A blog that was supposed be made up of bits about cab rides and blurbs about beauty products but, instead, is about other things.


Hollyhock House

The Hollyhock House is amazingly gorgeous, and in this NYT slidehow it's blocked by unnecessary adornment. I'd rather a slideshow of the renovations and recent reopening.



The driver shared a name and a face with the young-yet-retired investment banker I met while moving out of Tompkins Square Plaza.

I don't think it was him.



Here is where I recommend that you not read Shalom Auslander's Foreskin's Lament in a cab.
But, read it. It is good.



Tuesday night plans for the rest of the summer: dinner and a movie at The Farm on Adderley.

Last night, Eat For Victory and I sat in awe of:
1. the fact that they were willing to serve me the striped bass entree minus the striped bass. I'm allergic, but I was really interested in the mussels, asparagus, radish, pickled fennel, and fava beans that were supposed to be just on the side.

2. the fact that Saturday Night Fever is an amazing movie. Until the disappointingly slow dance number and the downer drama on the Verrazano Bridge.

We plan to be there every week.


Live-Blogging The Birth

They decided to live-blog the birth.

I won't link to it here because I think they'd prefer it to remain semi-private, if possible.
But, still, they did it. (The birth! And the blog.)

A relevant bit, posted via mobile phone:
"Twenty-four hours later, little [redacted] seems to be enjoying his first NYC taxi ride. After initial terror over the carseat, he’s sleeping like… well, a baby. We’ll see what he thinks about the potholes when we get downtown."

Baby's first NYT Sunday Styles piece?


826 on 8/26

Revenge of the Book Eaters
Some children like to write books, some children like to eat books: buy tickets and support them both.

Tickets will be on sale today at 10:00 a.m. for the revenge of Revenge of the Book Eaters: a benefit for 826NYC at The Beacon Theatre on 8/26.

We promise a show in which: A.C. NEWMAN sings alone. GRIZZLY BEAR is a band. FEIST reads from a book. JIM JAMES croons. SARAH VOWELL speaks. DEMETRI MARTIN hosts.



The Funny Thing Is

That the cameras are broken, not lost.


New Rule

No talking.


I Think That

You should drive.



I'm having trouble not thinking about the ramp-infused vodka with walnut oil served to me at Marlow and Sons. It was like drinking an amazing alcohol-based brine. I realize that that probably sounds gross. But, I promise, it was delicious. And, they publish Diner Journal.


Victorians Are The New

If all my friends are the New Victorians, does that mean that I get to be part of The Great Social Evil?

(via The New York Observer)


Things, Some

  • Something about a close-up of a cockroach and a kind word from a friend.
  • Something about I'm Not There, the trailer. (But it wasn't real.)
  • Something about using antiperspirant on your face.
  • Something about your attorney's lack of power.


Sounds Like You're A Slut

It was raining and windy and I had lots of important papers, and a camera, but no umbrella, with me. No cabs in sight, I called a car service. "5 to 10 minutes," they assured me. "He's just a few blocks away." After 20 minutes, I called to check the status. After 30 I called to cancel the car. I tried my luck again at the corner, and eventually I flagged a cab.

A few minutes into my ride, my phone rang. I didn't recognize the number, and I answered, unsuspecting of the wrath I'd hear when I did.

A man screamed at me in Arabic.

I know some male Arabic speakers, none of them have reason to scream at me, and the number didn't belong to any of them, anyway, so I hung up.

The screamer called back. I answered. This time he yelled, "I AM WAITING IN MY CAB." And then he continued with the screaming in Arabic. Mostly repetition of one word. He sort of howled it.

I hung up and the man driving the cab I was riding in told me that he'd heard all the yelling. I explained what I thought happened and he offered to tell me what the caller had yelled. It was so loud, he'd heard it all.

I called the car service and asked if they'd given my phone number to their driver. They had. Before or after my cancellation? Not clear.

They'd taken it from caller i.d. when I called initially. Just like I took the screaming driver's number from my caller i.d. when he called to scream at me two more times in the next few minutes.

(Q: Why did you answer your phone every time, Jen Snow? A: Because my name and my work number are on my outgoing voicemail message and I didn't think it wise to let him have that info too.)

The last time he called, I just said the word for "police," in Arabic. It sounded a little like the word he'd been screaming at me.



I'm still not excited by pretend parties; i.e. birthday, "holiday."

(I'm surprised that this still surprises you. No offense.)



During my first (finally) ride in one, I noticed that the hybrid really is very high. And the driver, boxed in with plexiglass. Not just a partition. I couldn't even ask how much he saves on gas.


Things, Some

  • Something about you writing a song for me and then running away and I'm tone deaf so I've no clue how it goes.
  • Something about a yellow cab, an orange cab, and a green cab, in a line, but not in a race. The hills and the prices were steep.
  • Something about shomer negiah.
  • Something about now it's official: I own no working cameras more sophisticated than toys.
jensnow(AT)gmail(DOT)com. All content Copyright 2008. You can visit me at Things I Don't Understand And Definitely Am Not Going To Talk About (thingsidontunderstandand.tumblr.com) and at www.jensnow.com.