I took visiting Bro and Niece on a walk though a nature preserve. The county maintains a series of beautiful walking paths that twist through some pretty thick woods. It was just two dads and their daughters out for an afternoon stroll. Tra la la. We were wondering if it was safe to let the girls get far enough ahead of us so that we could smoke some weed without them knowing, but decided that it might look really bad in a police report.

We turned a corner and a deer was standing in the middle of the path eating about 15 feet in front of us. It was pretty big and although I don’t think there was any inherent danger, it wouldn’t stop eating and move, so it made me nervous. It would occasionally look up at us but otherwise, it completely blocked the path and clearly had no intention of going anywhere. I started clapping and waving my arms. Then I sang Rush’s Tom Sawyer out loud and that didn’t do anything either! I wanted to get a pic of the girls standing in the path with the deer right behind them, so I pulled out my camera. The deer looked up, saw that I had something in my hand and took off. I’m not insinuating that the deer was photo shy, but it saw me pointing something metallic at her and that was that. I’ll always wonder what that was.

* * *

We dropped them off at Newark airport a few hours ago. I love hosting company. I got to show off my city, beaches and forest, but it’s also really nice to have my home back in order.

I took visiting Bro and 8-Year Old Niece into Manhattan today. That place is better than DisneyWorld. It’s less real. I rowed them around on Central Park Lake. I love watching city folk attempt to row a boat. The preferred method for urbanites seems to be to sit facing the stern of the boat and then “pushing” the oars in the water. What a bunch of idiots!

We walked down the mall and over to the carousel. I love the Central Park carousel. I’ve been on that thing dozens of times. It was 90¢ for a long time but now it’s 2 bucks. Still worth it! There’s been a carousel on that site since 1871. The first carousel was propelled by a blind horse and a mule (much like the company I work for). There’s a beautiful abstract illustration of the carousel on the first edition dust jacket of Catcher In The Rye.

I lifted 6-Year Old Daughter onto a horse, strapped her in and mounted the horse next to hers. The ride started and her face showed the kind of careless joy that is inherent in all children, but is beaten out of us as adults. The carousel has a great big Wurlitzer organ that started playing Somewhere My Love (Lara’s Theme from Dr. Zhivago) and for some reason I got all choked up and almost wept. What an incredible puss, I am. Have you seen my testicles rolling around anywhere? They seem to be missing.

We gave the girls the choice of going on a sun-drenched boat ride in New York Harbor to the base of the Statue of Liberty or visiting M&Ms World in Times Square. They overwhelmingly voted for M&Ms World, which I took as a personal defeat.

I had dinner in the West Village with H this evening. It was spectacular out. One of those warm, low humidity nights that make you want to walk the streets forever. I met her at Pearl River on Broadway. Pearl River is a bit hard to describe. It’s two floors of Chinese knick-knacks and clothing. Martial arts weapons. Imported foods. Dishware. Stuff. It’s great. You can walk into that place for a greeting card and end up spending $50 on nothing at all. I bought new Chinese house slippers for Mrs. Wife and myself. They have cloth bottoms and wear out pretty quickly, so I bought three pair each. Only $5.95 a pair! You can’t beat it! They are insanely comfortable and lightweight for the summer.

We walked across Broome through Soho, up Wooster and into the West Village. We went into three different restaurants and they didn’t feel quite right. Finally walked into Lupa and without even looking at the menu H said, “This is it. Let’s eat here.” Her feminine intuition was right on the money because it was one of the best meals I’ve had in quite some time. I had pappardelle with duck ragu. We split a prosciutto, parmesan and escarole croquette appetizer. They came in five small balls on a plate. I could have eaten 50 of them. Even the Italian beer was satisfying. A scoop of moose tracks on a sugar cone at the Tast-D-Lite on Bleecker for desert.

* * *

Visitors arrive tomorrow for five days. Brother and niece from the Buckeye State. I love showing off the city. When I take tourists into the city, I see it through their eyes and it reminds me of how lucky I am to live out here. I’ve never lost my appreciation for this place, but a fresh coat of paint never hurts. Oh yea, we’ll probably do some stuff in New Jersey as well.

