The audience from hell went to Greater Tuna.

Last night, I saw a play, which is not that unusual.  In fact, I see so many plays that I am seriously considering starting a new blog devoted just to discussing the plays that I see.  However, given the feast-or-famine mode in which I manage to post to this existing blog, it probably won't happen, since theatre is best discussed immediately after the viewing of it, when all the raw emotions and opinions associated with the experience of the event are still fresh.  Waiting two months to finally write about a show just wouldn't work.

The play that I saw is called "Greater Tuna."  It is a pseudo-farcical comedy set in Tuna, Texas, "where the Lion's Club is too liberal and Patsy Cline never dies" (quote from a press release).  This was the final performance, and I know for a fact that I bought the very last ticket.  I called the theatre yesterday afternoon to ask if there were tickets available, and I was informed that there was exactly one left.  I was further informed that the service charges added to the ticket price if I bought it by phone would be $8.  Since we live two blocks from this theatre, that seemed like a really stupid charge to pay.  So I ran over to the box office in my pajamas, and snagged it in the nick of time.  How many people can say that they bought the final ticket to the final performance of a play that ran for nearly fifty performances?  In their pajamas?  I find that rather novel.

I think that the play was probably funny, especially given the peals of laughter constantly radiating from the audience, but I was too distracted to know for sure.  This is because I was surrounded by the audience from hell.  Actually, I was surrounded by the five audience members from hell.  I think that if the seats had all been empty except for these five people sitting around me, it still would have been the audience from hell, except that I could have moved to a different seat, so it would have been much better.

I guess I'll just start with the person in front of me, and go counter-clockwise from there.  Directly in front of me, at 12:00, meet Mr. Elbow.  Now technically, Mr. Elbow was sitting at 11:00, and his wife/girlfriend/date/whatever was sitting at 12:00.  However, for most of the performance, Mr. Elbow had his arm around 12:00.  But rather than smoothly curving his arm around her, he had his elbow jutting 6" into the aisle behind him, which meant that if I didn't have my butt directly up against the back of my seat, or if I shifted position slightly, my knees hit Mr. Elbow's elbow, and he shot me a dirty look.

Shifting our view over to 9:00, we see the obnoxious icky couple.  She looked like she was in her mid-twenties, and he looked like he was in his sixties.  At first, I had assumed they were father and daughter.  Now, sunrise-sunset relationships, I don't generally have a problem with that, unless it seems like one party is taking advantage of or abusing the other.  I love Love, as long as no one's getting hurt.  And public displays of affection, I don't mind that either, as long as it's not over-the top.  Seeing a bit of PDA can even warm my heart, as I find myself feeling so happy that these two people are making each other happy.  I am, after all, a sucker who cries over Hallmark and Johnson&Johnson commercials.  But put a sunrise-sunset relationship and PDA together in a crowded theatre, and it's just gross.  They weren't actually making out, but his hands were on her most of the time - caressing her thigh and/or her hands so loudly that I could hear the sound of flesh against fabric or flesh with every brush.  Eww.

But it gets worse... She was treating the audience like her own personal lounge chair, twisting her body at an angle so that her upper body was leaning against her husband/boyfriend/date, and her lower legs were firmly within the space in front of my chair.  I suspect that a few of the dirty looks from Mr. Elbow may have been a result of her knees, not mine.  So not only did I have to sit up as straight as possible to avoid bumping Mr. Elbow, but in order to avoid her, I had to keep my legs together with my coat and scarf piled on top of them like a fort.

But that's not all... occasionally, I did get some relief from her legs invading my personal space, when she sat up straight to take a picture.  So every once in a while, I was distracted by the bright glow coming from the 3" by 2" screen of her camera.  She didn't use a flash, but I kept hoping that she would, so that the house managers would stop the show and kick her out of the theatre.

Turning all the way around to 6:00, we meet the gaze of Mr. Repeater.  I think this guy thought that he was attending a performance of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, where it is considered normal to loudly repeat every funny or shocking line that is said by the performers.  Not so, at Greater Tuna.

Performer: "The dog's already dead.  I just need you to run over it so that it looks like it was an accident."

Mr. Repeater: "Like it was an accident!  Hah!"

Another performer: "That's Spanish for 'Please send a boy to get my bags,' which is really all the Spanish that a true American needs to know."

Mr. Repeater: "Please send a boy to get my bags!  Hah!"

And so it went.

