“There won’t be a lot people in tomorrow because of the holiday,” the woman behind me remarked to her co-worker.

“I know,” he replied. “I wonder if the post office will be open.”

I turned slightly to look at them.

“No, probably not,” she said. “I think the post office will be closed tomorrow.”

Oy vey.

It amazes me that the Jewish calendar is on year 5771. I’m not sure that any other calendar goes back that far, although it is entirely possible that the Chinese calendar does. The Mayans gave up after 2012, so we also have that on them.

Shana tova! (Happy New Year!)

“Yeah, there’s some kind of upscale McDonald’s on Columbus and 77th Street. I’ll meet you there,” he bellowed.

I scratched my head. While I knew that many McDonald’s locations in Manhattan had undergone renovations in the last year and were pretty snazzy, I couldn’t think of any on Columbus Avenue, let alone 77th St. We walked on. Then it hit me. This douche bag was talking about Shake Shack!

Yes, Shake Shack is a burger joint. It is not any fancier than the Golden Arches. Yet for the same price as a quarter pounder, Shake Shack serves us some serious quality meat, custom blended for them by a renowned butcher shop. It’s like comparing Long John Silvers to, uh, Red Lobster. Or something like that.

I wanted to turn around and slap him upside the head. Upscale McDonald’s! Tourist, be gone!

I’ve ridden in Augustus twice now (when Husband brought it home, I met him outside to see it then rode around the block to the garage, and today we drove his cousin to her apartment in the Bronx after she came over for a family lunch). It is a very smooth ride and there are lots of gadgets that I played with. I think I broke the head rest in the back seat, but that is another story. I miss our little PT Cruiser, but I never drove it anyway. Husband does not miss Fred the Red at all, and his brother is very happy to put him to good use bringing our niece to see her various grandparents in Long Island and New Jersey. So all’s well that end’s well. Likely I’ll not be blogging about Augustus Gloop much.

I did not get another copy of the paper for a few weeks. The next one that magically appeared in my mail box had a very interesting column comparing the evil uproar over Cordoba House, the Islamic center planned in downtown New York City, to the history of banning synagogues in the US. When the first synagogue in Connecticut opened in 1843 (and thanks only to a special legislative act):

The New Haven Register viewed the synagogue as a public defeat for Christendom. “The Jews…,” the paper thundered, “have outflanked us here, and effected a footing in the very centre of our own fortress. Strange as it may sound, it is nevertheless true that a Jewish synagogue has been established in this city — and their place of worship (in Grand Street, over the store of Heller and Mandelbaum) was dedicated on Friday afternoon. Yale College divinity deserves a Court-martial for bad generalship.”

Let’s also not forget that as people active in socialist, union, communist, and anarchist movements, Jews were often labeled as terrorists during the early 1900s. Wielding the same wide brush that was used against us is a disgusting disgrace. I love that The Forward is standing up for what is right. (And that they sent me to free copies. I hope I get more.)

This whole thing with Cordoba House makes me ashamed. Americans love blathering on and on about freedom, but most people only want to share liberty with people who are like themselves. I worked near the World Trade Center both before and after 9/11/01. I know what it was like before and what it was like after and what it is like today. I also know the site of the proposed cultural center very well. It is currently – and has been for years – an eyesore. Cordoba House sounds great. It will bring life and amenities to the downtown area. Welcome, neighbor.

‘n’: Everyone I root for on reality contest shows loses. I can’t even remember who I ultimately rooted for on Top Chef Masters, initially I liked Susan. She was voted off early. Last year on Top Chef, I wanted the nice brother to win, but the mean brother took the prize. This summer I felt that Tiffany seriously deserved it, so she went home on Wednesday. On Dance Your Ass Off, I cheered my ass off for Adamme and that wench Latoya strutted to the top. Bah!!! The only times I’ve been pleased were the last two Survivors as that rat fuck Russell did not win. Bottom line: If you go on a reality show, don’t tell me. That way I won’t be rallying around you and you will have a better chance of winning.

That: Last night I saw a sign in the window of The Body Shop near my apartment. “STOP SEX TRAFFICKING,” it read. Underneath this statement, in small print, it said, “of Children and Young People.” Clearly it is OK to traffic women. Those sluts probably did something to deserve it, ya know?

Yes, I know it must be hard to be a popular baseball player. Not only do attractive women throw themselves at you, but so do ones who look like 12 year old boys whose voices crack when they get excited.

Life must be very hard.

The new car is a gray Audi A4. It is named Augustus Gloop. I suggested Augustus because I thought Augustus the Audi was funny, but more importantly, it is a reminder about greed. People who want too much might fall into a chocolate river and get stuck in a pipe. I’m not actually too worried about Husband suddenly becoming Gordon Gekko, as he admitted that he was sad that he was now driving the same boring albeit fancy car as every other person who works in finance.

We always wanted to put on a flame decal when we had Fred, but never got around to it. Maybe we can get some car magnets and detail Augustus. I want to make the Oompa Loompas proud.

After I visited my doctor today, who is an excellent health care provider and Mets fan, I took Tycho to the vet. Unlike me, he is having trouble maintaining himself and his fur is rather messy. The vet thinks that he has arthritis and can’t bend around to lick himself properly. (I don’t have arthritis, but I can’t do that either, nor would I want to.) She shaved his nether regions to help. He is not a happy rabbit right now. I definitely feel for him. I guess sometimes it makes a lot more sense to go furless.

And yes, I realize that the previous two paragraphs were not entirely related to one another, but sometimes I like a vague theme.

Welcome back to Casa de Padres de Suzanne! For Part 2 of the tour of this fine piece of real estate, we shall visit the bathroom in the basement.

Beginning with what actually belongs in a bathroom, please direct your gaze to the right-hand side of the photo. Isn’t the toilet a lovely shade of peach? I know that the beige lid doesn’t match. Heck, it isn’t even the correct size. (It’s a smidge too large.) After the old one cracked, Sister’s Husband tried to buy a new seat at the flea, but the toilet seat dealer insisted that peach colored seats have not been available for years now. He did the best he could. At least the toilet usually flushes.

I’m not sure what the ginormous red bucket is for, but I suspect it is for when the ceiling leaks. Perhaps my parents would be kind enough to explain its function in the comments section, despite what I believe will be their extreme displeasure with this tour.

Moving the left, up against the wall is a snack table on wheels. I hope it is not down there so that people can enjoy a nice meal while they do their business. On the other hand, I hope it is not brought out of the bathroom to serve food to unsuspecting visitors in other rooms. Ever.

To the front of the snack tray and to the left are two partially broken lawn chairs. Obviously. Everyone stores their lawn furniture in their large second bathroom. I don’t even know why I am pointing it out.

The tool boxes are in front of the lawn chairs. If you are ever in the middle of a shit and need the peen of a hammer to pry it out, you are in luck! If you ever need a hammer while someone is in the bathroom taking a crap, you are literally up shit’s creek. Hopefully, the project can wait. (Perhaps this is why a nail was never driven into the living room wall so that Dennis Franz could be properly framed and hung?)

Another worthwhile object (Husband’s favorite) in the tool bucket is the hedge clipper. Now you know where to go to trim your bushes! (Ha ha ha ha!) Another one of Husband’s interests is the random outdoor lamp that is sitting just behind the enormous broom. And is that another snack table that the tool boxes are pinning to the wall all the way to the left? Why yes, I believe it is. Delicious!

Thanks for joining me on the tour of my parents’ downstairs bathroom. It has many things that a person might need to survive a disaster. Or at least bust out of the room after reclining on lawn chairs and dining off the snack trays. I’m sure that you cannot wait to visit someday!