Bronx Bomber Stadium

The previous post reminded me that I had this photo of the old Yankee Stadium after the last game ever played there. My first and last time watching a baseball game there.

I'm sure it'll take a long time to develop the same type of memories that people have from the old stadium, but I hear the new stadium is very nice.

Ok...enough baseball talk for a while.

A Tale of Two Cities & Two Teams

I really try to avoid politics, and as a general rule, don't typically get into political discussions. And although I don't plan on starting today, the news of Teddy Kennedy's death has definitely put Boston on my mind. That and the fact that I want the Sox to clinch a wildcard spot.

Believe it or not, despite my obvious obsession with New York City, there is another city that I really love to be in. Yes, that city is Boston. Actually, it's all of New England really. Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and Maine mostly. But Boston gets most of my focus because, well, just because it's so damn awesome.

The Freedom Trail. The great food and gelato in the North End. Mike's Pastry. Quincy Mahket. Paul Reveah's house. Old Ironsides. Fenway Pahk. The T. All the wicked pissah good times from eating lobstah and drinkin' lotsa beahs.

I mean come on, it's a no brainer.

But I think many sports fanatics native to Boston and New York would both probably have a hard time comprehending or reconciling the ability to love both places. That's alright though. It's true that I heart NYC. But the Red Sox are definitely my team.

I tend to route for underdogs, and even though I've never been an avid baseball fan, I started cheering for the Sox a few years before they won their first World Series in like a gajillion years. They were perenial underdogs then, and to some extent, probably always will be when it comes to playing their arch rivals from the Bronx, the Yankees.

I once went to a mid-season game at Fenway Park that really didn't have much significance to it. But if I didn't know any better, I'd have thought it was the World Series. It was such a strange, surreal feeling. Maybe I should explain a bit more so you understand my point of reference. You see, my hometown baseball team is the Florida Marlins. Yes, for a young team, they've managed to win a World Series or two.

But if you've ever gone to a Marlins game at mid-season, you'd know that by looking around the stadium, about 80% of the seats are usually empty. Nobody cares. I like the Marlins and all, but when you're at their games, it's really just a pathetic atmosphere.

Then go from experiencing that anemic environment many, many times, then go to a game at Fenway. It's just unbelievable. The two experiences are an extreme contrast between an enjoyable experience and a dull one.

When I was at Fenway Park, I had goosebumps for half the game. By the time they started playing 'Sweet Caroline' in the middle of the 8th inning, I was singing along at the top of my lungs with everyone else. I can still hear Neil Diamond's voice on the loudspeaker, "Good times never seemed so good..." and then the roar of the crowd following up with, "So good, so good, so good."

Everyone around me was so happy and lively and friendly. The place is just brimming with energy and enthusiasm. By the time the game was over, I was exhausted, had nearly lost my voice from cheering and singing as loud as I could, and still had a leftover andrenaline buzz lingering from the game itself.

That's a great memory that I'll never forget. I've rarely encountered such die hard, loyal fans of a baseball team. I'm sure there are plenty of other teams with that type of support, but the Sox have an argument for the best fans in the sport. I'd say #1, but for arguments sake, they're in the top 2 or 3, at the very least.

The game at Fenway was something I had on my 'bucketlist,' which is a list that actually existed before the word 'bucketlist' was popular. I also had 'See a Game at Yankee Stadium' on there too, and I actually ended up being able to go to the last home game ever played at the old Yankee Stadium. I was so excited to be there. I felt like I was a part of history.

This was the last game played there.

Ever.

This was the house that Ruth built, my friends. Countless legends have played on that field. There are a limited amount of people who can say they got to see the last game ever played at the original Yankee Stadium before they tore it down, and I'm proud to be one of them.

But I digress.

I just know that whenever I go to NYC or Boston, I never want to come home.

In a city with so much history, pride, and views like the one in the photo I took above, at the Public Gardens -- can you really blame me?

Epiphany in the Gloaming

There's something majestic about being up high with a 360 degree view of an entire city; especially at dusk, when the sky explodes with color and reminds you that you're alive.

If you're someone like me, you yearn for these moments, and when you experience them, you hold on to them for a long time afterwards; sometimes, even for the rest of your life. In times of trouble or emotionally trying times, you might even experience a moment of clarity or some kind of epiphany, if you're lucky enough.

I've had a few epiphanies in my life. One of them occurred around the time I took the photo above. Some time has passed, but today I was reflecting on the moment of clarity I had on that day.

You see...

Most people feel a need to be accepted. We want to feel like we belong, like we fit in; and often we conform to accepted norms in order for that be a reality. The need to fit in is a conditioned survival impulse, and yes, it feels good to be accepted; but when this impulse conflicts with the need to follow your heart, there is really only one choice.

And my epiphany from that day is this: people will inevitably make choices they regret, but following your heart will never be one of them.

In Days of Better Weather

Here's a candid shot of a couple enjoying a nice day on the Great Lawn in Central Park, during days with better weather obviously. The photo was taken with a little point-and-click camera, so it's not the best quality; but each time I see it, I'm reminded of what a great day I had in the park.

Weekend Adventures: 4 States, 36 Hours

It was truly an intense 36 hours between Saturday morning and Sunday evening! So much happened within that timespan, it seems surreal. Where do I start...

Well, I guess I could start with the idiots who live on the floor above my girlfriend's apartment. I finished packing my bags, had two glasses of red wine (Cabernet, of course), and went to sleep with no issues, around 12:30ish AM.

Fast forward to about 3:30ish AM.

Suddenly, music begins blaring. This is soon accompanied by hooting and hollering, which was actually loud enough to drown out the already obnoxiously loud music. There must have been 20-30 people up there; and all of them were 'talking' as loud as they could. Even though it had to have taken a good deal of effort to 'talk' over the music, it apparently made more sense to do that, rather than doing something like....Oh, I dunno...turning the goddamn music down.

Or maybe I'm the idiot with the crazy logic. I guess depending on who you ask, that might be the case, I dunno.

There were consistent bangs coming from the ceiling, which sounded like footsteps stomping on the floor. If I didn't know any better, I'd have thought there were a team of Irish Riverdancers dancing a jig up there.

Then there was the wonderfully deep, sawing sound of the glass door consistently opening and closing, over and over again, every few seconds.

Awesome.

I am Jack's horrible nightmare.

Meanwhile, my girlfriend and I were gnashing our teeth over the fact that this was going on, not just because of the annoyance, but because we had to wake up at 7 AM to catch an early flight to Atlanta then another to Memphis. This fact lingered in my mind the entire time like the slow drip of Chinese water torture on my brain, which of course only added to my stress and fury.