Our tour of the audience from hell ends at 3:00, where we see, or rather smell, Sir Farts-a-lot.  This guy had very bad gas, sulfuric gas, the kind of gas that smells like rotten eggs, inducing watery eyes and a gag reaction.  Of all the castmembers of "Audience From Hell," a show that may be arriving in theatres shortly, he is the one whom I found it easiest to forgive.  At least he had no control over his actions, short of deciding to leave.  And he earned bonus points by leaning over me during the intermission, to explain to the picture-taker that her actions were making it difficult for him to enjoy the show.  It was hard not to snicker, given that this statement was coming from the direction of Sir Farts-a-lot.  I had been preparing to make a similar statement to her myself, so I was grateful to him for doing so.  Suddenly, I had an ally, albeit a smelly one, but an ally nonetheless.

What happens when I leave B home alone for half a day...

So, I have been harping on B for some months, regarding the nuclear wasteland in a corner of our apartment that might have once been referred to as a desk.  B's desk is the one area of the apartment over which I try to allow him free reign, as far as the domestic arts are concerned.  But in a 600-sqaure-feet-or-so apartment, it's hard not to notice the bubbling seepage of bills, post-it notes, spare batteries, electronic components, bubble wrap, plastic bags, altoids tins, birthday cards, ancient computer towers, mice (the computer kind, fortunately), and back issues of Climbing Magazine that are continually oozing onto the floor, my adjoining desk, and the rest of the apartment.

In recent months, B has relocated his office to the couch, since he now works almost exclusively on his laptop computer - and presumably also because his desktop computer has disappeared beneath the aforementioned above-ground landfill.  In the old days (pre-desk-to-couch transition), one of the easiest ways for me to leave B an important message was to attach a sticky note to his desktop computer screen or keyboard.   I left a sweet "I love you" card there for him a few weeks ago, and it took him almost a week to discover it.  I now have to resort to e-mails for those various messages, which might be okay for a grocery list or an expense record, but come on, we all know those e-cards just aren't the same as love notes handwritten on paper stationery.

Over the past couple of months, I have made a "please clean up your desk" plea on a weekly basis or thereabouts, usually on Saturday mornings, perhaps in the hope that he'll do something about it before the "dude, where did the weekend go?" rush hits Sunday night.  Usually, these pleas have resulted in an assurance that it would be addressed, followed by no action whatsoever.  Occasionally, he'll clear off his desk, creating various piles that need to be dealt with throughout the apartment, but they end up back on the desk when, days later, I can't handle tripping over the mess-in-progress anymore.

So, as I was leaving for an appointment on a recent Saturday morning, I made the usual plea.  I came home to the usual piles, but there was something extra-special waiting in the bathroom this time.


B had again taken on the challenge of cleaning up his desk, but this time, it included the additional lengthy step of fully disassembling and cleaning his keyboard in the bathroom.  I have no idea what the Vaseline was used for.  Your guess is as good as mine.  But the red tube of super-glue makes perfect sense to me.

So, my purpose in sharing this with you, dear readers, is to tell you that I love my husband.  No one else has as much power to make me smile, laugh, or adore.  Or to annoy the heck out of me.  The desk is still a mess, and I believe it may take a few more verbal battles before it is finally, fully addressed - if ever.  But in the meantime, I'm happy to keep reminding myself that the little stuff...

Like tripping over keypad buttons on my way to the toilet in the middle of the night,

Or finding that the orange juice container in the fridge is empty,

Or seeing dirty dishes sit untouched for days as though they are invisible,

Or coming home to discover the soggy towel left on the bed when he was running late in the morning,

Or having to dig the remote control out of the trash/freezer/cupboard/other peculiar location when he misplaces it,

Or that surprise announcement that he had purchased $500 worth of climbing gear,

Or his tendency to suddenly become obsessed with a Rubik's cube, or youtube videos about non-newtonian fluids, or the history of U.S. currency, or Nettrek Hockey, or some other distraction that keeps him from accomplishing any actual work,

Or his inability to notice that a dingy white undershirt might not be appropriate attire for a date night,

Or the way he forgets to introduce me to to his friends and associates when I first meet them,

Or the fact that he inadvertently scheduled a lengthy business meeting to take place on the night of on my 29th birthday,

Or the reality that he will simply never be one of those guys who remembers to bring his wife flowers on occasions when he really, really ought to...

None of it matters all that much in the long run.

[Cue cheesey Beatles song here.]

