Last August I bumped my forehead. At least, I *think* I bumped my forehead. I don’t actually recall an incident whereby I bumped my head, but around that time a sore about 1 cm in diameter opened up on my forehead and it just wouldn’t heal. I went to the gym and after a vigorous workout it would open up. A stream of hot water would hit it in the shower and it would open up. I’d scratch it in my sleep and it would open up. This has been going on for four months.

When I was in Cleveland for Thanksgiving, my sister gave me a homeopathic beeswax ointment which did a pretty good job reducing the size, but it still wouldn’t go away completely.

Mrs. Wife finally put her foot down and insisted I see a dermatologist.

In walked this ravishingly cute, young Indian doctor. I glamored her with my witty barbs about the medical profession. We had a few laughs, some innocent flirtations and then she casually said, “Well, I’m going to take a biopsy but I can assure you that you have Basal cell cancer.” She explained that, fortunately, this is fairly common, does not spread and is easily treated. But it is a type of skin cancer and not to be trifled with, so a biopsy must be performed.

I told her that I’m Italian and the sun is supposed to be good to us Mediterraneans. She said, “Ah! But you have blue eyes!” I had to admit that I also have my rotten father’s Polish blood coursing through my veins. Thanks, Da.

She asked what SPF sunscreen I use when I go to the beach. I chuckled and said, “Sunscreen?” All the flirtyness got sucked out of the room. She got very serious, looked at me sternly and said, “From now on you’re an SPF 30 man. Do you understand?” She slapped a band-aid on my forehead and walked out of the room. I sat there like an idiot for a few minutes until I realized I was dismissed.

Test results are in a week to ten days, but I don’t think there’s much to worry about.

Is there?

The Time Warner Center is a huge shopping/ residential/ hotel/ entertainment complex located at the southwest corner of Central Park in Columbus Circle. It’s where Midtown ends and the Upper West Side begins. Think of a shopping mall just steps away from Central Park. There’s a Whole Foods inside.

It houses one of my favorite public artworks. On the main floor are two 12 foot statues of Adam and Eve by artist Fernando Botero. They’re big, smooth, bulbous black monoliths.

Here’s Eve. She has a very maternal look.

Here’s Adam. He has a special interactive feature that I’m certain Botero and the property managers of the Time Warner Center never counted on. It seems that the thousands and thousands of tourists who stream through the center have decided that rubbing his uncircumcised penis is good luck. So many people have done it, that the patina glaze is rubbed off and the underlying gold is exposed.

Clickable. If you must.

People are constantly having their photos taken while yanking Adam’s flaccid anteater. There’s an art dealer who occasionally applies a touch-up, but it never lasts. Do you know what I love most? Management approves! They have no intention of removing Adam. It has become a destination when visiting the city. America is such a puritanical country that I thought the reaction would be the opposite.

I’ll bet you won’t find that in the guidebooks. Snap.

Do you know what makes me nuts? Tourists who walk around town in the middle of winter with deep tans. I see it all the time! Do you know what that means, don‘t you? That means they JUST GOT BACK from a vacation and here they are in New York City vacationing SOME MORE. I realize this is all born from envy and I don’t resent them or anything, but it does make me crazy.

The theater was right across from The Palm restaurant. The Palm is a chain of steakhouses here in the U.S. I ate there once but my dinner was so insanely expensive that I didn’t really enjoy it all that much. Fine food and the fine dining experience is wasted on me. I have no appreciation for it whatsoever.

Speaking of fine dining, Elaine Kaufman just passed away. She was the owner/impresario of a famous restaurant on the Upper East Side of Manhattan called Elaine’s. It was given a nod in the Billy Joel 1978 hit ditty Big Shot.

They were all impressed with your Halston dress
And the people that you knew at Elaine’s

Ms. Kaufman would stand at the entrance of her restaurant and judge people who wanted to eat there. Some got in. Most didn’t. And if you were granted a table, it could be near the kitchen in the section of the restaurant snidely referred to as Siberia. So even if you’re in. You’re not in.

