It's true! To navigate the world, I had all the tools I would ever need when I was watching Pee Wee on Saturday mornings in 1986.

Stills, Red Reef park, Florida, December.

The sled was no where to be found.

First snow, first days of 2010, first video blog.

For the Decider, the glowing green light of his functioning wireless
Internet is as much of a Christmas miracle as Clark Griswold's
blinding light display.

I arrive to work a snot-dripping bundle of wool and Thinsulate, but I am reminded that arctic cold doesn't always have to be ugly.

hanukkah harry, happy holidays, hysterical ha ha!!

While home, LBC and I accompanied our father on a routine trip to the parks and recreation office. While The Decider waited in line for his 2009 beach sticker, we browsed the display of neatly arranged fliers advertising the usual fare for the semi-retired set in Florida: "Hip Hop Dance!" "Relaxing Yoga and Stretching" "Bridge." Then, a bright yellow stack caught my eye: "DANCE. Ballet and Tap with Miss Irene." It was for children ages six to ten.

"No way," I thought. The last time I strapped on my tiny tap shoes for Miss Irene, it was the grand finale of our recital, in which 20 five-year-olds in heavy makeup and provocative tutus sashayed uncomfortably to "Hey Big Spender." I would dutifully attend class weekly with my friend Kelly, but as kindergartners without control of our own destinies, we slogged along, hoping to go unnoticed lest we incur the wrath of Miss Irene.

LBC agreed that this couldn't possibly be the same warden of toe points and shuffles. However, as we started to survey a glass case displaying a “time capsule” for parks and rec, we spied a picture here and there of a tiny dancer, eyes ablaze with eye shadow and a hint of fear, wearing a satin leotard adorned with lace and a tutu.

Me: I'm headed to a show, can I call you later?

The Decider: who are you going to see?

Me: Sonic Youth.

The Decider: (with fake familiarity) oh, of course!



Such is the reply, from mom or dad, every time. And each time, I
stifle a giggle. However, in this case, Thurston Moore is 51 and Kim Gordon is 56, so they are all practically contemporaries, right?

The building that is home to the registry of deeds is also the location of the probate and family courts. Shortly after walking through a metal detector, those waiting to pass under the doorways marked "courtroom 1" and "courtroom 2" nervously listen for their name to be called, perhaps wondering how their life journeys took them here -- a dimly lit, decaying lobby with not enough seating and a depressing snack cart. Upstairs, under the sanctuary of a stained-glassed dome, clients huddle with realtors and lawyers, signing document after document, experiencing one of this modern life's cornerstones: homeownership.

Off duty, its message could not be dimmed.

It's about time.

On an unusually mild night, Halloween coincided with not only a Saturday, but also daylight savings. A strong wind stirred piles of leaves all day, and by nightfall, trick-or-treaters swarmed the sidewalks alongside adults in costumes ranging from typical (devils, zombies, Jesus) to the brilliant (cupcake, Bill Lumberg from Office Space, and Harold, Kumar, and a life-size, living bag of weed).
Warmed by pumpkin beer against the slight early morning drizzle, this Liz Lemon side-stepped piles of wet leaves and listened to the surrounding roar of a party in every other house. Safely home, she heard a group moving loudly down the sidewalk. Instead of slurred garble, they were quoting the "let the record show" portion of last week's episode of "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia." Greetings from Halloween in Cambridge, 2009.

Fortunately, we've been preparing for this moment, over lunch for the past year and a half. Thanks to the Zombie Survival Guide and George C. Romero, we're ready. Looks like the epidemic starts on the subway, or an upcoming Halloween party.