Company Picnic

Taking a new approach this year, we had a whole roasted pig at our company picnic this year. You have to chalk it up to innovation, no? By the way, it was delicious.

Everyone Loves Watermelon

I can't resist animals happily enjoying a summer treat.

So Creepy It's Fascinating

In case you missed this fascinating (and overexposed) video, please revel in the continued trend of animated baby antics.

Up & Coming

Christo sent me an article today from The Daily News about my hood. I live in The Riviera (above, mentioned in the article). We live in a classic six apartment and honestly, we chose the neighborhood for the space we could get for dollar value. We've lived here for four years and I've seen changes that indicate escalated gentrification of the area. Last week, I even saw a Starbuck's opening on Broadway. That's a sure and scary sign.

The area I live in just received historic district status. I'm grateful local government appreciates it as much as I do.

I've Got a Crush on You

Say what you will; there's no one like Sarah Vaughan. She didn't enunciate like Ella or intonate like Billie but she always felt her songs. This is later period Vaughan. I think she's still brilliant.

The Noisy Center of the Universe

I rarely go to Times Square. Outside of going to the theater, there's not much of a real reason to go there. On the few occasions I've had to, the massive wall of tourists that flank every square inch of the sidewalk are enough to send a resident reeling back to the subway. I'd reckon most people who live in places with tourist attractions do that. I lived in San Francisco for 13 years and went to Fisherman's Wharf all of two times...and only because I was with visiting friends who wanted to go there.

Times Square is an overwhelming universe. The noise, the volume of people, the lights and concentrated activity is dizzying to me still after all these years. Regardless, Times Square was my destination today. I had planned to see an exhibit of artifacts recovered from The Titanic at the Discovery Center off West 44th, smack dab in Times Square.

Upon exiting the subway at 41st Street, I entered into warm sunlight. A mosaic of odors assaulted my nose: hot dogs, diesel fuel, rotting refuse, stale urine, sugared nuts, coffee and rubber. Gaggles of tourists plodded along the streets, taking pictures of the cacophony of dramatic billboards, video screens and theater marques. Tour bus carnies were everywhere, waving brochures. A lone scientologist was trying to give away copies of "Dyanetics." The ubiquitous Peruvian musicians played in front of the Marriott Marquis. Aspiring rap artists tried to give away sample DVDs of their musical efforts. Street vendors sold cheap handbags, sunglasses, scarfs and Michael Jackson T-shirts. And new to the scene of street regulars, people hawked discount tickets to Broadway shows--clearly a sign that the economy was even impacting fabled Schubert Alley.

I made my way to the Discovery Center. The exhibit was well organized, both in flow and mood. Upon entering, I was given a boarding card with the caveat, "I hope you survive the trip." Cheesy, perhaps, but I spent the whole exhibit wondering if the person I had been given HAD survived. (Her name was Helene Ragnhild Ostby, a passenger in 1st Class). The artifacts were stunning. Pieces of jewelery, postcards and personal correspondence, dishes from all three classes, a porter's jacket, machinery, iron work, bottles still containing wine, tools, luggage, shoes, crockery, razor blades, cosmetic containers and all other matter of items. Personal stories were intertwined between the exhibits. Spaces were recreated: The 1st class accommodations, the 1st class cabin hallway, the dining spaces, the steerage cabins and the piece de resistance, the grand staircase. This was the massive oak staircase adorned with the carved cherubs, the large clock tower and the brilliant glass dome. I snuck a hurried picture. It was a marvelous exhibit; it even included an iceberg. Yes, a small but real iceberg which we were encouraged to touch. I learned that salt water is colder when frozen than fresh water. Well, who knew?

As I ventured into the sunlight to make my way home, I was confronted with throngs of tourists and ye gods, the famous naked cowboy. I had to take a picture, of course. I then regained my senses, rushed to the subway and headed back to the quiet stability of my hood. And in case you're wondering, Helene was indeed one of the survivors.

Food Hell

This site defies imagination. Horrific and hilarious.

The Bad News Bears

I spend alot of time at work and fortunately, I really like the people I work with. I labor finding new ways to make our work days fun and to spark socialization. It takes so little to have, say, a Halloween party or a summer happy hour. It reminds your colleagues that outside of the regular grind, we like one another and we like to spend time together.

Over a year ago, I tried to encourage a corporate bowling or softball team. The response was somewhat enthusiastic, but gathering enough troops to be competitive was a challenge. This year, I was determined not to be deterred. I started lobbying for a corporate softball team early--in winter--enlisting team members and our captain, Carlos. By spring, the team was selected. Team jersey designs were being evaluated. We registered our team with Faifield County. We were ready to play ball.

I hadn't planned to play myself. I am horrifically out of shape and haven't played softball since the 1980s. I planned to cheer the team on and offer libation support. But wouldn't you know it, the first game was last night and many of our key players had decided to leave for a long weekend. We needed ten players and we were four short.

Carlos came to me. "You're going to have to play." he said. Sweet Jesus--this will be bad. I changed into my softball clothes and headed to the field.

We started practice and as suspected, my throwing arm was lacking. My batting, rather poor. I was in fear of playing. Our competition, practicing in the opposing field, seemed to be made up a group of serious competitors. I feared the worst.

We did have a few good players. Carlos and Chris and Vivian had played softball for many years and they could catch and hit. The Man in Plaid (also roped in with the player shortage) surprised me with his incredible batting ability--he sent many a ball out into the far nether lands. He may as well have been our ringer.

Minutes before the game began, a steady rain began to fall. We all clustered under a lone tree for protection, but in short order, we were soaked to the skin. The umpire called for a ten minute delay. As luck (bad) would have it, the rain eased and the game began in earnest.

I was picked to be the catcher. How this happened, I have no clue. I squatted down behind home base, holding my glove aloft as I had seen Mike Piazza do. The Man in Plaid was pitching. We warmed up with a few throws and the ump called for the first pitcher.

I'll spare you the details, but within five innings, we were slaughtered. The final score--18 to 2. I got up to bat twice but grounded out both times. The Man in Plaid, showing a surprising competitive streak, started coaching the players. On my last turn up to bat he said, "Take the first strike, then hit the second ball." I did just that, but I wish I could have turned it into a hit.

The game called, we retreated to the bench and cracked open a few Coronas. We swapped tales, hung out and played with a colleague's beagle, Spike. He's our new mascot.In the end, defeat was painful but we are not deterred. The next game is on Monday. All in all, it was an unremarkable debut. And a hell of a lot of fun.