At one point, I got up from the bed since I couldn't sleep anyway, and walked out the glass door to the balcony; which faces East, overlooking the downtown Ft. Lauderdale area about a mile from the beach. It's a nice enough view, but who the fuck wants to see it at 4AM when you have to get up in three hours. I was basically hoping to get a break from the idiocy that was taking place above; but of course, no luck.

As I sat back in the chair, all I could hear were the incoherent, frat-boy type of moronic ramblings you'd hear at a stereotypical keg party on a college campus somewhere. This was an Animal House style party, apparently--except nowhere near as cool, or funny.

The conversations, if you can call them that, were your typical, "Dude, I'm so wasted" type of drivel that bores the shit out of you and makes you feel like your head is going to explode if you don't get far, far away from that person a.s.a.p.

Judging by the sound of things, I'd say everyone probably had done enough cocaine to kill an adult rhinoceros. Exasperated, I went back inside after just a few minutes of listening to that nonsense. I'd heard all I could tolerate without wanting to go break into some Army/Navy store, stealing a bunch of WMDs, then coming back and lofting a few assorted grenades and MOABs into someone's lap.

As I walked back in from the balcony, I blurted out, "Fucking assholes!" hoping they would hear me. I don't think they did, unfortunately. I laid back down and we waited, trying to give them the benefit of the doubt, hoping they would settle down after about an hour, but no luck. I think it was around 5:00ish AM when my girlfriend called the apartment complex's security desk. She answered some of their questions, and the phone call ended soon after it began.

Now that security was involved, I was gleefully awaiting peace and quiet for some much needed sleep.

I waited. Then I waited some more. And then a little bit more. About 45 minutes later, the zoo upstairs finally seemed to be quieting down. A few minutes later, it was quiet enough to deal with, and I tried to go back to sleep.

But...

Twenty minutes after that, it's a full godamn party again.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

It's a good thing I do not own a gun.

At that point, we gave up and just put pillows over our heads in the futile attempt to drown out the assholes above. I think it was around 6:30ish AM when Satan's army finally quieted down. All I remember at that point is that I crashed hard into a deep sleep for about an hour, when the alarm went off.

Oh, the misery of it all. I somehow managed to drag myself out of bed feeling much like John Belushi, or anyone else, really, who has been dead for twenty years. I walked into the kitchen to get a bottle of water, then sat down to compose myself. The silence was absolutely blissful. For a moment, I sat there with my eyes closed and took it all in, enjoying the quiet sound of nothingness.

A few seconds later, my eyes suddenly popped wide open. My exhausted, yet diabolical mind was brewing up a plan, seeking retribution. I casually surveyed the room, and my eyes caught the sight of the TV remote. At this exact moment, the left side of my mouth smirked liked a cat who just ate the canary. I turned the TV on and surfed the channels for the most annoying sound I could find.

Something that had no lulls or moments of quiet; something continual that would annoy the shit out of anyone in their 20s or early 30s who happen to be feeling the consequences of overindulging in booze and coke all night. I couldn't find anything on TV that was annoying enough, so I looked under the TV console and saw a few CDs. And then I saw it.

My girlfriend's Toby Keith CD.

I must've looked like Dinah, the cat from Alice in Wonderland due to the big, smiling grin that suddenly appeared on my face. Low-quality country music to a bunch of twenty-something, hung over cocaine fiends can't be good. Especially at 7:30 AM.

"Oh yeah!" I thought, giggling like a little schoolgirl.

I would not be satisfied until there was some kind of justice. I felt like I had to at least make an attempt at giving them a taste of their own medicine, just on principle. So while my girlfriend was in the shower, I put the CD in the DVD player and blasted Toby Keith as loud as her TV could go without blowing the speakers. In between the lyrics, I screamed things like: "How do you like that, you cocksuckers!" and "Payback's a bitch motherfuckers!" at the top of my lungs.

I don't know if they were conscious enough to hear me or the music, but it made me feel better regardless. After enjoying myself thoroughly for a few minutes of that, I turned everything off, finished getting ready, then drove us to the airport. I was completely out of it, mentally speaking. I had very little sleep, no breakfast, and was still incredibly thirsty. Being hungry, tired, and dehydrated, I could barely function or think at all, as a matter of fact. We were both operating on very little brain power.

Case in point: We thought we parked close to the Delta Airlines terminal; but as we walked out to the terminals, it turns out we were on the opposite end. Awesome.

So, in the oppressively hot and humid Florida weather, we schlepped our asses and luggage, walking for about 15-20 minutes to reach our terminal. I am completely shocked that neither of us got very lippy and there wasn't even much of attitude going on either. Thank goodness for that. The circumstances were bad enough without adding bad attitudes to it.

We actually made it through the security fairly quickly and arrived a few minutes prior to boarding, without any drama. Finally, we caught a break! Or so I thought.

We were flying from Ft. Lauderdale to Antlanta, then Atlanta to Memphis, then driving from Memphis to Tunica, Mississippi.

Yeah.

In case you're not counting, I was literally in 4 States within a span of 4 hours--and I'm not even a famous rock star, or anything close. Good times. But that's not even the worst of it. While putting my bags on the plane to Atlanta, I realized, much to my horror, that in the rush to get to the airport I forgot the suit I was going to wear to the wedding! I could feel my face get red and my ears suddenly felt about 10 degrees hotter. My blood pressure went through the roof as I sat down and put my hands over my face.

The wedding was the entire reason for taking this trip to begin with. What the hell is wrong with me! In that moment, my entire vocabulary was reduced to just one word. The only thing I could think or say was:

"Fuck."

"Fuck!"

Yet, I somehow kept my cool; and by the way I was feeling, I would certainly call this feat a minor miracle. I took a deep breath and thought, "Stay calm, there's a solution to every problem." I sat down and informed my girlfriend on what happened. She could see I was visibly on the brink of spontaneously combusting.

She actually did a great job keeping me calm and offered to surf the web on her phone to look for a tuxedo/suit rental place near the airport. I have to give her brownie points for both keeping me calm and taking the initiative to make suggestions on dealing with the problem. All of this crap notwithstanding, we got through the flight feeling fine--crabby flight attendants and all.

Once we finally landed in Memphis, we took a shuttle to the Avis rent-a-car station. I somehow got a free car rental with my booking, so I guess that's one good thing. Now that we had transportation, we used the GPS on my iPhone to find a place that rents, measures, and tailors suits for use on the same day (that was fun). After trying on the suit and paying for it, we then drove the rest of the way from Memphis, Tennessee to Tunica, Mississippi.

The drive from Memphis to Tunica is the only thing that went relatively smooth. In fact, it was made so much smoother by the GPS. I highly recommend using one to everyone who's planning on taking any road trips. It truly saves you from so much aggravation. The GPS said it would take about 45 minutes to get there. I drove it in 25 minutes.

