Oy, busy weekend. My mom was in town to attend a writers’ conference at the fabled Algonquin Hotel with my freshly retired dad in tow. He is the consummate tourist, excited to talk to every doorman, cabby, and oil-delivery man; poking his head into every open door to see what’s happening inside; sampling every dish offered along the street; etc. We all enjoyed several fine meals, and Will was kind enough to give him a grand tour of Brooklyn while my mom and I were busy in Manhattan yesterday afternoon. I called at 3:00 to check their progress, at which point they were cooling their toes in the ocean after chasing each other around in Go Karts out on Coney Island. Later, we all met up at a Greek taverna after my mom and I had an adventure with weekend subway service interruptions in the bowels of Queens. We wound up with a quiet brunch earlier this afternoon in the Algonquin’s lobby/dining room and a photo session with Matilda, the hotel’s fancy-pants blue-point something-or-other cat, who sleeps on a miniature fainting couch by the front door. All in all, I think everyone had a nice time.

Now I’m back home, trying to tidy up my apartment around the 4 x 4-foot square A/C unit sitting in the middle of my living room and having George Costanza-like fantasies about telling off Mr. Henry and forcing him to give me a rent rebate. Neither of these things will happen, but I can be powerful in my own imagination, at least.