Monday, May 10, 2004
Eastern Wisdom* -- Yogi Quote of the Day
As we search for wisdom and understanding, and further ponder the deeper metaphysical implications of change, we should contemplate the sayings of the greatest Yogi of them all, for in contemplation, lies the road to wisdom. In that spirit, I give you the Yogi quote of the day:
"If you come to a fork in the road, take it."
* By "Eastern", you should, of course, understand that to mean the Eastern Division of the American League.
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"If you come to a fork in the road, take it."
* By "Eastern", you should, of course, understand that to mean the Eastern Division of the American League.
Papers out!
Stinky was not nearly as bad as he usually is and the papers have gone out to the other side and to the judge. Woo hoo! And the best part is that no animals were harmed in the making of the opposition to this motion. I will blog more about Stinky tomorrow, when I've caught my breath.
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Very Troubling
I only have one side of this story and am aware that there could easily be another explanation, but I will not let the fact that I am not in possession of all the facts stop me.
I have an acquaintance. He is dying from an incurable brain tumor. When another friend arrived at the hospital to visit him, he found the fellow's girl friend there with some "sleazy accountant". It transpires that the girl friend, a woman of uncertain character, is now the wife. It further appears as if this has taken place very quickly and the will has been changed with equal rapidity. All who are aware of this fellow's condition believe that, as a result of the effects of the tumor, he lacked the capacity to marry, to change his will, or to make practically any decision as all.
Maybe there is a reasonable explanation, but I am hard pressed to see it. To quote my little girl, I am, absolutely, so sad.
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I have an acquaintance. He is dying from an incurable brain tumor. When another friend arrived at the hospital to visit him, he found the fellow's girl friend there with some "sleazy accountant". It transpires that the girl friend, a woman of uncertain character, is now the wife. It further appears as if this has taken place very quickly and the will has been changed with equal rapidity. All who are aware of this fellow's condition believe that, as a result of the effects of the tumor, he lacked the capacity to marry, to change his will, or to make practically any decision as all.
Maybe there is a reasonable explanation, but I am hard pressed to see it. To quote my little girl, I am, absolutely, so sad.
Adventures in Blind Dating, Conclusion of this Adventure
Quick update: I was right, those crazy kids are not going to make it. I got an email this morning from L asking me to let B down gently, explaining (to the extent that what follows constitutes an explanation, not that she needed to provide one), that she didn't think it was going to go anywhere. The French say that when you meet someone, there has to be a "flash". No flash here, evidently.
And the dating goes on. . .
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And the dating goes on. . .
Ice Cream and Naps, although not in that order
This past weekend was the first weekend in a long time I did not have to work. It was delightful. I already wrote about Saturday.
Sunday was Mother's Day. Another in a long line of what my wife and I think of as Hallmark Holidays. We had lunch with my parents and my grand-parents. Not the high point of my day, at the risk of sounding like a less than dutiful son. My daughter collapsed in tears in the restaurant, and I had to carry her out, upon hearing the pronouncement that there would be in dessert. She was vastly overtired. In fact, she went to sleep almost as soon as we got her home. The boy child did as well. He actually was very well behaved at the restaurant.
So what, you may wonder, did I do with the two and a half hours of free time given to me by my children? Well, I wasted a half an hour doing I know not now. The other two hours I spent in serious nap on the sofa. Ah, the bliss that is the afternoon nap. Actually, I was not feeling too well which is why I crashed out for two hours. I felt a bit loggy when I awoke. The kids were up very shortly after I was. I cooked dinner for us all, which my daughter refused to eat, preferring toasted bread and cheese, which we made for her. The boy ate his, after a fashion, meaning that half made its way into his mouth directly, a quarter was waved about in the air for a time before being eaten, and the remaining quarter went straight on the floor, much to his mother's consternation.
We finished dinner early and it was a beautiful evening. So, we loaded the boy into the baby bjorn and the girl into the stroller and off we went into the village. It's about a 10-15 minute walk into the village and it was delightful. Many of the flowering trees and bushes are budding and some are fully flowered. It smelled delicious and every where we looked there were vivid pinks and purples. However, we did not take too much time to stop and smell the flowers. No, we were on a mission. Ice cream. There is a place in our little hamlet that makes its own ice cream. Our daughter wanted strawberry and our son, my wife decided, really wanted toasted almond, although how she got that from his babbling is beyond me.
In any event, ice cream was procured, tasted, pronounced perfect, and happiness pervaded our merry little band. And to top it off, on the way back, we got to watch a bunny rabbit for a couple of minutes before he (or maybe she) decided our attention was too much and hopped away.
It was a perfect, almost Norman Rockwell, evening. I'm trying hard to fix it in my memory to keep it to refer back to when we get the anti-Norman Rockwell moments. It's hard, though, isn't it? I mean, to keep hold of the good times when you are experiencing the bad times. The bad times, somehow, seem more vivid and immediate and long lasting than the good times. Speaking of which, I am off to get some papers out today. I am working with Stinky, the partner I love the least. Wish me luck and patience.
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Sunday was Mother's Day. Another in a long line of what my wife and I think of as Hallmark Holidays. We had lunch with my parents and my grand-parents. Not the high point of my day, at the risk of sounding like a less than dutiful son. My daughter collapsed in tears in the restaurant, and I had to carry her out, upon hearing the pronouncement that there would be in dessert. She was vastly overtired. In fact, she went to sleep almost as soon as we got her home. The boy child did as well. He actually was very well behaved at the restaurant.