Feeling completely exhausted, we finally arrived about an hour-and-a-half before the wedding. Just enough time to take a nap and get our heads together for what would turn out to be a hell of an evening!

(...to be continued)

Fittin to Git Outta Dodge

I'm taking a moment from packing for my trip to Tennessee/Mississippi, listening to my iTunes, and also feeling pretty lucid and carefree. It's nice to be in a light-hearted state-of-mind again!

I checked out the website for the hotel/casino where I'm staying, and wouldn't you know it, the Counting Crows are playing there the exact same day I'll be there.

I've been wanting to see them in concert lately, and it's crazy that they so happened to be playing in some small town I've never heard of, and on the one and only day I'll probably ever be there.

Strange how things like that happen.

I doubt I'll be able to see the show, due to my cousin's wedding reception, but if I can somehow manage to get to there, I'll be loving that.

As I'm typing this, Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata' has started playing. I am in love with Beethoven's music, for those of you who do not know.

The 'Moonlight Sonata' is my all-time favorite of his compositions. I don't think any other piece of classical music has ever captivated me quite like that one. It perfectly captures a feeling inside that is truly difficult to put into words.

Everytime I hear it, I experience a stimulating bevy of feelings, all at once. It's as if the music somehow understands something intrinsic within the soul without even trying. Without saying even one word, the notes in the music inherently speaks a language that cannot be spoken.

It stirs up feelings of familiarity, validation, and comfort to name only a few; it also stirs up a kind of feeling that's not unlike what it might be like to have an old flame of love rekindled once again. Almost instantly, it pierces the veil of the person you're trying to be, and reminds you of who you really are.

In case you can't tell, I kind of like it!

Since this post turned out to be a music-themed one, I suppose I'll mention that iTunes is now playing another artist you don't hear people mention very much: Nick Drake.

I only recently discovered Nick Drake, sometime around 2007. I don't even remember how I came across his music, but it was momentarily and in passing.

Yet, it was enough for my ears to perk up and listen. I remember the song being one of the ones on his Pink Moon album, and it was the reason I went out and bought the CD.

His music is moslty mellow and folksy, if you will, but it's very good in my opinion. His story is a sad one, having died of an overdose of anti-depressant medication at young age.

But his music is immortal, and enjoyable at that.

On Perspective, Context, and Expectations

I'm all over the place today, and feeling way too serious for my taste. But life will do that to you sometimes.

I have a few things on my mind that I'd like to unload. I want to touch on perception vs. reality, negativity, fear of change, and letting go.

This will not be like my usual, light-hearted subject matter.

Here's the deal:

Life, reality, the 'truth,' or however you choose to describe it is not always as it seems. In fact, more often than not, we only see, know about, or understand one aspect of a story. But life is not always black-and-white.

Take for example this hypothetical situation:

One parent suddenly 'kidnaps' their 12 year-old girl, leaving no clues as to why they left so abruptly and mysteriously. The other parent appears to be heart-broken, hysterically worried about their daughter, and is visibly shaken. They reach out to their friends, family, and neighbors for support--and everyone is outraged that someone would do such a thing to a child, and to their own family.

On top of that, kidnapping is against the law, too. Breaking the law is rightfully considered a bad thing, and the friends, family, and neighbors are demanding that something be done--that the parent which kidnapped the child should be found and dealt with harshly.

Imagine experiencing this story for a moment, from this perspective only.

Now, consider this: imagine that the daughter was being forced into child-prostitution by the father, that she was beaten daily, and was only fed one small meal per day. Imagine the mother feeling hopelessly trapped, terrified of what might happen to her if she didn't remain quiet about it, playing along with the facade of a normal family.

One day, the mother decides to bide her time until the right moment to take her daughter and run away to start a new life, away from her cruel husband.

This is not a true story, but could very well be one in any part of the world.

There are people everywhere who make judgments and come to conclusions about reality based only on the information they have; but the information they have may not provide a full perspective of what has really happened, and in particular, why it happened.

Perspective and context matters. Sometimes, breaking the law or 'doing the wrong thing,' is the right thing to do.

This is what I'm referring to when I say that life, reality, or truth is not always what it seems.

So, beware of those who believe they have all the answers, because typically, all they really have is a one-dimensional perspective and limited understanding of the world. I've found this to be the case, much to their denial more often than not.

I'm sure you know someone like this. Maybe you're one of them, who knows! But this is not so much a condemnation of anyone, as much as it's a moment to touch on some of my recent frustrations without getting into too much detail.

From time to time, I encounter very closed-minded people; and usually their contributions to our discussions are merely manifestations of their own personal judgments and labels, which are by-products of their blind acceptance of some closed-minded, derivative drivel that their chosen ideology instructs them to believe and repeat; but this mindless repetition reveals a superficial intelligence of fools--the ying to the yang that is genuine wisdom, perhaps.

If your mind's eye is aware enough, however, I think your attention will be called to it like a powerful magnet, much like a rose's sharp, sabre-like thorn immediately commands your attention after it has pierced the unexpecting skin of your hand.

On a slightly different note, I'd like to say that despite falling into the trap of negative thoughts myself on occasion, I hope everyone who reads this is able to shun negativity like the Plague.

There is no more destructive force in the universe than negativity. The exception to this, of course, being things like natural disasters, nuclear bombs, and meteors the size of Texas.

Ok, so I may be overstating this and finally found a morsel of humor to inject into this post.

Still, I really mean it.

Applying this maxim (shutting out negativity) to your life will be of more use to you than you may even realize. I am in the midst of trying to embody this, and I can feel myself getting healthier from the inside out every day that I am focused on this growth, this way of being, this expanding of my personal horizons.

Now that I have all that off my chest, I must say it's been a very trying few weeks.

More because of my own mental growing pains than anything else. To sum it up, I'll use Deepak Chopra's words:

"Before the seeing comes the feeling that there is more to life than what you are living. It's like a faint voice that whispers, 'Find me.'"

I hear these whispers, but despite my desperate urge to find it, I'm paralyzed by fear. This fear, of course, is simply a resistance to letting go. Letting go is a difficulty many people have, and I'm no exception.

My goal is to continue on the path to letting go of: expectation and the dissapointments it often creates, as well as the futile exercise of holding on that sometimes comes with it. Instead, I'm trying to get better at being at ease with simply accepting whatever twists and turns life decides to take me on.

Resisting this is a roadblock to peace of mind; and it applies to everything in life, not just things I fear change in.

That's how I feel about it anyway. I just thought I'd change things up a bit and share that.

