Here’s my favorite midtown Manhattan lunch spot. It’s a tiny tiny Cuban cafeteria tucked onto West 46th St. just off of Times Square. It’s called Margon and according to the sign outside, it’s New York’s Best Kept Secret. I don’t know about that. If you don’t get there early for lunch you don’t get a seat.

It’s nothing fancy. If you’re looking for elegant surroundings you’d best steer clear. But if you’d like some authentic Cuban grub for under $10 bucks, you can’t do better. Here are a few of the daily specials.

I ALWAYS go with the oxtail and a big plate of black beans and rice with fried sweet plantains. They have killer empanadas, too. God, I want to lick my monitor.

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The long hours at my new yob means that I don’t see The Daughters as much as I use to. The other unfortunate by-product is that I can’t keep up with the blogs in my Google Reader. I really miss it. I don’t have time to read or comment. I’m New Guy at the Investment Bank and it’s too soon to read blogs at work.

Can everyone please put their lives/blogs on hold until I can get back to you? Is that asking a lot?

Isn’t Friday I’m In Love by The Cure just the happiest damn song ever? How ironic is that?!

This, from yesterday’s New York Times business section:

Pizza Hut is hiring a “Twintern,” to chronicle “in 140 characters or less what’s going on at Pizza Hut,” a company official said.

Is that a burning question that needs answering? Who give a shit what’s going on at Pizza Hut? Thanks, Twitter, you paragon of uselessness.

Good riddance.

A few posts ago I mentioned that I was going to try and lighten up about Twitter. Obviously, my feeble attempts have failed.

Yesterday was my first day back at work after a four month layoff. I was there for 15 hours. That’s not one of my witty sarcasms or exaggerations. 15 hours! What’s wrong with those people?! Thank God I’m a consultant and am being paid an hourly wage.

They said they do it all the time and I believe them. I think they do it for the money. Why else would someone subject themselves to this type of unpleasantness? I wonder how long it’s going to take for me to snap and tell a stuffed suit to go jam a few reams of Xerox paper up his ass? Time will tell!

I was looking for a job, and then I found a job.
And heaven knows I’m miserable now.

The Smiths

I found work. Sort of. It’s a three month contract with a major investment bank in Manhattan. This is an unlikely and improbable turn of events. The investment banking industry is on a respirator. You can count the number of healthy firms on one hand. That I found work at one of the survivors is a miracle. At the end of three months, they can elect to extend my contract or make an offer for a staff position. I got lucky.

But I’m not here to thank the fates. Regular readers will know that that’s not me. If you’re not in the mood to hear it, you’d better click on out right now.

I signed on for a project that will require 10-12 hour days for the next two or three months, I will be making less than I was at Morgan Stanley and because the office is nowhere near Penn Station, my commute will probably top off at 2:15. One way. Do you know what that means?

I will not see The Daughters.

They’ll be asleep when I wake up and asleep when I get home. I’ve gotten quite use to having them in my life and now they’ll stand on the periphery. I know the world is full of weekend dads but I never wanted to be one of them. I’ll miss them terribly but I’ve got a job to do.

Back to the salt mine. Blogging will be light.

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A perfect day.
I love the city but the suburbs has its charms.

* My beloved Indians inaugurated the new $1.5 billion Yankee Stadium by scoring 14 runs in the second–the most runs ever scored in a single inning in the 96-year history of the Yankees. Way to open your new park, “Legends.”