemed to capture his attention.

It was just another day in the life of a wonderfully playful cat the size of a Volkswagen.

Norma Compton, a grandmother from Wichita, Kan., ignored the impending rain. She walked to the fencing and stared in.

"I'm here to visit my granddaughter," she explained. "We purposefully came to see Mike. He's a tradition. It's just fun to see a beautiful tiger like this. You don't often see them in zoos."

Laura Compton is getting her master's degree in education from LSU and was to graduate just before Christmas. But the afternoon wouldn't be complete, Norma said, without a visit to see the cat.

Minutes later, the Holland family arrived.

Travis Holland is a student at LSU. He was wearing LSU pants as he led his mother, sister and father to the edge of Mike's shelter.

"I'm a student, and my family wanted to see him," Holland said. Sister Jessie, mother Terrie and father Melvin are from Shreveport.

"We live in Shreveport," said Terrie, "and my parents live in New Orleans. We had to come see the Tiger. We love him, we love animals. Travis was telling us he is very young and very big, and he is."

The families were but a few of the almost constant flow of people who have come to see the tiger who replaced Mike V. Mike V died in May of renal failure.

At the time, LSU Athletic Director Skip Bertman said, "Mike V was a noble mascot who was loved by Tiger fans young and old, and he represented all that is proud and dignified about LSU."

Mike VI, who was named Roscoe at the time, arrived in August.

He's been a huge hit.

"He's had a lot more visitors," said Bobbie Grand, public relations officer of the Tiger Athletic Foundation. "Dr. (David) Baker estimated that about 100,000 visitors per year came to see Mike V, and we believe there are more people coming to see Mike VI.

"He is just so friendly and out-going. On a daily basis hundreds come to see him."

LSU has had a live tiger mascot since 1936, and the tales that have grown up around the Tigers are legendary. The original Mike was purchased from the Little Rock Zoo for $750 that year. His name originally was Sheik but was changed to Mike for Mike Chambers, who was the LSU athletic trainer when the first mascot was purchased.

The first Mike was placed in the Baton Rouge Zoo for about a year before a permanent home was constructed. He was at LSU for 20 years before dying of pneumonia.

Through the years, traditions have grown around the tiger, such as the one that says for every growl of Mike elicited before a football game, the Tigers will score a touchdown that night.

The tiger stopped traveling with the team in 1970 when his cage overturned on Airline Highway en route to a game. In the mid-1980s, someone cut the locks on Mike IV's cage and freed him, but he was returned safely. Tulane students kidnapped Mike the Tiger in 1950.

But Mike VI might turn out to be the most popular of all the mascots. When he was released into the facility Sept. 1, he immediately showed his style.

"He played with a big purple ball that was placed in the environment, and he went swimming almost immediately," Grand said. "It was so sad when Mike V died. We were so worried. Were we going to get another one, we wondered. It was what he represented that meant so much to people.

"Turns out this one is just so fantastic," said Grand, who has chronicled the lives of the Tigers through photographs, many of which are in her office in the Pete Maravich Assembly Center where she overlooks Mike VI's habitat.

"Dr. Baker did a fantastic job finding this cat. When they released him into his environment, it was like, 'this is great.'"

Grand said the TAF gets a lot of calls asking what is the best time to see the tiger. She laughed, "We don't really know. He's a tiger. He sleeps whenever he wants to and gets up whenever he wants to. We had an elderly couple call and ask us, and we told them the morning might be best. They said that wouldn't work for them, like we were going to go and tell the tiger. They came in the afternoon.

"I've seen him raise up and put his paws on the glass near where kids are placing their hands. I've seen the kids come by wearing their LSU clothing. He loves his handlers, too. He reacts when he sees them."

Though the Tigers don't travel any longer, Grand said there had been pressure to take Mike VI to New Orleans for the BCS championship game. "I don't think they would let him go riding in that trailer, though."

Other random updates

I got these pretty roses the other night, for no real reason except the boy who gave them to me seems to like me a lot. I thought the were pretty, thus their posting. Also, my cat tried to eat the baby's breath...she's been obsessed with it since she was a wee, little kitten. One of my ex's used to buy her her own baby's breath whenever he bought me flowers. This is obviously a bad thing to do, since she just pukes it back up. It was one think when I had hard wood floors and could just wipe it up. But now I have carpet and have to bust out the Bissell SpotBot to clean it up.