Now, regarding all those wires, bills, sticky notes, and electronic components that are covering the couch and spilling onto the floor...

prosciutto-wrapped parmesan-pecan dates

I know they look like fat roaches wrapped in bacon, but take my word for it: these little guys are tasty!

I have added a copy of the recipe to the recipe folder that I always have in my suitcase when we travel, so feel free to request it when we visit you or when you visit us.

spa day with mom

Last year, as her Christmas gift from me, Mom won the promise of a spa day the next time she came to visit.  It had a been a rough year for her, and I wanted to give her something very special and over-the-top in comparison to my usual Christmas gifts of wine, chocolate, or clothing.  However, since she wasn't able to fly back to visit this year, we decided to try to fit it into our California Christmas trip.   I made a few phone calls and was able to find a place in Claremont that could fit us in the morning after Christmas.

I had originally thought that this would be something that Mom would do on her own when she visited us. I would drop her off, then pick her up when it was over.  However, since neither of us had ever experienced these exotic-sounding luxuries with names like "massage" and "facial" before, it made sense to do it together.  Since I was already blowing so much money on it for Mom, I might as well double the expense and join in, right?

Our package included a one-hour massage, a one-hour facial, hand and foot paraffin treatments, an "Indian head massage," lunch, and as we found out upon arrival, all the coffee, tea, or wine you can drink.  I don't know if you're supposed to drink-and-spa, but we went for the wine.

Here we are at the spa/salon in Claremont, before our appointment: Just for the record, we're not wearing make-up in any of these pictures.  Please cut us some slack.

Here we are between treatments:Mom had just finished her massage, and I had completed the facial, paraffin treatments, and Indian head massage.  Neither of was certain at what point the Indian head massage was actually happening, so I can't give a report on what it actually is.

And here we are post-treatments, enjoying our lunch of raspberry-feta salad and fresh fruit: The raspberries were amazing.  I wonder where the caterers get fruit like that in December. California winters are mild, but not that mild.

The spa day was an interesting experience.  In the facial, I was introduced to a remarkable silicone-based face cream that I intend to start using occasionally.  And I really enjoyed sitting around in a comfy bathrobe drinking wine with Mom.  But I guess I'm one of those people who will never get what the big deal is with massages and facials.  It's a good thing too, because those treatments are EXPENSIVE.

Christmas in California

Just as we have done the past couple of years, we were in California for the six days straddling Christmas, spending the first three days with dad, and the second three with mom.  The weather was lovely, with highs in the 60s or low 70s each day.  Say what you want about Christmas not being Christmas without snow and carolers wrapped up in scarves and mittens... my idea of a joyful Christmas is sipping red wine in the sunshine on Aunt Jeannie's patio.

You can keep your snow and cold weather, Philly.  I'd rather dream of hanging my ornaments on a brightly-lit Christmas cactus, thank you very much.

Upon arrival at LAX, we were pretty hungry, and of course when asked what I felt like eating, I said either Mexican food or In-N-Out.  To crave anything else when you're visiting SoCal from the East Coast would just be silly.  We agreed on Mexican food, and Dad and Sue wanted to take us to an Acapulco restaurant in Diamond Bar, en route to Claremont.  I wanted a more "authentic" Mexican food experience, so I convinced them that we should get off the freeway in L.A. and just drive around and find someplace.  This has worked for me in the past, but it turned out to be a very bad idea this time.  I think that we may have been in Compton.  Or else it was some other threatening-sounding Los Angeles neighborhood that starts with a C.  The dining room of the first place we checked out stank of urine.  A long drive, two hours, and maybe a few gallons of wasted petrol later (thanks to my requested "field trip"), we nestled into the safety of our booth at familiar old La Paloma in Claremont, where the chips and salsa are plentiful, the fish tacos are okay, and not even the restrooms smell like urine.  It was good to be back.

Here is Dad and Sue's house on the first night that we spent there.  Dad really wanted me to see it.

The Machan Christmas party took place on the 22nd at cousin Jennifer's new house in Victorville.  I finally got to meet her husband, Julian, and he's adorable.  Unfortunately, I didn't get any pictures of them.