As Forrest Gump would say, that's all I have to say about that, for the moment anyway.

Now, back to more positive things.

I have a trip to Mississippi this weekend for my cousin's wedding. It's being held at Harrah's Tunica Hotel and Casino, about 20 minutes from the Memphis International Airport. I really look forward to getting away and feasting my eyes on some different scenery.

Sometimes, a change of scenery goes a long way to making the heart a little lighter.

Aside from that, I'm still working on the itinerary for my NYC trip next month. I may just post it here to give others some ideas on what to do on a visit to NYC.

If I had to describe it in one word as a preview: EPIC.

On Thick Heads and Mustard

There are two things that change in my general behaviors when I’m feeling down or going through a spell of melancholy:

(1) I desperately seek the humor in everything, and (2) I am constantly irritated by stupidity, annoying behavior, and things that generally require me to think or work more than I’m inclined to at any particular moment.

The first thing is my only saving grace sometimes and gets me through whatever daily doldrums I’m dealing with. These days, I’m constantly squeezing the humor out of situations that would otherwise not occur to me in different circumstances.

However, I fear the second thing may possibly turn me into a crotchety old man before my time, if gone unchecked.

This is why anytime I catch myself feeling down or getting annoyed by something I’ll try to put a twist of sarcastic humor in my comments or complaints, then I’ll post them as a status update on one of those social networking sites.

It helps me feel a little better when people react and respond because it reminds me that I’m not the only one who has rough days or is constantly encountering the bottom 1% of society, in terms of common sense and/or intelligence.

On a typical day, I’ll share things like:

“Just had a random discussion with some little old lady regarding Mr. Darcy and other Pride & Prejudice characters. Currently being chased by the Man Card Repo guy, who appears to be as fast as Carl Lewis.”

"Damn, I wish every girl I dated in high school had one of these: http://bit.ly/R1Jt8 #doublefistedhandjobs"

“I truly enjoy running and exercising. And by running and exercising, I mean binge drinking and passing out.”

"Recent surveys say the 1st thing men notice in a woman is her eyes, and women say the 1st thing they notice in men is they're a bunch of liars"

But back to the subject of stupid people…

I went to Canes Fest this weekend, which was held at Land Shark Stadium here in South Florida. Canes Fest is a gathering of the South Florida sports media, the University of Miami Hurricanes college football players and coaches, as well as fans of the team.

It was actually a forgettable experience in all honesty, but the conversation I had while we stopped to get lunch on the way still sticks with me. Every time I think of it, I’m still in disbelief that it actually took place.

Here’s the scoop:

We walk in to a local sub-sandwich shop, and I approach the counter to order.

The girl at the counter asks, “Hello, do you know what you want?”

“Yes, I’ll have a small roast beef on white, with provolone cheese.”

She grabs the bread and fumbles with the knife to cut the bread as she asks, “You want mayo and mustard?”

“No, just mayo” I said.

She continues fumbling around, then grabs the cheese and roast beef from its bin.

“Mustard?”

She places the meat and cheese next to the bread.

“No, only mayo,” I replied, again.

“Ok.”

She grabs the mustard, and just before squeezing the plastic bottle, she pauses and asks, “Just mustard?”

Exasperated at this point, I sigh, my blood pressure instantly rises at least 20 points, and I respond, “No mustard!”

Finally, after repeating myself yet again, it registers at the last second that I don’t want mustard.

This conversation actually took place.

True story.

I paid for my sandwich and look at my friend with a ‘what-the-fuck’ face on the way out. I was speechless, and all I could keep saying was, “Dude, seriously?”

Over and over again.

All he could do was raise an eyebrow, throw his hands up and shrug while responding with a pithy, “Wow. Just…Wow.”

Apparently, good listening skills are no longer a requirement for working in some customer service oriented environments.

The Highline

I'm slowly building what already looks to be an epic itinerary for my next trip to my favorite city. I was working on it a bit today and came across this article about the Highline, which after reading to the article, seems like a good spot to check out.

I have no idea whether or not it's all that great, but I'll keep an open mind until I see it. I liked this picture is from the Highline website, so I decided to post it here for your viewing pleasure.

Anyone local New Yorkers out there have any opinions on the place yet?

Oye, I'm Schvitzing

Ever wonder what it’s like to live in South Florida?

Get an industrial sized humidifier for your house and run it until your home reaches at least 80% humidity. Then, turn the heat up until it reaches 99 degrees and hang out in it for a while.

Voila.

That’s what it’s like.

It’s literally like living in a Turkish bathhouse for cryin' out loud.

Doesn’t that sound awesome?

This weather sucks worse than anything has ever sucked in the history of all humankind.

Until something else sucks worse, that is.

Even my fingers are schvitzing as I type this. Oye!

Have I mentioned how much this weather sucks?

"Shut Your Face Ari!"

I got a chuckle from this today. Haha...

Morons in Manhattan IV

(Continued from Morons in Manhattan III)

With it’s storied history, architecture (though much of it is disappearing), and inimitable culture, New York City truly seems to have a life of its own.

Walking the streets of Manhattan is, more often than not, an interesting and unique adventure—it always is for me anyway. I should clarify that when I write ‘walking the streets,’ I don’t mean the touristy, packed-like-sardines parts of the city.

Take Times Square for example. If you've ever been there, you know what I'm talking about. I can't stand being there for very long, especially during peak hours.

Fortunately for me, I’ve been to NYC enough times to know my way around almost as well as the locals do. Walking the side-streets or lesser-known areas which usually have relatively fewer people is truly a much better way to experience the city, rather than following the well-known paths that ultimately lead to over-crowded tourist spots.

Much like a blank canvas to a painter, Manhattan can be the perfect backdrop for you to create and discover a uniquely colorful, eventful, and sometimes unpredictable set of experiences—even if it’s only for a few days of your life every year.

For me, it could take a year (maybe even two) of living in Suburbia to cumulatively experience the kind of excitement and fun that I would experience after just one weekend in NYC.

I mean that literally; and honestly, it's not for lack of trying.

But as I’ve said before, the most important variable that makes New York City unique are its people, make no mistake about it. I'd be hard-pressed to name a more diverse city in the U.S. It's one of the many things that fascinates me about the city.

Much to my dismay, I don't reside there. Because of this, I always have a strong desire to suck the marrow out of the few days I’m there every year; which is why I usually pack each day full of activities.

The day we had breakfast at the café on 23rd Street was no exception.

In fact, the day’s itinerary was so jam-packed with things to do and places to see, I wasn’t sure if we’d be able to do everything I had wanted to do.

The itinerary I put together was very ambitious, but I definitely felt it was do-able.