Part 2: I will not be taking a Spanish class this semester. The community college I go to isn't offering any upper level classes this semester. The one I originally signed up for was canceled due to lack of enrollment. Apparently they will offer 301 in the fall. I just hope I can keep my Spanish up between now and then. Also, I didn't really have the money to take classes at a four-year SUNY school. I have to apply, get accepted and then the tuition is much higher. So I'm just waiting the semester and summer sessions out. Plus, I may not even be here in May. My boss told me the other day that he won't be here through the end of the year. He's looking for jobs outside of journalism. When he leaves, I hope to be gone. If not I'm going to have to do his job AND mine and that means working six days a week and many, many more hours than I'm putting in now...most likely without his pay.

I've eaten some more apples, read some additional books and watched a lot of movies. So I have several other updates I need to get to. Doubt I'll get them all up tonight, though.

M.I.A.: Stalker

So it's been almost a month since I've seen my stalker that works here. I've probably just jinxed myself, but I thought you all might be wondering about his whereabouts and what crazy, new stalker thing he's done.

I'm hoping he got fired or transfered to the other apartment complex these people own. Maybe someone complained to management on my behalf...or maybe he was stalking some other people who weren't afraid to go and complain to the front office. Whatever it is, I'm glad for it. It makes walking so much more peaceful and enjoyable!

Ah, New York

From The New York Times.

January 9, 2008
ABOUT NEW YORK
Young and Broke in the City, but Staying Afloat

By JIM DWYER
As hosts of a small gathering the other night to watch a college football game, Brian Markey and his roommate, Owen Cahillane, hustled to get their place ready, which took a startling amount of time, considering that it has only 250 square feet of space. They live on a houseboat in the Bronx, on a finger of water that is formally known as Westchester Creek. It is close to the elbow of the Hutchinson River Parkway and the Cross Bronx Expressway, in a pocket of the city that is in no immediate danger of becoming the new Williamsburg.

Mr. Markey, 25, found the houseboat, the Pee Jay, after seeing an ad for a rental that was only a seven-minute canoe ride to the Whitestone Multiplex.

On Monday evening, to get a signal for their television, he and Mr. Cahillane, 28, turned to the neighboring houseboat, which is vacant because of an unfortunate tilting episode but still has a handsome, and functioning, satellite dish. They ran a cable from the dish through a window into their living room. By pulling as far and as hard as possible, the cable just reached the television set.

“It’s like when they bring the chains out to measure a first down,” Mr. Markey said triumphantly.

The cable cut the room in half, but the guests, arriving with beer and a pot of red beans and rice, simply ducked beneath it. They were friends who had gone to college in New Orleans, and most of them had moved to the city in the past six months. Like their hosts, they, too, are chronically broke and accustomed to physical discomfort. These are New Yorkers in the larval stage.

“The novelty of a party on a houseboat gets people here,” said Mr. Markey, who works as a gardener in a Bronx park. “If we advertised it as a party in a small room a few blocks off the 6 train, I doubt we’d get many.”

Perched on the edge of a sagging sofa, next to a pine twig that had been stuck in a beer bottle — a Christmas tree, houseboat-size — Dominique Ellis, 23, who works in marketing, confessed that she had wanted to compare the houseboat with the basement in Astoria, Queens, that she shares with three unemployed actors.

“I had no idea,” Ms. Ellis said, “that accommodations such as these were just 28 subway stops away.”

After spending a few nights on the boat, Lizzie Ford-Madrid, 24, noticed a mini-rain forest effect. The faintly dank odor becomes less noticeable the more you breathe it. The $800 rent includes propane heat, but it is tricky to adjust. The result, Mr. Cahillane said, is that the top half of the body can be quite warm while everything below the waist is freezing.

“There are some problems with the moisture,” said Mr. Cahillane, who returned last month from a yearlong fellowship with Catholic Relief Services in Latin America and is looking for work. “I dropped the soap in the shower and literally could not see it in the steam to pick it up.”