It was an emotion-filled day.   Everyone is still grieving the loss of my Uncle Don Durant.  I nearly broke down when I first saw his wife, my Aunt Linda, one of many family members whom I hadn't seen since last Christmas, but I managed to hold back tears until we had been there for a couple of hours.  I hadn't expected to cry so much, but it was the good kind of crying, the kind of crying that makes it easier to say goodbye.  A year ago, no one would have guessed that he wouldn't be with us.  Aunt Cheryl lit a candle for him and read a poem before the dinner prayer.  The candle stayed lit all night.  It felt so good and so right to be with family.  Much later in the evening, when many people had already gone home, we were able to watch the memorial video that had been put together for his funeral.  This made it feel possible to say goodbye to him.  Saying goodbye to everyone else as we left that night was very hard, though.

Here are lots of photos from that day:

The Bates ladies enjoying dinner: Caitlin, Natalie, Alyson, and Aunt Nancy.

Aunt Linda and cousin Shelly count up the gifts in the pile for the gift exchange game, while Jennifer gets the numbers ready:

Aunt Cheryl opened the biggest package in the gift exchange pile and ended up with the two expensive totes that Aunt Sue had brought.

What you can't see in this photograph are all the Machan people poking fun at Aunt Sue for bringing them, and Aunt Sue explaining how expensive they were, and how useful hers are at home for hauling firewood and other things. I thought they were quite nice, but can't imagine what I'd use them for in our 600 square-foot apartment, or even where I'd store them. This gift is about five years too early to be useful to us. There is a reason we never open big packages at this game.

The gift exchange game is always hilarious, and my belly usually hurts from laughter by the time it's over.  I love that feeling.

Here is Dad showing off my contribution to the gift exchange, a deep-purple velvet opera cape.  I wish I had a better photograph, because it is quite beautiful.  I built it, and spent almost triple the required gift value amount just on the fabric and notions.  Step-mom Sue opened it and wanted to keep it, then my cousin Caitlin stole it from her.  On his turn, Dad was going to steal it back so that Sue could have it, which would have frozen it, but he didn't have the heart to steal it from Caitlin.  No one else did either, so Caitlin got to take it home.

A miniscule portion of the huge detritus left behind after the game:

Grandma and Grandpa with the original nine:

Back: Uncle Joe and Aunts Yvonne, Sue, Yvette, Nancy, Brenda, Linda.

Front: Dad, G-pa, G-ma, and Aunt Kim.

Can you believe that Grandma actually gave birth to all these people?

This year, there were 27 kids' stockings to be filled.  This means that there were 27 people under the age of 18 in attendance.  The photo above and this figure alone should give all of you non-Machan family and friends an idea of just how big this bunch is.  When I was little, the family seemed huge, but was still small enough that everyone gave everyone gifts.  We kids loved it.  The kids' stockings and the adult gift exchange game were incorporated over time, as the family exploded in numbers, but I think that the kids still make out pretty well, with their stockings full of money, gift cards, candy, toys, and trinkets.  I wish I had taken a photograph of them all on the floor unloading their stockings, as it's quite a sight.

Apparently, there was to be contest for festive holiday-themed footwear, since shoes were not allowed beyond the door in Jennifer and Julian's beautiful new house, understandably.  I don't know if a winner was ever selected, but as far as I was concerned, Aunt Nancy won with her grinch slippers:

The next day was our only open day with Dad and Sue.  We slept in, had a lazy breakfast, played Trouble, hid sandwiches in Sue's purse, and went to see Enchanted at a real movie theatre (our first such experience since seeing Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory last year with Dad and Sue).  I find it odd that I attend live theatre or dance performances a few times a month, but attending a real movie theatre is a novelty.  I am not generally a fan of Disney movies, but I had expected to enjoy this one, and I really did.  It was a great piece of you-don't-have-to-think-too-hard entertainment, or "escapist," as Dad put it.  I just couldn't remember the word before he did.  The film pokes fun at many of the typical Disney fairy-tale conventions, but is a charming fairy-tale in its own right.

Following the movie, we were taken to a family entertainment center's arcade to play DDR (Dance-Dance-Revolution).  This is one of the only things that can get me to enter a family entertainment center willingly.  Dad and Sue also played one round, DDR-ing to a techno version of "When The Saints Go Marching In."  If only I had taken pictures.  While B and I were DDR-ing, Sue spent much of the time racking up points at the Wheel of Fortune game.  Here she is feeding the last of her prize tickets into the point-counting machine.  She had something like 460 of them, and I kept thinking that the children in the near vicinity were narrowing their eyes in envy.  She cashed her points in for a handful of toys for her grandchildren, including a Princess crown for 3-year-old Rylie.