So what, you may wonder, did I do with the two and a half hours of free time given to me by my children? Well, I wasted a half an hour doing I know not now. The other two hours I spent in serious nap on the sofa. Ah, the bliss that is the afternoon nap. Actually, I was not feeling too well which is why I crashed out for two hours. I felt a bit loggy when I awoke. The kids were up very shortly after I was. I cooked dinner for us all, which my daughter refused to eat, preferring toasted bread and cheese, which we made for her. The boy ate his, after a fashion, meaning that half made its way into his mouth directly, a quarter was waved about in the air for a time before being eaten, and the remaining quarter went straight on the floor, much to his mother's consternation.
We finished dinner early and it was a beautiful evening. So, we loaded the boy into the baby bjorn and the girl into the stroller and off we went into the village. It's about a 10-15 minute walk into the village and it was delightful. Many of the flowering trees and bushes are budding and some are fully flowered. It smelled delicious and every where we looked there were vivid pinks and purples. However, we did not take too much time to stop and smell the flowers. No, we were on a mission. Ice cream. There is a place in our little hamlet that makes its own ice cream. Our daughter wanted strawberry and our son, my wife decided, really wanted toasted almond, although how she got that from his babbling is beyond me.
In any event, ice cream was procured, tasted, pronounced perfect, and happiness pervaded our merry little band. And to top it off, on the way back, we got to watch a bunny rabbit for a couple of minutes before he (or maybe she) decided our attention was too much and hopped away.
It was a perfect, almost Norman Rockwell, evening. I'm trying hard to fix it in my memory to keep it to refer back to when we get the anti-Norman Rockwell moments. It's hard, though, isn't it? I mean, to keep hold of the good times when you are experiencing the bad times. The bad times, somehow, seem more vivid and immediate and long lasting than the good times. Speaking of which, I am off to get some papers out today. I am working with Stinky, the partner I love the least. Wish me luck and patience.
Sunday, May 09, 2004
Another Change
No more babies and booze. Yesterday was the last babies and booze event as we've known them in the past. What, you may ask is babies and booze? It was the last gasp of formerly very social adults who suddenly found themselves with child. We were four couples, all of whom were somewhere between friends and very good friends. All of whom reproduced at or about the same time, certainly within a year of each other. All of whom used to hang out and often drink a little too much. None of whom wanted to bring a baby to a smoky NYC bar and all of whom considered themselves to be responsible parents. Solution? Pick an apartment and all get together for a 5-6 hour, sometimes longer, visit. We'd divide the 8 into 2 teams of 4 and into 2 shifts. The first time, the guys went to see the first Lord of the Rings movie while the women watched the kids. The second shift involved the guys with the kids and the women imbibing at a local Mexican place. It was a huge success and for awhile there we were getting together like this every 4-6 weeks.
Last night was one of the last with the original 4 couples. We had it at their apartment in Greenwich Village. This couple is moving to Pennsylvania where he will be a professor at a law school there. They live in a very trendy building in the far West Village -- think J-Lo or Tony Soprano guy. They sold their apartment for an obscene amount of money, bought a house in rural Pennsylvania and are going, so the thinking goes, to bury themselves out there in the middle of nowhere. So, they hosted.
We broke with tradition by all staying together the whole time such that it was more like an extended play date with wine. We had all divided up food responsibilities and I took cheese. Shopping for cheese, with almost no constraints because you're buying for 6, is so much fun. I went to Murray's Cheese, one of the top cheese shops in the City, and told the nice woman behind the counter that I wanted 6 cheeses -- three stinky and three non-stinky -- and that she should dazzle me with her suggestions. Well, maybe she was new, but I was not dazzled. For instance, when I asked for the most unusual stinky cheese, she gave me a cheese with truffles in it but where the rind had been rubbed with cinnamon. Sort of yummy, not stinky at all and the cinnamon detracted from the earth richness of the truffles. So I intervened and ended up buying an: Epoisse (very stinky washed rind); two goats; a Tur (goat and sheep, creamy but stinky); a petit Muenster (stinky like old socks); an aged Gouda (almost crunchy); and, for a seventh, they had a cool Norwegian cheese with cloves in it.
We took the kids across the West Side Highway to a very cute playground and ran around with them until we decided it was time to go. We convinced the kids by saying the magic word, "snacks". Of course, they did not expect snacks to include boiled shrimp or smoked salmon, well, with the exception of my kid, maybe, who thinks smoked salmon is about as good as ice cream. No kidding. She used to make her ice cream noise for smoked salmon and nothing else. She did put away so much shrimp though that I sort of apologized to our host who, being inherently a kind person, told me not to worry about it.
We also drank some yummy wine. Our host covered the labels on 2 bottles and had us taste and compare. It turns out that they were both the same wine, a Chateau Talbot, but 10 years apart in vintage. Not to blow my own horn, but I got it immediately on the first sip of each, much to the surprise of my host. I like wine and, while it's hard to talk about wine without sounding pretentious, it's not a complicated subject. Taste, think, describe. Where's the great mystery?
Anyway, it was a lovely day with great cheese, great wine, good friends, adorable and well behaved children, and a perfect way to say good bye to a wonderful little tradition. I don't know if we are ever going to do it again and even if we do, with just the three couples or if we add another one, the dynamics will be different.
So that is another change. Another chapter ended. I'm still going to post about some other changes later. I just need to reflect on them some more, or maybe, I'll just use this to reflect out loud.
Sorry if this one ran rather long. Thanks for reading to the end.
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Last night was one of the last with the original 4 couples. We had it at their apartment in Greenwich Village. This couple is moving to Pennsylvania where he will be a professor at a law school there. They live in a very trendy building in the far West Village -- think J-Lo or Tony Soprano guy. They sold their apartment for an obscene amount of money, bought a house in rural Pennsylvania and are going, so the thinking goes, to bury themselves out there in the middle of nowhere. So, they hosted.
