Daughter in a Maelstrom

Posted on September 16, 2009 by Exile on Pain Street

On a summer day/evening, the best view in town is from the roof garden of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. You can look over the tree canopy of Central Park to the west, some of the most expensive real estate on the planet along 5th Avenue to the east and the Manhattan skyline to the south. It’s a pretty site.

As if that weren’t enough, every summer, the Met hosts a spectacular sculpture exhibit. Last year is was a set of playful sculptures by Jeff Koons.

I took daughter to the roof for this year’s exhibit, the appropriately named Maelstrom by Roxy Paine. It’s a series of polished metal tree branches that twist and snake over the expanse of the roof.

I wondered what the perception was for someone half my size. I watched her walk around the perimeter of the sculpture and then inside and it really did seem to consume her.

The exhibit runs through late November, so if you’re going to be in town or are just a subway ride away (Jason/Leah) it’s worth the trip. Just don’t go on Friday night. It’s packed with after-work office drones who just want to drink and hook up. Not that there’s anything wrong with that but it tends to spoil the experience. I’m not sure the Friday night crowd cares about the art so much. They seem distracted.

Here’s a very cool video of the installation.

o, wretched new jersey

Posted on June 28, 2009 by Exile on Pain Street

Imagine; a sophisticated New Yorker such as myself trapped amongst the quiet, twisting side streets and emerald parkways of New Jersey. What happened to my city? Where can I turn for fulfillment, now that my Lower East Side apartment is gone? Why, just this past weekend the only thing I had to stimulate me was a trip to the shore on a sun-drenched, blue Saturday afternoon.

The boardwalk teemed with happy people. Laughter mixed with the sound of the ocean crashing on the shore. The beach was dotted with brightly colored umbrellas and you could smell the salt in the sea breeze. We ate beach food for lunch. Beach food is like bar food but much worse, which is to say, much better. Dippin’ Dots, anyone?

We brought 3-Year Old and 7-Year Old to the boardwalk amusement park. I took them for a ride on the toy train. I’m sure they’ll go through stages where they’re at each others throats but for the time being, they are the best of friends.

Sure, it’s cute. But where is the artistry in it? So common it’s cliché. I exercised some of my demons on the bumper cars. I taught 7-Year Old Daughter that you have to earn the title of King of the Bumper Car Highway.

It might look like fun, but how am I supposed to feed my cerebral needs on such meager morsels?

Sunday, another drearily clear, blue day with comfortable temperatures and blazing sun, we all went to a baseball game. There’s minor league park just a short drive away and although I’m certain that a game at a Major League park would prove to be a more intellectually fulfilling experience, this trifle is all I have available to me. 7-Year Old Daughter fruitlessly tried to explain the intricacies of base running to 3-Year Old Daughter.

They had excellent sight lines, but here was my view of home plate:

Another fine specimen from the Garden State. As the afternoon progressed, his neck took on the shade of a ripe tomato and the sweat dripped off of his earlobes.

There’s just nothing out here worth doing. It’s all so ordinary.

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Addendum: I feel compelled to mention that this post is an exercise in sarcasm and my that critiques are purely tongue-in-cheek, in case anyone thought I was bent enough to not realize how good I’ve got it.

nothing says “happy mother’s day” quite like horseracing

Posted on May 14, 2009 by Exile on Pain Street

Monmouth Park Racetrack, New Jersey’s premier home for thoroughbred racing, opens on Mother’s Day weekend and bringing mom to the track on her special day is a Garden State tradition. We all went with my mother- and father-in-law in tow.

The horses are called to the starting gate before each race by the At The Post trumpet.

My father-in-law poured over the racing program before each race. He performed complicated mathematical calculations that took track condition, jockey weight, length of race and performance history into account. Each painfully scrutinized bet resulted in one crushing loss after another.

I asked 3-year old daughter which horse would win.

“Free.”

“Number 3? The number 3 horse is going to win?”

“Yes. Free.”

Of course, number 3 won. This happened a few times. Try to imagine how satisfying that was.

The girls anxiously eye the finish line. Placing a $2 bet is a critical life skill that should be taught to your children. When she’s 14 I’ll show her where the sucker bets are on a crap table.