Ms. Ford-Madrid, who works as a production assistant at Nickelodeon, has sleeping rights to a sofa in an apartment in Borough Park, Brooklyn. “My roommate is a third-year resident at Maimonides, so it’s cheap hospital housing,” she said. “He’s friends with a friend of mine in New Orleans, and he said, ‘Oh yeah, you can stay on my couch.’ ”

She came north during the summer with Samantha McKinney, 24, who now works at an art gallery in Chelsea and lives above a wheelchair store in Williamsburg. “My roommate has a wheelchair she spray-painted gold that she uses at her desk,” Ms. McKinney noted.

In separate police blotter moments, Ms. Ford-Madrid and Ms. Ellis each had a purse stolen in bars. “Some woman came into the bar like a housewife of Orange County — only a 50-year-old hussy,” Ms. Ford-Madrid said, as if such a profile were inherently bad. “She went on a shopping spree at Brooklyn gas stations.”

Things felt secure on the houseboat. Occasionally, someone going for a beer would knock the cable out of the television set, temporarily interrupting Louisiana State’s blowout of No. 1-ranked Ohio State in the Bowl Championship Series title game. Everyone at the party was connected somehow through Loyola University New Orleans. Mr. Markey graduated from there in 2005; Mr. Cahillane grew up with him in Springfield, Mass.

At night, one roommate gets the arthritic sofa, the other, a foam chair that unfolds to bed length. They are not sure how long their residency on Westchester Creek will last, for all its charms. “At low tide, the bluefish will chase the little shiners, and they’ll jump in the air, and the seagulls are waiting to get them,” Mr. Markey said. “The food chain.”

Ms. Ford-Madrid took her spot on the New York food chain in a moment of pure impulse. “Samantha and I worked at the same restaurant, and I turned to her one night and said, ‘Samantha, let’s move to New York,’” she said. “That was it. Just came here on a nickel and a wish.”

Tiger Taters!

Since there's not much I can add to the reams of print - both electronic and paper varieties - that has been written about LSU's victory over ESPN darlings Ohio State, I will instead write about my experience as the school's ambassador to the not-so-frozen-north, particularly my newsroom.

As soon as I stepped off the elevator today my immediate supervisor saw me and said, "Well I didn't expect to see you today. I thought you'd be too hung over from the celebrating." There was much congratulations thrown my way and as I told everyone that stopped by, "Yes. I take full credit for the LSU victory." And there is something to be said here, in that I purposely avoided going to the LSU alumni bar in the city to watch the game - though it would have been nice to celebrate with my fellow alumni - due to the (previously mentioned in another post) run of bad luck I've had with the place. I wanted to do nothing to jinx this game. Instead I opted to watch the game at home with my boy friend (I don't think I can quite put those two words together yet), Abita beer and pizza. Actually we were playing like buffoons until he showed up and then right on cue the game turned in our favor. So now not only do I have to avoid the alumni bar, but I have to haul this guy over to watch the games with me. Ensuring victory for LSU is getting harder and HARDER!

But I digress. Back to work: I came armed with my Zapps LSU Tiger Taters, which I put out for the newsroom to enjoy and wrote an obnoxiously glowy e-mail informing said newsroom of the afore mentioned chips. They were a huge hit and were gone in like 120 seconds. The executive editor kicked off the supervisors meeting today by saying the first order of business was to congratulate me on LSU's victory. And things continued along in this manner for the rest of the day. I heard confessions of people from Ohio who hated Ohio State and were secretly glad for their loss. There was much smack talk about the Big 10. It was nice...like I'd converted the entire newsroom in SEC - and in particular LSU - fans. My favorite story was form the assistant sports editor who went to LSU for something to do with a basketball tournament (I was unclear on whether he was playing or covering) and he was in awe of the acres and acres of sports facilities. He was all "the Mississippi River was right there," as if we aren't all "the Hudson River is RIGHT THERE" ourselves.

So anyway, I'm exhausted by my missionary work up here. Any other LSUers have funny day after stories to share?

Sad Tree. Sad Bucky.

I'm feeling a lot of sympathy for this tree, which is still just as it appears here, off my balcony. Is everyone still on vacation? Does no one goof off at work anymore? Is that one of your New Year's resolutions? "I will not goof off at work anymore, watching YouTube videos and reading blogs? In my free time, when I have it, I will only read the McLaughlin Report Web site." Well, let me tell you, my friends, that is a very BAD resolution. You won't get any smarter like that. You'll just start to realize how dumb you really are. Better to stick with YouTube — and this blog - where you'll feel like a genius.

