Back In The Saddle Again

Well, you know NFL football season is upon us because I'm looking for fun things to do with the kids while the games are played for about 67 consecutive hours every weekend.

But, most interestingly -- as I found out this week -- the NFL and DirecTV offer a special package where viewers can watch a whole game in 20 minutes. It's just the plays--no color commentary, no sideline reactions, no huddles, NO COMMERCIALS. And the game boils down to 20 minutes. TWENTY MINUTES!!

Only men could dream up a way of turning a 20-minute game into a three-hour odyssey that somehow becomes a national pasttime involving enormous beer consumption, which leads to an endless barrage of beer commercials featuring lusty, scantily clad size-4 models who will run their fingers over the heads of leering jerks, pathetic dorks and bald, fat men in checkered shirts IF they're downing the right suds. Ah, but ain't that America?

Meanwhile, I spent Sunday doing that all-American thing with the kids--attending a food festival. In this case, an Italian food festival in Hoboken, NJ. ...In Frank Sinatra Park, baby.

I mistakenly parked farther away from the park than was necessary, so we ended up cutting through Stevens Institute of Technology, which, VERY surprisingly, has a really beautiful campus with fantastic views of Manhattan and the surrounding towns. I mean, you're walking through an urban neighborhood, and then you're surrounded by rolling green hills, Adirondack chairs, ivy-covered buildings. So we were strolling, and Cara and I were talking when Ryan, who pretty much keeps a running commentary going, became more insistent with whatever he was saying until we finally tuned in to hear him saying, "LOOK, a GROUNDHOG, a GROUNDHOG!" Sure enough, a chubby little groundhog was snuffling around not five feet from us. A groundhog lives in Hoboken. And he wasn't like a country groundhog, scampering off as soon as we came near. He was a city animal. We looked at him, he looked at us. He ran his paw over his head and said, "Yo, how YOU doin'?" Okay, that part I made up. But he DID hock a loogie and light up a Marlboro.

Anyway, we found the park, which is situated right next to the Hudson. What a setting. Sinatra would have loved it--the Hudson River at your feet, Manhattan in the background, sailboats gliding back and forth--and the smell of sausage & peppers and zeppoles in the air. Of course, Ryan got edgy with his food choice and went with pizza. Cara got a proscuitto and mozzarella sandwich --which is a great choice when you have braces--from the Michael's Salumeria stand. We know the owner so he also gave the kids free gelato. Ryan said he was too full to eat the gelato, so he let me have it. Until two seconds later, when he realized what he'd done, yelled that he was still hungry and took the whole thing back.

We watched grape stomping, listened to music, and the kids played some arcade games. Ryan could not BELIEVE he didn't win a prize at either of the games he played. I tried to explain the phrase, "That's how they get ya," but that only made it worse.

Since we'd been festivaling for a few hours at that point, I decided to pull the plug on the day. I got some "butterfly fries," french fries that look like long ribbons, for the walk back to the car. As we noshed on fries, Ryan scared me by almost getting hit by a driver who ignored the police barricades and drove at regular speed among about 100 pedestrians. We noshed some more, and then Ryan made a wild dash for an eight-inch opening in the railing that keeps kids like him out of the Hudson. We walked and noshed some more, and then Cara twisted her ankle on the edge of the sidewalk. Feeling nauseous from the combo of fries, near misses and whining, I chucked the fries and decided to settle my stomach with some Starbucks. Which, of course, didn't work because that stuff could chew through steel cables.

Man, I can't wait for next Sunday!

Catherine Schetting Salfino

The Gates of Hell

Well, we saw "The Gates." And, man, was it ever a day of fun and folly.

The fun was when the power steering "just went" on the Volvo. That was fun. Especially since it happened as soon as we turned onto Manhattan's West Side Highway. Luckily, it was before we saw "The Gates." So, it was about 9:15 a.m. on a Sunday in the city. When car dealerships are closed and mechanics are indisposed. Those aspects really added to the fun.

Why, you say, did you try again to see "The Gates?" Because, I reply, I want my husband to slowly lose his sanity, and making two attempts at seeing this "art installation" seemed the perfect, and quickest, way to pull this off.

Two weeks prior, you may remember, when we tried the first time to see "The Gates," we couldn't get a parking space for love or money. Mike was annoyed at spending an hour-and-a-half trying to find a space that wasn't going to be found, but relieved that he didn't have to admit to anyone, including himself, that he lowered his cultural standards and went to the Christo/Jeanne Claude exhibit.

He was stupified when I told him two weeks later that I was going to take the kids in to the city to see "The Gates." (And doesn't it seem that much more important when I put quote marks around it?) All he could muster up was, "WHY???"

But, rather than see his two deprived children hop on a public transit bus with me, rather than have me do the driving myself so he could stay home and relax in front of the tube, he decided to come with us. And that's why the power steering "just went." To really drive it home with him that seeing "The Gates" was not just stupid, but insane.

We decided to leave early--to get parking this time, as we were going on the last day of the exhibit. We got bagels on the way in. I had coffee in one hand, bagel in the other. And Mike says, "The steering just went." Yet, the car was still moving and he was changing lanes without crashing into the Intrepid. It took a couple more tries before he figured out how to explain that the POWER steering just went.

Now, for those of you who think that if your power steering goes out, it's just like having manual or non-power steering, you're wrong. It's like steering a one-ton boat that's half-submerged in drying cement. Unless the car is moving--then it's only like steering through mud. So. There's a lesson for ya.

After finding out that "Roadside Assistance" would only come tow the car, and not bring power steering fluid, Mike dropped me, Cara and Ryan off at Central Park, and said he'd go home. An hour or so later, he calls my cell to tell me he found a Mobil station on 51st that put in power steering fluid and SECURED THE ROD THAT HOLDS IN THE POWER STEERING FLUID, which was something the "mechanic" forgot to do when we had the car serviced last time.

So, Mike got to "enjoy" the saffron fabric billowing in the breeze after all. It was such fun. Such folly. Thank bloody God it's over.

--Catherine Schetting Salfino