Paullyblog

Overheard in the Drugstore

2010-01-27T23:04:00.003-05:00

I was standing in the drugstore when a family came in and walked past me. The young teen-aged boy stopped in front of the candy aisle.

Mom: "Toby get away from that candy. That's not healthy; you know that."
Dejected Kid: "Alright Mom."
Dad (to Mom): "You want anything?"
Mom: "Yes. Get me two Mountain Dew's."

This is why the rest of the world mocks us.

"Not Like the Old Days"

2010-01-09T17:07:00.005-05:00

One of the things I missed about home when I moved down south was the New York diner. Authentic diners are run by gruff Greek people and are usually open all night long. They have huge menus and always give you a good portion.

Interestingly, I have a typical New York diner, The Olympic, right around the block from my house. Buddy and I pass it every day on our walks, but until this morning I had never eaten there. Not particularly intrigued by what I saw in the refrigerator this morning, I decided to check it out.

It was filled with people at lunchtime. I got a seat at the counter and a (presumably) Greek man with a heavy accent took my order. I ordered eggs and hash and once we got past a slight language barrier, hash brown potatoes too. My food came amazingly fast and I settled in to enjoy a hot meal and read the Daily News.

A few minutes later an elderly man came in and sat at the counter next to me. He was clearly a regular -- the counterman recognized him right away.

"You want soup?" he asked.
"What do you have today?"
"We got the clam chowder, chicken noodle and beef barley."
"No bean soup?" the old man asked with downcast eyes.
"No," said the counterman.
"OK, I'll have the chicken noodle."

The old man's hands shook as he settled in at the counter. He never took off his coat. Now that I think about it, I wonder if he did that because he was cold sitting by the door, or because he needed help taking off his coat. Almost immediately, I noticed he began to mutter to himself.

In a barely audible voice, he looked towards the counterman who was down at the kitchen window. "Can I get that to-go?" he whispered. He couldn't get anyone's attention.

I decided I should help, but just as I decided to jump in, a bowl of soup arrived. "He wanted that to go, I think," I said. The server looked at the old man, and in a resigned tone, he waved his hand and said sadly, "oh, don't worry about it." He took his soup and struggled to open his little cellophane-wrapped saltines.

"It's not like the old days. It's hard to get anything decent anymore. Not like the old days."

I smiled and nodded.

He dug his spoon through his soup, examining all the bits of pasta in his bowl: "Chicken noodle alright." he said.

"All noodles and no chicken?" I asked. He just grunted at me.

I went back to finishing up my lunch and then noticed that he couldn't open the crackers. I leaned over and helped him open up all his cracker packets.

He didn't waste anytime getting through his soup. As he asked for his check, I asked him, "Good soup here?"

He shrugged. "That's the problem. You just can't get anything decent anymore. Not like the old days." I nodded. He gathered up his things and paused before he got up to leave. "Thanks for your help," he said to me.

"Don't mention it," I said. I watched him wander back out onto Eighth Avenue.

I wonder if I'll be eating soup at the counter at the Olympic in 40 years. I wonder if I'm living in my good old days.

A Last Look at NYC Dressed Up for Christmas

2010-01-08T20:20:00.011-05:00

I sent a friend from Atlanta a text as I was escaping midtown Manhattan on New Year's Eve. "You're leaving Times Square on NYE?!" she asked. "Hell, yes," I replied.

New York is wonderful at holiday time. This year we even had a big snow storm to set the mood. But just in the same way native Las Vegans probably steer clear of casinos, I try to stay away from Times Square and Rockefeller Center at Christmas Time. Sidewalks choked with tourists are just not my idea of fun.

Now the tourists have largely cleared out, so I felt it was safe to walk crosstown on my block. It's funny to think that I live 4 crosstown blocks from the Christmas tree and I never saw it until last night. Here's a few of the cool Christmasy things I saw last night a short walk from my apartment:

Rockefeller Center's Christmas Tree

Skating at Rockefeller Center

Holiday window at Bergdorf's

Ginormous ornaments on Sixth Avenue

Anger Management Anyone?

2010-01-05T18:00:00.000-05:00

One thing I never thought I'd do is get into a morning exercise routine. I am not a morning person and I need more than a little time to get rolling every day. Since I really don't know when I'm getting out of work each day, however, working out before work is my only real option.

The gym is quite serene in the morning compared to the frantic scene in there at night. This morning the quiet was broken by a certified raving lunatic. New Yorkers are sometimes portrayed in popular culture as brash, loud and profane, but few could quite meet the stereotype like the disgruntled customer who was shouting at the top of his lungs at the customer service desk. Apparently, he was disturbed by the lack of attention his request to cancel his membership was receiving, so he became comically hysterical:

"This gym will not cancel my membership. They've got my credit card and they're not giving it up."
"My friends have had to go through this f&%*ing s#@t and I'm not going to stand for it."
"This is a f&%*ing homosexual gym anyway. Hey buddy, why don't you go suck your boyfriend!"
"I was on the phone for two f&%*ing hours yesterday and got nowhere and you people are not going to ignore me anymore!"

There was a lot more swearing, a stroll through the gym where he made some more homophobic remarks and even some urgent pleas to prospective customers: "do not sign up for this gym! They won't let you f&%*ing quit!" I am sure his voice was heard in every corner of the gym. This scene ended as you could have guessed, with a very young and slightly exasperated member of New York's finest escorting the man out of the building.

I think gyms receive a staggering amount of consumer complaints every year, so I do have some sympathy for that guy. Plus, I have, believe it or not, been driven to out-of-control rants at customer service people in the past. Minus the hateful language of course. The thing that always occurs to me after I've calmed down is that an emotional outburst with that much ferocity usually has more behind it than the matter at hand. During a more civil part of the discussion (with the police officer present) I heard the word "ex-wife" several times. I think this guy may have been angry about a little more than canceling his gym membership.

Dogs Don't Hold Grudges

2010-01-04T22:39:00.005-05:00

Tonight I was coming back from our nightly walk and the dog and I ran into a neighbor in the stairway of my building. He was holding up a very large Christmas tree on the landing. My dog seemed a bit confused about why the tree was in the house. The man holding the tree reached down, patted the him, and said, "hello, Buddy." (Earlier this morning, I yelled "Stop" -- and nothing else -- at the dog when he began to eat some trash off the street and one of the high school kids on the corner of 49th and 8th said, "Don't eat garbage, Buddy!" We're becoming known around these parts.) The greeting in the stairwell was a nice moment of familiarity with a neighbor, and contrasted greatly with one of my first meetings back in the spring when I moved in.

There is a woman who comes every morning to one of the apartments downstairs and leaves her two children with a relative or a friend. The first time I met them, I decided I would break out all the charm and I said to the mother regarding the little girl, "and who do we have here?" "That's Sophie," she said and instructed the little girl to say hi. Instead of greeting me, with all the vigor a three year old kid can muster, she wound up and spit at me. "SOPHIA!" the mother shouted.

We've seen each other many times since the spitting incident, however, and she's remained civil. This evening Sophie asked if she could pet the dog on the stoop when we were coming in from a walk. I said, "of course," and Sophie took a step towards Buddy and when they were nose-to-nose, he licked her all over her face. She squealed with delight. There's loyalty for you -- imagine how friendly Buddy would have been if she'd kicked me in the ankle after spitting at me.

The Clothes Make the Man

2010-01-03T15:21:00.005-05:00

A few years ago while I was living in Atlanta, I experienced an intervention. A female friend of mine and I were walking by Old Navy and she unexpectedly took me inside, brought me to the bluejeans, selected a few and pointed me to the dressing room. Apparently, my jeans were out of style and didn't fit right. Since I was a graduate student, bluejeans were all I ever wore and apparently I looked like a homeless person from the 1980s or something. Since that time, I've been a little sensitive about the whole issue. I still don't pay much attention to what I'm wearing, but at least I try not to look like I'm wearing someone else's pants.

Yesterday, I bit the bullet and went on my every-three-years pilgrimage to buy some jeans at Macy's. (I went to the Macy's by the way, at 34th Street and Broadway.) They were having a denim sale. It was pandemonium on floor "1 1/2". Before I could even get my bearings, a very assertive saleswoman shouted "what size are you looking for sir?" at me. I pointed to a pair in my size at the top of the nearest pile and that seemed to satisfy her. I was left standing staring at a sea of denim. What the heck is relaxed-fix skinny boot cut, anyway? Did we have all these variations when I was a kid? Do I need colorful stitching and buttons on my back pocket? I selected a few pairs and then got on the line for the fitting room. This is something I learned at my intervention. You should try pants on before you buy them. The assertive lady buzzed by and told us to stand closer to the wall. She instructed a young woman from Europe somewhere that she could not go into the changing room and she could not stand in line with her man. She then told me to watch my head as she hurled a pair of pants onto a shelf over my head.

I went into the changing room and slipped on a pair of pants, only to discover there was no zipper, but instead, six buttons. Why would big clunky buttons ever be preferable to a zipper, I wondered? I buttoned 5 of the 6 buttons looked in the mirror, and decided I looked like a middle-aged dad trying to wear his son's pants. Plus, the price tag said $60. Unless I got a free backrub with those pants, I wasn't paying $60. I returned the three pairs I had tried on to the shelf, went and found the jeans I always get -- with zippers. I couldn't face the long line for the changing room, so I made my purchase and walked out of the store. You can teach an old dog new tricks, but you can't make him go into the fitting room twice.

The Face is Peculiar, But I Remember the Name

2009-12-21T21:02:00.003-05:00

One of the things about living in a big city is that you walk around with a certain assumption that you are usually anonymous as you make your way through the city streets. The few occasions when I see someone I know randomly on the street are truly remarkable. I think I am probably a fairly average looking white guy on the street and therefore mostly forgettable. Forgettable that is, unless I happen to be walking the eskimo dog that likes to eat garbage. People remember him.

On Sunday night I was walking down 50th Street with my dog and some tourists came up to talk to me. They told me that they too had an eskimo dog, and oh by the way, could I recommend a pizza place in the neighborhood. I recommended Southside 49 a little place down the block that had recently opened. They said "Merry Christmas" and went on their way.

This morning I watching the dog carefully as we walked down 49th street. As if I don't have enough problems trying to keep him from eating chicken bones and pizza crusts off the street, now I have to keep him from eating the dirty snow that is piled up all over the city. I've also discovered that the ice melt stuff people throw on the sidewalk burns his little eskimo paws and he has zero threshhold for pain. While trying to keep an eye on the dog, my headed jerked up when I heard someone say, "hey, thanks for the recommendation on the pizza. It was delicious." My tourists had returned. So much for anonymity. I'm officially the guy in the neighborhood with the fluffy white dog.

God Says Break a Leg

2009-12-16T20:50:00.004-05:00

One of the things I love about New York is the interesting and historic churches that are all over town. I gone to mass in at least 8 or 10 different churches since I've moved back and they're all interesting. The church I go to most often is just a block away from my apartment towards Times Square and the theater district. St. Malachy's is known as "the Actor's Chapel" since it counts the Broadway show people in its flock. I love the fact that they have services Saturday night at 11pm to work around the schedule of people who work in the theater. Every week we pray for out of work actors and support people.

Tonight I was walking up Eighth Avenue and I heard the chimes playing at St. Malachy's. I listened to try to make out the tune among all the different noises coming from the street. Was the church playing some traditional church tune? A Christmas Carol in honor of the season? No, the tune from the church tower was "There's No Business Like Show Business." As they say, only in New York.

Shakin' Hands with the Governor

2009-12-13T18:55:00.005-05:00

I was invited by a friend to a Democratic Party holiday party earlier this week. I had a very strange conversation with a man from the Veteran's Affairs office in New Jersey who had had way too much holiday cheer and seemed to think I worked for the City Council. It was quite an eclectic crowd and full house due to a scheduled visit by our (very unpopular) "accidental" governor David Patterson. He made an appearance and made a few funny remarks. It occurred to me that I wish he wasn't universally viewed as ineffective and weak -- he's carrying a 79% disapproval rating these days -- because he is a genuinely humorous guy and I like him. It made me think about his remarks after Fred Armisen did his hilarious impression of him on Saturday Night Live which portrayed him as a drug user who stumbles all over the set. The governor, who is legally blind, was highly critical of the sketch, because he considered it demeaning to the visually impaired. I am certain, as the governor of one of the biggest state's in the country, he needed to take that stand publicly, but something tells me that behind closed doors he had to be laughing, at least a little bit.

As it turns out the funniest remark of the night at the party belonged to councilman John Liu who was just elected Comptroller and is the first Asian to hold a citywide office in New York City. After he was introduced as such, he said, "I don't know what the big deal is. I've been Asian my whole life."

A Little Off the Top

2009-12-05T21:10:00.003-05:00

I've written before about my barber shop in Greenwich Village. It's a fantastic throwback with bad 1970s paneling on the wall and three barbers who look like they're frozen in time. When I go into the shop, I just sit down in the chair of whichever barber is free, although I really prefer the haircut that the guy in the first chair gives me. The last time I was in the shop, I got the guy in the third chair and wasn't really pleased with the results. I've decided that you need to be wary of a barber with a bad hairstyle. This guy is largely bald but the hair that he does have is dyed a weird shade of red -- in fact, his skin on his head seems to be the same shade of reddish orange. He looks a little like something put together by a police sketch artist. He seems like a perfectly agreeable gent though.

Today, I lucked out and got first chair. As always, the place was buzzing with activity on a Saturday afternoon, Italian music blared the radio and the guys chattered to each other in Italian. After I sat down in my chair, an older man wandered in and sat in chair #2 -- he also was chattering in Italian. Then an interesting exchange occurred during which I understood two things:

Barber 1: Italian chatter
Barber 2: More chatter
Patron 2: Cheerful chatter
Barber 2: Increasingly emphatic chatter
Barber 1: [Italian] ... "You're wrong!" ... [Italian]
Patron 2: [Italian] ... "Tiger Woods!" ... [Italian] ... then much laughter by everyone, except me.

I got my haircut and then went home and took a nap. Interestingly, when I woke up my hair appeared to be much shorter than I remembered before I took my nap. I think I was too busy trying to decipher what was going on to pay attention to my haircut. Nevertheless, you gotta love chair #1.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

2009-10-27T20:58:00.003-04:00

One of the advantages of where I live is its proximity to three different subway lines. It's easy to get to work and it's easy to get anywhere in the city quickly, so I rarely take taxis.

Recently I dropped my nephew off at Penn Station before I was supposed to meet a friend on the upper east side. I was on the west side in midtown and had to go all the way across town and then way north. Determined to use public transportation, I took a crosstown bus and then found myself on the right side of town but about 50 blocks from where I needed to be. I bit the bullet and haled a cab.

The ride was uneventful until we got up into the 80s. As we slowed down I watched a woman wade into the street and into traffic to try to hale down a cab. The cab driver spoke to me:

Driver: "You see that? People in this country have no respect for cabdrivers. I am from Brazil. I have driven a cab in many countries all over the world. Here, people have no respect."
Paully: "Yeah. Well. Hmmm."
Driver: "Do you know sometimes on rainy nights when we take cab out of service people will throw themselves on the hood of our cabs?"
Paully: "Huh. I guess that doesn't surprise me."
Driver: "That would never happen in Brazil. You know why? In Brazil we all carried guns. If someone throw himself on the hood of your car, you shoot him and people learn not to do these things."
Paully: "Well, you can let me off here on the right ...."
Driver: "You think people would make you drive to the Bronx or Brooklyn and then not pay if they knew I had a gun?"
Paully: "No.... uh, it's just not right."
Driver: "They don't let you carry guns here. How do you teach respect?!"
Paully: "Well, if you can just give four dollars back ..."

The driver seemed to want to keep talking to me. But I gave him a big tip and jumped out of the cab. I haven't been in one since.