This was the first time TD and his girlfriend had ever been to New York City, so I wanted them to experience as much of Manhattan as possible in the three days we were there.

Our first destination after leaving the café on 23rd and Broadway was the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

It was a bit of a hike from 23rd Street, but we decided to walk as far as we could toward the museum to really take in and absorb the city on the way there.

As I mentioned, walking around NYC is one of my favorite things to do when I’m there. There's no better way to discover how great the city is than by walking around.

So I took us west on foot from 23rd Street, passing the Flatiron Building and continuing until we reached 8th Ave. Once we reached the corner, we took a right, going north into Chelsea.


From what I've read, Chelsea was once solidly Irish and housed a good deal of the workers who loaded/unloaded various warehouse peirs and truck terminals in the 1900s.

These days, I often hear Chelsea lightheartedly coined as a Gayborhood, due to its large gay population. The demographic or stereotype that I've often heard to describe the neighborhood has been that it's well populated with gym-toned gay men, affectionately referred to as 'Chelsea boys.'

Apparently, it's also become an alternative shopping destination, and the West Chelsea Arts District is home to over 370 art galleries and innumerable artist studios, making it a veritable hub for Modern Contemporary Art.

Anytime I’m the Chelsea area, I always think of the lyrics that Adam Duritz of the Counting Crows penned for a song named…you guessed it, ‘Chelsea.’

In fact, on our walk through Chelsea I began singing the lyrics to that song out loud in my best A.D. impersonation, which was, in retrospect, a bad idea.

“Never go to New York City these days…somethin’ about the buildings in Chelsea just kills me.”

Before I could continued, TD immediately rolled is eyes and began either mocking the song, or me (perhaps both), singing his own version of my butchered version.

“If he keeps singing this song now, someone please just kill me…”

Everyone within earshot were probably nodding in agreement with TD, thanking him for intervening in what was surely a horribly bad rendition of the song.

After a few death-glares from the people walking by me, I relented and spared my Chelsean audience from further torture.

About ten blocks later, I started feeling thirsty.

I noticed there was a Duane Reade store up ahead, so I told TD and company I was stopping to get a drink, and they decided to wait outside while I went in.

Predictably, there wasn't anything exciting going on inside, except perhaps for the interesting sight of a girl wearing super-short, beige daisy duke shorts with big, brown girly-boots up to her knees.

After muttering, "Hmm, there's something I don't see every day," I walked to the counter with some snacks and a beverage whose contents I'd already chugged half-way by the time I reached the cashier. I fumbled through my pockets before finding some cash to pay the cashier, then headed for the door.

As I walked out with my plastic bag, The Diva asked, “What did you get?”

I was feeling playful, and responded in my imitation of gay character Anthony Marentino from the HBO Series, Sex and the City:

“Well, apparently there’s not an anal beads section at Duane Reade. So I settled for some pencils and soap.”

TD smiled and joined in with his own feminine lisp, “Oh stop it you filthy pervert, we can’t use those here anyway…”

“Oh yes I can, sailorboy! You just try and stop me!”

“You’re such a gyspy savage,” he retorted.

“Oh stop it, you sonofabitch!”

As we laughed in amusement at the fact that: (a) we're basically idiots, and (b) we would be great as gay men if only we could fix that whole being-into-chicks thing, the Diva listens to our light-hearted, lisp-heavy voice impersonations and looks on with a curious expression—as if she’d just discovered someone had pissed in her ice cube tray after having finished a cube-filled drink and crunching on a pee-cube unwittingly.

"Wow, you guys do that really well! Are you guys sure you’re not gay?” TD’s girlfriend asked, with one eyebrow raised.

TD and I let out hearty belly-laughs and I replied, “No, but since I think we fit into that metrosexual category, I guess that makes us sort of gay, in a non-gay way.”

“Dude, being metro is totally like being gay-light, or something like that…we’re totally gay!”

She paused, and a puzzled look came over her face.

“What’s a metro…” she began to ask.

I was about to roll my eyes at what I thought was another 'playing dumb' moment, when she stopped, smiled, and said, “Ha-ha, I’m just kidding!”

"Nice! You almost got me!" I said.

We all agreed that TD and I may not be hot enough to be allowed to be gay, got a good laugh out of it, and continued with the self-effacing jokes as we walked.

Yes, moments like this confirm our moronic dickishness, I know.

Anyway, much to my surprise, we made it about twenty blocks before Little Ms. Sunshine decided she needed to use the bathroom.

Again.

This time, however, I had a full bladder myself, and was glad to stop at a bathroom somewhere.

We looked around and there weren’t any places we could stop to use the bathroom where we were, but I did notice what appeared to be an upscale restaurant about half a block ahead.

I must hold my bladder quite a bit when I’m in town, because I've noticed I always seem to hold it until the last second when I visit, and by the time I decide to relieve myself, I’m pretty much at Pee Defcon 5.

So I devised a plan to have TD distract the hostess with questions, while I snuck in behind him to use their bathroom.

It was like taking candy from a baby.

I successfully made it past the maître d' and into the bathroom area with no one noticing.

As I opened the men’s room door, a pleasantly crisp, clean smell rushed to my nose.

It was a huge, very clean, lavish, marble-tiled bathroom.

I was so impressed, I stopped to look around and check things out. As a result, I almost forgot to unzip my pants and nearly pissed myself. But, I quickly snapped out of my stupor and huried to the urinal, barely getting the old boosh-canoosh out in time to do my business.

“Ahhhh!” I sighed, in relief.

Then I looked down towards my feet and noticed it. The coolest thing I’ve ever seen in a public bathroom.

“Oh man, sweet! This place rocks!” I said, out loud.

What’s the reason this restaurant rocks, you ask?

Splashguard on the urinal. That’s right.

And it was a marble splashguard at that.

Pretty snazzy I’d say.

I know I keep saying this, but sometimes it’s the simple things in life that impresses me the most.

I mean, how often do you see that, right?

Um, never.

At least not in the States, anyway.

I realize it’s probably strange to get so excited about a restaurant urinal, but I must say, this was a nice urinal. I'm talking the Holy Grail of Urinals my friends.

Anyway, about half-way through doing my business, I hear a guy walk in.

He walked over to the urinal at the opposite end of mine, and was rambling on about some nonsense, but I couldn’t make heads or tails of it because he was talking like he had a sock stuffed in his mouth.

I thought he sounded a bit strange, so looked to my right and realized that he was simultaneously urinating, eating, and talking on his cell-phone.

At first, I cringed at how disgusting I thought this was, but then I shrugged it off and just figured he was just in a major hurry or something.

I finished my business, testing the slashguard's effectiveness, and I'm happy to report that it performed admirably. No Splashes.

