A NYer gives thanks for not having kids…

…on Thanksgiving Eve. On the Upper West Side.

Because today is the day one adult (yes, I) needed to walk over to Columbus Ave to buy multi-gallon ziplock bags (you know why, so I won’t elaborate), and had to weave among thousands and thousands of parents and little kids, all of whom were making their way to West 77th Street.

For what? A deeply uncomfortable ritual: to gaze upon acres of multi-colored misshapen rubber lying on the street.

I did it once, with relatives and their kids. I do not advise it for anyone who gets antsy when packed in among thousands and thousands of (see above), or who does not have winter boots credentialed for 40 degrees below zero. Or who does not watch cartoons or play video games a lot and therefore can’t identify what these huge rubber things turn into (very, very, very slowly) as they are blown up.

And I’ve got a gratuitous warning for anyone thinking about going to the Beacon Theater tonight to hear the band called @HotTuna on the marquee. Or maybe just Hot Tuna.

Whichever, I walked behind the theater on my way to cramming myself into Citarella for veggies and caught what was apparently a rehearsal.


On Amsterdam Ave. Outside the theater.

So take several pairs of earplugs or you will go deaf within two seconds of the downbeat. (Do rock bands call it a downbeat, or is that just for the late Lester Lanin and his still extant band?)


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