The other night I emerged from having drinks with a friend at about 1 o'clock in the morning and refused to take a cab. I just needed to walk about 8 blocks north and then jump on the 7 train across town. I guess it was about 5 minutes into my subway ride when I realized that I had gotten on the train in the wrong direction and was headed to Queens. Maybe I'm taking this aversion to cabs thing a little far.

I Think I Was Too Old for This 10 Years Ago

2009-10-06T19:23:00.005-04:00

For my first year in New York, I went to the gym at the university fairly regularly, like 4-5 days a week. Everything was fine and dandy until I started to feel overwhelmed by students. I work around them all day long and then at night I was surrounded by them in the gym. My breaking point came when I was sitting on a bench working out with dumbbells when a student cornered me about an issue he was having. At that point, I decided my days at the university gym were numbered.

When I moved into my apartment in midtown, I discovered a gym right across the street -- I mean RIGHT across the street -- from my home and much to my surprise the monthly fee was the same as I was paying at school. Surrounded by regular people and so close to home, this seemed like a much better fit. The guy signing me up did the hard sell on some personal training sessions, and since I'd been thinking that was something I'd be interested in anyway, I signed up for 4 or 5 sessions.

I had to wait a few weeks to get started until the students were all settled in at school and I could actually go to the gym. I played phone tag with a guy trainer for a few weeks, and then finally decided (with a little trepidation) that I had to get started so I walked up to the desk and just told them I could start. "I can take him!" said a perky young woman in her 20s. Oh dear, I thought to myself.

The first (7am) session last week had me doing pushups and squat-thrusts like I hadn't done in years. She tried to get me to do some dumbbell lunge exercise that involved about 4 different movements and whatever little coordination I normally have left me completely. Before I left, Ms. Perky said, "when do you want to meet next?" I suggested one week from then -- Friday. She told me we'd be meeting Tuesday and Thursday. So much for easing into this. I left the gym sore and climbed slowly back up to the fourth floor and my apartment.

This morning was my second session. Again she had me doing jumping jacks, lunges with a medicine ball, and then there was the let's-show-the-gym-how-uncoordinated-Paul-is exercise. It involved me standing on an inflatable ball that sat flat on the floor while holding a barbell bar in my hand and trying to pull it into my chest. The only thing that would have made it harder was if she had asked me to spin a plate on stick while I did this. After some crazy chest press things (imagine getting in a pushup position while gripping a dumbbell on the floor and then rolling the dumbbell away from you laterally while you do a pushup) we started to do some ab work. I began to get so worn out that my brain and my body were just no longer on speaking terms. I explained to the trainer that as much as I'd like to do 5 more crunches my torso had an entirely different opinion on the matter. And I began to feel a little nauseated. Then I began to feel flat out sick and light-headed. She assured me this was normal. After she was finished helping me get stretched out, she look at me one last time and said "are you OK"? I said I was even though that was definitely an open question.

And what is it that a nausea victim wants to face on the 50 yard walk back to his house after a strenuous workout? A giant black tanker truck with "R&R Rendering" on the side of it was idling next to the burger restaurant on the plaza. The company apparently collects grease, bones and fat from restaurants in their lovely little truck. The fragrance coming from the truck cleaning out the grease traps was almost enough to put me over the top. As of now there has been no vomiting on my part, but I can't make any promises.

So I Was on a Date Tonight ...

2009-10-04T01:59:00.006-04:00

Being in my early 40s and out on the dating scene is not really something I every imagined for myself in my life plan. But because sometimes we don't get to dictate exactly how life will go ... you just have to go with the flow. I have been going on lots of dates with very nice women although none of them lately have made me optimistic that my years of being single are going to end anytime soon.

Tonight was date number three with a very nice woman who for the purposes of this post, I will call Princess Leah. The Princess and I definitely have some things in common like our love for cooking (and eating), and we both appreciate architecture and have spent some time admiring building around the city. I had high hopes that this might develop into something, but rarely have I seen a woman's stock plummet with me so fast.

Paully: "She was the lead actress on Everybody Loves Raymond."
Princess: "I'm sorry I don't watch TV."
Strike 1 ....

Princess: "How often do you wash your dog?"
Paully: "Not very often. Several times a year though."
Princess: "We washed our beagle every week. I'm kind of a clean freak. When I wasn't around, my maid did it."
Strike 2 ...

Paully: "Well, I was probably drunk at the time."
Princess: "I've never gotten drunk. Well, there was a time at a wine tasting once when I think I almost did."
Strike 3 ....

They tell me there are 200,000 more single women of dating age than single men in this city. I think those numbers are not working in the princess's favor. "My ex told me I'm just not the kind of girl someone falls in love with," she told me earlier tonight. I think I get it now.

One more thing on the High Line

2009-10-02T09:58:00.002-04:00

I was reading one of my favorite NYC blogs this morning (gothamist.com) and I saw they had a photo from the other side of the amphitheater at the High Line.

See http://gothamist.com/2009/10/01/extra_extra_1383.php

An Old Abandoned Elevated Railway

2009-10-01T20:30:00.011-04:00

The Beginning of the High Line at Gansevoort Street

I made several references in my post on the Meat Packing District to the new High Line Park. In recent years many of the deteriorating piers along the Hudson River have been turned into public parks. Thinking along those same lines, some westsiders worked tirelessly to get the high line, an old elevated railway that used to serve the factories and meat processing plants in the neighborhood, turned into a functional public space.

The park, opened just a matter of months now, is more or less a garden with a network of boardwalks running through it. It has a wonderful design which takes advantage of the different views of the neighborhood and the twists and turns of the railway.

Notice the lounge chairs in the photo above?

I believe that is a building designed by the celebrated architect Frank Gehry

The amphitheater (pictured above) faces a glass wall that looks out on Tenth Avenue. There's not really room for a stage, so I'm not exactly sure what this space will be used for, but it's kind of cool. Currently the park only runs up to 20th street, but there are plans to extend it all the way up to 34th Street, I believe. If you're like me and you're fascinated by interesting uses of public space, and the reimagination of urban infrastructure, it's definitely worth a visit.

Apparently He Plays the Flute Too

2009-10-01T09:58:00.006-04:00

Last night, I was invited by my Dad to a fancy benefit at a private New York club on Central Park South to support an Irish cultural center being built by (89 year old) actress Maureen O'Hara in her home town in Ireland. There was a silent auction, lots of Irish-looking people milling about and plenty of Amstel Lights for me. It was quite an intimate gathering -- there were probably fewer than 100 people in the room. When everyone gathered for the evening's entertainment, the master of ceremonies announced there would be a flute performance by one of Maureen O'Hara's dearest friends. When he got up to play us a tune, and then I finally recognized his name -- the flutist was Michael Flatley, Lord of the Dance! One of my favorite lines from the TV show Friends involved Mr. Flatley. Apparently he freaks Chandler out because "[Flatley's] legs flail about as if independent from his body!" While there was an impressive performance of Irish step dancing last night by a handsome looking dance troupe after the flute performance, Michael did not dance. He just stood in the back of the room and watched. It's just as well, I might have been freaked out, Chandler Bing style.

Photo from BarkingCarnival.com

Touring MEPA

2009-09-29T22:00:00.012-04:00

Hudson Street in the Meat Packing District

On Sunday afternoon, I took a great walking tour with Bernie Cohen of Bernie's New York walking tours. Bernie does tours all over the city but this one was of the Meat Packing district or what the really cool kids call MEPA. A neglected neighborhood wedged between Greenwich Village and Chelsea, once filled with hundreds of meat processing plants (and the Nabisco factory where they made Milk Bone dog biscuits!), it is now one of the most posh neighborhoods in the city. It is filled with designer showrooms, fancy restaurants and boutique hotels.

View of the Highline Park from the Street

The tour included a history of the historic district and visits to some of the existing businesses in the area. The highlight was a tour of the Standard Hotel which straddles the new Highline Park and features floor to ceiling windows in all the rooms. (It has stirred up some controversy lately because of exhibitionism by hotel guests.) We saw three different rooms and the views were incredible.

View from Standard Hotel Looking Out Over the HighLine

The streets were also filled with trailers and equipment because they were filming Oliver Stone's Wall Street 2.

I can't really afford to shop or eat in MEPA, but walking around was cool. Oh yeah, and did I mention that there are still meatpackers in MEPA?

Little Hidden Gems

2009-09-21T21:06:00.005-04:00

I probably don't have to tell you that one of the biggest adjustments to living here has been the sky high cost of living. You know that feeling when you go on vacation and it feels like you're eating out at every meal and spending a fortune on your accommodations? Imagine feeling that way all the time .... I am fortunate to have a good grocery store just a half a block away, but it is a tad upscale and way expensive for me. I feel like there should be a guy standing behind a glass counter saying, "may I show you something in a box of cereal?"

One of the reasons I look forward to the weekends living in Manhattan is that I can just go walking and explore. It is interesting what you will stumble upon. Imagine my delight when I discovered Stile's Farmers Market just a few blocks from my house. Covered by a tent in the corner of a parking lot, you could easily walk by it and never give it a second thought. I wandered in one day and found amazingly cheap produce, eggs, bagels, fresh bread and even some interesting packaged foods. I now go there every Saturday morning and stock up for the week. If you're in the neighborhood you should stop by. The cashiers moisten the tips of their fingers (so they can count out the cash more easily) by dabbing their fingers on a freshly cut cucumber. I've never seen that before!

Mystery Bottle

2009-09-20T23:01:00.004-04:00

So I walked by the World Wide Plaza giant office building at 50th and Eighth Avenue while I was walking the dog and on the sidewalk sitting by itself was a half-full bottle of Chivas Regal with a piece of paper stuck in it. I was tempted to stoop down and pull the paper out but I was afraid it was a set up for some candid camera show or a boobytrap of some kind. But still, if that actually is Chivas in that bottle it seems like an awful waste of good liquor. I see this as a sign of the beginning of the downfall of our civilization.

Update on yesterday's posting

2009-09-15T10:19:00.004-04:00

I guess Barack and Bill were having lunch down the block from my office. And they didn't invite me. Strange.

http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/09/14/obama-and-clinton-have-lunch-in-the-village/

Change I Could Have Done Without ...

2009-09-14T21:09:00.007-04:00

This morning on the radio they were talking about President Obama coming to town and warning people that there would be traffic tie-ups downtown as a result. I wondered what it must be like for people in D.C. who have to deal with presidential motorcades all the time. I dismissed the report though; he was giving a speech down in the financial district and I am strictly a pedestrian.

When I got to work, there were cops all over the neighborhood surrounding school and the streets were being cordoned off as if there was going to be a parade or something. The guy walking in front of me asked what it was all about and a cop muttered something about the president. It struck me that it was sort of weird that they'd care about him way up here when he was speaking further downtown, but I shrugged it off.

I pretty much forgot all about it and went out to lunch around noon. In the deli I saw the president on the TV and thought about the radio guys this morning talking about his overexposure. (Did you know that at this point in their respective presidencies that George W. Bush had had 3 press conferences and Bill Clinton 8? Our current president has had 22! But talking is his thing.) When I got back to my building, I realized what all the hub bub was about: the motorcade wasn't just passing near our neighborhood, it was passing in front of my office.

All of my fellow pedestrians found there was no way to get across West 3rd Street, and the cops were making no exceptions. I always love the people who think they have the one excuse that is going to convince the cops to let them through the barricade. There was one lady in her 60s with a jet black wig and a cigarette who pleaded with the cops, but they were having none of it. So I stood for 10 minutes and looked 25 feet across the street at the door to my office where they weren't letting anyone out of the building.

Finally, the motorcade sped by, a blur of black SUVs and at least one limo with the presidential seal on it. I know he was with Hillary Clinton, but it's anyone's guess which car he was in. In the picture below you can see the back end of the parade of cars just beyond my office. The administrative assistant from across the street called me to say he got out of his car and waved at some people. I hope no one told that to the lady with the wig and the cigarette. She had somewhere important to be.

And I Would Walk 500 Miles ...

2009-09-12T01:49:00.007-04:00

For those blog readers who are a little younger, once upon a time there was a late night talk show called The Arsenio Hall Show. It was a significant milestone in the sense that it was a regular mainstream talk show on every night hosted by an African American. The problem was that when David Letterman switched from NBC to the 11:30 pm timeslot on CBS, all hell broke loose in late night world, and Arsenio was put out of business overnight.

But before that happened, I was watching Arsenio one night and saw a pair of singing Scottish Brothers perform on his show who had a unique sound and harmonies like you'd never heard before -- or because they're Scottish: like you've never "hairrrrd b-far." The group was The Proclaimers and I immediately bought their album. Before law school was over I had two of their albums. They largely receded into my memory in recent years, however; I remember looking on Amazon for a new album a few years ago and not seeing anything -- until today.

This afternoon at work I saw on the nyc.com events calendar that The Proclaimers were in town today. I dismissed the notion of going. I didn't have tickets. I never do anything spontaneous. I had no one to go with. Oh heck, I could go by the theater on 23rd Street and at least see if there were any tickets. Well, I went to the box office and there were plenty of tickets, I went to the show and it was awesome. They had the Gramercy Theater rocking. I was even able to get a I-love-everything-Scottish friend to join me for the last 2/3 of the show. People were dancing in the aisles, waving the Scottish flag and having a grand old time. And I got to do it all on a whim. In New York, groups like The Proclaimers will occasionally pass by. I'm grateful for the opportunity to live here and to have a chance to stumble onto an incredibly fun night like tonight. Arsenio would have loved it.

Here are a few (low quality) cell phone images of the boys from tonight. Interestingly, they didn't look as boyish as they did when they performed on Arsenio ... I guess I don't look as boyish as when I first watched them either ....

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

2009-09-09T23:19:00.004-04:00

Last week my Eskimo Dog injured himself while we were out walking. I picked him up in my arms to quickly cross 49th Street and when I put him down on the sidewalk he began howling in pain. I couldn't imagine what had happened. I checked his pads to see if he had cut or pinched himself but he seemed fine. He was clearly in excruciating pain and his 2 minutes of howling drew a crowd. A few people at the bus stop came over to see if they could help. We all looked around the sidewalk to see if he had stepped on something but couldn't find anything. (One lady said to me, "isn't it funny how if an animal is in trouble people come running. Do you think they'd do the same for us?") I suspected that he had strained himself because his hips seem a little stiff these days when he gets up after lying down for a long time. I decided I would see if he could walk it off. He wouldn't put any weight on his back right leg and I had to carry him up the stairs to the 4th floor to our apartment.

That night, I decided I would let him walk it off and took him for his 11pm walk as always. BuddE was getting along ok with a pronounced limp. It was garbage night on my street and there was practically no room to walk on the sidewalk.

A guy in a Fed Ex shirt said "excuse me" and I tried to get out of his way.
He said, "No, I'm not trying to get by. I just wanted to know, is this the dog from the bus stop earlier?"
I nodded yes, sort of surprised by his recognition.
"How's he doing?"
"He seems to be doing a little better," I said.
"Glad to hear it, glad to hear it," he said and he slid by us up the alley of garbage and went on his way.

Sometimes Hell's Kitchen feels like a small town. That's nice.

Apparently, I Should Be Ashamed of Myself

2009-09-01T17:07:00.006-04:00

My sister and my nephew came to town yesterday and we decided to go uptown to see the new space show at the Planetarium. My nephew had his Celtics jersey on and for all anyone knew we were a group of out-of-towners. While we stood on the subway platform at 50th Street a slightly disheveled man came and stuck a copy of The Onion newspaper under our nose and said he was selling it to help the homeless. (There are publications that are distributed and sold on the street to raise funds for the homeless. As far as I know, The Onion is not one of them.) He said he had a wife and either 4 or 6 children to support -- I think he lost track somewhere. I shrugged him off and then he turned his attention to my nephew and he started calling him a "Redsox hater" (meaning a Yankees hater because he was wearing Boston garb). I came to my nephew's defense and told the guy I lived in the neighborhood, that we were not tourists and that we weren't buying what he was selling. I tried to defuse the situation and explain that my nephew was just a misguided New Yorker whose father had not quite raised him right because he rooted for all the Boston teams.

