Cell phones are here to stay. I’m trying not to sound dramatic but I think that, for many people, giving up their cell phone would be akin to kicking heroin. They are permanently weaved into the fabric of society, so should I just accept them. [By the way, I think that the UK/Euro “mobile” phone is a far more apt term. We should adapt it here.]

But vent, I must.

On my way out of the city I stumbled across this imbecile. She’s holding a conversation on one phone, while having a separate texting conversation on a second. Why do I let this stuff get under my skin? She’s not bothering me. Proof positive that I am a curmudgeon. You can take the boy out of the city, etc.

I showed these pics to Mrs. Wife and she said, “What’s the big deal? One phone is probably for business and the other is personal.” And I get that. But I see this sort of gadget-overload with increasing frequency and it worries me. What are we turning into? Hasn’t the promise of new technology always been to make our lives easier and set us free? Look at this poor thing! She’s enslaved by technology. She’d probably have a public meltdown if both batteries died simultaneously.

I’m still not very good at meditation, even though I’ve been doing it for a few years. But occasionally, I catch a wave. I can’t tell you how refreshing it is to empty all the noise out of your head and sit in perfect silence, do nothing and, best of all, think nothing. It’s a peace you’ll never experience while juggling cell phone conversations.

As long as I’m on an anti-technology kick…

This has been floating around in the ether for a while now. Have you seen it? It’s a spoof of Facebook users and it’s hysterical. Everyone is reduced to a nice, neat stereotype. Breeder Betsy. Alcoholic Alice. Perfect Pam. etc. Each funny comment is posted by “The Enabler.”

The sad part, the part that resonates with me, is the true part. Let’s face it; reading a book is a lot more work than going on Facebook. But just think of how rich our lives would be if we all put down our gadgets and read more.

Recently, on the way home from the city, I sat next to a guy who spent half the ride scrolling through Facebook and the other half playing games on his phone. He could be reading On The Road. And I’ll bet he’d love it. But Facebook is easier. And after a hard day of counting beans and pushing buttons, who wants to work more?

Do I make fun of the girl above and mock people on Facebook because I’m jealous? I don’t have a Facebook account. I don’t need a website to constantly remind me of how few friends I have. I can count them on one hand and have a few fingers to spare. The girl above is sustaining two conversations. I, on the other hand, got my new phone in May and haven’t bothered to set up my voicemail because I never get any calls. So maybe this is all just a case of simple, human envy.

Perhaps the truth lies somewhere in between.

What’s this, then?! European banks have just agreed to forgive upwards of 50% of Greek debt in order to avoid a Euro meltdown? Isn’t that just rewarding a bunch of lay-about tax dodgers for their bad behavior? Do you suppose I could get JPMorgan Chase to forgive 50% of the principal on my mortgage? Probably not. Foolish me for being responsible.

Didn’t Germany do their due diligence before signing up for the Euro and see that the Grecian lifestyle model couldn’t possibly sustain itself? Why would you marry your currency to a society whose people throw their tax bills in the furnace and close their businesses for months at at time? I see that the Greeks finally got up off their fat, lazy asses to protest austerity measures. Hey, Greece. You’re a bunch of soft babies.

As of this typing, European markets are +5%—an astonishing bump for one day. What do I know? Apparently, nothing.

I was scouring the help wanteds and came across a position that included the following in the description:

Facilitate the transfer of knowledge.

Develop/execute winning pursuit strategies.

What the hell does that even mean?! What a bunch of corporate gobbledygook. I can’t believe I’m trapped in this world. Why the hell didn’t I learn to paint or play guitar or write? ANYTHING to have kept me out of this machine?

5th Avenue as a catwalk. I was visiting the Apple Store on 5th and 59th and stumbled across this cool model shoot. I usually don’t pay any mind to this sort of thing but the gowns were beautiful. I think they might have been wedding gowns. I’m not sure. They were shooting in front of Bergdorf Goodman.

Hey, Pat, does this take you back? The models were striking these crazy poses!

The photographer was standing across 5th Avenue right next to me and had to snap photos between waves of traffic.