So, anyway, this tree. I noticed last week. Someone had apparently just decided that it was too much of a hassle to drag it across the parking lot to the dumpster or to take it to be mulched for free at the park. No, much better, just to toss it out the window because, after all, it is nature and the stuff behind our building is also nature. Nature to nature, dust to dust.

I swear I don't know where I live anymore. This place used to be filled with adults. Now it's like I live with a bunch of children. Or, as I've mentioned before, in a frat house.

Sigh. Come back friends, come back. I need some intelligent conversation. Clearly that's not to be had here where I live.

The Apple Cart: Day 7 (Red Delicious)

Hello, old faithful!

I think anyone who's had an apple has had a Red Delicious. It is the generic of apples and available everywhere. It has a dark red peel and a white meat. They are grown everywhere apples are grown. It is a sweet apple, which is crunchy, though closer to the core becomes less so. It has versatile applications, though is probably most popular eaten in its original apple form. It is also very cheap, which is good. At my grocery store you can buy organic and the waxy, shiny version we're all used to seeing. However, strangely, the organic version is one cent cheaper.

Here is the history of this apple as told by Wikipedia, so who knows if it's true:

The Red Delicious was originally called "Hawkeye" by Hiatt, but after taking it to the fruit show in Louisiana it was called simply "Delicious". When the Golden Delicious was discovered in 1914, the name changed again to "Red Delicious".
This variety of apple became increasingly popular until the 1990s, when overproduction began to degrade the quality and when better storage and transportation techniques made other varieties more available. Recently, apple aficionados often consider this apple bland and deride the Red Delicious for its overly sweet, relatively simple flavor compared to other apple varieties.

Apparently the Louisiana referred to isn't the state, but a city in Missouri. I have no idea what or who Hiatt is. I have also discovered that the "yellow" apple that I mentioned in my first apple post is actually the Golden Delicious. We'll have to give that a go soon and review it. We shall see how delicious it is.

Happy New Year!

Welcome to 2008. In New York the year has begun cold and rainy. And I'm at home alone with my dog and cat. So I figure things an only get better from here.

I did go to that party last night, by the way. I did not take anyone with me. (Though when I got there someone asked, "Why didn't you bring Roland?!" The dog is more popular than I am.) I did however go late after everyone was pretty much soused and so no one even noticed.

There was a lot of drinking and fooding and playing of Guitar Hero 3, which is the most insane idea for a video game I've ever seen.

Hope you guys had a good New Year's Eve and it continues into '08!


A million revelers. A ton of confetti. One giant celebration.
by Associated Press

More than a million revelers in Times Square cheered as the giant crystal ball made its 100th drop last night and a ton of confetti rained down on the urban canyon, ushering in the new year.

University of North Carolina junior Reid Medlin, 21, attended the celebration with his friends Rachel Rand, 20, and Jeremy Crouthamel, 20. They were in the city for the first time and planned to stay up all night because they had no hotel.

"I think the best part is being here with friends," Medlin said as confetti floated down on him and people kissed around him. "This was beautiful. It makes you appreciate everything."

Rand said it didn't even matter that they didn't have a place to sleep.

"I'm too happy to go to bed," she exclaimed.

A century ago the Times Square ball tradition began with a 700-pound ball of wood and iron, lit with 100 25-watt incandescent bulbs. This year's event featured an energy-efficient sphere clad in Waterford crystals, with 9,576 light-emitting diodes that generated a kaleidoscope of colors.

Organizers said well over a million people attended the festivities.

They were treated to an entertainment lineup that included Dick Clark and Ryan Seacrest handling the countdown to 2008 and musical performances by Carrie Underwood, Miley Cyrus and other acts. Even New York Yankees slugger Alex Rodriguez showed up, shaking hands and posing for photos as he waited for midnight.

The Times Square Alliance, the business group running the event, handed out thousands of balloons and mittens to the crowd, which waited for hours in chilly winter weather for the main event. The confetti included pieces of paper with the new year's wishes and resolutions of people who submitted them in advance.