"Where do you live?" he asked.
"50th Street," I said.
"50th and what?"
"50th and Eighth," I replied.
"You've gotta be loaded to live there. You must be paying $3,000 a month," he said to me as he became increasingly agitated.
"No, that's not my rent," I said turning away from him.
"You live there and you're not willing to help the homeless? You said he wasn't brought up right? You weren't brought up right!"
"I'm not going to have this conversation with you, man," I said, as he became more and more menacing.
"You're damn right you don't want to have this conversation. You should be ashamed of yourself not wanting to help the homeless."

As someone who spent a year of my life working with the homeless in inner-city Atlanta in the early 1990s, he picked the wrong guy to try to guilt into giving him money. He walked away disgusted and a minute later I saw him down the platform with his arm around some tourist with a big grin on his face. I respect his right to ask for money. I just wish he'd respect my right to tell him to buzz off.

This is Why I Wanted to Live in New York

2009-08-26T23:22:00.006-04:00

So I went to my first game at the new Yankee Stadium tonight and it was awesome. When the stadium opened in April there was a lot of criticism in the press about the new baseball parks in New York. It's all hogwash. The stadium is beautiful and the fan experience is better than ever.

I have gone to three major league games this summer, in Seattle, Oakland and New York. Nothing compares to the atmosphere in Yankee Stadium. The place was packed and the celebrities were in the house -- Jack Nicholson and Paul McCartney got the most applause -- and there was an electricity in the air.

The coolest part was in the seventh inning. Going into the inning, the Yankees had a modest 4-2 lead ... and then they started to pour it on. As their rally began, the place got louder and louder. By the time the Yankees had scored five runs to take a 9-2 lead, the place was going crazy and the fans still wanted more. The Yankees were blowing the other team away and the fans did not downshift. It's an enthusiasm for baseball I just don't see other places -- except, maybe (gulp) ... Boston.

The Lovely Aroma of West 49th Street on a Summer Evening

2009-08-25T23:21:00.005-04:00

Garbage day on my street is very lovely. Often the piles of trash are up to your hips. I know that in 1968 there was a terrible garbage strike in NYC that lasted for weeks. I have no idea how people lived through it. On the bright side, while I was walking the dog tonight I saw the entrepreneurial spirit in action as people with shopping carts sifted through the recyclables for 5¢ deposits on cans and bottles. My ex-wife told me when we moved out of New York City in 1998 that it was because she couldn't live anymore with the garbage and the urine. She may have had a point about the garbage.

A Few Sights and Sounds from NYC on a Saturday Night

2009-08-22T22:22:00.003-04:00

On the subway tonight, upon being told that she might not want to sit down because the air conditioning had left a puddle on the seat, the woman next to me said, "I don't give a rat's ass. It's that f^%$ing hot out." ... T-shirt sightings: one (1) "Hooray for Rabies" and two (2) "Don't Tase Me Bro"(s)... From the Department of "Look at Me! I'm a Tourist": spotted walking down Eighth Avenue, a slightly overweight Mom and Dad with matching fanny packs carrying shopping bags from the Hersey's Store and American Girl Place with pasty child tagging along behind ... one homeless guy on West 3rd street announcing to no one in particular: "I've gotta give up the beer and the cigarettes!" No argument here.

Something that Made Me Go "Huh"

2009-08-15T19:37:00.003-04:00

When I got off the subway yesterday, I looked up and saw an amazing sight. Hundreds of rollerbladers were coming towards me. I didn't see anything that looked like an escort, so they were just kind of interspersed with the regular traffic. I'm sure they were coming from Hudson River Park, but I wonder were they a club? Was this some kind of event? Does this happen on Fridays often?

Just One Big All-You-Can-Eat Buffet

2009-08-13T23:19:00.010-04:00

During a lull in our conversation my graduate school advisor would often ask, "so how's the dog?" Yes, THE DOG. My dog has been a big part of my life for the last 10 years and now we've hit yet another adjustment for him. Not only have I moved him from the comforts of suburbia to Manhattan, but he also has the pleasures of a 4th floor walkup to face every day. He seems to be coping -- maybe too well.

You see this is a dog who after six months of living with my parents could stand to miss a meal if you know what I mean. Anyway he has discovered that 9th avenue across the street from McDonalds, the area behind the hotdog cart on 50th street, 8th avenue near the subway all are great spots for finding food on the sidewalk -- like it's been laid out for him by a bunch of unrelated caterers. Two days ago I pulled a chicken bone out of his mouth and got my finger chomped on. What was on the menu tonight for my eskimo dog during our walk?

One dropped soft serve cone (probably from the Mister Softee truck at 51st and 8th.
Big thick krinkle cut fries (very unlike McDonald's)
McDonald's French fries (exactly like McDonald's)
One smushed piece of bread (I think)
And the topper --some kind of regurgitated stuff at the base of a tree that just had to be vomit

This is one of those moments when my dog looks at me as if I am just plain stupid. I try to explain to him that eating garbage off the street is a bad idea. And he looks at me as if to say, "What are you an idiot? Free food! It's right here like 6 inches from my nose. Eating garbage is what dogs do. That's how we became domesticated!" I pull him away from whatever he's trying to eat and we begin walking again. He looks at me resignedly as if to say, "This poor guy. Doesn't know a good meal when he sees one and he follows me around cleaning up my poop. He pulled me away from perfectly good french fries tonight ... eh, maybe if I just pee on his bathroom rug he'll get the message. He does seem a little vacant though. Always asking me who a good boy is. How should I know?"

Kindness in Unexpected Places

2009-08-12T20:54:00.005-04:00

I got off the train at 50th Street last night and a very smartly dressed women in a flowery red dress walked past me quickly. She was one of those elegant Manhattan women with long legs and fancy clothes. I imagined she was off to a show or a fine restaurant. I see these people all the time in the city and wonder what their lives are like in their doorman buildings with their sophisticated friends. And then the picture I was forming in my mind just went out the window. She spotted a woman (pictured) with a baby carriage facing the two flights of stairs out of the station. "Do you need help?" she asked. The mother gladly accepted the offer and the two trudged up the stairs in front of me, carrying the baby carriage together. Honestly, I wouldn't have even thought to have offered to help. There's something about living in the city so close to other people that makes moments like this the rule rather than the exception. People do care about each other -- even if they're strangers -- because there is a we're-all-in-this-together kind of spirit. One of these days I hope I stop looking at the people around me as things to be observed and more as someone who might need a helping hand. I want to be the thoughtful person who looks out for his fellow New Yorker.

Yeah, But Do They Have Cheesy Breadsticks?

2009-08-10T23:29:00.012-04:00

One thing you notice living in Manhattan is the piles of takeout menus that end up on your doorstep. There are so many restaurants within a few blocks of my house I have never felt the need to order delivery takeout. (Maybe that will change in winter.) That's not true of the lady who lives at the bottom of the stairs on the second floor in my building. The delivery guy happened to be at her door for my dog's Friday evening and Saturday morning walks. Now that I think of it, maybe she's got something going with the delivery guy... but I digress. The main reason I haven't ordered food in is because the intercom in my apartment doesn't work, so I can't buzz the guy in when he gets to the building. I collect the menus anyway. We get menus for Chinese food, pizza, burgers, everything you can imagine. New York is an interesting food town. You actually can get any kind of food you want.

I thought I had seen a menu for every type of cuisine, but the other day I found one I never thought I'd see: Ariana's Afghan Restaurant. Most places I've lived I had a choice between Pizza Hut and Papa John's. Here I get to choose between Afghan or Bangladeshi.

And then the same day, when I thought I had seen everything in the menu department, I got the takeout menu from John's Shanghai Chinese restaurant (in the mail!) ... in Chinese.

Although I find all this interesting, the avalanche of menus is annoying litter to most people. Next time you're in New York, maybe you'll understand why this sign is posted everywhere.

Sunday Afternoon Just Slightly South of Manhattan

2009-08-09T22:45:00.011-04:00

This afternoon I made an excursion with a friend to Governor's Island out in New York Harbor. For many years this was a Coast Guard and military base, and just recently it's been turned over to the national park service. To get out to the island there is a free ferry and it doesn't take 15 minutes to get there -- and it's pretty much security-free unlike the nightmare screening you have to go through to get to Ellis Island or Liberty Island. The island has bike trails, art exhibits, great picnic grounds and even a little entertainment venue complete with a sandy beach, DJ and booze, Water Taxi Beach. Today there was even a Civil War reenactment going on. The amazing views from Island make it a very worthwhile stop: from the Statue of Liberty to the Manhattan Skyline to the East River Bridges to Brooklyn and the Verrazano Narrows. I'd love to share these views with you, but of course, I forgot my camera. (I include a couple of snapshots from my phone.) There was one weird thing. At a certain point on the island there was this eerie female singing going on over the loudspeakers. My friend swore she heard them sing about the devil but I cannot confirm that. Despite that, I highly recommend a visit.

Downtown Manhattan as Seen from Governor's Island

Civil War Reenactors [?!] -- (They're Everywhere!)

Hey, Put Down that Broom, You Have To See This

2009-08-08T12:41:00.006-04:00

I recently got digital cable TV service. Like most Americans with such a service, I have a million channels and watch about 10. I truly believe that the days of paying for access to shows that you don't watch is going to be a thing of the past as people get more and more of their content from services like YouTube and Hulu. In the meantime, I stumble onto stuff that I would never otherwise interest me by doing some old fashioned channel surfing.

This morning I saw a show on BBC America called "How Clean is Your House?" in which two affable British women come into homes (in the UK and the US apparently) and tell the people they're living like pigs, complete with taking lab samples of bacteria! The filthy conditions the homeowners live in in these shows are appalling. On Style TV, they have a similar show called "Clean House" which is pretty much the same premise except they have a yard sale to get rid of the junk in the house and then do a fabulous makeover. (They've apparently upped the ante with their search for the messiest home in America.) You can still catch reruns of TLC's "Clean Sweep" which is basically a less over-the-top version of Clean House. On FIT TV they have a show "Neat" in which a persnickety Canadian organizer lady comes in criticizes how people live in filth and then they clean the place up and fill it with baskets from IKEA. We have an obsession with gawking at obscenely disgusting homes, and then revel in watching them get transformed.

Now why on earth are people all over America sitting on their couches watching this stuff? I think it is part of the reality TV phenomenon were we feel better about ourselves if we can see less fortunate losers on TV expose their weaknesses to us. It is totally disturbing to me to think that behind the closed doors of suburban streets all over the country are houses brimming with crap and dirty toilets. What does it say about us as a society that we are drowning in consumer goods and trash? What is equally disturbing is that people are probably sitting in those dirty houses amusing themselves watching shows about people with dirty houses. Wouldn't this be a better world if people turned off the TV and actually cleaned their houses for an hour with no commercial interruptions? People should do what I do: live clutter free ... by leaving all their clutter in their parents' basement, like I did.

I think I'm going to go read a book. And then clean the house.

A Brush with Greatness(?)

2009-08-07T13:33:00.006-04:00

A couple of days ago I was walking by a restaurant (Roberto Passon) at the corner of 50th and 9th. I saw an odd-looking guy eating in there who looked really familiar. It struck me that he looked exactly like the wacky former UN Ambassador from the Bush Administration, John Bolton. But I dismissed that thought -- he probably just looked like him. Then it occurred to me: no one looks like John Bolton. It was most definitely him; not a great celebrity sighting by New York standards, but it was just in time for him to start squawking in the newspapers again. Apparently Mr. Bolton thinks Bill Clinton's moment in the sun, escorting the detained journalists out of North Korea, was a very bad idea.

Well I have a message for Mr. Bolton: Hey John, your mustache is white. Please tell the rest of your hair. (Oh and next time you're back in Hell's Kitchen, look me up.)

Nitpickers Spoiling a Good Time

2009-08-05T10:50:00.007-04:00

So a Long Island Railroad Engineer is in big trouble. His crime? He merely let one of the passengers drive the train (allegedly). Gosh, what happened to the good old days when random people could try their hand at driving a train filled with hundreds of passengers, barreling along at high speeds, and worth 10's of millions of dollars? I mean they're all so bogged down in details of training, safety, and blah blah blah. How hard could it be? I'm pretty sure the guy had a driver's license. And besides, he's just going in one direction. It's not like it sets a bad example; I've ridden the trains a million times and I've rarely had a desire to take over the controls. What could possibly have gone wrong? -- the train is on a track for heavens sake. We all had train sets as kids. They're probably worried that if this happens too often lots of people will start putting in their two cents worth and be back seat drivers: "Hey Mr. Engineer, my grandmother could decelerate into a station better than that!" etc. And for all the excessive worriers out there who want the authorities to come down hard on these harmless goodtime-Charleys, I have a word of warning. Sure, it's all well and good to keep ordinary citizens from haphazardly taking over the controls of a moving train, but this is a slippery slope. Next time you want to try your hand at a nighttime landing on your next U.S. Airways flight and get turned down, you'll know who to blame.

Painting the Town Red

2009-08-04T00:15:00.006-04:00

I didn't want to let August 1 get too far away without once again saluting my family dog who passed away in 1992, Stroodle. Born to a purebred poodle mother, Stroodle was a mixed breed surprise born on August 1. (My best guess is that he was born in 1976.) He was just a great family dog.

One of my favorite memories of ole Stroodle was giving him a bath and brushing him out so he'd look beautiful for my elementary school's dog show. We each wrote little biographies of our dogs. (I left out the part about the uncertainty about the identity of Stroodle's Dad.) We sat on folding chairs in little pens created by the snow fencing out in the school yard and the judges walked by. The only problem was that the snow fencing was freshly painted for this event and Stroodle was covered in red paint before I noticed the wet fence. He won an award anyway -- most athletic -- for his skills catching a tennis ball, and I was very proud.

If you get a chance this week, toast one to ole Strudy -- you'll never find a more loyal, smart, or loving dog than that old mutt.

Pants Off Dance Off?

2009-08-02T13:11:00.005-04:00

Last night I had dinner with some friends down in the Battery Park City area at the World Financial Center. This business and residential area sits right next to Ground Zero, the former World Trade Center site, and is in many ways slightly separated from the neighborhoods nearby. I arrived at sundown and the views overlooking the river were wonderful.

They have some nice restaurants with outdoor seating there. We went to Southwest NY a very nice restaurant where I enjoyed a delicious chorizo quesidilla and few cold beers. The evening was going swimmingly and I decided to visit the men's room. This is when things got weird.

I entered the room and found a man standing alone in the middle of the room facing me stark naked from the waist down with a pile of clothes next to him. I have entered hundreds of men's rooms in my life and I've never been faced with such a sight. (I've seen some ghastly things at the locker room at the university, but this was a nice restaurant!) Not feeling entirely comfortable making eye contact, I sort of grunted, steered around him and headed to the urinal. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the man putting his clothes back on. There was no indication that he had changed his clothes, only that he had gotten naked in front of a row of urinals. Again, lots of visits to bathrooms over the years, and never had the need to strip to take a leak.

I think there was a Seinfeld episode where George decides he enjoys sitting on the toilet with his shirt off -- maybe this was a similar thing. In any event, I'll never know what that dude's story was. (And no, he was not Sacha Baron Cohen.) And again, the quesidilla was delicious.

Let's Get You a Fresh One

2009-07-31T10:57:00.007-04:00

Bodegas, you know -- the corner deli -- are a vital part of life in New York City. In a city where good grocery stores are few and far between, we really rely on them. In my neighborhood in Hell's Kitchen, there are about six in a two block radius from my house and I'm trying to figure out which one is the "good" one. They're almost all a little sketchy looking (i.e., grimy) but they serve their purpose when you want a breakfast sandwich or a loaf of bread.