I can’t stand New York snobs. I hate when people are treated shabbily because they don’t have enough money or power. People like Elaine Kaufman make me sick. Good riddance.

Have a swell time in hell, Elaine. Hope you got a good table.

Here’s the elegant Ms. Kaufman throwing a garbage can lid at a paparazzi in 1978.

I had a few hours to kill after work and wandered into the New York Public Library; the big branch on 42nd Street and Madison Avenue. They were open until 8:00 p.m. that evening and I needed a place to get out of the cold. If you go to the third floor, you’ll find a huge reading room with high, carved wood ceilings and big windows that let light pour in. The long oak tables have electrical outlets built right into the tabletops so you can plug in. Plus, there’s a Gutenberg bible on permanent display in a glass case at the entrance to the reading room. You don’t stumble across that ever day!

These photos of the main entrance off of 42nd Street make it look like a mausoleum or a crypt. It’s the fault of my camera; it’s not poor lighting or design. It looks more grand in person.

The city is getting all dolled up for the Christmas season. I love this time of year and, believe me, it has nothing whatsoever to do with religion. The town looks great and people really do seem lighter.

The sign carved into the stone at the balcony, right at the tip of the Christmas tree, says Astor Cort. In the 19th century, the Astors were the wealthiest family in America and they financed this library, along with other public works. The Waldorf-Astoria, Astoria, Queens and Astor Place in the East Village are among the dozens of places that bear their name. The reward for all that philanthropic work was to lose John Jacob Astor IV on the maiden voyage of the Titanic.

I stumbled upon a fantastic photography exhibit that’s worth your time x 100 if you’re in the neighborhood. I didn’t even know it was going on! NYC: a surprise around every corner. Recollection: Thirty Years of Photography at the New York Public Library is up through January 2nd. I thought it would be a pedestrian collection of pics but I was wrong. All the heavies are represented: Robert Capa, Berenice Abbott, Diane Arbus, Richard Avedon, Margaret Bourke-White, Henri Cartier-Bresson, Weegee and tons more. So fun. And it’s FREE! FREE! FREE!

Penny Diane Wolin. “That’s His Mother, He Never Married;” from the series The Jews of Wyoming. Gelatin silver print, 1985. © Penny Diane Wolin.

Amy Arbus. “Ann Magnuson on Park Avenue.” Gelatin silver print, 1981. © Amy Arbus.

James De Sana. “David Byrne.” Gelatin silver print, ca. 1980. © James De Sana.Arnold Genthe. “Edna St. Vincent Millay.” Gelatin silver print, 1913.

The holiday retail sales numbers are up slightly from last year and the stock market has recovered, but it looks like a full-blown economic recovery is still a long way off. Back in Ohio, the Dunkin’ Donuts employees and the people cleaning the tables and floors at the mall food court all looked like older guys with families to support. These are traditionally entry level, low paying positions that are manned by kids. These guys looked defeated and sullen. Until unemployment reverses itself, they’ll be no recovery.

I rarely give fashion tips but here’s one that’s money in the bank. Don’t wear a black sweater to indoor glow in the dark miniature golf. The black light will make your dandruff glow and your shoulders will be covered with dozens and dozens of tiny, illuminated blue specs. So embarrassing.

I taught The Elder Daughter how to pump gas while in Ohio. She did everything from credit card swipe to returning the hose and replacing the cap (righty-tighty). Weird factoid: drivers in New Jersey are NOT PERMITTED to pump their own gas. It’s against the law! The entire state is full serve. Consequently, kids in New Jersey grow up not knowing how to pump gas. It’s a big shock to their systems when they go on their first road trip.

Best road kill of the long, four hour car ride through the hills and forests of Pennsylvania: A deer leg. Just the leg. I have no idea where the rest of him went. Best road kill of all time: A black bear.