Later that day, we exchanged Christmas gifts.  Sue received "The Claw" from her daughter Denene.  Apparently, that money-eating arcade machine that never lets you actually win is now available in a scaled-down home version.  Fortunately, it takes plastic coins, which are included in the box.

Here we are at breakfast with Dad and Sue on Christmas Eve morning, before transitioning over to mom's house for the second half of our California visit.

Within an hour of Dad dropping us off at Mom's house, my brother Ryan and his girlfriend Jhurene had arrived, too.  We had awesome tacos for lunch at a cheap hole-in-the-wall Mexican joint in Azusa, followed by a walk around the Santa Fe Dam.  What better way to spend a Christmas Eve afternoon in California than taking in the sun on a lazy hike?

The dog's name is Sammy.  He joined mom's household about a year and a half ago, maybe two years ago.  He proved his loyalty and good behavior by never going more than 20 feet ahead of any member of the pack.  If we suddenly stopped, he stopped and waited.  If we turned around and headed back the other way, he turned around and moved back to the head of the pack.  When Ryan ran on ahead, Sammy was happy to join.  He was so good.

Ryan and Jhurene introduced us to a complicated, but very engrossing, board game called "Settlers of Catan."

Christmas morning was spent in the usual lazy manner: sleeping in, eating breakfast, opening a couple of presents.  In the afternoon, we headed to Aunt Jeannie's house, the part of Christmas that I often brag about the most to those who aren't lucky enough to be associated with the Wheeler family.

Here is Ryan with my cousins Donnie and Laila's two-year-old twins,

Jack and Gunner, atop the "vroom-vrooms:" 

Mom and Uncle Mike:

Pool sharks: Mark, Bobby, Diana, and Ryan

Kevin and Ryan

Jhurene hustles:

Ryan and Jhurene:

Mark and Dena:

Since I didn't get any photos of myself, I stole this picture from Aunt D's Snapfish account, in order to have proof that I was there.  Three generations of Wheeler Ladies: Mom, Grandma W, and me.  I have never actually had the Wheeler name, but I certainly inherited the good looks that go with it.

This is the sweet potato pie that I made to contribute to the dessert table.

I'm sure it tasted better than it looks.

Grandpa Wheeler always has a new card trick or card game up his sleeve.

I think that this is Jack... they're identical twins, and I have only seen them three times since they were born, so please forgive me and correct me if I've got it wrong...  but whoever this is, he was definitely flirting with me over the back of the couch.  I think that he wins the prize for cutest Wheeler Christmas 2007 photo.

At this end of the table, cousin Diana, Aunt Debbie, and cousin Laila were playing a card game called Three Thirteen.  Uncle John was coaching.  I learned by watching, and got to take Laila's place at the table when she had to go home.

At the other end of the table, Grandpa had roped Bobby and B into playing some complicated card game that I couldn't follow.  Kind-of like American football.  Grandpa can kick anybody's butt at cards.

I spent the first half of our last full day with Mom at a day spa, which will be covered in a separate post, and then Mom, B, Jhurene, and I headed over to my "little" brother Ryan's swanky apartment for dinner and more Settlers of Catan, which I finally won, very late into the evening.  I also got to see Ryan's motorcycle.  Ryan's charming and handsome friend Joel joined us and made fondue and barbecued chicken, which was fabulous, as always.  I'd be ready to adopt Joel into the family, if it weren't for all that legal paperwork and the fact that he already has a family of his own.  And I'm running of of sister-in-laws for him to marry.  Oh, well.

I would like to wish a belated Merry Christmas, and a happiness-filled 2008, to all my friends and family in California, Kansas, Nebraska, Arizona, Pennsylvania, Georgia, Illinois, New York, other U.S. states that I'm forgetting to mention, and even Jordan, Norway, and Turkey, if you've been reading this.  Please know that you are cherished, and very much missed.

Dustin and Melanie's vist, November 9-13

As mentioned previously, Dustin and Melanie's recent visit was the highlight of our past few months, maybe even the highlight of our year. Immediately following their departure, I shifted over to working what my dad and I call "Zombie hours" at Rowan, hence the fact that I have not been able to sit down and write about the visit until now (and as I'm finally editing and publishing this, it's December 31st, nearly 2008, over two weeks since I started writing it, and I'm still playing catch-up).

[Just for reference for those of you who don't know Dustin and Melanie: Dustin was B's best man when we were married.  And now I take pride in calling him and Melanie "our friends from Arizona."]

