london visits new york

My old pal bobzyeruncle was here in town from London. He’s the reason I started a blog in the first place. He’s been keeping one since 2003—long before blogging worked its way into the mainstream. I always admired his blog and thought it would be fun to have one of my own. My rational for NOT having a blog—“who gives a shit what I ate for lunch?”—finally crumbled away last spring and The Unbearable Banishment was born.

* * *

We met at the Guggenheim. I’ve always loved the Frank Lloyd Wright-designed building and I hadn’t seen it since the scaffolding came down from a multi-year exterior renovation. Multiple layers of paint were stripped off the façade. The exterior had been painted various shades over the years. The facelift was done for structural integrity reasons, but they also went back to Wright’s original plans and matched the color to his specs. It looks as fresh (and correct) as the day it opened. Take a look at this beauty:

 

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Isn’t that incredible? It looks so—I don’t know—clean. You should see it in person. Never mind what’s inside, the building itself is a work of art. I remember reading a critical review of the building from some gasbag architect and he called it a “toilet bowl” and the interior a “parking ramp.”

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That critic is long dead and forgotten, but the building remains dear to New Yorkers. Someone shoved poor Pinocchio from a top floor and he landed face first into a small pool in the main lobby.

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I knew virtually nothing at all about the two exhibits, photographs by Catherine Opie and theanyspacewhatever, which includes contributions from 10 artists. They were, quite frankly, awful. It was contemporary art/photography at its absolute ugliest and most pretentious. The visit was saved by the exterior renovation and the Kandinsky and Expressionist Painting before World War I exhibit, which I liked very much.

We needed to flush the stench of bad art out of our nostrils, so we walked down to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which is always a home run. I never get sick of that place, no matter how many times I go there. We paid a visit to her:

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Someone wrote a children’s book about Mr. Degas’ young dancer. The author even incorporated the hair ribbon into the story. It’s one of 7-Year Old Daughter’s favorite books and I promised to bring her into the city to see it.

We went for one hell of a long walk. We started at the Guggenheim, which is on 5th Avenue and 89th St., walked all through that museum, walked down to the Met on 85th, walked through there and then down 5th Avenue along the east side of Central Park. Most of the holiday tourists are gone and that left the museums and sidewalks clear and easy to navigate.

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At 58th Street, I was surprised to see that Bergdorf Goodman still has all their Christmas wreathes out.

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Isn’t that nice? bobzyeruncle stopped into Brooks Brothers and bought a stack of dress shirts for him and L. The British Pound is more powerful than the mighty American Peso, so the shirts were a bargain. We got the subway at Rockefeller Center which means we walked a total of 41 blocks PLUS two museums! It was a great way to spend an afternoon. If only I can parlay that into some kind of money-making scheme…

cell phone jammer: a love story

I was hitting doubles with my cell phone jammer on the train in. With one flick of a switch I was zapping the cell phone calls of both the yappy 19ish year old girl with an urban attitude sitting directly behind me AND the sideways baseball cap-wearing thug sitting in the row behind her. They were both cursing up a blue streak and getting good and angry. I, on the other hand, was feeling much better about the train ride.

They suddenly realized they were each having the same problem. They compared devices and cursed their carriers (his: Verizon, hers: AT&T) for having such wretched service so close to the city. They were drawn together by a common enemy (technology) and by the time we pulled into Newark, they had exchanged phone numbers. For all I know, they’re in the process of becoming under-aged parents as I type this! How about that! They put their phones down and made human contact. I’m a regular cupid.

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Also overheard on the same train from a different passenger who was starring out the window, wide-eyed, slack jawed, in utter disbelief:

Look at that! There’s a goddamn cell tower RIGHT THERE! Why can’t I get a decent signal?!

NBC’s worst nightmere

What if the next Super Bowl features the Tennessee Titans vs. the Carolina Panthers? It’s possible! Two small market, uninteresting teams. It would spell certain doom for NBC as far as ratings are concerned. They could rechristen it the Who Gives a Shit Bowl.

mmmmm. baklava math!

Seat at an empty counter in a Greek diner in Manhattan
+
a big wedge of baklava
+
bottomless cup of coffee
+
The New York Times
x

:45 minutes to kill

=

HEAVEN on EARTH, my friends.

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a message to the dearly departed

Dear 2008:

GO FUCK YOURSELF. Seriously. I danced on your grave on this cold, bright morning.

If you read this idiot blog on a semi-regular basis, you might come to believe that I’ve been dealt a pretty strong hand. I’ve got a great wife, two daughters who love me unconditionally and I have some interesting hobbies that are pretty innocuous. All true. (I occasionally spend a bit too much on a rare book, but at least my vice isn’t whisky. Or whores. Or gambling. Or all three.)

I don’t reveal a lot of dark matter in my blog, nor should I. Some things are not fit for public consumption. But take my word for it; 2008 was a bucket of raw, untreated sewage poured slowly over my head with an end-of-year grand finale that I’m still trying to come to terms with.

Good riddance you parasite. You fraud. You’ve leached my happiness for 12 long months and I’m glad you’re gone.