My bride and I abandoned our children for the weekend to attend a wedding in downtown Brooklyn. It was a beautiful affair. The ceremony was at St. Agnes, a church built in 1904 in the Boerum Hill section, just two blocks from where I lived when I first set foot in New York. The reception was in the neighborhood down under the Manhattan Bridge overpass, affectionately referred to by real estate agents and trust fund kids as DUMBO. Seriously. I hadn’t been there in about 15 years and was genuinely aghast at what I saw. Gentrification is the oldest story in the oldest city, but when you see its results before your very eyes, it has the power to shock. The last time I walked those streets, it was all artist studios with great light and dirty windows and abandoned warehouses. The neighborhood didn’t have a cute name. Now it’s residential with a Chase Manhattan Bank branch. It blew my mind.

We stayed in a fancy, new, boutique hotel that didn’t have heat because of a steam pipe explosion. They gave us a space heater instead. We didn’t mind. We’re not babies. On Sunday morning, I walked up Smith Street to buy The New York Times. When I lived there, Smith Street wasn’t so nice but now it’s become a destination. We had a scrumptious lunch at a Portuguese restaurant the day before. En route to get the paper, I saw no fewer than four strollers. Those expensive Quinny models. It would seem that even at that young age, there’s a strict hipster dress code that must be adhered to. I wonder what happened to all the Latinos who lived there?

I saw Zadie Smith read a couple of months ago and she was discussing the gentrification of Holborn, her old neighborhood in London, as it relates to a plot device in her new book NW. She had this to say, and I quote:

(Gentrification) is a global experience. People get priced out of their own neighborhoods. The thing I find funny is that there are all different waves of immigration but there’s only one community who moves into an area and feels they’re a great boon and that’s middle class white people. They always think that everybody should be so happy that they’ve arrived in droves with their cupcakes and all the rest of it. And that interested me, that state of mind that imagines that when you arrive en masse that you’re only bringing good. That you’re a benefit to an area. That was always quite funny to me.

She’s right, you know. Sorry, cupcake-bearing middle class white people.

The title of this post is misleading. Our dog is not dead. But if it were up to me, she would be. Look  what that little bitch did to my bride:

When I got home from work I blew my top and insisted we get rid of the dog immediately. I wouldn’t spend :10 seconds missing her but 11-Year Old Daughter had a meltdown and tearfully begged me to keep her. My hard, poisonous hart was melted by the oldest antidote known to man—a daughter’s tears—and the dog won a reprieve.

The dog’s behavior is inexplicable. She’s a friendly, pleasant mutt (albeit, an $850 mutt) who thinks that everyone wants to be her best friend. She’ll roll over on her back in a submissive position so people can give her a scratch. She’ll go weeks and weeks without any sign of canine insanity and then, out of nowhere and without provocation, growl and snap. It’s only happened a couple times and it’s usually at night when she’s at rest, but it’s a pretty impressionable event. It stays with you.

We’ve taken her to training classes and had a trainer come to our home for one-on-one sessions (at no small expense, I might add). The trainer’s diagnoses is that she has occasional “resource guarding and body handling issues.” He assures us that it’s not the result of anything we’ve done. Well, thank God for that. I’d hate to think we’ve hurt her feelings. He assured us that if Coco really wanted to hurt someone, she would’ve taken a finger off with little effort. He’s coming back and is having mercy on me by not charging for subsequent visits.

I’ve never like dogs and this isn’t helping the cause. It’s as if God gave them the most unattractive aspects of human nature. I am annoyed by their bottomless reservoir of need and their unending demands for attention. I find their inability (or is it an unwillingness?) to keep themselves clean off-putting, and the incessant barking is grating. They’re not discriminating with what they eat or are mindful of quantity. It doesn’t necessarily have to be food. Even shit is a gourmet treat. (Sorry, Daisyfae. That’s just how I feel. Especially this morning.)

If she ever seriously bites one of my little girls or my bride, not only will I not have any compunction or residual guilt about having her euthanized, I will take uncharacteristic dark pleasure in pushing the plunger myself. We have done nothing but give her a loving home and treated her with kindness. She’s got a pretty great gig here but if she doesn’t mind her manners she’s going to meet a bad end. Tears or no tears.

I wanted a cat but was outvoted 3-1. I’m not very good with the written word but do you know who is? Charles Bukowski.

exactly right

the strays keep arriving: now we have 5
cats and they are smart, spontaneous, self-
absorbed, naturally poised and awesomely
beautiful.

one of the finest things about cats is
that when you’re feeling down, very down,
if you just look at the cat at rest,
at the way they sit or lie and wait,
it’s a grand lesson in preserving
and
if you watch 5 cats at once that’s 5
times better.

no matter the extra demands they make
no matter the heavy sacks of food
no matter the dozens of cans of tuna
from the supermarket: it’s all just fuel for their
amazing dignity and their
affirmation of a vital
life
we humans can
only envy and
admire from
afar.

She spent nearly the entire first act in a silk slip. I was weak. You’d be, too. I’m talking to BOTH genders. I don’t care where you think your proclivities lie, you’d have considered it. Once again, I was in back of the house. This time, the second last row of the orchestra, which is an embarrassment, but it’s all I can afford. The spidery, silver threads of imaginary love leapt across 26 rows of seats and wrapped my heart in a cocoon of want. Do you know what’s great about binoculars? You don’t have to be a gentleman and mind your manners.

She ain’t no Liz Taylor, but she’s not some Hollywood hack, either. She killed last year in Arthur Miller’s A View from the Bridge, so there was reason to believe she could handle this. Maggie the Cat is a woman who exudes longing, unfulfilled desire and, above all else, lust, lust, lust. She sure as hell looked the part, but she played it kind of shrill and desperate. And desperate is not hot. It’s no wonder Brick was trying to drink himself to death and could only muster an indifferent erection. It wasn’t a bad production but I expected better. The reviews come out tomorrow morning so I’ll know better what I’m supposed to think then.

No matter what the critics say, I’m dedicating myself to Scarlett. I’m sorry Katie. I know you’ve had a tough year. Hounded by the paparazzi. Your Broadway show closed early due to lack of interest. The father of your child believes in a religion based on events that occurred 75 million years ago in a Galactic Confederacy ruled by the tyrannical overlord Xenu. But you’re strong. You’ll rise above it. By any chance, would you be up for a threesome? You don’t have to answer right away. You can think it over. You know where to find me. I’ll be in the dressing room filled with orchids and lilies over at the Richard Rogers Theater.

There are some decorative art nouveau posters hanging where I work. They’re authentic pieces, not the poorly framed examples you see in the mall poster shop with washed out colors and inferior paper. Someone went to a poster auction with a serious corporate decorating budget and splurged. This is one of my favorites, but not because of the aesthetics of the artwork. I actually think it’s kind of ugly. But you can’t beat the content. Look at that poor baby! Is this for real?!

Did they really strap babies to the handlebars like a loaf of bread, restrain their right arms and go out for a ride? Can you imagine if you saw someone do this today? I’ll bet she wouldn’t have a big smile on her face, as is depicted here. And imagine if the nursemaid hit a big stone took a tumble! I love it.