Afterwards, as I was walking out, I thought about it and realized the difficulty of this feat, then thought to myself, “that man’s a genius!”

I immediately told TD about the guy in the bathroom, and his reaction was the same as mine.

“Dude, that’s pretty gross.”

“But you’re right, it is kind of impressive. I mean I’m imagining that now, and it would actually be pretty tough.”

“Ew, that’s disgusting!” said Ms. Wonderful, her face wincing in a way which indicated that the thought of this type of multi-tasking offended her delicate sensibilities.

Shaking her head in disapproval, she said, “You guys are actually impressed by this? That's not impressive, that's gross!”

TD replied, “Yeah, I mean it is pretty gross, I guess. But still...”

“I know you don’t have a penis, but stop to think about it. That's hard!”

“Ew! No thanks! I don’t even want to talk about it, much less think about it!”

Clearly, she was not impressed by his rationale.

Can't say I blamed her.

I cut in and added, "You're right, I guess that is pretty nasty no matter how difficult it is; but the splashguard...the splashguard thing is pretty cool, you have to admit."

Both of them replied, in unison, "True, true..."

After the bathroom multi-tasker and splashguard conversations lost their novelty, we continued our journey, walking a few blocks more then turning on 40th Street, going toward 5th Avenue.

By the time we reached Bryant Park, we realized that we were starting to get behind on time.

So, to keep on schedule with the itinerary, we hailed a cab up to The Plaza Hotel, and walked the rest of the way from there.

When we arrived at the fountain in front of The Plaza, The Diva noticed someone dressed as the Statue of Liberty and wanted to take a picture with them, so we humored her and took the damn pictures, before continuing along the East side of Central Park for about 20 blocks until we finally reached The Met.

When you don’t live and walk in NYC all the time, you forget that 20 blocks is a bit of a hike if you’re not used to walking that much!

We sat for a few moments to have hot dog, the staple of any self-respecting New Yorker's street diet. TD grabbed my camera and took a photo of me and The Diva while we sat outside the museum.

When I looked at the picture he took, I noticed that an Asian girl to my right was 'what-the-fuck-ing' me with her face as TD took the picture.

Check it out, it's kind of amusing.

Anyway, after a few minutes we got our lazy asses up and started walking toward the museum.

As we approached the steps, we noticed a slew of rickshaw/pedicabs (those bicycle-carriage guys) to our right, lined up outside the museum on 5th Avenue, ready for action.

We laughed and dismissed them, all in agreement that using them wasn't really worth what they were overcharging—and besides “that’s too touristy,” we decided.

Famous last words.

After walking 30+ blocks, then walking around the museum for 2+ hours, my friends and I were feeling quite worn out.

By the time we decided that we'd seen enough of The Met, my feet were feeling sore, and I could tell everyone was feeling cranky, to say the least.

As we walked out of the museum, feeling both tired and hungry, we looked at the bicycle-carriage guys again and had an entirely different opinion of them.

We all gave in and did the tourist thing without much resistance, agreeing that we needed to get to our next destination as fast as we could, without having to walk there.

That destination being The Boathouse Restaurant in Central Park. With this in mind, picked the pedicab with the most sitting space, and off we went. The poor guy had to schlep all 3 of us.

But, I must say, the ride was definitely worth it considering how old our fatigued and hungry thirty-something year-old bodies were feeling (The Diva being fourty-something, of course; just wanted to point that out simply because it brings me joy).

Plus, it was something we'd never done before, so while we were on the back of the bike, we rationalized it as a 'new experience,' instead of viewing it as a sell-out of our agreed upon anti-tourist principles.

Looking back, I guess it did contradict our agreement to not do tourist things, but what can you do. Sometimes, you have to contradict yourself.

As native New Yorker, Walt Whitman would've said, "Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself. I am large...I contain multitudes."

Considering the fact that I'm basically a walking contradiction, I use that quote a good deal of the time to explain the things I do; and I'm fine with that. I'm kind of proud of it actually.

Especially when it means I can be lazy and take the easy way out.

There, I said it. Whatever!

All things considered, I would take the pedicab again. We did have a ton of things still left to do, so we would need to pace ourselves and conserve as much energy as we could save.

Afterall, The Boathouse Restaurant awaited our palates, but the last game ever played at Yankee Stadium that night was the climax of the day's itinerary!

Sea World

Here's a photo update for today, since I'm having some difficulty finding time to write anything.

I'm just trying to survive this Florida heat and making lemonade out of the lemons, so to speak.

My head is spinning from this roller-coaster ride called life!

Speaking of roller-coasters, there's one at Sea World called the Manta that looks pretty intense. Here’s a photo of it, as well as a few other random shots:

Rock and Roll Weekend

I had an excellent weekend!

This past Friday, I went with a group of friends to West Palm Beach, Florida, to see Kid Rock & Lynyrd Skynyrd in concert.

On Saturday, I went to Orlando, Florida for an extended weekend and went to Sea World, as well as City Walk at Universal Studios. I should have the photos from Orlando later this week.

As for Kid Rock and Skynyrd, they both put on a great show!

I managed to take some photos with my point-and-click camera, which unfortunately doesn't take very good photos in low-light conditions.

That said, most of the pics turned out very grainy. Definitely not great quality pics, but here are a few photos from the show:

Random Observations: Gen Xers, Suburban Life, and Holden Caulfield

Technically, I’m still considered a ‘thirty-something,’ despite having only 1.5 years left to make that claim.

If someday you hear someone desperately praying out loud that they want the next 1.5 years to go by really slow, let there be no doubt—that would be me.

I may be sobbing at the time. So bring tissues, just in case.

Does anyone remember that show, Thirtysomething?

Yeah, I don’t remember much about it either. If you do remember it, I think there’s a good chance you’re a Baby Boomer.

I do remember being twenty-something at the time that show aired, and also remember thinking that I didn’t really like the show. I tried to watch it once or twice, but just couldn’t relate to it.

The title of the show probably should have tipped me off.

Looking back on it now, the reasons I couldn’t relate makes total sense. The show was apparently inspired by the movie, ‘The Big Chill’ and was about a group of Baby Boomers living as, you guessed it, thirty-something adults in the 1980’s.

I was born in ’71, which is considered one of the Generation X birth years.

So there you go. That should explain why I didn't get it.

Part of me tends to believe that people are people, regardless of what generation they’re labeled as, which I think is true, at least to some degree.

Over the years, however, I’ve noticed clear differences in the attitudes, values, and overall mindsets of people from different generations.

I think the times you live in can have a real impact on those things.

I also think other things like personality traits and one’s general disposition are probably, at least in part, more genetically inherited.

I'm of the opinion that both nature and nurture play a part in who we become.