My neighborhood around my office is similar and we have 3 or 4 bodegas within a block or two. I probably spend $20 - $30 dollars a week at the one closest to my office which like so many others is run by a nice Korean family. Yesterday morning I went in to buy a little bowl of sliced fruit as I often do. Behind the counter working the register was the teen-aged son (who is rarely there) and his tiny mother standing next him. I put my little plastic container of fruit on the counter and the mother began speaking in what I assume was Korean and took the fruit and walked to the back of the store. "She's gonna get you a fresh one," said the teenager.

"What a nice gesture!" I thought to myself ... until I noticed that they weren't taking the "old" ones out of the fridge, they just didn't want to sell one of those to me. About five minutes later the old woman emerged from the basement where they do their food prep with a nice little bowl of fruit for me -- which did turn out to be fresh and delicious. I just wonder:

a) Was I a regular customer they wanted to take care of?
b) Someone who looked like he worked for the health department? or
c) Was the old lady flirting with me?

I guess I'll never know. Good fruit though.

They Have Bushy Tails and Store Nuts

2009-07-28T20:15:00.009-04:00

One thing that I've had to become accustomed to living in New York is tourists. I certainly have not been here long enough to have adopted a condescending attitude towards them -- after all I am a tourist from time to time too. Living a block from the Theater District I have huge tourist buses from Montreal that park on my street every Sunday afternoon. Around the corner on 8th Avenue is the office for one of the cities "hop-on-and-off" bus tour services, so the sidewalks are filled with out-of-towners. And my office sits a block from Washington Square, so more than a few times I've left my office to be confronted by a person with a friendly smile, a map, and a question. I'm glad to help when I can.

Earlier this week, I was walking down Bleecker Street in Greenwich Village and a notice a gaggle of Japanese tourists on the sidewalk. Just as I was walking past them, I heard a shriek and then I saw all the cameras come out. Needless to say, my curiosity was aroused. What was it by the trees lining the street that could have caused such excitement? These people had clearly traveled thousands of miles to see wondrous things in New York City! And they had discovered ... a squirrel ..... and a very ordinary looking one at that. Bullwinkle was no where in sight. I wondered: aren't there rodents in Asia too? I was tempted to point them to Central Park, but I didn't want to send them over the edge with excitement. (Oh wait, maybe I am developing a bit of a condescending tone.)

On second thought, maybe sometimes in life you just have to appreciate the simple things.

By the way I took the picture above a few years ago when I was a tourist walking around New York City.

Can't We All Just Get Along?

2009-07-27T21:04:00.007-04:00

One thing about living in New York is that you really don't know when full-out drama is going to erupt right in front of you. And what's really funny is that sometimes it breaks out so suddenly, you just sit back as if you're in your living room and not right there in the action. I got on the subway to go home tonight and it all seemed kind of mundane ...

So I sat down on the A train tonight and some raggedy guy brushed me with his bicycle but I ignored him. Another gentleman on the train was not so willing to let it go and then things got interesting. I will translate for non-New York readers of this blog:

Man 1: "I say sir, you failed to properly apologize when you grazed me with your bicycle." [Hey, I didn't hear 'excuse me.']
Man 2: "My dear sir, you are sadly mistaken." [I said 'excuse me' -- ain't my problem if you can't hear.]
Man 1: "I urge you to reconsider! My hearing faculties are perfectly intact." [Bullshit!]
Man 2: "You sir have offended my honor! I challenge you to a duel!" [You want a piece of this m&*$%erf'er? ... (Pulls out boxcutter.)]
Man 1: (Stands) I accept your challenge, my good man! [Let's do it f&^%er!]
Man 2: "I stand ready to engage!" [Bring it ^&%&*]
Man 3: "Please I insist that you settle this like the gentlemen that you are!" [You two better stop this. There are people right next to you.]
Man 1: "You vex me sir!" [You better stop running your mouth.]
Man 3: "Please, gentleman, your honor is at stake!" [You two are immature. You're going to go to jail!]
Man 2: (holds his saber forth) [lunatic waving box-cutter around]
Man 1: "We must settle this in a proper venue!" [Get off this f**&ing train!]
Man 2: "We shall engage!" [I'm right here m*&^erf*&er!]

At this point most of the spectators on the train had scattered. Man #1 continued to scream "get off this train!" I moved to the next car, but then realized we weren't leaving the station because Man #1 was holding the doors in the 14th street station insisting that his adversary engage on the platform. I walked across the platform to catch a local train and watched as Man #1 got off the train and Man #2 continued to taunt him as the train pulled away.

Just another ride home ... you wouldn't think 5 stops on the subway could bring that level of drama, but tonight it did.

photo from Dominick Chapman's photostream on flickr

Central Park on a Summer Saturday

2009-07-26T09:31:00.008-04:00

The Mall and the Literary Walk -- One of My Favorite Spots in the Park

I finally feel like I'm settling into life in the city. My nephew was visiting this weekend, so we trekked all over Manhattan but spent a couple of hours in Central Park in the afternoon. I only live 10-12 blocks from the southern end of the park now, and I'm really not taking enough advantage of it. (I did go running in the park a few weeks ago but got overzealous, ended up around 96th street somewhere and realized that I had 50 blocks to walk home ... bad plan.) The sights from yesterday definitely inspired me to spend some more time there.

Feeding time for the sealions at the Central Park Zoo

Jam session

Statue in Honor of Balto the Sled Dog

Rowboats on The Lake

My West Coast Trip Highlight #6: Sea Lions

2009-07-06T19:32:00.011-04:00

Beautiful Day on San Francisco Bay within View of Alcatraz

I only got to spend a day-and-a-half in San Francisco, but I enjoyed it immensely. We had extraordinarily good weather. (I even managed to get a sunburn in Oakland watching the ballgame, and I'm told that's only possible about 10 days a year.) Now since I live about two blocks from Times Square, usually I go out of my way to avoid touristy areas, but I had to see the Sea Lions down near Fisherman's Wharf. Showing up on a Saturday, it probably couldn't have been much more crowded, but it was well worth it. Since the earthquakes in 1989, sea lions have taken up residence near Pier 39, and now they're a major attraction. (See video below.)

We stayed in a great place near Chinatown, had fancy cocktails at the Fairmont Hotel, and ate at some great restaurants, but watching these guys snoozing on the pier was my favorite part of my visit. My next vacation is definitely going to involve more time just snoozing in the sun.

My West Coast Trip Highlight #5: Redwoods (part 2)

2009-07-06T08:08:00.001-04:00

When The Big Tasty and I decided to go see the Redwood Forest, I thought we would just go find the park, like you would the Grand Canyon or Yellowstone. As it turns out, visiting the Redwoods is a little more complicated. It is a conglomeration of several state and federal areas and you really need to sit down and make some decisions about what to visit before you set out. We found a super helpful park ranger who not only suggested some great hiking trails, but recommended our route down South towards Napa. We visited several areas, some in the forest and some on the coast in the Crescent City, CA area.

The most spectacular spot we saw in Redwoods Country was the Stout Memorial Grove (see photo above and previous post) in the Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park. I realized very quickly that we had to start putting people in the photos in the Redwood Forest in order to get perspective on how large the trees were.

Some Guy I Don't Know Standing in a Tree

The Big Tree at Prarie Creek Redwood State Park

The California Coast at Crescent City.

The other interesting thing about our stop in Redwoods Country was our accommodations. I was all set to book a room in some nondescript chain motel when I came upon a listing for the Curly Redwood Lodge. This place advertises itself as a complete throwback to the 1950s, and was it ever. It is a totally no-frills roadside motel with mattresses that also haven't changed since the 1950s -- they don't even give you tiny bottles of shampoo in the bathroom. That being said, I jumped at the opportunity to stay there because it seemed like genuine Americana -- and it was dirt cheap.

What both the Big Tasty and I both found to be slightly disturbing was the motel's claim to fame: it was constructed (for the most part) in the early 1950s with lumber from a single redwood tree. I guess in a more environmentally-sensitive age we're more atuned to the fact that it's a shame that a gorgeous redwood tree had to die for a crappy motel. But like that great uncle of yours who blurts out racist things once in a while, I guess you have to judge things in the context of their respective times. (Plus, at those prices you have to expect to be a little offended for some reason.)

My West Coast Trip Highlight #5: Redwoods (part 1)

2009-07-05T11:17:00.007-04:00

Sometimes there are things in nature that just make you feel small, insignificant and a little humble.

My West Coast Trip Highlight #4: Oregon Coast

2009-07-04T10:51:00.008-04:00

Before I reached the Oregon Coast on day 5 of our trip I had never seen the Pacific Ocean. We stopped in Cannon Beach on Oregon's northern coast on a cold blustery day. While there were a few brave souls on the beach, the bravest of all were the kite-surfers in the water. Kite-surfers use sails in conjunction with their surfboards for an amazing, wild ride.

We spent an entire day driving down the Oregon Coast on highway 101. The views of the Oregon Coast reminded me of pictures I've seen of the British Isles. The lush green landscape, the rocky cliffs and the desolate beaches were breathtaking.

My West Coast Trip Highlight #3: Waterfalls

2009-07-03T11:24:00.012-04:00

There are some scenes in nature that you really have to see in person to appreciate. I think the waterfalls I saw in Washington and Oregon were like that. Narada Falls at Mount Ranier National Park was amazing. It's very easy to reach if you're visiting the park and driving around. (See video below.)

Perhaps more impressive were the Multnomah Falls in Oregon's Columbia River Gorge National Scenic Area.

Columbia River Gorge from Vista House at Crown Point State Park.

Multnomah Falls is the second highest year-round waterfall in the U.S. -- the falls drop 620 feet from the origin point.

What was striking to me was how quickly I lost interest in the lesser waterfalls we saw along the way. I guess once you've seen the big falls everything else pales.

My Westcoast Trip: Highlight #2 -- Mount Ranier

2009-07-02T11:24:00.008-04:00

The first time I saw the Grand Canyon, my mouth just dropped open and I knew what it meant when people say a sight "takes their breath away." Almost equally impressive was the view from the Paradise Lodge at Mount Ranier National Park.

Mount Ranier peaks at around 13,000 feet, and we were only at about 5,000, but standing in the snow in July watching the snowboarders and cross country skiers was amazing.

At a lower elevation we were able to walk along a waterflow from a glacier. Just standing near the water my fingers went numb. (I could do a colder-than-some-of-the-women-in-my-life remark but I'm better than that.) It was truly one of those once in a lifetime lifetime experiences.

The Big Tasty and I stayed at a little inn near the park run by a very nice wacky couple. (I will pass along the name upon request.) If you ever go, remember to ask Michelle about the time the bear got into the bird feeders. We had breakfast with the other guests in the morning and met a nice pair of retired female English teachers who were traveling together (and loved the hot-tub, apparently) and a bewildered looking Danish couple who arrived in U.S. with no hotel reservations. We wished them luck and hoped that they would not be sleeping in their rental car outside of Yellowstone.

My Westcoast Trip: Highlight #1 -- Seattle

2009-07-01T13:12:00.007-04:00

Late afternoon at the Puget Sound

Just got back from my summer vacation to the Pacific Northwest with my lifelong friend, The Big Tasty. TBT and I began our trip in Seattle, a city I'd wanted to see for a long time. Seattle didn't disappoint, and it even offered a surprise: great weather. I did not know the city was built on all those steep hills. Some of them would give San Francisco a run for its money. The best part of my visit was the ferry ride I took with TBT and his friend Steve to West Seattle. The views were spectacular.

I'd also like to praise Seattle for its beautiful baseball park, Safeco Field. Not only is it a great place to watch a game, but the fans were clearly into it, unlike some places ... yes, Atlanta, I'm talking about you.

Well, I Guess if Arnold Can Be Governor ...

2009-06-30T17:18:00.005-04:00

Senator Norm Coleman of Minnesota officially admitted defeat in the hotly contested U.S. Senate race today. This was a news item that gave me pause. I'm not quite sure when Al Franken went from sardonic wit to strident leftist politician, but I'll always remember him as the guy on weekend update with the satellite dish on his head.

Picture from keloland.com

Union Square on Saturday

2009-06-18T10:16:00.005-04:00

I love going to the greenmarket in Union Square on Saturdays. It is teeming with activity, and even though I rarely buy anything beyond a bag of apples (the really good ones from upstate NY with the snap), I love the atmosphere.

After managing to blow $75 in Petco (it's where the pets go and where my money goes apparently), I came outside where the animal rescue groups had some dogs up for adoption. I saw this little guy and knew he was really an American Eskimo because the cage was marked "do not touch this cage." Like my ex-wife, the eskimo dog is beautiful but difficult.

You're a Long Way from Missouri, Kid

2009-06-16T09:51:00.006-04:00

Apparently some gang members attacked a couple of guys in the lobby of their E. 26th Street apartment building yesterday, stabbing an 18-year-old to death and severely wounding another man. They were casualties of some sort of feud it seems. Having just spent my first week living in Manhattan, the words of another NYC newcomer really hit home:

"I moved here from Missouri yesterday," said Hannah Robbins, 21, who lives a block away [from the stabbings site]. "I didn't expect to step outside on my first morning here and see someone almost dead."

(photo from lynzva on photobucket)

The Problem with Blogs: One More Goodbye

2009-06-15T10:19:00.008-04:00

It's not always clear why people blog. Most of the blogs I read are Yankees news related and they publish every day during the season. I also have collected some interesting foodie blogs (e.g., eater.com, serious eats New York, etc.).

The more interesting creative blogs are the ones that I have stumbled onto. These are written by people who just share their daily experiences. One of my favorites is written by a web designer cartoonist in the UK, called Local Girl's Day in Pictures. I always looked forward to her posts, but I think she's losing enthusiasm -- I haven't seen anything new in 3 weeks. Another type of blog that I like is the daily photo blog, like Greenwich Village Daily Photo.

I use a couple of RSS feed readers, but mainly read blogs using Google Reader because it has a nice interface and it's easy to keep up with new entries. This morning, New York City Daily Photo had this entry:

New York City Daily Photo is closed as of today.
Thank you for the 2-1/2 years of wonderful friendship and photo sharing experience.
I will update you on what is going on in my life in the next couple of weeks or so .

I was bummed out. I had an actual emotional reaction. Over the past month or two three or four of the blogs have posted similar goodbye messages. Every time I felt sad. Often, like this one, the blog authors are quite cryptic when explaining why they're stopping their blog. I imagine this is the way that people felt after World War II when many daily newspapers began to die off. Cities that had multiple newspapers found themselves with just one. If I were a New York Herald Tribune reader who woke up one day and found that the paper no longer published I would have been quite unsettled.

From what my plugged-in new media friends tell me, the reason to enter the blogosphere is to create a following. I write this blog as a creative outlet, but for me it's more of a diary -- a place to jot some thoughts down whether or not anyone ever reads them. Since I started this blog I have been very inconsistent. Sometimes I have posted entries several times a week and then sometimes a month or more would go by with no entries. What's funny is that I've found myself feeling a little resentful towards the authors of blogs that I follow when they don't update their blogs -- but I'm more guilty than they are!

I remember when I was a kid always being so disappointed when a TV show I liked got cancelled, like the immortal classic Shirley starring Shirley Jones. I guess a blog going dark evokes similar feelings. Well, best wishes to Ming the Merciless, author of the New York City Daily Photo. I'll have to find something else to fill the 30 seconds a day I spent with his blog.

Rookie Mistake?