The Most Spoiled Dog in the World

Meet Mimi, mother of Roland. Mimi lives with my parents down South on 5 acres of land with two giant black labs. They live outside. She lives inside. She sleeps in my parent's bed, and when not asleep can be found perched on the couch with my mom or, as seen here, on the recliner with my dad.

This is her on Christmas day. She ate what we ate. This included: lamb, ham, spanikopita, tiropitakia, potato salad, deviled eggs, shrimp pilaffi...and some other stuff I can't remember. She also always has a full dish of dog food. She is ridiculously spoiled.

Three bottle minimum

Here's a nice little New Year's Eve story from the New York Post that will fill your hearts with gladness. Oh New York. $350 for a bottle of vodka?

December 30, 2007 -- Call it a bottle-service beatdown.

An evening out at the trendy Times Square nightclub Arena ended for a recent NYU grad when bar staff overcharged him $1,000, beat him, frog-marched him to an ATM and had him arrested for not buying enough liquor, according to court papers.

Gregory Barnard, 22, is now suing the club for $2 million over his bruising. He filed the suit last week in Manhattan Supreme Court.

Arena charges up to $350 for a bottle of vodka. What Barnard did not know was that the club has a three-bottle minimum.

Barnard's party in June petered out after one bottle, so when he called for the check, the waitress told him that he would have to pay $700 over his tab for two bottles he never drank.

He refused.

Barnard handed over his bank card, but after running it several times, the waitress claimed it was denied, he said.

A bouncer threw him to the floor and held him down while two other bouncers punched and kicked him, he said.

They then picked Barnard up and walked him two blocks to an ATM for more money, but the bank had frozen his card because the waitress had already charged $1,400 on it, swiping the card at least nine times, he said.

He said the bouncers dragged him back to the bar, where he waited until police arrived and arrested him for theft of services.

The charges were dismissed.

Celebrating Christmas and Celebrities

Though I was recently in New Orleans myself (more on my travel woes in a subsequent entry), I do not actually have any Jolie-Pitt stories of my own to report. [Though we did get a gander at the pink house/tent-thingie installation that Brad Pitt had commissioned in the Lower Ninth Ward, while waiting for a certain traveler from Chicago to arrive after a much-delayed flight home.]

But I what I do have is a funny Jolie-Pitt story e-mailed to me from a friend - he's the photo assignment editor at my previous paper. So I thought I'd share it here. Please feel free to share your own encounters with the famous or semi-famous. In Bucky's World we like to live vicariously.

So I had a brief brush with greatness while in NOLA.

I never leave home without some vacation meat in my ice chest.

And this year I took three slabs of smoked ribs with me to help out with the holiday cooking.

Turns out my brother in-law's frig was so packed the only place I had to keep my meat was in the ice chest in the trunk of my car.

Well, anyway, come along about Wednesday evening last week my bro in-law and I went into the Quarter to buy more ice.

While he was screwing around in the store I decided to unload my ice chest and pour the water off and then repack it while parked in the Quarter.

So while I as busy doing that I see this little biking family coming down the street.

It's a mommy and daddy team pulling a double child carrier trailer behind his bike, while mom had a child seat on the back of her bike with another tike strapped in.

Feeling that natural bike rider connection I made up my mind I would speak to them as they rolled by me.

As I threw my own bike rack back into my trunk I looked up and said,

"Hey, how are you folks this evening."

As I got the last word out of my mouth I realized I was looking right at Brad Pitt.

And if daddy is Brad Pitt, the mommy must be ANGELINA JOLEE.

And sure enough, yes, it was Brad and Angelina just cycling around the quarter on their bikes with no paparazzi in sight and just me and them out there on the street.

I felt like a guy who just got a hole in one, and no witnesses.

Brad rolled by and said "we're doing ok." While Angelina just smiled and said "hi" as she peddled by.

And so that is my brush with greatness.

Pretty much after that everything else was uneventful.

Except the ribs of course, mmmmmm, mmmmmm, good.

New Year's Eve Eve ponderings

One of my reporters called me today to invite me to a New Year's Eve bash at her boyfriend's apartment. She said, "I wasn't sure if you had plans, but I wanted to invited you over. There will be lots of booze."

