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This afternoon we had a blast.  It was hot as can be with a slight breeze.  We decided to try and walk down to the water of the East River, which is something that neither of us have ever done in the years that we have spent working there.  This is kind of odd considering that the water is only a few blocks away, but we said, “screw it we’re going”.

That’s what we did until we got to a dead end street, and then a street that we could see eventually ended as a chain link fence with a huge pile of old tires behind it.  This left the water a good few hundred feet away from us still, and killed out afternoon dreams of looking out onto the water of the East River.

After that we went back to our Ole Bessy of a standby, the swings.  They were great, and we even inspired the sole hipster walking around Long Island City to begin swinging with us - because he obviously saw that it was the hip thing to do.

Prior to all of this afternoons activity we had our very hooky brought to our jobs.  See, sometime around 10AM I heard really bad music being blasted really loud.  I thought it was one of the new guys on the floor listening to a really bad live cd of some awful band. 

Turns out that it was a real life mariachi band playing on our floor.  Not only were they a mariachi band, but they were a subway mariachi band.  One of the lawyers on my floor spotted them on the subway and then proceeded to bribe them into coming to Queens to play for “us”.

We I say “us” I really mean he got them to come up to our floor to play for the legal teams admin who everyone believes is sleeping with him.  

Yes, before you ask, both are married, in their 40s, and horrific looking to the point that any sex between them must be disgusting, and it probably involves the spraying of air freshener on each other before, during, and after sex. 

Yes, they are THAT gross.

Point is, we had one heck of a loud mariachi band playing a three song set on the far side of my building, and it was friggin loud, and yet funny in that creepy sort of way.

While I love to garden, I’m so not a fan of working in my front garden.  Each and every person whether they know me or not feels the need to attempt to make small talk or at least feels the need to make the most obvious of comments.

Do they really think I want to spend a half an hour chatting with them about Floyd Bennett Field or the Daytime Emmy’s, let alone five minutes over their choice of cutting daffodil leaves post bloom as opposed to my tying them up to allow them to die back.  Apparently they think that annoying me while I am attempting to relax (gardening relaxes me for some reason) is just the friendly thing to do. 

But the worst people are the ones who just say with the biggest smiles on their faces, “I see you’re gardening!” then keep smiling as they wait for a response of some sort on my part.  Even worse than the worst are the ones who add a “Huh?” on to the end of their statement to say ‘I see you’re gardening, huh?”

I’m up to my elbows in dirt, plants and cutters in hand, are you honestly not sure that I am gardening?  These people make me want to ask quite rudely right back at them, “Do you still only read pop up books?”

Would “I see you’re walking” be appropriate to say to someone you pass on the street, heck no. 

Next time I’m in my front yard I think I’ll beat everyone to the punch by smiling at them and stating in question form, “Sky is blue, huh?”

It’s more than official.  I have figured out the secret to getting complete strangers to do whatever you wish. 

It’s quite simple actually.  All you have to do is remember to call them Poppy, or Papi - depending on your taste for spelling.  In either case, the word is pronounced in that “Aye Papi” sort of way. 

Case in point, last night I was minding my own business playing Grand Theft Auto: Vice City Stories on PS2, when I heard a thud outside my front window.  Upon racing to the window to see if it was someone keeling over from a heart attack I was able to just catch the tail end of some teenager racing on a bicycle up the block laughing. 

Now the old Beehive would have raced out the front door barefoot ready to scream bloody murder at the youth (God damn kids) but the new mature and refined Beehive simply waited for the right moment, or possible just go outside and pick up the garbage can himself.  This waiting worked, as the bike rider/garbage can kickers two friends were walking up the block behind him.  I stood there pondering if they would pick up my can.  That’s when the original bike rider came riding back down and met his two friends two doors up from my window.

“Hey Poppy!”  I said sternly.

The bike riders head popped back from the stunning realization that someone just called him out on kicking over a garbage can, and the fact that he was just called “Poppy” - by a man no less.

“Yeah you Poppy.  How about that garbage can?”

“I’m Poppy?  This guy thinks I’m a Poppy?”  He said to his friends.

“Yeah Poppy you are.  You gonna pick up what you knocked over?  Huh Poppy?”

Sure enough the teenager went over and picked up the can, and as he picked it up he said loudly to his friends, “You know I’m only doing this cause he called me Poppy.  That was funny.”

I then thanked him in my usual friendly voice.

There you go.  A perfect example of using the name “Poppy” and getting results.

I implore you all to now go test this newfound findings yourselves by playing minesweeper in your cube while you wait for your boss to pass your cube.  Then when your boss passes your cube, just shout out very sternly, “Hey Poppy.  How about a raise?”

Trust me.  It’ll work all too easily.

That’s right.  There are currently ducklings in at least two seperate locations within the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens.

Here’s a shot of the ones at the water feature at the end of the cherry orchard. 

They are so cool, and there was another spotted over near the butterfly bush area.

No need to thank me for all that cuteness.

Happy photo duckling hunting!

I went to the doctor today, and there’s some good news!  I’m not officially dying - yet!  This is very good news indeed, seeing as I couldn’t come up with anything on my list of things and places to do before I die - other than wait around neurotically for death to happen.

Plus I am pretty sure that from now on I’ll get to be one of the cool kids wearing medical bracelets.  I’m getting to pop my shopping for a medical bracelet cherry!

Yeah… I’m so cool.