They arrived late Friday night, and after dropping their bags off at the apartment, we hiked over to Beneluxx, a Belgian tasting room/bar in the hip/historic part of town that's referred to as "Old City." A sign near the door reads "beer-wine-chocolate-cheese." Oh, and they also serve wonderful panini, crepes, salads, soups, and fondue, as if the cheese and chocolate weren't enough. This was my second time visiting the place, and both times, I was so full of good food and drink that I didn't have room for chocolate. Upon leaving Beneluxx, we hiked down to South Street with the intention of stopping in for a drink at Sugar Mom's, a funky dive bar, but since they close at 2am, we had just missed last call. It was just as well, because I think that we were all very tired and very cold.

So back at the apartment half an hour or so later, we played "How many geeks does it take to inflate a self-inflating mattress?
This was thanks in large part to the fact that I had forgotten that I needed to buy a bunch of D-batteries in order to make the self-inflating aspect of the mattress functional. Fortunately, B figured out how to pump it by hand, and we took turns getting a workout.

On Saturday, following a cheap and very tasty brunch at nearby Midtown diner, we headed over to Independence Mall because B, D, and M wanted to hear Ron Paul speak at the 1:00 Ron Paul rally.It was so cold out there! The temperature seemed to have dropped since brunch.
I'm not sure how I feel about Mr. Paul's stance on some issues, but political opinions aside, it was heartening to see so many young people there. There were far more people close to my age than at previous political events I have observed or attended in Philly.  It just felt good to see people my age actually caring about something besides having a good time!

Stepping inside the Independence visitor center to warm up, Dustin showed us how cool our currency would look if the founding fathers had been ninjas.
WIth our Saturday daylight hours dwindling, we knew that this would be our only chance to show them around the city because we planned to spend Sunday in New York. With Philly's rich history and culture, you could spend a week doing this and still not see everything. So, tired and very cold, we opted for a carriage tour. The promise of a blanket really helped cajole us into it.Usually, I am the pedestrian glaring at the tourists as their carriage turns right at at a red light, crossing in front of me as I'm about to enter the crosswalk, for which I clearly have the right-of-way according to the big green light across the street. But having done the carriage tour with previous visitors, I know that they can be both fun and informative.  And it was.

Dustin and Melanie uncovered their frozen noses for a second to pose for the camera:Aren't they cute!

We were all pretty miserable in temperatures that were a full 40-degree drop (am I remembering correctly?) from what Dustin and Melanie were used to in Phoenix.   And while B and I do of course contend with far lower temperatures than these during the coldest parts of winter here, even we were going through a bit of cold shock because we had been spoiled by unseasonably warm temperatures until literally the day of their arrival.  They had bought some cool-weather wear and even an umbrella in Phoenix just for this trip, but after returning to the apartment, they consented to borrowing some pieces from our winter wardrobes for the rest of the weekend. The blue coat and ivory hat and scarf that Melanie is wearing in the rest of these photos may look familiar to some of you.  Bryce kept confusing her for me the first time she wore them.  Well, I thought that the hat and scarf looked better on her than on me, actually.  Anyhow, I'm so glad that they didn't plan to visit in January or February instead - or even now, as it's much colder than it was then.

After the carriage tour, we were cold and tired (are we sensing a theme here?), and returned home to the apartment to drink tea and blow our frozen noses with soft, lotion-y tissues.  Ahh...

We decided to make dinner at home (potatoes, onions, and kielbasa - comfort food from my childhood), then ventured out to see a comedy improv show called Comedy Sportz.  The large number of children and teenagers in the audience had us worried, but the show turned out to be great.  If you visit us, ask us to take you there, as it's been running for ten years and will no doubt continue for ten more.  The show was followed by appetizers and craft-brewed beer at Nodding Head (another place you should ask us to take you to if you visit), followed by not enough sleep before we got up to head to New York.

What follows are some highlights from our Sunday in Manhattan.

Dustin and Melanie's first NY subway ride, waiting on the platform as the train arrives:

This tall, nearly-windowless concrete skyscraper seems like it would be better suited to the planet Vogsphere, home of the the Vogons, the beings in Douglas Adams' Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy who apparently represent the physical embodiment of bureaucracy.  There was no sign on the building, and we couldn't figure out what was housed in it.  Maybe the Vogons are already here, secretly running the U.S. government?