2009-06-12T09:48:00.005-04:00

It's funny what catches your eye in New York City. I saw a young couple get on the subway yesterday morning. While the train was in the station, the girl reached up and grabbed the bar to hold on and the guy just stood there, holding nothing. "Rookie mistake, I thought to myself. Must be tourists." The doors closed, the train lurched forward and the guy lost his balance. I saw it coming a mile away.

Later at the gym, I went into the cardio room to run on the treadmill. Generally all the treadmills in our gym are exactly the same, so there's no reason to chose one over any other (unless you want to avoid being right smack in front of the wind from one of the fans). Now I find it quite distracting when the person running on the treadmill next to me is running either much faster or much more slowly than I am. Last week, I had Forrest Gump sprinting next to me for a half hour. I thought his knees were going to hit his chin. It's nice once in a while when it's not too busy in the gym and you have an empty machine next to you.

Anyway, yesterday there were only 2 or 3 of the 10 treadmills in use when I came into the room. I chose a good centrally located machine and went to work. To my left there was an empty machine and then a guy running two machines to my left. Well, wouldn't you know a young woman came in and although she could have chosen any of a half dozen empty machines, she chooses the one between me and the guy to my left. One thought went through my mind: a guy would never have done this, because it is a clear violation of urinal etiquette. As you know, there is a strict protocol in the men's room. Always choose the urinal furthest away from the dude who's in there when you enter the room and never choose a urinal directly next to a guy if you have any other options. I know treadmills are not urinals (thank God) but still, a guy would have thought twice before choosing that machine. Rookie mistake.

Sunny Day, Everything's A-OK

2009-05-24T13:01:00.006-04:00

So they reopened Washington Square Park this week, after a year and a half and millions of dollars, they have moved the fountain at the center of the park, so that it is perfectly aligned with the arch. (Apparently, they had to dig up the whole park to move the fountain by 30 feet.) But people were out in force on Friday afternoon to begin the holiday weekend, little kids were stomping around in the fountain and a couple rough around-the-edges guys were washing their feet.

But from the department of how cool is it to live in New York, they were filming Sesame Street in the park, using the fountain as a background! The poor guy under the puppet had sweat pouring down his face -- it looks like it's really hot under there. This was way more cool than when I almost walked into Jennifer Aniston that time in Brooklyn.

Can You Spare $100 for a cup coffee?

2009-05-22T10:46:00.005-04:00

Walking to work today I heard something unusual. It was a panhandler asking for money. That is not unusual, unfortunately, in New York's streets, but he was working a unique angle while reclining on the sidewalk:

"Good morning. Can I have a hundred dollars?" After a pause, "can I have a hundred dollars?" No luck. "I have two dollars, all I need is 98." He looked around at the somewhat surprised passers-by: "Can't you tell I am trying to make you people smile this morning? Lord have mercy." I guess New Yorkers can't tell when a panhandler is pulling their collective legs. He made me smile anyway.

Baldies Need Not Apply

2009-05-20T23:52:00.005-04:00

So I found myself browsing on an online dating site tonight. I saw an ad by a woman who looked truly intriguing. She was a widow with whom I seemed to have a lot in common. I was thinking how cool it would be to make a connection with this lady until I got to the last paragraph. She ended up her description with a poignant little note that said she was only really interested in men with full heads of hair: baldness reminded her of her deceased husband, a cancer victim. Normally, I condemn women who insist on full heads of hair as shallow and superficial. I think I'll cut this lady some slack.

That being said, it's definitely time for me to take my hairstyle in a different direction. The comb-over is just not working for me. Going to either go with the buzz cut or call Donald Trump's guy.

Let's All Set Our Sights a Little Higher, Shall We?

2009-05-11T23:11:00.005-04:00

"I love Jennifer Aniston," I heard the young college woman checking IDs at the gym say to her friend. "I want to look like her and I want to be her."

Other than acting on a popular sitcom and breaking up with Brad Pitt, what has this woman accomplished exactly to be a role model for this woman? I mean she has nice hair, I'll give her that. But other than that?

Do you know a recent poll said that more mothers would trust their children to the care of Jennifer Aniston (who has no kids) than to her arch enemy, Angelina Jolie? I think I would turn my kids over to a pack of wolves before leaving them with some narcissistic celebrity.

Do you know it costs about $53,000 a year to go to NYU? What on earth are young women learning in the classroom that they can't gravitate towards a more worthy role model?

I won't dispute that Jennifer's cute .... and wait ... that thing with John Mayer is over. Hmmmm ... think she ever comes to New York?

A Not So Random Act of Kindness

2009-05-08T09:55:00.007-04:00

Sitting at home on Wednesday night, my parents arrived home from Manhattan. (Yes, I live with mother -- for a few more weeks, anyway.) My father, with a few glasses of wine under his belt, announced that he had lost his wallet in the city. The man who has never used a PC also has never used an ATM, so there was about $350 in cash in there, along with credit cards, etc. My mother asked me to pray to Saint Anthony. Apparently, he is in charge of God's lost-and-found.

Dad had lost his wallet many years ago, and the cab driver returned it to him. He was so pleased that he wrote a letter to the mayor and the guy received a citation of some sort. Mom said, that time they'd received a phone call at 3am. "It's not three yet, Mom," I reminded her.

When I got up the next day my mother was awake, and told me she hadn't slept well, thinking about Dad losing his wallet. A little before noon, I received a phone call at the office. The cab driver had found the wallet. Dad gave me his number and asked me to arrange to meet him. He also made sure that I got the guy's name and asked me to give him $100 from the wallet to thank him. I talked to Brant on the phone. He explained that the wallet had gotten wedged between the seats somehow, that this happens all the time, and that he was happy to return it.

At the end of the day, I met Brant on the corner outside my office in Greenwich Village. He handed me the wallet:

"Please count everything so that you know it's all there," he said earnestly. I smiled, thinking to myself, this guy drove all the way down here to return this -- I think I can trust he didn't skim a little off the top.

I handed him a piece of paper, and asked him to write down his name. I pulled out five 20's and said, "Dad wanted you to have this."

As he sheepishly took the $100, he did not smile. He looked at me and said, "Are you sure?"

I said, yes. He took the money and looked down. I wanted to say something more, but he began to pull away and just said, "God bless you man." And then he was gone.

I had been telling the story of the cab driver who returned the wallet filled with money all day long and every person I told smiled and then had their own story of when a New Yorker showed some unexpected kindness. But what struck me about the whole deal was that Brant didn't light up when I handed him a wad of money. It wasn't about that for him. It was about doing the right thing.

When I got home, I handed Dad his wallet and he hugged me. I think everybody felt a little better about the world. Chalk one up for St. Anthony.

Now if we could just get the cab drivers to stop driving like maniacs ...

I Didn't Even Get to Rinse and Spit

2009-04-22T14:17:00.002-04:00

Well, going to the dentist is one of those experiences in life nobody particularly likes, but a necessity nonetheless. I went through a patch in the mid-1990s where I was moving so much I went a couple of years without visiting the dentist. My mouth was such a mess by the time I got into the dentist's office that I've tried to stay on top of it ever since.

Since it's been six months since my last checkup, I decided I needed to get my teeth cleaned. Now normally, this would not present an issue. You move to a new city, you find a new dentist. Except I haven't found a permanent residence yet. Finding a dentist where I'm living now would create tangible evidence that I am 40, divorced, and living with my mother, so I didn't want to go to their dentist (who was my dentist for a period of time too).

Then it struck me: I work at a major research university! Why not go to the dental school? That way they can fix me up and send me on the way, and some kid gets to practice on me. It seemed like a good idea at the time...

I had a 2 hour "diagnostic" appointment today with two dental students and two faculty dentists. (Again, I have no dental problems, just wanted a cleaning!) The students were very young and sincere. The result of that appointment was that I need to make a follow up appointment with a more senior dental student in a few weeks. The faculty member I talked to sort of muttered "all you need is a good cleaning" and "this is the way the students learn." So I asked, "so I'll get my teeth cleaned at my next appointment?" The answer: no, that will happen at the THIRD appointment. THIRD APPOINTMENT? I've never wanted to see a dental hygenist with that sharp metal tool and cavitron thing that blasts water in my mouth so much in my life.

Well, the head and neck diagnostic exam was an interesting bonus and my blood pressure is pretty normal, so I've got that going for me.

Darn, I Missed It

2009-04-16T21:35:00.005-04:00

Today, apparently, is National High Five Day. I am not a huge high-five fan, although I am infinitely more comfortable with the high-five than the fist bump. Barack Obama can do the fist bump and look cool -- oh hell, he always looks cool -- I just can't pull it off. I would have loved the opportunity to high-five someone today, but no high-fiveable moments presented themselves. Plus, I'm just not sure about the rules about high-fiving in the workplace -- I'm sure it's discouraged; it would require physical contact with a co-worker and hell, that might lead to dancing. I am a fan of the sarcastic high-five, as in, "Well, another woman has given me the thumbs-down, and this was a spectacular crash-n-burn. High-five?" One time recently I put 75 cents into the vending machine and the thing malfunctioned and gave me 5 rolls of peppermint lifesavers. That would have been a great high-five moment, but then I felt guilty and wondered if it was unethical to take all those lifesavers. When I looked at the machine, there was no price on the items in that row, so maybe they were going for $0.15 each.

I hope you got a high-five in today, ironic or otherwise.

I Hate Change

2009-03-20T00:26:00.004-04:00

Steven Page has left the Barenaked Ladies. The band made the announcement on February 25, but apparently I was too busy doing other things to read the official announcement on Facebook.

I discovered this band late -- about ten years ago -- and they instantly became my favorite band. After watching the documentary about the band, Barenaked in America, I decided this was a group of guys I could totally hang out with. I got to go to three of their concerts, and just loved the atmosphere at their shows. Even the one I saw in Gwinett, GA -- in a minor league hockey arena -- was great despite the fact that the building was 2/3 full. (I remember Ed Robertson getting the crowd revved up but quoting the words on the water tower by the interstate: "Gwinett is Great!") My ex-wife and I used to giggle at the lyric in one of their songs, "I just made you say underwear," a genuinely happy memory. And I'll never forget singing along to "If I Had a Million Dollars" in the piano bar in Las Vegas during my first trip there.

Well, I had a sense of foreboding when lead singer Steven Page was arrested on drug charges last summer. The band had just come out with an album of children's songs (of all things) and they basically had to cancel their tour, because of Page's boneheaded move of getting caught with a bunch of cocaine. At the time, their website had messages of support for Page, but something didn't feel right. It was the end of the innocence for me. The remaining members of the band are going to tour and record new music, and I think Ed Robertson is awesome. But Steve Page had a sound quality to his voice that cannot be replaced.

I know nothing lasts forever, but this really bums me out. I guess time will tell if the four- membered new BNL can carry on and thrive, but I know it just won't be the same.

Men Never Ask for Directions

2009-03-03T22:37:00.005-05:00

I went to the subway tonight to go home. I had stayed two hours later than usual at the office and was dead tired. I began the long walk down the corridor at W. 3rd Street to the train platform when I saw there was a train waiting in the station so I ran down the ramp and watched as the express train on my left and the local train on my right closed their doors and pulled out of the station without me. I missed two trains by seconds. Rather than get ticked off, I listened to our house piano player and another train was in the station is about five minutes. I stepped onto the uptown local and a woman, who must have been mentally ill or just didn't care anymore, in about the most shrill voice I've ever heard, began shouting "DOES THIS TRAIN GO TO 86th Street?!!!!" The people on the train looked at each other bewildered, but did not respond. Again, she shouted, in tone that was hurting dogs somewhere, "DOES THIS TRAIN GO TO 86th Street?!!!!" I then heard muttering and someone must have said something to her because she stopped shouting.

In case you're wondering, no, that train did not go to 86th Street.

Happy Hour All Day Long

2009-03-01T00:28:00.002-05:00

My neighborhood around my office is filled with little bars and clubs catering to students with awesome drink specials. You have to love that Happy Hour stretches from 12-7 and you get free wifi.

I stopped in at a great little bar on Eighth Avenue on my way home on Friday night. I spoke to the proprietor, a very nice guy from Ireland. He seemed genuinely happy and interested to see whether his patrons were having a good time. The guy next to me asked about food and he said they usually order pizza for everyone in the bar around 8 or 9. I didn't stick around for the pizza but I did jot down the saying posted behind the bar on the chalkboard:

Life is a waste of time, time is a waste of life, so get wasted all of the time and have the time of your life.

Benvenuto alla via del Thompson

2009-02-27T22:34:00.008-05:00

My first job out of law school was at a bank in New Jersey. I call it the Dilbert years for me, because I worked for a giant corporation in a cube farm in a glass box building in a suburban office park in New Jersey. Anyway, when I worked there, one of my workmates, Dave, was sort of the class clown. Insult humor was his thing. (Oh and he was also "Dave from Metuchen" on sports radio 660.) Every time I would get a haircut, he would stop me in cubeville and grimmace and say, "you didn't pay for that haircut, did ya, Paul?"

Well, tonight I paid for a haircut and could not be happier about it. For the record, I must admit that I am having hair issues these days, as in "See hair, lack of." (What do you call it when the bald spot on the back of your head meets your receding hairline?) Nevertheless, I needed a haircut and went to my local barbershop in Greenwich Village, complete with old timey barber pole and everything. When I walked into Frank's Barber Shop on Thompson Street tonight, I found three barbers in the shop and one guy laid out flat in a barber chair getting a shave with an old fashioned straight razor. Everyone, except me, when I entered the place was speaking Italian. I sat in the chair as my barber friend carefully did his magic with the electric clippers. I must have been in the chair for 20 minutes. This was no Supercuts zip zip haircut. This place is such a throwback. As always, I got the warm shaving cream/straight razor treatment on the back of my neck and on the sideburns. Halfway through my haircut, I realized that the radio station they were listening to was broadcasting in Italian. (Yet another reason to love New York.) And I'm not the only one who appreciates the place; there were three college boys waiting for haircuts by the time I got up. But perhaps my favorite part of the experience was when I looked up at the price board. It listed prices for haircut, shampoo, beard trim, etc., but at the very bottom of the list was best of all: cleaning and styling of hairpieces - $17. Sounds like a bargain to me.

Uh, Dude ... Awkward

2009-02-26T13:29:00.004-05:00

As I've mentioned before, I'm not much of an athlete, although I come from a very athletic family, so I'm always a little ill at ease in jock-filled environments. Despite this, I have been using the gym at my school pretty regularly and usually my visits there are uneventful -- although I often feel like I'm the oldest guy in the room.

Changing in the locker room a few weeks ago, I heard someone next to me say, "Hey, can you do me a favor?" I turned and saw a sweaty athletic looking guy in a tight tank top coming towards me. I couldn't imagine what he wanted. "I just had shoulder surgery, and I'm wondering if you could help me get my shirt off," he said. I helped him lift his shirt over his head, revealing a series of nasty looking Frankensteinish stitches going all the way across his shoulder, an incision at least 5 inches wide. I think it's great that he's right back in the gym, but I highly recommend looser-fitting clothes post-op.

Oh, and the good news is that no one has asked me to help them undress in the locker room since. I'd just assume keep it that way. I'm not even that thrilled about undressing myself in that environment.

We Have Very Simple Needs

2009-02-25T09:42:00.005-05:00

One thing that has taken some getting used to returning to New York is using public transportation. There are very few times in life you're required to get as physically close to a complete stranger as when you're jammed onto a subway car. Today I had the good fortune of being jammed next to a very pretty, tall 20-something young woman who was reading on the train. Now I see this every day, so it's not unusual, but I noticed that she was going to great pains to fold her book over so that the cover would not be visible. She would carefully turn each page, folding it back, keeping the cover and the spine of the book completely hidden. Intrigued, I glanced over to see what the offending title was. Now what is so embarassing about reading He's Just Not That Into You: The No-Excuses Truth to Understanding Guys? Honestly, I don't think we're that hard to understand. Men have very simple needs, but I'd never criticize somebody for trying to get a little education.