We broke with tradition by all staying together the whole time such that it was more like an extended play date with wine. We had all divided up food responsibilities and I took cheese. Shopping for cheese, with almost no constraints because you're buying for 6, is so much fun. I went to Murray's Cheese, one of the top cheese shops in the City, and told the nice woman behind the counter that I wanted 6 cheeses -- three stinky and three non-stinky -- and that she should dazzle me with her suggestions. Well, maybe she was new, but I was not dazzled. For instance, when I asked for the most unusual stinky cheese, she gave me a cheese with truffles in it but where the rind had been rubbed with cinnamon. Sort of yummy, not stinky at all and the cinnamon detracted from the earth richness of the truffles. So I intervened and ended up buying an: Epoisse (very stinky washed rind); two goats; a Tur (goat and sheep, creamy but stinky); a petit Muenster (stinky like old socks); an aged Gouda (almost crunchy); and, for a seventh, they had a cool Norwegian cheese with cloves in it.
We took the kids across the West Side Highway to a very cute playground and ran around with them until we decided it was time to go. We convinced the kids by saying the magic word, "snacks". Of course, they did not expect snacks to include boiled shrimp or smoked salmon, well, with the exception of my kid, maybe, who thinks smoked salmon is about as good as ice cream. No kidding. She used to make her ice cream noise for smoked salmon and nothing else. She did put away so much shrimp though that I sort of apologized to our host who, being inherently a kind person, told me not to worry about it.
We also drank some yummy wine. Our host covered the labels on 2 bottles and had us taste and compare. It turns out that they were both the same wine, a Chateau Talbot, but 10 years apart in vintage. Not to blow my own horn, but I got it immediately on the first sip of each, much to the surprise of my host. I like wine and, while it's hard to talk about wine without sounding pretentious, it's not a complicated subject. Taste, think, describe. Where's the great mystery?
Anyway, it was a lovely day with great cheese, great wine, good friends, adorable and well behaved children, and a perfect way to say good bye to a wonderful little tradition. I don't know if we are ever going to do it again and even if we do, with just the three couples or if we add another one, the dynamics will be different.
So that is another change. Another chapter ended. I'm still going to post about some other changes later. I just need to reflect on them some more, or maybe, I'll just use this to reflect out loud.
Sorry if this one ran rather long. Thanks for reading to the end.
Saturday, May 08, 2004
Eastern Wisdom -- Yogi Quote of the Day
As we search for wisdom and understanding, we should contemplate the sayings of the greatest Yogi of them all, for in contemplation, lies the road to wisdom. In that spirit, I give you the Yogi quote of the day:
"We may be lost, but we're making good time." -- Yogi Berra, 1972
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"We may be lost, but we're making good time." -- Yogi Berra, 1972
Friday, May 07, 2004
Change
My wife made me tape the final episode of Friends because we were going out to dinner last night and she wanted to watch it. So, we saw it tonight. Actually, it was pretty vapid. However, one scene resonated with me. That was the last one where the cast all put their keys on the table and shut the door to the apartment.
Every time we've moved, I've always insisted on being the last one out the door and I turn to the apartment, say good bye, and shut the door. Silly, maybe, but it helps me with the change. I am probably (my wife says, certainly) not good at change. I contend that I love change, as long as it doesn't interfere with any of my little daily routines. Changing living space is a tough one, because it changes all of your daily routines.
So I always say good bye. I feel as if I have a vivid recollection of the last three places we lived, of the front door closing, of the sound of the door and the clunk of the locks. Even the smell of the hallways and the quality of the light. I sort of miss all of these places. I have happy memories of all of them. But I always have to say good bye.
I am contemplating some other changes, future changes, life/career changes. I'll address them later. Remind me if I forget, ok?
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Every time we've moved, I've always insisted on being the last one out the door and I turn to the apartment, say good bye, and shut the door. Silly, maybe, but it helps me with the change. I am probably (my wife says, certainly) not good at change. I contend that I love change, as long as it doesn't interfere with any of my little daily routines. Changing living space is a tough one, because it changes all of your daily routines.
So I always say good bye. I feel as if I have a vivid recollection of the last three places we lived, of the front door closing, of the sound of the door and the clunk of the locks. Even the smell of the hallways and the quality of the light. I sort of miss all of these places. I have happy memories of all of them. But I always have to say good bye.
I am contemplating some other changes, future changes, life/career changes. I'll address them later. Remind me if I forget, ok?
Addition to Favorite Buildings (NYC Edition)
This will probably be the first of many, but, walking down Fifth Avenue last night I realized I had forgotten about the Cartier Store/Plant Townhouse. This is the last surviving example of golden age Fifth Avenue domestic architecture. Yes, at one point, Fifth Avenue in the 50's was residential and very, very expensive. Cartier recently restored the building and it looks pretty great.
Also, a kind reader wrote in about the Cunard Building downtown, which has the most kick ass ceiling. This reminded me of the Customs House at Bowling Green. The NYC harbors were where much of the nation's wealth landed from cross-Atlantic trade. All the duties paid on that trade were paid here. Specifically, the counting room in the rotunda, which you can sort of glimpse in one of the photographs at the link, has the most incredible murals and the original desks where merchants stepped up to pay the duty on their cargo.
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Also, a kind reader wrote in about the Cunard Building downtown, which has the most kick ass ceiling. This reminded me of the Customs House at Bowling Green. The NYC harbors were where much of the nation's wealth landed from cross-Atlantic trade. All the duties paid on that trade were paid here. Specifically, the counting room in the rotunda, which you can sort of glimpse in one of the photographs at the link, has the most incredible murals and the original desks where merchants stepped up to pay the duty on their cargo.