But hey, I’m no expert on the subject.

I’m just touching on my own observations and opinions based on my life experiences; opinions which you may find accurate or inaccurate, depending on who you are.

I don't think there’s really a 'correct' answer anyway, since there are exceptions to just about everything in life.

In my experience, there is no black-and-white answer or neat little categories that everyone fits into—which is a GREAT thing if you ask me.

Diversity is the spice of life!

It’s part of what makes things interesting.

People's differences should be welcomed and celebrated, I think.

How boring would life get if everyone you knew was exactly like you?

I say, miserably boring, to be exact.

You want to know the first thing I associate with miserably boring?

Two words...

The suburbs.

Unfortunately, the words ‘different’ or ‘unique’ are the opposite of how I would describe the suburbs. To me, it’s more accurate to say that everything is mostly the same in the suburbs—where being different or not fitting in is usually frowned upon.

This being one of the many reasons why I find suburban life so incredibly boring.

In all fairness, I do know there’s an up-side to living in the suburbs.

In fact, I spent my high school years living in one of those quiet, cookie-cutter suburbs in South Florida.

Feelings of comfort and predictability, which bring a sense of perceived stability and safety, come to mind—and those things are especially alluring if you have a family, or are starting a family.

It’s just that, like everything else, there’s a price for that comfort and stability; there’s a sacrifice I think you make for that perceived perfect life.

I saw the movie, Revolutionary Road a few months ago, which was a great example of this sacrifice. In fact, this quote from one of the movie reviews sums it up perfectly, in my opinion:

"The suburbs are comfortable, maybe even beautiful, but their serenity is rooted in a friendly American conformity, so that the people who live there have to repress their true selves, which will emerge when they drink too much and have affairs, or rage at each other for their dishonesty, which was all caused in the first place by...the suburbs."

Conformity. Ew.

Anyway, I’ve digressed yet again. Wow, am I good at that or what.

It's kind of what I do, though.

So, back to the difference in generations subject.

The original reason I started writing this post had to do with a NY Times article I read today, which really fascinated me.

It’s titled, “Get a Life, Holden Caulfield,” and it touches on how today’s generation of kids seem to feel differently about Holden Caulfield, the main character from the book The Catcher in the Rye, than my generation did.

What’s especially interesting to me, is that after recently trying to read the book again as a thirty-something ‘adult’ (I use that term loosely), I now tend to feel the same way about Holden as many kids feel about him today.

I couldn't get past the first chapter for some reason.

I asked myself, “What the hell does that mean? How is that possible?”

I LOVED that book!

How is it that I can relate to high school kids these days? Is it that I haven’t really matured at all since high school?!

I’d like to think that I've matured nicely. Then again, there's a part of me that I think may never grow up, which is actually a comforting thought.

I want to keep that spark—that youthful sprit—alive as long as I can.

It’s a scary thought to imagine growing into some crotchety old man who’s afraid of change. I just can’t imagine.

Much like John Mayer sings in the song Stop This Train, I am generally: “So scared of getting older, I’m only good at being young.”

In any case, after thinking about the Holden Caulfield thing for a few moments, I realized that kids these days have access to much more information than I did at their age.

I think that kids having more information and knowledge easily available to them at a younger age is probably helping the younger generation understand the world around them much faster and much sooner than my generation did.

At least that's what I'd like to think.

It's either that, or parents are just doing a much better job raising their kids these days.

I'm skeptical about the latter, but maybe it's a little of both, who knows.

Of course, having information available doesn’t guarantee people will take advantage of it, but at least it’s there. These days, you can get information to learn about anything in a matter of seconds.

Oh, how I wish Google was available to me in high school!

But of course, information and knowledge can’t bring you wisdom and discernment—that’s something, I think, only time and maturity can bring.

After reading this, however, it's clear that knowing how to act in public, is another subject altogether. One that probably includes people of all generations.

In unrelated news—man, am I in the wrong business. Even in today’s financial environment, it’s amazing how these guys are still swimming in money!

Botanical Bridge

After eating and having a few drinks at The Boathouse Restaurant in Central Park, I went for a walk, towards a nearby fountain I like to sit by whenever I'm there. On the way to the fountain, I noticed a desolate little spot under a bridge nearby with lots of trees, plants, and general shrubbery all around it.

I'm not sure why I liked it enough to take a picture, but then again, I'm constantly taking pictures of all kinds of random things for no reason.

It's kinda what I do.

Being random, that is...

Ode to NYC Street Artists

As some or most of you may know by now, I love all kinds music. I'm proud to say that my tastes are very diverse, as I enjoy many artists in nearly all styles of music.

I pay no attention to labels or genres. Simply put, if it pleases my ears, I'll probably like it.

That said, I thought I'd share some of the musical moments I've captured while roaming the streets of New York City.

I've had the opportunity to interact with many, many interesting people along the way, and fortunately, I happened to have my camera with me during some of those encounters.

Some people love and appreciate the city's energy. Others, not so much -- it's not for everyone.

To me, one thing is certain, however:

New York City is full of life and adventure around every corner; but one of the important elements behind that, which I think rarely gets enough credit, is that the people of New York are the driving force behind the vibrant energy that exudes from the city.

Consider this post a small tribute to the street musicians and artists who add color and vibrance to the Manhattan's city streets and parks.

This, among many other things that make city life interesting, are things you don't get to see in the quiet suburbs of America...

New Park in NYC

This probably isn't new information for those of you who live in NYC, but for those of us who are obsessed with the place and wish we did live there, I thought this would be interesting info to share.

"New York City unveils new park made from elevated rail line..."

Morons in Manhattan III

The twenty minutes that Ms. Wonderful spent in the bathroom were the most blissful twenty minutes I’ve experienced in a long time; but all good things must eventually come to an end—and that’s exactly what happened to my all-too-brief, drama free respite from Ms. Diva’s annoying yapper.

But alas, return she did, despite my wishing that she would either spontaneously combust in the bathroom, or somehow be magically teleported back to Puerto Rico, and out of our lives forever.

Unfortunately for me, my powers of wishful thinking go only so far.

I sensed her presence and I looked up from my plate to see the wondrous sight of Ms. Wonderful as she approached the table, staring at me with her disapproving, beady eyes and asshole-puckered lips—frowning as if I’d just forced her to take a bite out of a huge shit sandwich.

I rolled my eyes and looked away in sheer disappointment at the very unfortunate fact that she even exists, then I took a moment to prepare myself for as much brown-nosing as I can possibly bear without vomiting.

I instinctively lowered my eyes into the palms of my hands, rubbing them lightly, as if doing so would make her disappear from my sight.

No Luck.

