My group hug



Last week, on the train on my way home from a gift-buying-for-godson trip to Toys R Us, it suddenly hit me how only a few years ago I was somebody else's godchild. I was the one looking forward to presents from my godparents on my birthday and Christmas. How quickly I've crossed over. And then I thought, wait a minute, if I'm old, my parents are even older. Just then a terrifying thought came to me: My dad is 66 years old.



My parents married late. My mom was 35 and my dad was 43 when they had me. When I was in grade school I was jealous of my friends whose parents were in their 30s. By then my dad was 50 and retired. Their dads had nary a gray hair; mine could no longer read without his glasses. But I also noticed how the other, younger parents treated my dad with more respect; age has its virtues. In high school, a lot of my classmates had older parents, too. I spent less time at home because I lived in the dorm. More so in college, when I lived even farther away, and I no longer compared my parents with my friends' parents. During the times I was at home, my dad and I would talk about all sorts of things. I didn't feel the generation gap as much as I did when I was a kid.



There are always certain little reminders, though. My dad does not know how to go online. He takes forever to reply to text messages, and only two, three words at most. (In the Philippines, everyone sends text messages, and fast). Last year, he got his Senior Citizen's card. I remember back in high school, he was helping me out with my Physics problem set. Instead of breezing through my homework, it took me even longer to finish because my dad used a different system of measurement. When he was in college many many years ago, they used the English system (miles per second squared, acres, pounds), but the Philippines converted to the metric system decades ago. That explained the look of amusement on his face when he read my problem sets.



Back to me on the train thinking, in four years, he'll be 70. That to me has always been the age when one is considered to be, undeniably, old. I think at some point, everyone is terrified of the idea of their parents getting old. I haven't seen my dad in two years. Somehow, it's slipped my mind that in the two years that has passed, we've aged. I'm terrified.



{Both Sides Now, Joni Mitchell}

This week's Time Out condensed



- Michael Maniaci, male soprano: "I'm not a countertenor with an identity crisis."

- Ed Norton sings songs from The Nitpicker (new musical) on December 4 at Sin-e.

- from Essential New York - "things you gotta do before you can call yourself a real New Yorker" (ten of 118)

• Compulsively point out locations as you watch Martin Scorsese and Woody Allen movies
  
  
• Be able to cite a favorite Chinese restaurant on Mott Street
  
  
• Sit next to a celebrity at a bar/restaurant and not care
  
  
• Incorporate a lexicon of Yiddish terms into your vocabulary
  
  
• Carry on a conversation with a cabbie without understanding a word he says
  
  
• Have your coffee-cart guy ask where you've been when you miss work
  
  
• Indulge in a classic pastrami on rye
  
  
• Rotate your wardrobe out of storage each season
  
  
• Master the Sidewalk Shuffle
  
  
• Get flashed by a perv
  
  

- Sondre Lerche + Rachel Yamagata at Bowery Ballroom on Nov. 18, Tuesday

- The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers "Middle-Earth Express". Grand Central shuttle at 42nd, 11am-1pm, Nov. 18, Tuesday. "Lord of the Rings groupies and MTA workers invite you to see what a New York City subway car might look like in Middle Earth."

- Make a personalized map of Times Square on your PDA. PDPal.com.



At least my perv (my used to mean the perv who flashed me) was wearing something - really tight, really short shorts in the dead of winter in the middle of The Big K at 34th. Curtain shoppers, beware!



{All Mixed Up, Red House Painters}

And, in the continuing series of shitty blog entries...



Near the church where I play on Sundays, there's this small, low-profile Chinese bakery where I used to go for pork buns. I stopped going a couple of months ago after the time the waitress had a bunch of gauze wrapped around her index finger. I don't know, somehow I just thought, hmm pork buns and bloody fingers, and I grossed myself out. But last Sunday I thought, what the hey. It was really cold and I thought I'd get a hot drink. Anyway, when I was a kid, Horlicks was this chocolate tablet that I'd munch on during recess and it was on the family's grocery list all the time, until it disappeared mid-90s. Or maybe I just stopped going for groceries with my family at about that time. (Ovaltine had their version - Ovaltinees). I've seen Horlicks on the Chinese bakery's menu before and I've always been curious if this is the same Horlicks of my childhood. I was expecting a chocolate malt drink but it turned out to be much like soy milk - light with just the right amount of sweetness. Anyway, after some research, I found out that the company still exists, is based in London and that the product does come in Chocolate. Unfortunately, I don't think they still make the chocolate tablets. But they do claim to help you sleep better.



{Hole in One, Desaparecidos}

Blinking once, twice



I cut my hair. Rather, I got a haircut. I decided to get a simple, no-fuss bob because I'm planning to grow my hair long, but it was getting too mullet-y because of the shag. So, less quality time with my hair dryer now.



I missed the lunar eclipse last night. The weird thing was, I wasn't doing anything at that particular time. I was just sitting on my couch, watching some crap on TV, and I knew beforehand that the eclipse would start at 8:06. But eight o'clock came and went and still I sat on my couch, hypnotized by taco commercials and beer ads.



{As Night As Now, Mates of State}