The following teaser paragraph appeared on the front page of the Sunday New York Times real estate section:

The Tovar family wanted to move to New York for health reasons. They found a town house in Greenwich Village with a $15,000 monthly rent. So far, it seems to be the right medicine.

Having the wherewithal to pay $15K a month for rent would be the right medicine for just about anything that ailed you, I suppose. The Tovar’s son has asthma and living in Florida exacerbated his condition. Apparently, because of New York City’s lack of botany, he is able to live a healthier life in the city.

One day Mrs. Tovar said, “Let’s leave.” So they did. The plan was to test New York City through all four seasons…

?!?!?!?!

Their real estate agent in New York said, “To them, 2,000 square feet it tiny.”

They considered a three-bedroom at 15 Central Park West, listed at $27,000 a month. “I wasn’t completely satisfied,” Mrs. Tovar said. “Everyone gets drawn into the amenities, but to me the space was a factor.”

Mrs. Tovar sounds like a big a pain in the ass to me.

This was tough for me to read. I’ve just come off of four months of unemployment and have a consulting job that doesn’t pay benefits. My gut reaction was, “Hey, fuck you, Tovar family, and your bottomless well of money and prima donna attitudes.” Then I came to my senses and realized how immature and unfair that is.

But the Times got the story all wrong. It’s not about the search for a suitable apartment in Manhattan. It’s about how some people have so much cash at their disposal that they can solve some of life’s problems by shoveling money into a furnace. I mean, who rents? Isn’t this a buyer’s market?

There’s a portion of my commute whereby the train hugs the Atlantic Ocean shoreline for about 5 miles. It was sunny and quiet this morning. The ocean was absolutely flat. I rarely see it that calm. It was like a piece of glass. It hurt to look at it in the morning sun.

I was walking through Penn Station and saw a New York City Police officer patrolling the station with a German Sheppard. He took his iPhone out of his pocket, looked at something on the screen and then showed it to his dog. The dog looked at the iPhone and then up at the Officer. I have no idea what that was about but it was a funny slice o’ life.

The new Kindle is another nail in the coffin for traditional newspapers. It’s so sad. Print newspapers are dying and they cannot be resurrected. I’ll miss having ink stained hands.

This is a great time to live in New York if you are not a fan of the Yankees. You get to witness, up close, the flame-out of a once storied sports dynasty. The new stadium is a terrible mistake for many reasons. The insufferable and endless boasts of Yankee fans are a thing of the past. Now, it’s all schadenfreude, all the time. It’s great!

I left work at 11:15 p.m. last night. The next person didn’t leave until 1:00 a.m. Today, I’m in the dog house for leaving “early.” Fucking management. I hate them all.

I can no longer smoke weed. After I get high, I start to question every decision I’ve ever made in life. Weed is supposed to be fun. That’s not fun.

I rank “office hijinks” blogs on the same low rung as “mommy” blogs, but certain things are creeping up that I simply cannot ignore. I’ll keep it to a minimum.

Some people bring cookies and biscuits to work. It’s a nice gesture that lifts everyone’s spirits and provides a sugar jolt.

My Chinese colleague brought in a bag of dried octopus tentacles. She said it’s an Asian delicacy

Somewhere on the bottom of the ocean there’s an octopus in a wheel chair cursing humans.

(Thank you very much. I’m here all week. Please tip your waitress.)

I embarrassed myself by asking her what was written on the bag and she said didn’t know since she is Chinese and the writing is in Japanese. What a dopey White person I am!

For lunch she ordered fried rice with anchovies and chicken. I passed on the octopus tentacles but the fried rice sounds delicious. To me.