Adventures in Blind Dating, Update
Well, those two crazy kids may not make it after all. [Wipe tear away, here] B has reported in. He tells me that they stayed for another half and hour and chatted. B says she was cute and he enjoyed the set up. However, when he asked her for another drink or if she'd like to go get a bite to eat, she told him that she had to be up early tomorrow and would have to pass. So, B, ever the gentleman, walked her back to the train where she said, "this was fun, let's do it again sometime, email me". Sounds like the kiss of death, right? Time will tell, but, to paraphrase from old silent films, it doesn't look good for our hero!
However, another prospect has come out of nowhere. Well, not nowhere. My wife has a candidate from her job who just broke up with her boyfriend. Stay tuned and we'll see what develops in my quest to help B achieve couplehood.
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However, another prospect has come out of nowhere. Well, not nowhere. My wife has a candidate from her job who just broke up with her boyfriend. Stay tuned and we'll see what develops in my quest to help B achieve couplehood.
My Brush, however faint, with Fame
My wife and I had dinner last night in the City (NYC). All by ourselves, no kids, no other people. It was grand. The food was good, the wine was good, the conversation flowed (or at least did better than just dripping) and sparkled (there were moments, ok), and we felt for a brief and shining moment like adults again. She looked beautiful (and I'm not just saying that because I know that she tunes in from time to time).
After dinner, we were enjoying a post prandial stroll down Fifth Avenue to catch a train back home when, suddenly, who should I spy jumping out of a Town Car and ducking into the NBA Store but none other than Al Sharpton. Remember Al? Democratic Presidential candidate? Racial rabble rouser? Huckster?
He cut his hair, otherwise, he looked pretty good. I wonder if we'll see him at the Democratic National Convention, especially since I've been seeing articles concerning Kerry's failure to reach out to minorities and include more minorities in his campaign.
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After dinner, we were enjoying a post prandial stroll down Fifth Avenue to catch a train back home when, suddenly, who should I spy jumping out of a Town Car and ducking into the NBA Store but none other than Al Sharpton. Remember Al? Democratic Presidential candidate? Racial rabble rouser? Huckster?
He cut his hair, otherwise, he looked pretty good. I wonder if we'll see him at the Democratic National Convention, especially since I've been seeing articles concerning Kerry's failure to reach out to minorities and include more minorities in his campaign.
Freedom of the Press in the European Community
Journalist arrested for investigation into fraud. It appears that there is a vast scandal brewing in the European Union over fraudulently diverting Commission money into private hands. Classic corruption. Here, in the United States, a journalist who exposed such a scam would be heading for the Pulitzer Prize. In Europe, he's gone to jail, had his lap top seized, had his records taken, and had his bank statements reviewed. No such treatment has been meted out to those accused of the fraud. The crime this journalist has committed? Insufficient fervor in support of the EU and giving ammunition to the anti-Europeans (read: British). The thing that got me, among others, was the bit about the television station called Euronews. The author of the article, a British MEP (member of European Parliament) had this to say about Euronews:
"[W]hen it reports directly on the EU, impartiality goes out of the window and we are treated to Soviet-style items about millions of workers waking up to higher standards thanks to the Commission. I found the contrast suspicious, so I put down a written question asking Romano Prodi [EU President] whether he gave Euronews any money. His reply was beyond parody. Yes, he said, he did give it grants, but such grants 'in no way restrict the editorial freedom of the beneficiary, who must, however, respect the image of the European institutions and the raison d'etre and general objectives of the Union'." (emphasis added)
I have always had strong views about state funded media. This just confirms them. Remember Prodi's response, please, the next time you read a European newspaper attacking the United States press for being a tool of the administration. Remember that the journalist may have filed that attack while on his or her way to the bank to deposit his or her check from the EU administration.
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"[W]hen it reports directly on the EU, impartiality goes out of the window and we are treated to Soviet-style items about millions of workers waking up to higher standards thanks to the Commission. I found the contrast suspicious, so I put down a written question asking Romano Prodi [EU President] whether he gave Euronews any money. His reply was beyond parody. Yes, he said, he did give it grants, but such grants 'in no way restrict the editorial freedom of the beneficiary, who must, however, respect the image of the European institutions and the raison d'etre and general objectives of the Union'." (emphasis added)
I have always had strong views about state funded media. This just confirms them. Remember Prodi's response, please, the next time you read a European newspaper attacking the United States press for being a tool of the administration. Remember that the journalist may have filed that attack while on his or her way to the bank to deposit his or her check from the EU administration.
Thursday, May 06, 2004
Time Suck of the Day -- A Question
I saw this at another blog during my travels and thought it a very amusing question. So, with thanks to Jen, who came up with it:
"If you had a theme song that would play as you walk down the street or enter a room, what would it be?
Discuss."
For me: Either, "Hey, hey we're the Monkees" or "Sympathy for the Devil".
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"If you had a theme song that would play as you walk down the street or enter a room, what would it be?
Discuss."
For me: Either, "Hey, hey we're the Monkees" or "Sympathy for the Devil".
Some Favorite Buildings -- NYC Edition
The built environment fascinates me. If you enjoy architectural history, you can never be bored in a city. There is always too much to see, to react to, to think about, to consider, and to enjoy. Here are some of my personal favorite buildings in NYC, in no particular order:
Lever House (Gordon Bunshaft)
The University Club (Standford White) or this link
The Flatiron Building
Grand Central Station
The Chrysler Building (pick a photo)
Citibank Center (couldn't easily find a picture)
New York State Supreme Court (60 Centre Street) (scroll down for picture)
New York Yacht Club
New York Tenement Museum (when my family came to NY, they lived in something that looked very much like this, I'm told)
Seagram Building
Century Association
Woolworth Tower (a cathedral of commerce, said the architect)
Colannade in Greenwich Village
Also check out this resource for pictures.
