T/Sweat Shirt of the Month

We are all familiar with (it's even a frequent crossword clue) "There is no 'I' in Team." But at Patsy's pizzeria on W. 74th the other night, the second generation: "There is no U in Awesome".

Sam's Halloween

Last year he was shamed by having to wear a chicken costume, but this year, ah, that's another matter indeed. It's a real showstopper all up and down Broadway.

The Season of Lost Gloves

As a cold storm sweeps toward NYC and the temperature dropped all through the day yesterday, the season of lost gloves has begun. We saw the first -- full-sized adult -- on the sidewalk coming back to the apt from dinner last night. My guess would be hundreds more to be sighted on the streets and in the stores between now and spring.

T/Sweat Shirt of the Month

This one actually comes from outside Charlottesville, VA where we were apple picking with the Richmond family on a beautiful Sunday: "I'm So Far Behind, I Thought I Was First".

T/Sweat Shirt of the Month

You see some entertaining ones in NYC and they are often not obscene, so for as long as I remember or am interested, a recurring category starting here. This month's winner, which I can already declare even though I just saw it two days ago while ducked into Columbus Circle, waiting out yet another of the city's endless intense rain showers (according to official records, we've had 72.59 inches of rain/snow in Central Park in the last 365 days, with 58.44 since January 1.) before biking home, is a guy who walked past me with Donald Duck on his shirt, Donald in his familiar hopping mad pose, sailor hat flopping, and looking down at his butt. The caption: "Suddenly Donald realizes he never wears any pants."

JFK Landing

We arrived back night before last and I was going up the ramp to the terminal after deplaning with a young woman and her 2-3 year old daughter walking behind me. The mother said to the child, "Take my hand. We're in New York now." Yep, we are.

Ex-Champs, Almost

Life goes on when the title defense is over. The sun comes up, the day begins, typing on a laptop on what will be another scorcher day in the Sierra foothills where as of June 1 we have a second home. The elimination loss to Arizona -- putting paid to already hugely long odds -- was a microcosm of the season, an almost odds-defying inability to bring home runners who managed to get into scoring position ("managed" the word of choice because even doing that was a challenge for the Giants for much of the season) and last night eleven or twelve hits in Arizona produced exactly one run and that a home run by the reviled -- by me -- Orlando Cabrera who, let us hope, will not be back next year. But since I pledged to myself that the wonder of 2010 earns the Giants a pass from me making disparaging remarks about them for three season, through 2013, this is just an acknowledgement that it is over. And attention now turns to the Yankees, the hope for three straight years of WS winners from the two teams I seriously root for. The title of this post merely acknowledges that if the rapture or sudden appearance of a life-ending meteorite does happen in the next months, the Giants will forever be World Champions.