Just Say No to Creepy Cartoon Animals

2009-02-23T22:53:00.005-05:00

I met a young recently married couple this weekend who told me that they had disposed of an unwelcome wedding gift by donating it to charity. The offending item was a Hello Kitty toaster. Since I did not know these people well, I could not delve further into the details, but all I could think was, what on earth would possess someone to buy a Hello Kitty toaster for someone for a wedding gift? This must have been a passive aggressive act of some kind. I remember when I was their age I was going to a wedding every other month. Perhaps this was payback for a hideous gift they had given someone. But I mean, they would have had to have given them something awful -- like an incurable disease -- to warrant a Hello Kitty toaster. Maybe the simple answer is that the toaster giver was mentally ill. I often overlook that possibility (I did with my ex-wife for years). We need to band together as a country (or in this case as a world), and stop buying these Hello Kitty products. We would have no illegal drug problem in this country if people stopped creating demand. We can stop this Hello Kitty madness if people will band together and stamp it out.

[Author's note: please do not misconstrue this post to indicate disparagement of toast or toasters. The Author is fully in favor of both.]

Well, You Never Know

2009-02-22T20:34:00.004-05:00

I was sitting waiting for a subway today, and right in front of me was a pay phone -- remarkable in itself -- with a little Tiffany bag sitting on top of it. Now I don't know much about buying nice jewelry for women -- one of the many reasons I am single, but I digress -- but I do know that "the little blue bag" is top notch. It seems to mesmerize some women. As if to prove my point, as I sat there looking at this thing, a young woman went through the turnstile, and I saw her fixate on the little blue bag. She walked over peaked inside, and then looked at me and shrugged as if to say, "well, you never know."

I wonder what the story with this little bag is. Who's walking around New York with the contents, and why did they leave the bag in the 34th Street subway station?

Hey! Aren't You a C-Level Celebrity?

2009-02-22T00:05:00.002-05:00

I was walking down 6th Avenue tonight and I saw a guy who bore a striking resemblance to former Fox News flunkie Alan B. Colmes of "Hannity & Colmes." First I thought, gosh, can you imagine going through life being mistaken for Alan Colmes? Then I thought, wait, this is New York City: that could be Alan Colmes. It makes perfect sense that Sean Hannity's former whipping boy might be wandering around Greenwich Village with nothing to do. I think I'm going to write this off as mere unfortunate resemblance though. I don't want my first New York City brush with greatness to be this lame.

Big Man on Campus ... er, Not So Much?

2009-02-20T14:20:00.006-05:00

I got an email from a friend of mine this morning who told me her mother overheard my name in Union Square when a student -- presumably from my school -- said that he or she had to go see me. (Yes, students do get "sent" to my office from time to time.) I sort of like the idea of being known around school.

The other night a law student approached me on West 3rd Street and said, "Aren't you the supervisor of the Journals?" This was cool, I said to myself -- the students are flagging me down on the sidewalk to talk to me now. This must be important, I thought:

Student: "You gotta see this guy across the street [in Ben's Pizzeria]."
Paul: "Who?"
Student: "See the guy with the hat with feather and the full length mink coat?"
Paul: "Oh yeah."
Student: "Have you ever seen someone so totally pimped out in your whole life?!"

Well, it was nice she recognized me anyway.

Curse of the Bridge and Tunnel Crowd

2009-02-19T23:20:00.005-05:00

Paul (to hottie at bar): "We were talking the other night about people being 'geographically undesirable.' I mean would you [as someone living in Manhattan] date a guy who lived in Brooklyn?"

Bar Hottie: [silent shake of the head 'no' and an increasingly horror-stricken look on her face as the she pondered the possibility. Then regaining her composure, she said,] "Then again, I do work in New Jersey."

Because the People Demanded It

2009-02-19T13:45:00.005-05:00

I noticed on the subway today that you can get the Will Ferrell-John C. Reilly clunker Step Brothers on pay per view. The sign said, "Get Step Brothers ON DEMAND." Now call me crazy but is anyone really demanding Step Brothers? I wondered whether that movie actually appeared in theaters or whether it went straight to DVD. What does it cost to order a pay per view movie these days -- $1.99? $4.99? (I don't have cable right now, so I'm a tad clueless.) But wouldn't it be great if the price that you had to pay for a movie depended on how bad it is? I might pay $0.99 for Step Brothers. On the other hand, I would be willing to pay considerably more to see Anchorman or that video of George Bush falling off the segway.

Wiping the Hard Drive

2009-02-18T23:25:00.002-05:00

The other day I overheard two undergrads talking in the locker room:

Guy 1: "Yeah, so I broke up with Heather."

Guy 2: [unintelligible comment]

Guy 1: "Whadjoo say?"

Guy 2: "Dude -- it's time for you to wipe your hard drive and move on."

Good advice. Bad metaphor.

Well, At Least It's Not Boring.

2008-12-15T13:58:00.005-05:00

Years ago when I was walking through Chinatown here in New York, heading to my then wife's office on Lafayette Street, I found myself in a crowd of tourists. One woman with a southern or midwestern twang turned to her friend and said, "Well, if this is Chinatown, where is Japan town?" I was horrified at the question. For this woman, New York was like the Epcot center at Disney World -- just a collection of tourist attractions thrown together for her amusement.

I was reminded of that little encounter because today I was walking down Bleeker Street to meet a friend and I came out of my haze for a minute and noticed a man photographing a car. I looked around and realized that whole street was lined with 1950s vintage cars, including two green and black NYPD squad cars. Were it not for the photographer, I never would have noticed. The street was being prepped for some sort of film or television show shoot. Things like that happen pretty regularly around here. My lunch companion today pointed to a building and said, "that's the Puck Building." I looked at her blankly until she explained that they used that building for the exterior shots of Grace's workplace on the sitcom Will and Grace -- a mildly interesting tidbit.

Walking around these streets, it is easy to lose your sense of reality -- until something suddenly wakes you up. Walking back to the office from lunch today, we heard a woman screaming across the street at Lafayette Street and Houston. Running down the street after a man in a brown leather jacket, she yelled "that guy just stole my f*&%ing cell phone!" People watched in stunned disbelief. Running full out as she chased him, he made a quick turn down a side street. Although I didn't see the aftermath of the chase, I realized that the guy was running straight into the street that was blocked off because of the filming. I hope he was caught and they cuffed him against the vintage cop cars. Every once in a while you're reminded that Manhattan's not a movie set, but a very real place, and sometimes a dangerous one.

Something's Not Quite Right

2008-12-05T12:53:00.005-05:00

I had lunch today at Freshco Burrito Taco on Sullivan Street around the corner from my office. It's a super cheap open kitchen take out Mexican restuarant catering to students. The food is nothing to write home about (or blog about for that matter) but is no better or worse than corporate-owned Chipotle. I had the chicken soft taco, of course (not pictured here -- Paullyblog lacks a staff photographer).

As I sat there, I began to get the feeling something was just not quite right. First of all, all of the staff was Asian, including the guy working in the kitchen. I'd never been in a Mexican restaurant where I might speak more Spanish than anyone else in the place. Secondly, it was set up like every Chinese takeout place I'd ever been to in NY -- pictures of the food on the menu over the counter and all. Then I started to think, well, maybe they're Phillipino or something -- hispano/Asian fusion? Then my eyes fell on something I had overlooked before -- a giant Buddah sitting on the countertop. I have a serious suspicion that this place was serving Moi Goo Gai Pan and General Tso's chicken not long ago, before the market demanded cheap tacos.

Years ago during law school, the local Mexican restaurant shut down. A few weeks later I saw the cook from the Mexican place working happily in front of a wok in the Chinese open kitchen at the strip mall next to Food Lion. I was amused at the time to see a Hispanic guy working in a Chinese restaurant. After today's experience, I guess what goes around comes around. God bless our melting pot.

Undergrad Speak

2008-12-04T13:47:00.003-05:00

I found myself in an elevator this morning a two undergrads got on, a tall thin man, and short woman with wavy hair speaking a mile a minute.

She turned to the man and said, "... Yes, I have to go to the library -- slash -- I really need to eat something."

So I wondered, was she talking to this guy in some sort of instant messaging language: "I have to go to the library/I really need to eat something," or was her companion named Slash: "I have to go to the library, Slash. I really need to eat something"?

It remains a mystery to me.

I Had to Get Up at 5:30am, but It Was Worth It

2008-11-28T22:14:00.013-05:00

I know the euphoria caused by moving back to New York is going to wear off one of these days, but in the meantime, I'm going to revel in it all. When I got the chance to go with my family to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, I jumped at the chance. I was prepared to stand on the sidewalk for a few hours and tough it out with the other 2.5 million parade goers, but I got a pleasant surprise. As Dave (a guy we met who was watching the parade next to us) said, to get stuff in New York, you gotta know someone. Well, my brother in law knew someone and we got into a VIP section for parade viewing. The weather was nice, the parade was festive and hanging out with the family was just fun. I know hard boiled New Yorkers never go to these touristy things, but you really take them for granted when you don't live here. It was nice watching the parade without the canned blather I usually hear on TV. Hmmmmm ... I wonder what's next? Watching the ball drop on New Year's Eve in Times Square? Well, I doubt it. Unless of course, my brother in law knows somebody.

Here are a few photos:

This is one of my favorite photos because we started the day in a McDonald's on Eighth Avenue and there were some comely Pilgrim girls sitting next to us having McGriddles -- and there they are around the bottom of the turkey!

Hannah Montana was a special, unexpected bonus.

To infinity and beyond!

Although it's hard to tell from this photo, Santa was very exuberant. He would wave enthusiastically at the crowd while standing and then sort of collapse back into his seat.

I'm Not in SEC Country Anymore

2008-11-24T22:50:00.004-05:00

I've decided I'd like to try to get back into shape. It's a hopeless uphill battle, but being an optimist I joined the gym at NYU where I work. The school has good athletic facilities, but like everything else in New York, they're crowded -- especially in the 5pm - 7pm time period. I never quite know what I will run into in the gym. Tonight I was jockeying for position around the dumbbells only to find myself squeezed out by a group of female senior citizens. They were quite a sight, but you had to admire them all. Marching into a room full of men in their 20's, they asked the young men to step aside -- they needed the benches afterall. The boys scattered like they were being scolded by their grandmother.

While that was interesting to watch, the most remarkable experience I had in the gym occurred a few weeks ago. I was standing in the weight room lifting a dumbbell, trying desperately not hurt myself, when I got that feeling you have when someone is standing behind you. I turned and saw several tall young guys behind me, dressed in NYU grey t-shirts and purple shorts. Politely, one said, "excuse me," as he headed to weight rack. It suddenly occurred to me that the young men I was looking at were all members of the basketball team. These NCAA athletes were just thrown in to the weightroom with the rest of us trying to get a little weight training in, all the while having to navigate around schlubs like me. Imagine hanging around college athletes without a sense of entitlement. Toto, we're not in Southeastern Conference country anymore.

Street Theater: Indoors

2008-11-20T15:28:00.007-05:00

In my first few weeks back in New York, I have really enjoyed just walking around the city and soaking in the culture. One night recently I decided I would stop for some cheap Chinese Food. I found a place in the 20s somewhere and sat down with my book and a pile of greasy lo mein and an eggroll.

Just as I was getting settled in, a well-worn gentleman entered the restaurant with his shopping cart filled with all his worldly belongings, turned towards the young Asian woman at the cash register who was busy taking orders, and exclaimed "momma-san, how are you this evening?" She did not lift her head from her work as she huddled with her delivery guy. The man then began to address the diners:

"I have a TV set here. Anyone wanna buy it? It works. I plugged it in. All it needs is a cable. I just went to the 99 cents store and got the cable -- anyone want to buy this TV?" he asked, holding up the worn out nine-inch TV to the patrons. He then turned to a young couple and said, "Man o' man, you two are going to have beautiful children." Then again towards the front, "Hey mamma-san, you do look good tonight."

Turning to another couple: "You here with your son tonight?"

"My son?" the woman replied feigning indignance, "how old do you think I am?"

"Oh, no, no. I didn't get a good look at you the first time. Your husband? Oh your brother -- yeah I can see how you two look alike. Momma-san, don't these two look alike?" Still no reaction from the front of the restaurant. A patron then tried to get up and bring her tray to the garbage can. The man then took the tray out of the woman's hand and insisted on taking it to the trash for her, as if she were in his living room. He just shook his head as she protested, as if to say "that's what I'm here for, afterall."

After cleaning the tray, he surveyed the room one more time. "Don't nobody wanna buy this TV? OK, momma-san. I got work to do. You have a good night now, momma-san."

He left the restaurant, just as he had entered it, pushing his overloaded shopping cart. The woman at the cash register never reacted to him. There was no comment from the diners after he left. He went out into the night, and people went on with their conversations. Just another night in Manhattan.

Why I Love New York

2008-11-08T18:41:00.004-05:00

I was walking across E. 12th street recently, soaking in my new surroundings in Greenwich Village, when I notice something out of the corner of my eye. A young boy, probably about nine years old, was to my left on the sidewalk, matching my pace as I walked. I would speed up and this young guy, weighed down by the enormous bookbag on his back, would work to stay up with me. I had a choice at this point: I could ignore this behavior or find out what the heck was going on.

I turned to the kid: "Are you shadowing me?"
"Yep," he replied. "My mother says when I'm walking home from school by myself, I should find someone who looks not too creepy and act like I'm walking with them so I don't look like I'm alone."
"Well, I guess I should take that as a compliment," I said. "No school today?"
"Today, we have a half-day," he continued. "Yesterday, I found an old man to walk with."
"Was he easier to keep up with than me?"
"No, actually harder." Then he asked, "so where do you live?"
"I don't live around here," I explained, "I work at NYU."
"Oh, so you'll be turning at 5th Avenue, then."
"Yes, I will," I replied, amused that this nine year old boy knew his way around the neighborhood better than I do.
At the corner, we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways. That kid brightened my day. It feels good to be "not too creepy."

I'd Love to See Dad's Face ...

2008-08-19T23:07:00.004-04:00

The New York Times reports that the Italian government has begun to sanction boxed wines. Let me say, first of all, that I am not a wine connoisseur, so I would never turn my nose up at a box of wine. Furthermore, I am astonished to learn that boxed wine, according to The Times is actually better for the environment than bottled wine. The last time I even gave boxed wine much of a thought was when one of my lawyer colleagues in New York remarked that she and her husband were trying to cut down on their wine consumption -- it seems they were polishing off about a box a week.

I grew up in an Irish family full of wine drinkers. Despite my Dad's Harvard pedigree and all, he was a late-comer to an appreciation of fine wines. Dad was a beer drinker until the beer gut set in and then he switched to liquor, until an unfortunate incident involving a tricycle race with some friends at an unreasonable hour. I distinctly remember wines by Ernest and Julio Gallo and Almaden in my refrigerator growing up, what Dad would refer to now derisively as "jug wine." Over the years, as his tastes were refined, Dad and Mom came to enjoy wines of a better pedigree. Now at family occasions, Dad will hold court, describing the wines that will be served with that particular meal. On a recent trip home, I noticed that one bottle I opened had some sort of synthetic cork. First fake corks, now the Italians of all people are allowing boxed wines. One of these days Dad may be back on the tricycle.

It's Like when Martin and Lewis Broke Up

2008-08-15T12:50:00.006-04:00

I heard this morning that Chris "Mad Dog" Russo, of the Mike and the Mad Dog radio show in New York quit the show last night. He and his partner Mike Francesa had been doing the afternoon drive time radio show together since 1989. I hate change generally, but this is one of those things that stings a little bit more. The end of an era ...