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Lever House (Gordon Bunshaft)
The University Club (Standford White) or this link
The Flatiron Building
Grand Central Station
The Chrysler Building (pick a photo)
Citibank Center (couldn't easily find a picture)
New York State Supreme Court (60 Centre Street) (scroll down for picture)
New York Yacht Club
New York Tenement Museum (when my family came to NY, they lived in something that looked very much like this, I'm told)
Seagram Building
Century Association
Woolworth Tower (a cathedral of commerce, said the architect)
Colannade in Greenwich Village
Also check out this resource for pictures.
Remember the movie, Chariots of Fire?
Well, today in 1954, medical student Roger Bannister broke the four-minute mile during a track meet in Oxford, England, in 3 minutes, 59.4 seconds.
Cool, huh?
Also, while we are on a today in history review, today in 1889, the Paris Exposition formally opened, featuring the just-completed Eiffel Tower. I am working on a small architecture post in its honor.
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Cool, huh?
Also, while we are on a today in history review, today in 1889, the Paris Exposition formally opened, featuring the just-completed Eiffel Tower. I am working on a small architecture post in its honor.
Taking himself too seriously?
From the NY Times this morning:
"I'm thinking about gardening as a radical political act," said Fritz Haeg, 34, an architect who teaches in the environmental design program at the Art Center College of Design in Pasadena, Calif. "It means completely questioning the way we live, the way we get our food, the way we use and abuse natural resources, the way we occupy public space."
I guess I should pay more attention to the flowers I plant. Or, maybe, I just mock what I do not understand. Still, I think he's taking himself way too seriously. He might want to try some of those decaffeinated brands.
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"I'm thinking about gardening as a radical political act," said Fritz Haeg, 34, an architect who teaches in the environmental design program at the Art Center College of Design in Pasadena, Calif. "It means completely questioning the way we live, the way we get our food, the way we use and abuse natural resources, the way we occupy public space."
I guess I should pay more attention to the flowers I plant. Or, maybe, I just mock what I do not understand. Still, I think he's taking himself way too seriously. He might want to try some of those decaffeinated brands.
Adventures in Blind Dating, Chpt. 1 (see prelude below)
The Meeting.
Last night, I took B to meet with L at the Royalton Hotel bar. The Royalton is a very cool space. It was one of the first of the now ubiquitous boutique hotels in NYC. Designed by Phillipe Starck, the doors to the hotel entrance are unmarked and the space inside is low lit with low tables and chairs. Some of the chairs look like small animals with huge bases and small backs comprised of thick metal bars bent to provide some type of embrace. This is the lobby, by the way. You know, where you check in and say king size, no smoking, please. The check in desk is in the middle of the cocktail lounge and quite a bit smaller than the bar. There are these odd looking glass rhino-horn light fixtures jutting out from the wall every five feet or so. I did not like them. The bar is a great people watching place. Not to be too NYC bitchy, but you get the tourists who wandered in wearing matching sweat suits with bright new sneakers and very big hair (I think it was a mother/daughter team) and you get the Euro-trash types who have not been told that this bar is, to quote a friend, so two weeks ago. Interesting mix and they are all looking at each other trying to figure out what the other one is doing in their bar or hotel.
Then there was blind date table. B and I were in suits and ties. B looked quite dashing in a dark suit, pink shirt, and pink and purple tie. Not very lawyerly but certainly nice for a date. When we arrived, L was already there. She snagged a table for three and was drinking a light beer. She was as I remembered her and we quickly introduced each other and sat down.
Quick first impressions. What do you base these on? What a person orders from the waitress? Well, I did not expect her to be drinking a beer as she seemed more of a Cosmo type but a beer gives a good, honest, down to earth impression. B had a martini with a specified type of gin I had never heard of before. What does that make him? Fussy, perhaps? I just had a single malt scotch. I'm married so I don't care what it says about me particularly, except, I suppose, it says, hah, he's doing a low carb diet!
The conversation flowed easily and I'll be curious to hear B's reactions when he gets in to work today. I thought she was nice, but. . . . I have to admit, I was distracted some of the time by trying to figure out whether she was chewing gum while drinking her light beer. If so, turn off for me and I suspect for B who is really quite picky. Hmn, did I say fussy before based on the drink choice? Perhaps there is some truth to that.
In any event, I think that they got along. I stayed with them for a half an hour and then rushed to catch a train to see my children before they went off to bed.
B is usually in to work by this time. I will not read anything into the fact that he is late. I will wait for the report, which I will share with you, dear readers. Do the adventures continue? Tune in and find out!
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Last night, I took B to meet with L at the Royalton Hotel bar. The Royalton is a very cool space. It was one of the first of the now ubiquitous boutique hotels in NYC. Designed by Phillipe Starck, the doors to the hotel entrance are unmarked and the space inside is low lit with low tables and chairs. Some of the chairs look like small animals with huge bases and small backs comprised of thick metal bars bent to provide some type of embrace. This is the lobby, by the way. You know, where you check in and say king size, no smoking, please. The check in desk is in the middle of the cocktail lounge and quite a bit smaller than the bar. There are these odd looking glass rhino-horn light fixtures jutting out from the wall every five feet or so. I did not like them. The bar is a great people watching place. Not to be too NYC bitchy, but you get the tourists who wandered in wearing matching sweat suits with bright new sneakers and very big hair (I think it was a mother/daughter team) and you get the Euro-trash types who have not been told that this bar is, to quote a friend, so two weeks ago. Interesting mix and they are all looking at each other trying to figure out what the other one is doing in their bar or hotel.