I tend to live in a vacuum and sometimes think that nobody out there knows I’m alive. Well, here’s proof to the contrary. On my birthday:

I woke up and on the table where I have my 5:20 a.m. bowl of Sugar Pops were two cards; one from Mrs. Wife and a hand-drawn one from 6-Year Old Daughter. Nothing beats the artwork of a child.

Maria, my Puerto Rican waitress at the diner, asked why I had such a big grin on my face so I told her it was my birthday. I revealed my age and she said, “Aye! Jooo haf veddygoodskin!” When I left, she handed me a bag with three cookies in it, winked, and put her index finger to her lips—the international symbol for keep my mouth shut.

Boss lady at Benevolent Dictators Inc. brought in a truly scrumptious lemon mousse cake. There was no singing, thank god.

Marylyn, the grand old dame from Queens receptionist, keeps a supply of scratch-off lotto tickets in her desk and doles one out to people who are having a birthday. I won $20! I asked her how old she thought I was. She guessed way low! I said I’d tell her my real age but to please not repeat it to anyone. She said, “Well, then, you’d better not tell ME!” I didn’t.

Two of my colleagues went to Barnes & Nobel on their lunch break and bought me a $30 gift card. They put it in a birthday card that played a Motown song when I opened it.

I got an email birthday greeting from a friend in London whom I have not heard from in a very long time. Gone, but not forgotten!

I receive the green light from our hosts and the in-law-baby sitters to go ahead and book a trip to London in September. It’s payback to for DisneyWorld.

Someone at bukowski.net started a happy birthday thread for me.

In the evening, I attended another Buddhist philosophy/meditation class. It was very satisfying.

* * *
How the hell am I supposed to feel sorry for myself with all that going on? My curmudgeon cred is being compromised. Thank you, all.

Mrs. Wife said that mother- and father-in-law asked what I wanted for my birthday. I told her that they should buy me a lap dance. I thought that was so funny but all I got was The Look. Truthfully, my in-laws lead fairly sedate lives and I don’t think they know what a lap dance is. And I wouldn’t really want one anyway. I’ve never frequented strip clubs and I’m not about to start now. When I lived in Phoenix, I lived right across the street from a very popular strip club but I never went. Not once! There’s nothing wrong with them. They’re just not for me. I’ve never enjoyed myself on the few occasions that I visited one. Strip clubs are like Las Vegas: they somehow manage to project an image of glamour and raw sexuality, but when you get up close and examine what’s under the rock, all you find are heartbroken and lonely people. And I mean the men and the women.

I could never buy into the fantasy. Most men (heck, probably ALL men except for me) have no problem imagining that these women—perfect physical specimens one and all—would like nothing more than to go home with them and head straight to the bedroom. No questions asked before, no obligations after. It’s innocent enough. They know it’s all just a daydream, so they roll with it and have a good time. My experience has always been that as soon as my wallet was empty, I was persona non grata. It’s dating in New York all over again. I don’t need to pay someone to reject me because I ran out of cash. I’ve gotten PLENTY of that in the past for free and the less I dredge up those memories, the better.

I always end up feeling sorry for the girls. How detached do you need to be in order to be good at something like that? Have you seen what some of the men look like? They ain’t Richard Gere, although many of the girls are as beautiful as Julia Roberts. I listen to Howard Stern almost daily and he has an unending parade of strippers and porn actors on. He’s a master interviewer and in almost every instance, he’s able to extract some underlying sadness or tragedy that drove them to strip for a living.

M dated a stripper for a short time. Once, after he picked her up from work, they got into a terrible argument. She was sitting in the front passenger seat and kicked his windshield with the heel of her stiletto shoe so hard that it put a crack in it that slowly spread over the following months. So you have to be careful of strippers because they can have a volatile temper. Although, I hear the sex is phenomenal.