This was very nice since a) of course I have no plans and b) I now will not have to discover what happens when one drinks an entire bottle of champagne by oneself.

But then she added, "Matt (her boyfriend) says bring a date. Oh and Mike (his roommate) says bring a date for him." Laughter. Then she goes on to say that I should feel free...in fact encouraged to bring friends. This has given me pause because now I feel like if I go I'm SUPPOSED to bring at least one friend. But here's the thing — I don't have any friends. Not here. Not real friends. Not the kind you call up and invite to parties.

What I have here are pre-existing friends, mostly from graduate school, almost all from journalism (though not necessarily still practicing) all of whom are married with children. I have two ex's; not married, with children (well, one each). And then I have the new people I've met who either live in my apartment complex, are students that I've tutored or work with me. I'm close to none of them.

So I've been here a year and a half and I'm beginning to wonder what is wrong with me. I would like to blame it on my job or suburban living but I'm beginning to think those are just excuses. Am I a less friendly person? Am I more hesitant to just invite myself along or break into conversation with people? I think it is I that must be different, but I can't quite put my finger on it. Could I just be tired of meeting new people?

Should I make a new year's resolution to make new friends? That makes me sound like I'm 10. But it would be nice to have people to call up and say, "Would you like to go for coffee?" And it would be nice to have them call me up and ask if I'd like to go out for a drink or 12.

And, anyway, when you are in your 30s with no hobbies and you work nights, including Fridays and Saturdays, how do you meet people that don't work in the same office as you? We don't even share a building with other businesses, so you have the chance of meeting folks in the hallway. This new phase of my career is very insular, isn't it? Any thoughts, blogosphere?

Survey Says: Hipsters are annoying, even to Greeks

Save Astoria from hipsters say Greeks
BY NICHOLAS HIRSHON
DAILY NEWS WRITER

A growing number of college students are uniting online to rescue Astoria's famous Greek culture from "guitar-playing hipsters" they charge are ruining the increasingly artsy neighborhood.

Formed a few weeks ago on the social networking site Facebook, the Save Astoria group urges members - about 150 as of late Thursday - to prevent the hipsters from turning churches and cafes into "wasteful art exhibits."

Its five organizers, all former or current students at Fordham University, note Greeks' history of banding together and becoming "a formidable force" during tough times. They ask followers to support only Greek businesses.

"Invite all your friends and bring public attention to this issue before it is too late!" plead the group leaders, who didn't return e-mails and phone calls seeking comment.

"I guess they have a problem with people who go out and free ourselves with our music," snarled David Guevara, 18, of Astoria, who sings and plays guitar in a rock band.

The group's grievance that hipsters are driving out "the souvlaki guy on the corner" was met with disbelief from Chris Sourlis, owner of Gyro Uno on Steinway St.

"That's not true. Who said that?" asked Sourlis, 53, insisting the hipsters aren't his Achilles heel. "It's not like I'm not going to survive."

George Delis, district manager of Queens Community Board 1, blasted the Facebook organizers for assuming only Greeks belong in western Queens.

"How can any ethnic group claim Astoria as its own?" he said. "It's not going downhill. The community continues to thrive, and property values continue to climb."

Other Greeks distanced themselves from the group's call for battle against long-haired music lovers.

"We don't personally feel at war. Everyone can co-exist," said Athens-raised Ekavi Valleras, 27, a former program coordinator at Astoria's Greek Cultural Center.

Many even welcome the changes. For Jared Koeppel, manager of the Guitar Center at Northern Blvd. and 48th St., the emergence of a hipster base in Astoria has been a godsend.

"I wish that there were more. I don't think there are enough," said Koeppel, 30. "We sell more classical guitars than pretty much any store in the world."

In case you want to see the original, here the Daily News link.

How do you like dem apples? Not at all: Day 6 (McIntosh)

This smallish, red apple with yellow speckling is not a good apple. It has a weird pear-like taste and while makes a big crunching noise, is actually soft and a little mealy inside. The meat of the apple is white and it has a bizarrely thin peel (which according to NY Apple Country.com makes it cook down faster).

For your history lesson: The apple has been around since 1811, when John McIntosh discovered the first seedling. McIntosh apples grow particularly well in New York's cool climate...apparently.