Then there was blind date table. B and I were in suits and ties. B looked quite dashing in a dark suit, pink shirt, and pink and purple tie. Not very lawyerly but certainly nice for a date. When we arrived, L was already there. She snagged a table for three and was drinking a light beer. She was as I remembered her and we quickly introduced each other and sat down.
Quick first impressions. What do you base these on? What a person orders from the waitress? Well, I did not expect her to be drinking a beer as she seemed more of a Cosmo type but a beer gives a good, honest, down to earth impression. B had a martini with a specified type of gin I had never heard of before. What does that make him? Fussy, perhaps? I just had a single malt scotch. I'm married so I don't care what it says about me particularly, except, I suppose, it says, hah, he's doing a low carb diet!
The conversation flowed easily and I'll be curious to hear B's reactions when he gets in to work today. I thought she was nice, but. . . . I have to admit, I was distracted some of the time by trying to figure out whether she was chewing gum while drinking her light beer. If so, turn off for me and I suspect for B who is really quite picky. Hmn, did I say fussy before based on the drink choice? Perhaps there is some truth to that.
In any event, I think that they got along. I stayed with them for a half an hour and then rushed to catch a train to see my children before they went off to bed.
B is usually in to work by this time. I will not read anything into the fact that he is late. I will wait for the report, which I will share with you, dear readers. Do the adventures continue? Tune in and find out!
Wednesday, May 05, 2004
Update on being banned
If you were to visit the blog which banned my comments (see below), you will find the blogger has now deleted all of her posts concerning the murder and her reactions to it. I wonder why. Almost.
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Time Suck of the Day
South Park Scripts are the Time Suck of the Day. Go forth and waste time.
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I could not finish this article
Evidently, some sick, twisted excuse for a human being has been selling fake baby formula to people in China. The result? The babies received zero nutrition and starved to death. I couldn't get past the first two paragraphs of this article on the train this morning.
I'm not going to cry about this. Really, that's what I keep telling myself at least.
The saddest detail of all, if you are not crying yet, the parents' mistook the fat cheeks for a sign of growth and health as opposed to a sign of starvation.
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I'm not going to cry about this. Really, that's what I keep telling myself at least.
The saddest detail of all, if you are not crying yet, the parents' mistook the fat cheeks for a sign of growth and health as opposed to a sign of starvation.
Germany following Israeli lead on terrorism?
I guess everyone who reads newspapers is aware of the typical European government reaction when Israel assassinates a terrorist leader. The Europeans freak out and say that such extra-judicial actions are illegitimate and threaten the peace process. So, how is this for hypocrisy then:
"The German interior minister, Otto Schily, has expressed strong support for new measures, saying in recent interviews that the German police needed ways to deal with people who present what he called "a massive threat" to Germany.
Mr. Schily caused a stir when he told a German magazine, Der Spiegel, last week that in cases in which there was a direct danger of terrorism it should be possible to take a suspect into preventive custody, or, under extreme circumstances, to carry out assassinations.
"Is there not a right of self-defense against terrorists who plan mass murder?" he asked. "That leads to the question whether in extreme cases it is justified to kill that person in self-defense."
So, it's ok when Germans do it but not Israelis? By contrast to the state of affairs in Israel, I can't recall a single major terrorist action on German soil since the 1972 Olympics.
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"The German interior minister, Otto Schily, has expressed strong support for new measures, saying in recent interviews that the German police needed ways to deal with people who present what he called "a massive threat" to Germany.
Mr. Schily caused a stir when he told a German magazine, Der Spiegel, last week that in cases in which there was a direct danger of terrorism it should be possible to take a suspect into preventive custody, or, under extreme circumstances, to carry out assassinations.
"Is there not a right of self-defense against terrorists who plan mass murder?" he asked. "That leads to the question whether in extreme cases it is justified to kill that person in self-defense."
So, it's ok when Germans do it but not Israelis? By contrast to the state of affairs in Israel, I can't recall a single major terrorist action on German soil since the 1972 Olympics.
Tuesday, May 04, 2004
I got banned!
I actually got banned from leaving comments at a blog today. The woman who runs Sofiya the Grouch has decided, I guess, that I cannot post comments there anymore. She deleted the comments I left and banned my ass from ever darkening her comment boards again. I am sort of amused. She is, I gather, a graduate student in music school at U.T. Austin where one of her professors was allegedly killed by another student. I left a message of sympathy on her blog comments.
When next I tuned in, Sofiya posted the following concerning her reaction to the arrest. She said, if you don't want to follow the link, that she is sure the alleged killer is disturbed and she wants to interview all of his fellow students to present some sort of petition to show that the alleged wacko should not get the death penalty. Oh, and she wants to send him a care package.
Did you read the article above concerning the murder? The alleged killer used a meat cleaver to kill a woman with multiple sclerosis. That is absent from Sofiya's blog. Read her comment on this and you will be sure, as she is, that the alleged killer is being "vilified" and needs our help. So, I left a message on her comment board, as best as I can recall since she deleted it, to state that: one, the guy used a cleaver; two, she may not be in the best position to judge the guy's sanity; and, three, that she could easily muck up his defense by running around contaminating all of his witnesses and in doing so would be doing no favor for the guy.
She replied to my comment by noting that unless I know her personally I have no right to comment on her blog like this and she seriously doubts that she could do anything to gum up the system. That's as best as I can recall.
