#39 Bernie

You were born on the hard streets of Chicago, got a big break selling truck parts. Now you hire yachts on your leisure time. You frighten me a little. Napoleon complex, maybe?

#38 Ben

You were once a hard-nosed editor, I am told. But I find it hard to believe. You walk slowly, don't ever seem stressed, and are smiling always. You are stranded in semi-retirement.

Sinking into a hole of homeownership woes

The shady handy-man who has no license is in our basement. The plan was for him to install a thing to keep sewage from backing up into our basement. A $2100 job, split between the four units. No big deal.

Now there's a well dug in our basement floor. And the handy guy tells us that our sewage pipe is old and cracked. Okay fine, so another $2200 split 4 ways to put a liner inside that.

Now he has just informed us that there is a sinkhole underneath the tree in front of our building. And basically, our sewage has been draining into an underground cavern for god knows how long. Which would explain why our basement smells like shit every time it rains.

So, we wait to hear what the city will pay for. Living in the most corrupt city on the eastern seaboard is perhaps going to cause us some grief in the very near future.

Four calling birds!

At the bar where we ate dinner -- and had several beers -- we sang 12 Days of Christmas in a round with the few other patrons and the band waiting to go on at 9. Twice. The second time was better. And the whole thing was actually quite heart-warming.

What's not to love?

I don't understand why there is never a single white person (besides me) when I go to Golden Krust. Sure it's a little over-priced for Caribbean food, but it's a far cry from fast food. And really, I'd say the lunch price norm is probably $6 now. The only drawback to my delicious jerk chicken over "rice & peas" (looked like black beans to me) was the jerk flavored reflux all afternoon.

India

Yeah, yeah, I know. I never finished telling about India. I never even finished filling in all the days in my travel journal. And now the longer I wait the fewer details I remember.

At the very least, here are all my photos of India. And here are Jeff's.

Oh, okay NOW it makes sense.

I found out today what the rule is about packages leaving my office building.

We cannot walk out with a box ready to be shipped unless we get a form from our receptionist that basically says it's okay to walk out with a box. The receptionist does not need to know what's in our boxes, nor does he look at the contents.

The rules are more stringent after 6pm.

We can walk out with bags and suitcases, but no boxes. We can put boxes into bags and that will probably be okay. If it's a Macy's bag, they won't bat an eye.

I swear to god, this is what I was told.

So, basically, if I wanted to steal my computer, I need to do it in the middle of the day and put it into a duffel bag. Or, put it in a box and have the handy-dandy form.

My company has some nerve

OMG. I was just leaving my bldg with a package to mail to my 97-year-old grandma and was told I needed a pass. Burst into spontaneous tears. No dice. Was told I needed a pass. Not that I was even playing the tears card. I was just thrown for a total loop after trying to rush to the P.O. in time for the last mail out. (Didn't make it.).

Went back up and came down again after fruitlessly trying to find a security person to issue a pass (of course no one was there at 6:30). This time security wasn't looking and I made it out.

"This is your company's rule!" the guard yelled back at me when I had expressed shock. Oh yeah? Well my company should issue a fucking memo about that because that is ridiculous, changing the rules like that and not alerting anyone. I am steaming mad and I am most definitely going to complain.

#37 Ben

You asked me not to blow bubbles, which I resented. When I was out for two weeks, another coworker said you missed me. I've decided I don't mind sitting next to you.

I'm in the wrong business

Me: pretzel, please
Pretzel seller: 3 dollar
Me: 3 dollars! Oh come on. I'm a New Yorker.
Him: Okay, 2 dollar.
Me: Okay. Thank you. Do people really pay 3 dollars for pretzels these days?
Him: Vell, yes.