Another Book Burned Through

Smirks and giggles for my daily commute, and I'm sad that it's come to an end. Witty, relatable memoirs from a new yorker with much honesty and little shame.

I Was Told There'd Be Cake, by Sloane Crosley

A Pumpkin Grows in Queens?

Where should we get pumpkins?
I say the farmers market a block from our house.
Mike says a pumpkin patch.
A pumpkin patch where?
Queens. The Queens County Farm Museum.
Never heard of it.

We take the LIRR to Jamaica, then transfer to a bus, realize it is the wrong bus, transfer to another bus, and then transfer to another bus and then walk four blocks down and we're there. Just like that. And just in time—the patch was closing in 10 minutes. The patch was adequate, but not as expansive as we had expected and things are looking a little picked over. We start scouring the patch for the perfect pair. But then it hit us...we have to actually transport the pumpkin home. So, two pumpkins became one reasonably sized pumpkin.

A farm in queens is a strange thing. Rural, beautiful farmland meets track suits and curse words. There was a hold up in purchasing our pumpkins. The Jewish women and kids in front of us were in front of us were arguing about the price of the pumpkins. Apparently they had bought a pass that said it included the corn maze, a hayride and a pumpkin. What they weren't aware of was that the pumpkin included was a small softball sized pumpkin, not a full size pumpkin. Her complaint then being that there were no good softball sized pumpkins left; they all had holes or rotten spots on them. And to this, the man working at the patch lit his cigarette in front of the children, puffed hard and in a Long Island accent said,"What...you want me to look through my own freakin' pumpkin patch?" And he picked up one and put it in her face. Our thoughts at this point: a) this is hilarious, and b) how can you act hard, like your from the streets while saying the words "pumpkin patch?"

With pumpkin in hand (Mike's hands) I scanned the farm and its general store for hot apple cider, but notta. And at the point, it's time to head home. Now back on the bus, then another bus, walk around Forest Hills, Queens, take the E train to the G train and then home.

All and all, it took us about 6 hours to get one pumpkin. It was an adventure, and I love adventure, but I also never see the need to ever go back to Queens again.

Books I've been burning through

Never much of a reader, but when it's right...it's right.

Two things:
1. I love suspense. But I also love trying to pronounce fun Yiddish words. And I feel like I'm attracting...let's call them "jewish moments" such as, a) I read the word kugel and two seconds later the girl walking home next to me is inviting her friend over for kugel and bagels with cream cheese and lox (there are a ton of jews in nyc, but I still don't hear "kugel" all that often); and b) Walking to the bank one afternoon an Orthodox Jewish boy of about 10 asks me if I'm Jewish, I say "no," go to the bank and walk back to work. But on my way the same boy asks me again, "Excuse M'am, are you jewish?" I say "No," puzzled that the kid didn't remember me from 2 minutes ago. Then I hear him say quietly, "...still not jewish..." Pretty funny, kid.

2. Fraction of a Whole has the best review it could have gotten printed right on it's cover: "Rioutously funny...deserves a place next to A Confederacy of Dunces"– one of my favorite books ever.