In any event, I replied to her that I had not been rude on my first comment but that contamination is an issue. Also, I figured that a blog is a public space and I could comment as I pleased. But, since she did not want to have anyone commenting who might disagree with her, I would refrain from doing so in the future. [Digression: I am a big believer that the remedy for speech with which you disagree is more speech, not banning the speech. It's a principal that has worked well for this country for a very long time].
So, I went back later to see if she had any reply and found that not only had my earlier comments been deleted, but I was now banned.
What have I learned from this? That if you consider yourself on the right side of an issue (here, death penalty), don't bother with facts (here, how the legal system works). It may be more important to do good (i.e., her investigation and petition), than to do right (refrain from f*cking things up for his attorneys). I gather that for Sofiya and her friends taking action is a comforting end in and of itself which will without question make them feel better about themselves. No room there for a messy discussion about whether it is the right thing to do. Nope.
How very odd. So much for civil discourse.
So, what are the rules for my comments' board? Well, I like lively discussions and hope to have some here. That said, I expect civil discourse. We're all adults here. Whatever happens, though, I highly doubt that I will ban someone for challenging my world view, however narrow my view may be.
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When next I tuned in, Sofiya posted the following concerning her reaction to the arrest. She said, if you don't want to follow the link, that she is sure the alleged killer is disturbed and she wants to interview all of his fellow students to present some sort of petition to show that the alleged wacko should not get the death penalty. Oh, and she wants to send him a care package.
Did you read the article above concerning the murder? The alleged killer used a meat cleaver to kill a woman with multiple sclerosis. That is absent from Sofiya's blog. Read her comment on this and you will be sure, as she is, that the alleged killer is being "vilified" and needs our help. So, I left a message on her comment board, as best as I can recall since she deleted it, to state that: one, the guy used a cleaver; two, she may not be in the best position to judge the guy's sanity; and, three, that she could easily muck up his defense by running around contaminating all of his witnesses and in doing so would be doing no favor for the guy.
She replied to my comment by noting that unless I know her personally I have no right to comment on her blog like this and she seriously doubts that she could do anything to gum up the system. That's as best as I can recall.
In any event, I replied to her that I had not been rude on my first comment but that contamination is an issue. Also, I figured that a blog is a public space and I could comment as I pleased. But, since she did not want to have anyone commenting who might disagree with her, I would refrain from doing so in the future. [Digression: I am a big believer that the remedy for speech with which you disagree is more speech, not banning the speech. It's a principal that has worked well for this country for a very long time].
So, I went back later to see if she had any reply and found that not only had my earlier comments been deleted, but I was now banned.
What have I learned from this? That if you consider yourself on the right side of an issue (here, death penalty), don't bother with facts (here, how the legal system works). It may be more important to do good (i.e., her investigation and petition), than to do right (refrain from f*cking things up for his attorneys). I gather that for Sofiya and her friends taking action is a comforting end in and of itself which will without question make them feel better about themselves. No room there for a messy discussion about whether it is the right thing to do. Nope.
How very odd. So much for civil discourse.
So, what are the rules for my comments' board? Well, I like lively discussions and hope to have some here. That said, I expect civil discourse. We're all adults here. Whatever happens, though, I highly doubt that I will ban someone for challenging my world view, however narrow my view may be.
My wife has viewed my blog
I finally decided to tell my wife about my blog. I realized that I did not want to wall off a section of my life from her. Generally speaking, we (or at least I) don't keep secrets from each other. This was not a big secret but we've been married for 10 years and I decided I did not want to start now. So, last night, while we were getting ready to go to sleep, I told her about it. Her reaction surprised me. She was excited for me! She thought it was a great idea and she encouraged me.
Well, now she has actually read it. She said she liked it a lot and reminded me that the contraction of "its" takes an apostrophe when it is short for "it is". Duly noted.
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Well, now she has actually read it. She said she liked it a lot and reminded me that the contraction of "its" takes an apostrophe when it is short for "it is". Duly noted.
Silence
I came across this article today and it put into words some of the amorphous feelings I have had lately after hearing about the shooting of the pregnant woman and her daughters in Israel. And the world remains silent Just why does it seem that no one is prepared to protest the shooting deaths of a pregnant woman and her four daughters? These people were shot, execution style, up close and personal. Some animal had to make a decision AFTER he saw them, to kill them. Where is the outrage in the European capitals? These great European humanists who fill the streets when Israel takes out the people who send these criminals to kill young women and children. Why does no one protest these deaths? Do you remember the young child who was shot in his bedroom, hiding under his bed after terrorists invaded his home? No one protested that death either. Instead, you see rallies in Gaza and the West Bank to celebrate this "triumph" and marches in Europe to press the Palestinian cause. Are we back to a place and time where Jewish lives count less? Is that the only conclusion we can reach? I think we all know that this is so in the Arab world in general where they want to push the Jews back into the sea. But is it the case once again in Europe, too? Sometimes, I just despair.
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Adventures in Blind Dating, Prelude
Well, its official. If I write about this, I cannot tell my friend, my co-worker, about this blog because it will chronicle one of his adventures in blind dating. Still, it may prove to be too delicious to keep to myself.
My friend, who I need to give a name to for this blog, shall be known herein as Buddy. Ever play Lacrosse? A buddy pass is something you don't throw to a buddy. It has a big looping arc which gives the other team time to arrive at your buddy's location at the same time the ball does and hammer your buddy. Having hooked my friend up once before with the dating equivalent of the buddy pass, I shall call him Buddy (or just B) for this adventure.