I took 5-Year Old Daughter to the local town Halloween parade this afternoon. [9-Year Old was away at a birthday party at the Silverball Pinball Museum in Asbury Park. The Zombie Walk was also on tap for the Asbury Park boardwalk. I was wishing I was there.] After the parade, I watched some football. It is the clearest evidence yet that Fall has arrived. Time for thick sweaters, all-day pots of hot coffee and roast beef sandwiches. I love the change of the season and don’t know how those who live in a uni-climate can stand it.

The suburbs have their Autumnal charms; the colorful leaves, the fragrance of burning leaves in the air, the hay rides and Fall festivals. New York City is lacking any of these natural beauties, but there’s definitely a feeling of change in the air when Autumn arrives. Theater activity is picking up. [A play written by and starring Jesse Esienberg last week and Love’s Labor’s Lost at The Public this week.] I’ve posted this video for the past couple of years. Billie Holiday really captures the essence of walking through town on those shorter days and cooler nights.

I did a big photo-dump of my iPhone and found a bunch of food shots taken over the summer. I had intended to provide my usual droll commentary for each but never got around to it. Does that happen to you? Do you have a big backlog of material that never actually makes it to Publish Post? I think I throw away more than I post. Lucky for you.

Summer is synonymous with eating scrumptious dishes that might not necessarily be in my best interest from a health and wellness standpoint. I should be more mindful of what I put in my body since I have very young children and need to be around for a few more decades. It doesn’t help that I bought our healthcare plan from some guy in the Times Square subway station who was selling policies off a card table. But I simply CANNOT HELP MYSELF when faced with these masterpieces of culinary artistic endeavor. These hard/bad choices are almost exclusively related to our annual trip to Cleveland. Make of that what you will.

It’s probably because it’s what I was raised on, but I feel there’s no better pizza than what’s served on the great North Coast of Ohio. The style of crust in Cleveland is thicker than the weak, thin-crust variety served on the eastern seaboard, but it’s not nearly as thick as Chicago deep dish pizza. Like it’s place on the map, Cleveland crust is somewhere between the two.

This is the supreme-ninja-grandmaster-combo of all time; pepperoni, anchovies and onions. I’ll bet you’re having trouble breathing right now, aren’t you? Back in New Jersey I am surrounded by the IRISH, who apparently have a broad cultural disdain for the delicioso tiny, salty fish, so the only time I ever actually GET an anchovy pie is in Cleveland amongst my Italian brethren. You can’t have everything. The Italians are lousy playwrights.

For years, I have been writing ad nauseam about my bro-in-law’s ribs. Their miraculous quality. The soulful essence that billows up from the grill when he lifts the lid. They have a narcotic, almost addictive quality. This past summer’s batch were, as always, perfection and grace. It’s October and I’m still having dreams about these beauties.

There was a new item on the menu this summer. He served homemade baked beans. He MADE them! I always assumed baked beans came from a can. I didn’t know you could actually make the damn things from scratch. Boy, did they taste better than the ones that come dribbling out of a can. They looked more enticing, too. Just out of camera range: a bottle of Dortmunder Gold from the Great Lakes Brewing Company. Viva!

If I’m clutching a big fist full of Clevo ribs, that can only mean one thing; the marinara sauce is only a day or two away. I know the “old-world recipe handed down through the generations” is a tired, worn-out cliché, but that’s exactly what you’re looking at here, folks. It migrated over from Calabria, through Ellis Island to Cleveland, then to my grandmother, then mother and now sister. That’s how it’s done! One of my nieces had better learn how to make this. There’ll be a pop quiz one day.

No, I didn’t arrange the sausage and meatballs on my plate like that intentionally. I didn’t even notice it until just now. What would Freud say?

Mom’s parents immigrated from Italy but Dad’s parents immigrated from Poland. Growing up, we weren’t as steeped in Polish cuisine as we were Italian, but I still have a soft spot on my palate for it. The perogies that come off of Grandma Ski’s Polish Food truck at the Cuyahoga County Fair are pretty much an exact replica of the ones that Grandma P used to make. As a child, I didn’t have a great affinity for them and turned my nose up. But now, I gladly pay good money for something that was once free.

Take a look at “Grandma Ski.” It looks like Grandma Ski can set up a little side business as an arc welder or mob enforcer.

After your big, heavy County Fair perogie orgy, for desert you can treat yourself to one of these:

Or not. New taste sensation, indeed.