The cab ride from Newark Airport to the West Village didn't even take thirty minutes; we barely slowed down as we hit the Holland Tunnel, and there was virtually no traffic on Hudson Street.
Got home, reheated a little of the pizza that Carrie had ordered earlier, spent some blissful time just hanging out with the family, and hit the sack early.
Woke up in my own bed for a change, with my wife sleeping next to me and Mister Gato, naturally, hogging most of the space by my feet. Chows were splayed out on the carpet by the bed snoring away. The sweet sounds of home.
(Incidentally, for those of you who just can't get enough Gato in your life, Carrie has additional catblogging this week; check your blood sugar levels before you visit.)
Speaking of sweet sounds, the radio alarm woke me up at 6:30 AM; WBGO was playing Coltrane's "My Favorite Things." Indeed, indeed.
Best of all, the transit strike that hobbled New York City for three days is over. The trains and buses are running again this morning, the transport workers union having achieved exactly nothing. "Hold your head high when you report to work" this morning, their web site advises the hapless members of TWU Local 100. "We walked out strong, and we walked back stronger."
Heh. Personally, I think this assessment is a tad more realistic:
While many workers seemed relieved to return to their jobs, there was at least a small undercurrent of anger directed at the strike's result.
"I'm very disappointed to have to come back now. I think we should have held out," said Larry Powell, 55, who was returning to work at the 239th Street maintenance shop in the Bronx. "I feel bad. I don't know what we got."
Or, even more bluntly, this one:
Home with friends and family, Christmas right around the corner. Life is good.
"We got nothing out of this, absolutely nothing," said George Pearlstein, a [TWU Local 100] board member who voted against the deal.