There are very clear rules at the subway station at 53rd and Lex.  They’re not posted anywhere, and some might argue that it’s merely common sense, but that would be boring.  The rules are as follows.

1) during the a.m. rush hour, when both escalators go up, stand right, walk left.
2) during the p.m. rush hour, when one goes up and the other down, the same rules for standing and walking apply, with the additional caveat of #3, below.
3) do not make eye contact with anyone going the opposite way on the escalator.

Offenders will be chastised with an "excuse me" that, while tame on the outside, comes across with the intensity of "get the fuck out of my way and go stand on the right where you belong, lazy ass."

I generally take the left-hand route, unless I’m carrying luggage.

I went running this morning (how is it possible that two miles was so hard?!), and guess what?  That guy was back.  First spotting this summer.  Weird.

Many of you have been asking me how the new job’s going.  The short answer it that it’s great so far.  They’re so excited that I’m there, everyone’s very welcoming, and now that I’m past all of the orientation and training, I’m starting to dig into the actual work.  I have experienced a wee bit of culture shock, however.  Not in a bad way, mind you.  Keep in mind that my last office only had about six people in our New York office.  The new office?  Well over five hundred.  And although at some point soon I will have administrative help, I don’t yet.  What this means is that I have to navigate the various processes that exist for things that may sound simple, but aren’t, like ordering supplies or printing a letter on letterhead.  Now, ordering supplies may seem quite easy.  I looking on the handy-dandy intranet under "supplies" to figure it out.  Step one — fill out a supply requisition form.  I have no supply requisition forms.  So for me, step one was to call supplies and get supply requisition forms.  I’m used to walking over to a cabinet and grabbing a handful of file folders.  Once I got the forms, I happily filled one out, and have received almost everything I ordered.

One other nifty part of the new job is the cafeteria.  Not only is it fairly cheap (I don’t think I have hit $5 yet on any one lunch), and convenient (you can put money on your ID card and use it like a debit card), but it’s actually quite good — I’ve been very impressed so far, but then again, I’m sure that after eating there five days a week for a while, one might get bored.  I’ll have to keep alternating with places in the new ‘hood, like the Pampano tacqueria.  I will admit, though, that there is a bit of that junior-high cafeteria anxiety going on — I still don’t really know many people, so I’ve been eating alone.  Over the next few weeks I’m sure this will change — I’m about to set up meetings with about thirty different people, all of whom are working on pro bono projects, and tomorrow I’m going to a summer associate event.

On an unrelated note, I have two words for you: Black Pearl.  Get the lobster roll with some extra drawn butter.

I had never been to a Costco before.  Well, I had been to a BJ’s Warehouse, but it was well over a decade ago, so when I had the chance to do the weekly shopping for the beach house with John, I jumped at the opportunity (plus I was in charge of Saturday night dinner, so it made sense for me to go).  John and I were shopping for 20 people, but as we wandered through the aisles of enormous jars of mustard and 2 lb blocks of cheese, I couldn’t help but wonder who else was shopping with us.  Folks with large families?  Who else could eat that much, really?  And even if you were buying six-packs of smaller canned goods or paper towels by the dozen, you had to have somewhere to stash them.  Unless I seriously cleaned out all of my closets, I could never store that much in my studio apartment.  I suppose that most of our fellow shoppers weren’t facing similar storage dilemmas.

Granted, not everything was in huge sizes, but I was strangely tempted by some of the things there simply because of their size.  I saw a woman with a five-gallon plastic jar of cheez balls which, for some reason, I wanted desperately.  Of course, after thinking about it for five minutes (and picturing cheez balls being thrown all over the house), I realized that it wasn’t the smartest purchase option.  Two cartfuls later, we were on our way back to the house on the ferry.  And boy, did I make some killer shrimp tacos (with a grilled pineaple salsa that is destined to become a house staple).  Pictures from the weekend are here.