As an exiled New Yorker, there are certain things that make me feel at home. Listening to the mindless banter between Francesa and Russo was one of the things that I miss about New York. They were the afternoon background noise in delis and taxicabs and all over. Occasionally, I would even listen to them online down here in Atlanta if a big story hit. I remember last fall when they were covering the Joe Torre New York Yankees saga. Up until minutes before Torre turned down the offer, Russo was blasting him for taking an offer that was clearly insulting. Then they had to quickly shift gears when it was announced that he was not coming back and was not, in fact, accepting any insulting offer.

What was truly remarkable about these two was that they were completely mismatched. The self-important Francesa had this throaty, kind of unctuous way of speaking, like he was the Godfather of sportstalk and had all the inside knowledge. Russo, by contrast, had a terrible voice for radio -- high-pitched and lispey. His rants were hilarious, if non-sensical -- the hysterical little brother who got excited when you least expected it. They were really the kings of sports radio in New York; their show was even nationally broadcast by the Yes Network on Direct TV. It sounds like Francesa will stay on WFAN and Russo will move onto Sirius satellite radio or elsewhere. It will be strange not hearing them together on the radio together anymore, but heck -- even Lucy and Ricky got divorced.

The Olympics, W, and Cris Colinsworth's Knee

2008-08-13T09:23:00.009-04:00

Ok, I'll admit it. I'm not a huge fan of the Olympics. Is there anything that qualifies as pure hype than the opening ceremonies? At least the Superbowl halftime show is designed so you can go relieve yourself and then get snacks. I think they actually want you to watch the opening ceremonies. Nevertheless, I have been watching some of the Olympics. A friend of mine and I were watching beach volleyball the other day. The announcers were talking in such rhapsodic terms about volleyball players Kerri Walsh and Misty May I thought I was going to be sick. And not that little mini-throwup you get sometimes when you get a little bile in the back of your throat, this was full on wanting to vomit. I mean I respect their athletic prowess, but it's beach volleyball for pete's sake. One announcer called them the Larry Bird and Magic Johnson of volleyball. Now can you imagine how ridiculous it would sound if someone called Larry Bird and Magic Johnson the Kerri Walsh and Misty May of basketball? I have actually heard some feminist types defending these women saying no one will ever take a sport seriously when the players are running around in bikinis. (I once went through a charity bikini car wash in Worcester, Massachusetts sort of involuntarily. I had trouble taking that seriously too. Despite their impractical attire, they did a heck of a job on my friend's car, I must say.) Can you imagine Larry Bird and Magic Johnson running around in bikinis? Those super short '70s basketball shorts were bad enough.

As an aside, I think it was nice that President Bush went to China to cheer on our athletes. And no, I don't think that it sends a message that we are condoning their poor human rights record. It's having our economies inextricably intertwined that shows that we condone their human rights abuses. But did the President have to go practice volleyball with Walsh and May? Has he completely given up on being taken seriously or having any gravitas at all? Are his handlers busy sending out their resumes and trying to figure out ways to expunge the fact that they've been working for W? Now that I think about it, these are the same people who allowed him to be photographed falling off a segway. The leader of the free world should not be shown stumbling around trying to play volleyball badly. On second thought, maybe we should just keep him distracted and he'll get into less trouble.

I guess what bothers me about the Olympics coverage is that the clowns at NBC don't seem to think that the sporting event speaks for itself. They have to go behind the scenes and give us these insipid human interest stories. Last night I had to hear Cris Colinsworth talking about how Michael Phelps' mother was squeezing his knee during a race they were watching together: "All I could think was whose knee are you squeezing when I'm not here?" he asked while I began to wretch. When that blather stopped, I got to actually watch Michael Phelps swim. He won. He's very good. I think he's the Michael Phelps of swimming.

Can I Interest You in a Chilean Stonefruit?

2008-08-11T10:19:00.004-04:00

There was an interesting article in The New York Times the other day, about Whole Foods, the upscale organic supermarket chain. Apparently, Whole Foods is trying to redefine its image a bit during this economic recession suggesting that some of the things that they sell may actually be as cheap as a regular grocery store. Now the idea that Whole Foods would be trying to suggest that anything they sell if affordable is hilarious. They're not known as "Whole Paycheck" or "Whole Wallet" for nothing. This is sort of the equivalent of finding bargains in Saks Fifth Avenue or Tiffany's.

One of the only times I just shopped in Whole Foods for more than one or two items, I was preparing to go on a roadtrip with a girlfriend. She was ... "thrifty," shall we say? As we went through the store, I noticed she began to become increasingly upset. I realized it was because she was keeping a tally of our bill in her head. By the time we got to the cash register, I think she was on the verge of tears. Any store that can bring an adult woman to the verge of an emotional breakdown because of its prices isn't going to be known as a place for bargains anytime soon.

I think Whole Foods may actually be becoming competitive, not because they actually have bargains but because everything else is getting so expensive. I bought nectarines in the grocery store yesterday on sale. I watched them take the discount at the register and then $4.37 went on my bill. Then I thought about it. $4.37? That's more than one dollar a nectarine. I mean, are they wrapping these things in bubble wrap before they end up in the grocery store? I am old enough to remember the days when there was a produce man in the grocery store. He would stand there and weigh your produce and then mark it with a black marker. There were no surprises at the checkout counter. If bing cherries were outrageously expensive, you could go from a pound to half a pound. Now it's just an anonymous bar-code snickering at me at checkout. These days grapes and cherries aren't even sold loosely, and apples are all gigantic. What the people at my local grocery store need to understand is that if I am going to pay outrageous prices for fruit, I will go to Whole Foods. I think they have valet parking.

Two and a Half Hours Well Spent

2008-08-09T19:32:00.006-04:00

I watched American Gangster (2007) last night, and I recommend seeing it. I am not a big fan of Russell Crowe's, I must admit. I watched Gladiator and L.A. Confidential and I liked them, but Russell Crowe will always be the guy who throws telephones at people and just acts boorishly. Nevertheless, he is a good actor and he and Denzel Washington did an excellent job in American Gangster. This is not a particularly nuanced film. The filmmakers hit you over the head with the contrast between the family man gentleman ganster and the ethical cop with the horrible personal life. But for such a lengthy effort, it moved along nicely. As I feared, it was violent, but not graituitously so. After all, this film purports to be based on a true story about a notorious drug trafficker, and Washington portrays the character Frank Lucas as the smoothest of sociopaths. In one of my favorite scenes, he stands up from his table in a restaurant, walks outside, shoots a man in the head, and returns to his companions as says, "now where was I?" The film also captures an amazing time in New York City when the bottom had begun to fall out of all the public institutions in the city and the police department was indeed riddled with corruption. I loved the way the filmmaker alternated scenes of Lucas enjoying his lavish life with his family with his drug-using clientèle dying in the worst possible circumstances. Crowe's Richie Roberts character is not a one-dimensional superhero cop either. And best of all -- I didn't get even a hint of an Australian accent from him.

A Good Cup of Joe, cont'd

2008-08-08T12:09:00.004-04:00

I read today that a 55 year-old Chicago cop has been (allegedly) running around demanding free coffee from Starbucks. There may be something to these allegations since she has been suspended and referred for counselling. I remember great police scandals when I lived in New York: police so corrupt they were implicated in protecting drug dealers and demanding sexual favors from prostitutes. That is stuff worthy of an Al Pacino movie. This woman was running around flashing her handcuffs and her badge at the poor barristas working at Starbucks. This is stuff worthy of a Molly Shannon Saturday night live skit or Reno 911. Please, police officers, if you are going to go the corrupt route, please have some dignity and use your office to extort a trip to Atlantic City or some steaks or something. Waving your gun around for an overpriced cup of coffee (and baked goods)? I know you are better at corruption than that.

Sometimes You Just Need a Good Cup of Joe

2008-08-07T10:03:00.004-04:00

The other day I heard about a guy who lived above a Starbucks in New York City protesting it's closure. As part of a plan to close 600 stores nation-wide, they're closing a total of 10 stores in the whole sprawling city of New York -- leaving 225 apparently. I hope someone can find this guy a cup of coffee. You see, I'm not a coffee drinker, so I don't really understand the insanity that the specter of Starbucks deprivation can bring on. In fact, I'm fairly oblivious to Starbucks mania ... until this morning.

Now, Atlanta has a lot of things going for it. A top notch public transportation system is not one of them, but I still ride the bus to work. My job gives me a free bus pass in exchange for not driving to campus, so the price is right. Generally, my morning bus ride is uneventful -- assuming the bus comes. (Yesterday, it failed to show up.) This morning it arrived just when I expected it and all was well ... I thought. As we pulled up to a little strip of stores, the bus driver slowed down about a hundred feet short of the bus stop, let a passenger out and then left the bus herself and went into Starbucks. I sat there for a minute waiting for her to run back into her idling bus, but she didn't. "Did the busdriver just walk out of her bus, leaving it running and walk into a coffee shop?" I asked myself. I stepped out of the bus deciding to walk the rest of the way to work. As I crossed the street, I turned back to look at the bus. Still driver-less, a long line of traffic had begun to appear behind the bus. I really hope that she suddenly had a emergency and had to run into the bathroom. More importantly, I hope an impatient passenger does not decide to take the bus for a joyride. I would really be horrified if I walked into that Starbucks and found the busdriver enjoying a nonfat latte and a scone -- that has a horrible impact on "on-time performance." Of course, I may have a clue now why the bus didn't arrive at all yesterday morning.

You Can't Handle the Truth

2008-08-06T12:55:00.006-04:00

The news headlines today read "Bush says China must End Detensions, Ensure Freedoms." This bit of news comes out the same day an American military tribunal in Cuba found Osamba Bin Laden's driver guilty of war crimes. Yes, in Cuba. Another country. Another country whose government is opposed to the U.S. and everything we stand for. But that raises an interesting point. What do we stand for anyway? George W. Bush is off in Asia lecturing the Chinese on human rights violations while we continue to operate a modern day Alcatraz -- a fortress outside the borders of our country where the detainees can barely get legal representation. (Wasn't there a biblical passage about people living in glass houses? Maybe we shouldn't remind George. He'll build glass houses and put detainees in them.) Interestingly, we do still appreciate the rule of law in the States since every time one of these guys brings a case to the U.S. Supreme Court saying they need to have access to U.S. Courts, they win. Nevertheless these military tribunal hearings continue. I wonder what it must be like to be someone living in a country that is neither China nor the U.S. and watching the U.S. president walk around taking the moral high ground. It pains me to say this, but I don't think we have the right anymore to lecture people about human rights. Just imagine what we would say about China or Russia or whomever if they maintained a military base on the territory of another country, flew in prisoners from halfway across the world, and held secretive military trials. At least Harold and Kumar were able to escape from Guantanamo.

It's the Principle of the Thing

2008-08-05T10:23:00.001-04:00

I went to dinner at Ted Turner's restaurant the other night, Ted's Montana Grill. Ted's is a medium tier steakhouse, satisfies a meat and potatoes craving, and is generally pretty good. I had a delicious artery-clogging cheeseburger. The restaurant is actually quite popular -- we had to wait about a half hour for a table at the chain's Decatur, Georgia location. Deciding not to wait with all the poor schlubs at the front door, we went to have a drink in the bar. After buying a couple of beers, my $11 in change came back as a five-dollar bill and three two-dollar bills. Having spent some time working in restaurants myself, I generally consider myself a decent tipper. I think it's appropriate to leave a dollar if I just bought two four-dollar beers. But the beertender threw me a curve on Saturday night. By giving me my change in two dollar bills, she was basically manipulating me into leaving a two-dollar tip when I would have otherwise left a one-dollar tip. Now this would not have even been an issue if I have had had a one-dollar bill on me, but I didn't. It also wouldn't have been an issue if we had bought a second round -- then I would have gladly dropped the two dollar bill. Or if I had a better paying job. It definitely wouldn't be an issue if I had a better paying job.

But I think there is something more insidious at work here. Now we all know the federal reserve or the treasury department did not just leave a truck load of two-dollar bills at Ted's that they have suddenly had to unload. This is all an elaborate trick to make me spend more money than I want to, and Ted's is not alone. Apparently, lots of people are now giving change in two dollar bills. When we went to the baseball game the other night, we received change in one-dollar coins when buying train tickets. Next time I am going to leave a tip using dollar coins -- I can play this odd currency game! Or even better: I'll buy four beers next time. A two-dollar tip for four beers seems perfectly reasonable. Or should I leave three dollars? Maybe I'm overthinking this. Next time I will use a credit card. I'll sleep better.

A Genuine Loss for the ATL

2008-08-04T09:49:00.003-04:00

I was sincerely saddened to hear that Braves' broadcaster Skip Caray had passed away yesterday. Honestly, the guy's style drove me crazy. I don't think anyone would dispute that he had become very curmudgeonly in the last few years -- probably because of his declining health. But even in earlier years, the guy was just grumpy. I remember listening to a Braves game against the Mets at Shea Stadium in New York. Caray just railed against the New York fans at every opportunity, beginning with their cheering during the national anthem. Admittedly, if I had to spend more than fifteen minutes in Shea Stadium, I would be grouchy too, but the New Yorker in me was offended. (Author Joe Queenan once described Shea Stadium not just as the worst sports arena in North America, but the worst place, period.) Despite the fact that Skip drove me crazy, he was part of what made Atlanta Atlanta. He was a signature voice in a city that is just too generic sometimes. A couple of years ago, Chip Caray, Skip's son, came over from the Cubs to do the Braves games. As hokey as it sounds, I thought it was really nice that when they did the games together, Chip unashamedly called his partner "Dad" during the games. I am so glad that they got to work together. I'm sure Chip is wishing today he could call a few more games with his Dad.

A Salute to a Great Mutt

2008-08-01T14:00:00.008-04:00

Today is August 1. This is the birthday of my family dog of my youth, Stroodle. I don't think most people know the exact day of their dog's birth, especially a mixed breed like ole Stroody. Amazingly, we got the dog from a breeder. I'm guessing it was around 1977 or 1978. Some friends of my brother raised standard poodles. Stroodle's mother had apparently gotten sick of her partner and decided to water down the gene pool a bit. The result was our dog and a sibling. They were quickly dispatched. Long before there were "labradoodles" and "goldendoodles" and all, we knew the value of a poodle mix. With father undetermined, Stroodle's exact heritage remains a mystery -- but whatever it was it was a great mix. I remember the puppy when we first got him being barely a handful. One of his first nights in the house, he escaped from the kitchen, somehow getting around the baby-gate, climbed up to the second floor of the house and then just began to cry. He was a good spirit -- I remember him desperately scrambling across the linoleum trying to make it to the newspaper when he was being paper-trained.

The family decided not to get Stroodle neutered, and as a result, he went wandering at times. Losing him on Windham Mountain in the Catskills was such a crisis that our hosts never invited us back. On another occasion, Stroodle disappeared for three days once when I was 12 years old. In those days I walked home for lunch. After two days of searching for him, my mother had spotted him that morning trying to cross a busy street and brought him home. When I came home to eat, I hugged him continuously and was just short of euphoric. I walked back to school and sat at my desk -- but something wasn't right. I slowly began to realize that hugging a dog who had been wandering the streets and eating garbage for several days was a really bad idea. I went out to my locker and put on my t-shirt that I wore to gym class. Amazingly, that shirt smelled better.

In his prime, Stroodle was the perfect family pet. He was a good watch dog -- sometimes too good. I was home one day when the local police came to tell us that some of the commuters walking to the train station in the morning had found him to be "menacing." My father and sister had taught him some tricks, so he was always good for some entertainment. The most entertaining moments for me as a kid were unintended, however. I remember him going crazy when my grandmother's friend came into the house wearing a hat worthy of Carmen Miranda; not pleased with his reaction to her hat, she looked down at him sneering and called him "Scoundrel." Perhaps my favorite moment was when Stroodle, during one of my parents' legendary cocktail parties, decided one of the party guest's legs was a fire hydrant.