She was still there as I looked up. I immediately slumped in my chair, thinking to myself, “Aw Christ, here we go.”

Trying to kiss her ass was about as easy and painless for me as trying to pass a marble-sized kidney stone after being dehydrated from drinking no liquids for two days.

In fact, I think I would’ve rather tried to successfully suck a baseball through one of those skinny little black cocktail straws you get in your drinks at Happy Hour.

I tried in vain for a few moments to think of a way to apologize without actually apologizing, so we could get through the day's itinerary in relative peace.

But after a few moments of that futile exercise, I just thought to myself, "Aw, screw it.”

“Why would I apologize?”

“For what?” I thought.

“For being direct and honest? I don’t think so.”

You see, the problem with me is, I have a Holden Caulfield-like dismay for anything phony; so not only am I very bad at pretending that I’m sorry when I’m not, I also can’t even stomach an attempt at coughing up some phony response just to play nicey-nice.

I’ll save that for puppies and children, thanks.

Maybe I’m just an ass; but at least I’m an authentic ass. And that, to me, is as sacred as any Holy Relic or scripture is to [insert pious, religious pilgrim of any faith here].

You simply can’t buy or put a price on authenticity, my friends.

So, all of this considered, I decided to just say whatever I needed to say, and let the chips fall where they may.

“Listen, I really need to be as straight-forward as possible with you here. I’m not good at sugar-coating things, so I need you to turn down your girly sensitivities for a minute. This way I can say what I need to say without pissing you off—again.”

I cringed for a moment, thinking the ‘girly sensitivities’ comment would set her off, but thankfully it didn’t.

Her non-verbal cues and facial expressions, however, tightened up like someone who was anticipating a punch in the face, or like someone who knows they’re about to hear bad news.

“Um…ok” she said, reticently.

“So here’s the deal…”

“You and I clearly don’t get along and don’t have much in common” I said.

She nods in agreement.

“I don’t trust you, I think you’re way too pretentious, you have no sense of humor, you’re too judgmental, you act like a spoiled brat, and you take way too goddamn long to go to the bathroom.”

She sits back in her chair, a bit shocked at what I had said.

“I know that’s some brutal honesty for ya, but I’m just telling it like I see it.”

Before she has a chance to respond, I continue:

“That said, you’re here and that’s the reality of the situation. We’re all here for a few days, so I just need you to know that I’m a sarcastic person, and if I sense someone is being fake or disingenuous, I’m gonna call them out on it.”

“Capiche?”

Immediately after I said it, I regretted saying ‘capiche,’ since I thought the word would fly over her head and I’d have to explain what it meant.

But that’s not the word that threw her off.

“What do you mean disingenuous?” She asked.

“Note to self,” I thought...

“Don’t use anything above a fourth grade vocabulary around her.”

In as patient a demeanor as I could muster, I replied, “That means when I think your full of shit, I’m gonna point it out, and I’m most likely gonna be sarcastic about it.”

“When was I full of shit?” she asked.

“Um, you’re full of shit when you use your Puerto Rican heritage as an excuse for the fact that you’re simply not as cultured as you’d like us to think you are” I said.

“I mean, give me a break—my parents are from Hispanic countries too, but they know what a goddamn Yuppie is! Just say you don’t know, but don’t blame it on being Puerto Rican, because that’s bullshit.”

She smirks and looks down like a little kid who’s been busted lying.

“I guess” she says, reluctantly.

“Whatever, you know it’s true.”

“Remember the time TD and I were talking and he threw out that Moby Dick reference?”

“Yes.”

“Well, do you also remember that when we told you it was from Moby Dick, you asked, ‘What’s Moby Dick?’”

“Yeeeaah, and?” she replied.

“Great. She's yes-ing me to death now” I thought.

“So if you remember all of that, then how do you not remember that after we told you that Moby Dick is a book, you said, ‘Oh, well I’m from Puerto Rico, we don’t read books like Moby Dick there.’”

Smirking again, she says, “Oh yeah, I did say that. It’s true though…I think.”

“Ok. Welp, I hate to burst your bubble, but literature isn’t exclusive to people in the U.S.” I said.

“Believe it or not, people all over the world read literature, including those in Puerto Rico—which is, by the way, considered U.S. territory.”

“Well, I just never heard of it” she replied.

“So, just say you’ve never heard of it then” I retorted.

“When you blame your ignorance on being from Puerto Rico, you basically insult the intelligence of all people from Puerto Rico” I said.

“Not only does it piss me off when you say that, but you sound like a complete idiot.”

“Alright, fine” she replied.

“If I stop saying that, will you stop picking on me?”

During all this, TD motioned to the waiter for the check, and it arrived just before we finished the conversation.

“I haven’t been picking on you any more than I would anyone else…”

I paused for a moment, then replied, “Ok, well maybe I have.”

“All I ask is that you stop trying to be a bullshit artist.”

“I think I can deal with your pain-in-the-ass-ness for a few days if you can cut down on the bullshit” I said.

“Ok, I’ll try.”

I was tempted to reply with a Yoda reference from the movie Star Wars and say something like, "There is no try, only do!" But instead, I opted for something a bit more tame.

“I guess that’s all I can ask for” I replied.

Feeling relieved, TD pays for the check in cash, and we get up to leave. She put out her hand to shake mine and says, “So, we got a deal?”

I look at her hand, and in jest, I scoff at the gesture.

In a loud, obnoxious voice, I recall one of my favorite episodes of HBO’s Entourage and say, “Nah! No hand shaking on this one, we gotta hug it out bitch!”

We all laughed, the mood was light again, and were finally able to leave our little Café on 23rd Street and start our much anticipated Metropolitan adventure.

(continued from: Morons in Manhattan II)

Funemployment?

Considering I work for a Fortune Top 100 Company (it was before the recession anyway), I've been very aware of the large amounts of people that have been getting laid-off.

I think the count so far for my employer this year is around 12,000 people.

Most of the people who I've known that have been affected were absolutely thrilled, however. The reason for this was the fact that they recieved decent severance packages, and wouldn't have to work for a while.

I have to tip my hat to those people.

I would immediately be thinking about what happens after the severance runs out. Hmm. I'm really laid-back about most things, but I guess that's one of the few situations I'd definitely get very stressed out about.

I would be freaking out if all I had for income was a paltry unemployment check.

I know that anyone can be affected by this these days, so I'm trying to mentally prepare myself for that possibility. In light of that, I read this article today, which I thought would help me see things differently if I were to be part of a RIF (reduction in force) someday.

I'm not so sure it helped though. I might enjoy it for a week or two, but after that, I'm not sure I'd be able to see it as 'funemployment' for very long.

I hope I don't get the chance to find out!