B is a clean cut, nice, funny, smart, well-dressed, conservative guy who works with me. I think a lot of him. I wish my sister had dated him instead of the dirt bags she seems to prefer.
B is single. Not that he doesn't try. He's just kind of a freak magnet. No, that's too strong. But, he generally gets the girl who, by way of example, has her mother as her best friend and tells her mother everything, including details of her sex life. Too much for B. And probably for most men. I mean, it sort of puts three in the bed with none of the advantages. B is in his early thirties and would like to meet a nice girl and settle down.
I have tried to help him by introducing him to some nice girls (one of whom turned out to be buddy pass girl, more on her later, perhaps). Why? I am happy in my marriage and would like to see B happy, too. Also, I probably have a small streak of yenta in me.
So, on to the new possibility. What to call her? How about Lass or L? She appears to be a sweet Irish lass. She may just be covering up her inner psycho, and don't we all, but time will tell. L is the same age as B. She is blond and I don't know much more about her. She seems very nice. She had a tattoo on her ankle. Normally, I don't care for that but on her it looked cute.
I met L on the train going home from work one night. We had a lovely conversation -- unusual but not unprecedented on the train -- occasioned by train problems and our relationship with the train service. During our chat, it came out that she was single and looking. So I asked whether she'd like to meet a nice young man and I described B to her. She replied, in words or substance, sure, why not? As she said, she had just told a complete stranger that she was single and had a less than fulfilling social life, so why wouldn't she be open to the possibility of a complete stranger introducing her to another complete stranger. So I gave her my email address and, to my surprise, she emailed me the next day.
At that point I asked B to join me in my office and to shut the door. I described the situation, the woman, and the setup. He did not think I was out of my mind for trying to pick up a girl for him on the train and was interested in having a drink with her.
We are getting together tomorrow night for drinks.
The stage is set.
Are you all interested in me reporting back on this as it develops? Or should I not bother?
(Spell check claims I got every word right, a first! Must be a mistake in the spell checker.)
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My friend, who I need to give a name to for this blog, shall be known herein as Buddy. Ever play Lacrosse? A buddy pass is something you don't throw to a buddy. It has a big looping arc which gives the other team time to arrive at your buddy's location at the same time the ball does and hammer your buddy. Having hooked my friend up once before with the dating equivalent of the buddy pass, I shall call him Buddy (or just B) for this adventure.
B is a clean cut, nice, funny, smart, well-dressed, conservative guy who works with me. I think a lot of him. I wish my sister had dated him instead of the dirt bags she seems to prefer.
B is single. Not that he doesn't try. He's just kind of a freak magnet. No, that's too strong. But, he generally gets the girl who, by way of example, has her mother as her best friend and tells her mother everything, including details of her sex life. Too much for B. And probably for most men. I mean, it sort of puts three in the bed with none of the advantages. B is in his early thirties and would like to meet a nice girl and settle down.
I have tried to help him by introducing him to some nice girls (one of whom turned out to be buddy pass girl, more on her later, perhaps). Why? I am happy in my marriage and would like to see B happy, too. Also, I probably have a small streak of yenta in me.
So, on to the new possibility. What to call her? How about Lass or L? She appears to be a sweet Irish lass. She may just be covering up her inner psycho, and don't we all, but time will tell. L is the same age as B. She is blond and I don't know much more about her. She seems very nice. She had a tattoo on her ankle. Normally, I don't care for that but on her it looked cute.
I met L on the train going home from work one night. We had a lovely conversation -- unusual but not unprecedented on the train -- occasioned by train problems and our relationship with the train service. During our chat, it came out that she was single and looking. So I asked whether she'd like to meet a nice young man and I described B to her. She replied, in words or substance, sure, why not? As she said, she had just told a complete stranger that she was single and had a less than fulfilling social life, so why wouldn't she be open to the possibility of a complete stranger introducing her to another complete stranger. So I gave her my email address and, to my surprise, she emailed me the next day.
At that point I asked B to join me in my office and to shut the door. I described the situation, the woman, and the setup. He did not think I was out of my mind for trying to pick up a girl for him on the train and was interested in having a drink with her.
We are getting together tomorrow night for drinks.
The stage is set.
Are you all interested in me reporting back on this as it develops? Or should I not bother?
(Spell check claims I got every word right, a first! Must be a mistake in the spell checker.)
My brush with corruption
There is a lot I cannot write about here concerning my job as an attorney. I am a repository for confidences and every time I mention anything to do with my work, I sanitize it the best I can. I make it more general to distill the point I'd like to make without compromising confidentiality. I'm going to be extra careful with this post. Yesterday someone suggested that if I was interested in taking on a fraud case, evidence could be found to support whatever proposition I needed to have supported to bring the lawsuit. I guess I'm naive. I was shocked. Still shocked, actually. Sure, I've had clients shade things in their favor every day. That's just a fact of life. Everybody shades things to put themselves in the best possible light. Indeed, there is an old legal truism that you never know the real story about what happened to your client until your client is being cross examined on the stand. But this was the first time anyone ever suggested to me that evidence could be, well, created or fabricated. I should note that I shut the conversation down immediately, told this person that I was not interested in their case, and that I'd return the documents they sent to me right away. I have very high moral standards and I am not about to compromise them by accepting a tainted representation. How the hell would I live with myself? I guess I had heard that stuff like this happens. You read about insurance frauds all the time. I just never thought it would come so close to me. And you know what the truly invidious thing is? The way it was put to me was so subtle and so nebulous that there isn't anything to report to anyone. Why? Because it was a matter of interpretation. I felt the message was clear but the person who made the statements to me could deny it. I feel as if I brushed up against something dirty. I need some fresh air.
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