We walked through Central Park, starting at one edge of the northern end, but after a couple of hours, we were tired and cold and had barely gotten 1/3 of the way south through it.  So I wasn't able to show them the gardens in the southern third of the park, which I think are the prettiest parts of it.  I have to remember that the next time we bring visitors there with a limited amount of time for touring.  Melanie was able to take a lovely photograph of the sun over the reservoir.
This photograph really shows how big the reservoir is, with all the skyscrapers in the background.  And it covers only a portion of the park (see map for reference: http://www.mustseenewyork.com/maps/mapwork-detail-central-park.gif).  For those of you who have never been there, this might give you an idea of how huge Central Park really is.

So, we decided to go to the nearest museum, the Metropolitan Museum of Art - we just got lucky that it happened to be nearby when we gave up walking through the park.  Here is a guy playing some kind of magnetic instrument outside the Met.

That's part of the Met entrance behind Dustin and Mel:

One of the things that Dustin had said he wanted to do in New York was to buy a hot dog from a street vendor.  This is not a hard thing to do in New York.  They're everywhere.  Unfortunately, they're not everywhere in northern Central Park, nor in the posh neighborhood surrounding northern Central Park, which is the first place we had headed, famished upon arrival.  So we had settled for buying hot dogs and cocoa at a recreation center about an hour into the park.  Of course, once we exited the park near the Met, the hot dog vendors were ubiquitous.  So Dustin bought another one:

After paying the $20 per adult admission fee, we found ourselves in a beautiful place that we couldn't fully explore if we had two long days in which to do it, and of course we only had a couple of hours to spare.  It was warm, there was a coatcheck, and the bathrooms were clean, so I was very happy.  I recall that we spent some time in the Asian wing, and some time in European paintings.

In the latter, Melanie and I played "Guess the Period."  That's when someone points to a painting of people and I tell them approximately when it was painted, based solely on the subjects' clothes, hair, and make-up.  I love this game.  It's one of those rare moments when my absurdly vast knowledge of Western costume history comes in handy.  I did pretty well, although there was one where I was off by about about 30 years, but should have known better: the woman sitting for the portrait must have been about 70, and she was wearing the fashions that were popular 30-40 years earlier, so I guessed the earlier period, not thinking to add 30 years for her age, since most people have a tendency to stick with the styles of our 20s-40s as we age.  I know I will.

We had great dinner and beers at a pub that I don't remember the name of, but had been to before as a result of bizarre circumstances that I won't try to explain here because it would take too long.  It was just strange that, cold and hungry, we would stumble upon the exact same pub that I had stumbled upon alone, cold and hungry, almost three years earlier - one of the no-doubt hundreds of pubs in Manhattan.  Over dinner, I discovered that Melanie's favorite dessert is creme brulee - same as me.  Now, that just makes her even cooler.

Following dinner, we attended a much-anticipated event that I felt turned out the be the highlight of the weekend.  We had purchased tickets to attend a concert at the Knitting Factory.  It took place in the sub-sub basement of the building, in a tiny, dark and dank room that was clearly reserved for the less-popular musical acts.  The main act was "MC Frontalot," who is hailed as the creator of Nerdcore: rap and hip-hip songs by, for, and about nerds (that's my own definition).  But the opening act was "Schaeffer the Darklord," and I thought that he was even better than MC Frontalot.  The Star Wars reference in his name should give you an idea of the highness of his geek factor.  A couple of his songs that I particularly enjoyed were "Cat People" and "Nerd Lust" (basically an homage to nerdy girls like Melanie and me).  I even bought a CD and had him sign it.  All of pictures from the event turned out pretty lousy because I didn't use the flash, but here are a couple of Mark Schaeffer, at least to prove that we really were at the rather famous Knitting Factory concert venue:
And here's MC Frontalot:

B and I had to go to work on Monday, Dustin and Mel's last full day here, but they took my camera along on their day's outing.  Here are more pictures of them being adorable, outside City Hall, I think:

B and I met them at Macy's for an organ concert after work.  Since the organ was featured in a previous post, I won't go into detail about it here.  We had a nice dinner at an Indian restaurant, and they left the next day while we were at work.  I was sad for a couple of days, but was comforted by the sweet note they left us on our white board:

I might also add that they were fabulous houseguests.  It never felt awkward, the four of us sharing the often-cramped space in our little apartment.  Our apartment was all neat and tidy when we came home after they had left.

I miss you, Dustin and Melanie!