Stroodle lived with my parents for about 14 years years, I think. Towards the end the old guy had gone blind and was incontinent. My sister speaks wistfully of walking an elderly Stroodle down the street and watching him walk straight into a sign post barely three inches wide. One his last summers with us, we rented a house with a pool. A little unsteady on his legs, the old guy fell into the water and my brother had to jump in and save him. I remember bringing him to the vet one day in his later years and the vet looked at me and told me he had such a strong heart and lungs, but everything else was failing. Well, there was no doubt about that -- the old guy had a strong heart. Happy Stroodle Day.

What a Way to Go

2008-07-30T14:54:00.007-04:00

Every time I fly, I hear the flight crew tell me that tampering with or disabling the restroom smoke detectors is a federal crime. I've never been a smoker, so I don't understand the overwhelming urge to start tearing apart the tiny airplane lavatory just to get a few drags on a cigarette. In fact, I like to spend as little time as possible in that awful little closet. And I'm a little unclear on exactly what happens when I flush the toilet in the airplane. It makes a godawful slurping sound that makes me think the waste goes right from the plane to the bowels of hell. I always make it a point to hold onto any loose objects when I'm flushing -- that thing sounds like it could suck down a small child. Generally, I dislike using airplane lavatories and try to avoid them at all costs. I like to take the window seat on airplanes and as a result, I hate getting up during a flight. Getting some people to get out of their airplane seat is quite an operation sometimes: remove hearphones ... close laptop ... put up seatback table ... clear lap ... unbuckle seat belt ... stand up in aisle ... etc. I'd rather just hold it.

But why all the talk about airplane lavatories? This morning on a flight from Los Angeles to Atlanta, a sixty-one year old woman was found dead in the airplane's lavatory as the plane prepared to land. This is a very sad story and I am in no way making the light of this woman's death. (The preliminary indications are that she died of natural causes.) This is just one of those stories that makes you pause. I wonder what this woman was going through when she headed for the restroom. Was she feeling ill? Or did it all just come as a suprise? Sixty-one is young in this day and age. This was just another reminder for me that when your number is up, it's up. You never know when your ticket is going to be punched, or whether you'll be able to return to your seat with your seatbelt securely fastened and your seatback in the full, upright position. Rest in peace, Delta passenger.

It ... just ... makes...me ......... uncomfortable

2008-07-29T14:39:00.009-04:00

Got a surprise phone call from a college buddy today, direct from Hong Kong, where he now lives. Although he was always was stone-faced and sort of laconic, as a big time banking executive, he's even more so now. When I get phone calls from him, I imagine him leaning back in a big leather chair tapping his finger tips together like Mr. Burns from The Simpsons. After every question I ask there is a several second delay, as he ponders his response. I used to think that this was the delay from the satellite signals, but it happens when we're both on the same continent too.

Silence of any kind makes me uncomfortable. I've wondered if this is a New York thing -- do New Yorkers hate silence or do they just not have much experience with it? I run into this problem with people from the midwest sometimes -- amazingly they seem perfectly comfortable sitting in a restaurant not talking. Nonetheless, I think silence is becoming foreign to us. At my nephew's confirmation a few months back, a bishop from the remote south pacific came to preside. He remarked on how everyone walked around carrying a water bottle, talking on a cellphone and listening to their headphones -- we don't do silence much anymore.

But even in the days before the ubiquitous ipod, I found myself uncomfortable with silence. I once ended a date after ninety minutes after a series of exchanges like this:

Paul: "So how long have you lived in Atlanta?"
Date: "One year and ten months." [silence]
Paul: "Oh, so where did you move here from?"
Date: "Dawsonville." [silence]
Paul: "So, that's where you grew up?"
Date: "Yes" [silence]

We were eating Chinese food that night. I remember trying to decide what would be more painful, trying to keep this conversation going or taking the chopsticks on the table and just driving them into my eardrums. I opted for calling the evening early instead of deafening myself.

I am not really in a position to criticize too much, however. When I was teaching history a few years ago, more than a few of my students commented on ... the ... long ......... pauses ... that I .... insisted on inserting into my ................... lectures. When I told the woman I was dating about these comments, she exclaimed, "oh yes, that drives me crazy!" There's a tiny delay in the relay between my brain and my mouth sometimes. I guess I'll try to cut down on the awkward pauses in my public speaking if my friends stop calling me from Asia acting like Monty Burns.

My Mouth Waters Just Thinking About It

2008-07-28T16:02:00.006-04:00

Eddie's Pizza in New Hyde Park, NY is one of the dining jewels of the New York suburbs. My family started going to Eddie's in 1964, and we've been savoring every morsel of the delightfully thin-and-chewy, yet crispy-still pizza every since. Whenever the ex-patriot Long Islanders in my family return to visit my parents, a visit to Eddie's is almost always on the agenda. Unlike mass-produced pizza indistinguishable from the cardboard box it came in, or the over-the-top yuppie pizzas of today -- do we really need sushi on a pizza? -- Eddie's is straight up good eatin'. Now that I'm living in Atlanta it is an example of the authencity of the northeast that I miss. My father's favorite fact about Eddie's is that it has the distinction in the Zagat restaurant guide of having the widest gap between the quality of its decor and the quality of its food. Atlanta's Olive Garden and "Johnny's New York Style Pizza" will never measure up to the Italian eateries which I ate in growing up. (I still remember the sports radio guys in New York cackling about a Creative Loafing -- Atlanta's version of the Village Voice -- survey in which Atlantans named the Olive Garden as their favorite Italian eatery.)

I was reminded of Eddie's today because my nephew had created an "Eddie's Pizza Lovers" group on Facebook. He had asked me to join a while back, but I had no idea that he was the creator of the group. As of today the Facebook Group has 128 members -- a very good following I think. As one of their chief promoters, he should get a free pizza the next time he goes to Eddie's ... but that'll never happen. From the comments on the message board, I see facebookers who have moved from Long Island are thinking about Eddie's longingly the way I do. I'm even salivating as I write this. I'd trade chicken and waffles for a sausage bar pie and syrupy ginger ale to wash it down with anytime!

Once in a While a Movie Surprises You

2008-07-27T13:05:00.008-04:00

Most people know Adam Carolla as the host of The Man Show on Comedy Central or as the co-host of Loveline, an MTV staple for a while. His whiney tone and sluggish delivery make him a bit of an oddity. Despite his shortcoming as a performer, he does have a strong following. I'm sure high school boys enjoy his flatulence humor, his rants against traffic cops, and his constant references to porn. I remember when Carolla was among those auditioning for the Late Late Show gig that Craig Ferguson eventually landed, and he made an appearance on David Letterman's show. Letterman was almost speechless as Carolla went on about how he hated the custom of blowing out birthday candles, "who wants a cake covered in snot?" he asked. Letterman blinked and pursed his lips.

All that being said, listening to and watching Adam Carolla has always been a guilty pleasure of mine. For a while I regularly tuned into his radio show with Dr. Drew Pinsky to hear his ridiculous rants -- "are there any people on this planet stupider than our listeners?" he would ask. Carolla has since left that show to replace Howard Stern on morning radio on the west coast, and he has fallen off the radar screen a bit for me.

When I saw the reviewers on Richard Roeper's At the Movies show give positive notice to Carolla's movie, The Hammer (2007), I was stunned and intrigued. As it turns out, this movie is actually an amusing little character study with elements that can appeal to everyone. It has a boxing storyline that avoids being corny even if it is predictable, and it has a love story that is believable and unsentimental. Carolla is even able to incorporate all his favorite schtick (the snot on the cake, lesbians at the hardware store, pedantic state troopers, idiocy from his days as a carpenter) without making this feel like this is just material left over from The Jimmy Kimmel Show. I was most surprised by not being inundated with gross-out humor; Superbad, a much better film, had a much much higher squirm factor for me. Make no mistake, this is not a great film by any means, but if you see it on cable or you're having trouble finding something in the video store, give it a shot. It's worth a chuckle.

¡Viva El Sal del Tocino!

2008-07-26T15:17:00.000-04:00

My friends know that I consider eating to be one of the ultimate joys of life. As I get older I find myself becoming slightly more discriminating about what I eat, but generally, as a former girlfriend once said, I have the palate of a golden retriever. As a non-conventional eater who hasn't seen his abs since the 6th grade, I have my own food pyramid: beer, bacon, cheese and lard. Admittedly, cardiologists might not endorse my diet, but I have a great uncle who lived till almost 90 who drank a chocolate milkshake every day of his life. And of all the four groups, bacon is my favorite. I think if I had six months to live I would eat bacon at every meal. (Consequently, I would then have three months to live, by I digress.) A good friend of mine from college, known as Johnny K, swore that all the bad publicity about bacon being bad for you was a lie, a lie perpetrated by people trying to hoard all the yummy bacon. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, I cannot incorporate bacon into every meal. One problem is that I never buy bacon in the grocery store. Hence, having bacon-ey deliciousness generally has to wait for restaurants -- until now. Although I have not gotten my hands on a bottle yet, I have discovered a product called "bacon salt" that purports to make everything taste like bacon. I can feel my blood pressure rising just thinking about it. If it even approaches the tastiness of that salad bar favorite, the baco-bit, I will be ecstatic. In fact, it gets me to thinking about all the wonderful possibilities. There is a bar here in Atlanta that serves a drink called the "Dean Martini," a martini that comes with one lucky strike cigarette. In that vein, any Atlanta bar willing to make its margaritas with bacon salt will become an instant sensation. God bless the food industry that their tasty artificial flavors!

But Nothing Interesting Ever Happens in Dayton

2008-07-25T12:18:00.005-04:00

OK, I can understand someone losing their cool during the heat of a sporting event, but Peoria Chief's pitcher Julio Castillo came completely unglued yesterday in a minor league baseball game in Dayton, Ohio. During a brawl, he wound up throwing a baseball at maximum velocity in the direction of the opposing dugout but ended up hitting a fan. He has been charged with assault. First of all, baseball fights are supposed to be amusing. Usually there's lots of flailing around and roundhouse punches and guys pretending to be held back from the fracas. And there are not supposed to be weapons in baseball. I mean a pitcher would have to be seriously 'roided up, for example, for a pitcher to throw a shorn off bat fragment at a batter. Uh, oh, well ... that almost never happens. My point is that Julio Castillo needs to understand that throwing baseballs at 90 miles an hour into the stands, seriously injuring fans and ending up being charged criminally is not the best road to the big leagues. Let's just hope the fan is not seriously injured. And let's get Julio some anger management. I mean it was the first inning. How angry could anyone be in the first inning?

One of my favorite Walt Frasier moments as a New York Knicks broadcaster was when, after seeing a female fan get struck in the face with a basketball while chatting with a friend (and turned away from the action), Walt said, "that's why I like my women bodacious and not loquacious!" Bottomline: keep your wits about you when you're at a sporting event. You never know when a crazed lunatic will start drilling fans with baseballs.

A Piece of My History Bites the Dust

2008-07-24T12:44:00.008-04:00

I learned today while reading Greenwich Village Daily Photo blog that Frankie and Johnnie's steakhouse in Manhattan would be closing at the end of the year. As a kid, I remember my parents bringing us to this wonderful restaurant in the theater district. My family went to dinner there one night before going to see a play sometime in the early 1980s and my father regaled us with stories about how his parents used to visit the place when it was a speak-easy during prohibition. The coolest part about the place was the narrow staircase that led to the second floor diningroom where the door still had a peep-hole used to "screen" guests during earlier times. I was so enamored by the place that after I proposed to my law school girlfriend one New Year's Eve in 1994, we ate dinner and drank champagne at Frankie and Johnnie's. The most memorable part of the meal was the stone-faced waiter. There we were beaming over having just gotten engaged. We were so excited our feet were barely touching the ground. My fiancée, with shiny new diamond on her hand, looked at our server and said, "we just got engaged!" He nodded, did not smile and poured more wine for us.

The imminent closing of Frankie and Johnnie's makes me sad, because that particular place meant something to me. I saw it as a connection to my past and my future. Of course, it is just a restaurant, and like thousands of others that have closed over the years. I remember as a kid wanting to have my parents take me to Luchow's, a German restaurant in Manhattan. My father resisted, however, deciding that Luchow's was a decrepit restaurant (perhaps correctly?) not worth the visit. By contrast, I was fascinated by the idea of visiting a restaurant that had opened in the late 19th century and was still operating almost a century later. When Luchow's closed when I was 14, I remember that it made me truly sad. While my attempts at getting my parents to Luchow's failed, I did wrangle a dinner at Fraunces Tavern down in the financial district -- I think it was for my 12th birthday. I vaguely remember polishing off an enormous steak.

Unlike the closing of Yankee Stadium, which lost its authenticity for me with the 1974-75 renovations, I am sad that Frankie and Johnnie's is closing. While I hope that some New York developers embrace the importance of restraining themselves to preserve some of Manhattan's historic gems, I am realistic. Throughout its history the city of New York has been in a never-ending process of being built up and torn down. Frankie and Johnnies is just the latest casualty -- thanks for the memories.

Let's Raise a Parting Glass

2008-07-23T10:21:00.008-04:00

I was sorry to hear about the death of The Golden Girls' Estelle Getty. My ex-wife was a big fan of Golden Girls -- a character flaw that should have been a red flag for me -- so I sat through a few episodes when they were in reruns. Getty was a bright light in an otherwise painful sitcom experience. I remember thinking "Come on, Betty White. You're better than this!" And Bea Arthur? One word: freakish. Anyway, I was shocked to learn during bar trivia a few months back that The Golden Girls is one of the only sitcoms that had all of its stars nominated for Emmy awards. Frankly, I was surprised that they even one nomination. I'm chalking this all up to a problem with demographics (but I never understood The O.C. either). I don't think they were aiming the show at the 18-35 crowd. In a "seeing the man behind the curtain moment," a number of years ago, I was on the backlot tour at Disney Studios in Orlando, and they pointed out the house they used for the exterior shots in The Golden Girls. Realizing that the house on this fake Disney street was just a facade, I thought for a fleeting moment: "Where are those crazy old bats, Dorothy, Blanche, Sophia and Rose living then?" In retrospect, it's probably best they're fictional. Can you imagine living next to that lunatic asylum filled with promiscuous senior citizens? So, I salute Estelle Getty who brought a grandmother to the screen whose acid tongue was only surpassed by my own grandmother, Ella. Maybe they're up in heaven now making wisecracks.

PHOTO COURTESY OF CALLAHAN FAMILY VACATION ON PBASE

I Am a Fashion Vegetarian

2008-07-22T10:00:00.004-04:00

Yesterday I heard about a disturbing website called Hats of Meat. Apparently, some guys got together and decided they would make a website about people wearing meat as a hat. People shouldn't wear food. Hats of meat are impractical. And it's dangerous. The PETA people are already going around throwing buckets of paint on people who wear fur. Imagine what they would do if they saw someone approaching them wearing a selection of sliced meats on their head. Furthermore, I take public transportation. I don't want to sit next to someone who's wearing a hat of meat. What's this going to do to the Easter Parade on New York's 5th avenue? Can you imagine ladies in their finery being chased down the street by dogs? This is a terrible idea. Meat is expensive, it attracts insects and would not stand up to the elements. Can you imagine the scene at airport security as people are told to take off their meat hats? Hats of meat in little plastic bins with shoes being x-rayed? This cannot be a good thing. It's all sort of disappointing too. As someone slightly deficient in the hair department, I have longed for the days when men would wear hats again, but hats of meat were not the direction in which I wanted to go at all. I don't even want to go into the theological implications of sharing public spaces with muslims or hindus not keen on the use of pork or beef , respectively, as headwear. Let's just hope this new fashion trend doesn't take off. We couldn't get the young people to pull their pants up. Imagine how much trouble we'll have trying to take their meat hats away from them.