I’ve posted plenty of photos of The Daughters but I never show their faces. It feels intrusive and ill-advised. This is an open-architecture environment so I think some restraint is in order. [Per her request, I’ve never posted a photo of My Bride. You have to respect people’s wishes. Especially the ones you sleep next to every night.] Honestly, I don’t know what I’m so worried about. This isn’t a well-trafficked site. What harm can come of it?

Nevertheless, since I started blogging, I’ve allowed the indulgence of a full-frontal photo of The Daughters every year on my birthday. Why do I do this? What’s the difference between posting ONE revelatory photo and posting DOZENS? Why is it okay on one particular day of the year but verboten the other 364? It is, of course, ego-driven. A cry for attention. Look at my kids! Look at me! Today’s my birthday! It all seems (seems?!) kind of needy, don’t you think? But I make no apologies. A blog can be an artistic endeavor. A means of expression. But, let’s face it, it’s also a cry for attention and a sop to our egos.

Look at my kids! Look at me! Today’s my birthday!

This was taken backstage at a big rock concert at Giants Stadium. Everyone pines to go backstage but, take my word for it, it ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. I always feel like an intruder who has no business being  there. That’s because I’m an intruder who has no business being  there. I feel like I’m in everybody’s way. But it’s nice if it’s raining. And I think The Daughters enjoyed themselves.

My age? I’m feeling very old this year. Very old. I will not reveal it. I never do. It’s a tic. Don’t judge me. Some people smoke. Others gossip. I’m hung-up on my age.

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Speaking of daughters, I see that Kim and Kanye named their newborn North West. Celebrities shouldn’t be permitted to name their children. In honor of North’s birth, I quote the following lyrics from various Kanye West songs.

“We in the bathroom now, she get her back blew out
She can’t clean but I bet she got a vacuum mouth”

“To all my second string bitches, trying to get a baby
Trying to get a baby? Now you talkin’ crazy!”

“Like my bitch when she pop champagne bottles
I tell you about them damn models
They can’t cook a lick but they’ll lick a dick and swallow!”

“Come and meet me in the bathroom stall
And show me why you deserve to have it all
Ball so hard
You know how many hot bitches I own?”

What do you think ol’ Kanye’ll do to the first man he overhears telling North she’s one of his second string bitches? Laugh at the irony? Or do you suppose that little fool has seen the light now that he has a daughter?

Hip-hop is a blight on the black community. They got rid of one ball and chain and replaced it with another. I guess I’m just an old, broken down white guy. One year older, to be specific.

I was bored and when I get bored I look for something to do. My idle mind tends to gravitate towards mischief, so instead of conducting unhealthy Google searches I decided to tweak my blog. It’s not dramatically different, really. I’ve always loved the banner so I kept that. I changed the name to this somewhat Bukowski-esque title. Compared to the previous title this is a bit shorter, a better play on words and it rolls off the tongue more easily. Do I need to explain that this is a witty sarcasm? That I’m not really exiled or in pain? (Well…not much.) In the past, I was told that The Unbearable Banishment was an insult to my bride. Further, I was asked that if life is so unbearable, why didn’t I just leave? It’s just a joke, brothers and sisters. Not a cry for help.

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I took the girlies to the horse track and showed them how to bet the ponies. Not the complicated data dump that constitutes real wagering. Just the basics. This is a dangerous game to play. The only attention I ever got from my father—and I mean ever—was on Thursdays during football season when he’d let me fill out a betting chit. It doesn’t take a Freudian scholar to figure out where my love of gambling and casinos was born. That’s something I DON’T want the daughters to inherit so I’m careful.

Horse racing is a dying sport, but it’s still a pretty big deal in New Jersey. You wouldn’t think so, but NJ is horse country. The area where I live is dotted with pretty horse farms. This was by no means our first visit to the track. The track is excellent! It’s not a total dive, but it’s still a bit seedy around the edges. It’s mangy enough to be interesting, but not so much that it’s dangerous or scary. If you look around, you can still find some sharps right out of a Damon Runyon novel.

I taught The Daughters how to read the Racing Form. Just look at that logo. A classic design.

Kids will place a wager based on the jockey’s silk color or the name of the horse. You’d be surprised how far that’ll get you. My father-in-law and I pour over stats—track condition, jockey weight, previous running times, opponents, etc.,—and more often than not throwing a dart at the page is just as effective.

The worst thing that could happen happened. 11-Year Old Daughter won $33 on a $6 across-the-board bet. She bet the number three horse because she’s third in her class. Now she thinks she’s got it all figured out. Very dangerous.

We’ve spent the last few weekends on the boardwalks pumping badly-needed capital into the local storm-damaged communities. Restore the Shore! Hurricane Sandy fucked this place up pretty good but it’s amazing how much progress they’ve made. Some of the amusement park rides are still out of commission but pretty much everything else is up and running.

Daughter and friend stroll through the Jersey scene. I’m glad they’re going to spend their youth near a beach community. What great memories! I grew up near Lake Erie. Why do you think they call it eerie?

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Scary quotes du jour

“You can have privacy or you can have the Internet, but you can’t have both.”

New York Times columnist Ross Douthat on the recently revealed government surveillance programs.

“There was of course no way of knowing whether you were being watched at any given moment.”

George Orwell
1984

I walked out of the Laura Pels Theater onto 47th St. It was dark out.

[I had just seen the clunkily titled The Unavoidable Disappearance of Tom Durnin. Primo character actor David Morse is a white collar criminal home from prison to terrorize his family. A compelling story with some forced dialog and a few strained scenes. Morse, terrifying as always. Do you remember him from The Green Mile and The Hurt Locker?]

I crossed 6th Avenue to Rockefeller Center to see what Ugo Rondinone’s Human Nature looks like at night. It was a satisfying enough work during the day. I thought the inky sky and floodlights might cast some interesting shadows. As I suspected, the work is much more nuanced and spooky in the dark. Isn’t everything?

The compulsion is to walk up and touch them. I’ve seen people stroke and even hug them.

The lights spill onto the plaza and give the sculptures more texture and depth.

A friend sneaks a shot of your humble author hard at work. Waiting for the pedestrians to clear my viewfinder

Have any of you had Lasik surgery performed on your eyes? Any regrets? Long-term negative side effects? How horrific an experience was it? The procedure looks like medieval torture but I’m so fed up with wearing glasses that I’m considering it. The operation can’t be any worse than having my forehead cut open for basal cell carcinoma surgery and I survived that. Barely.