Go, go, go shawty
It’s your birthday
We gon’ party like it’s yo birthday
We gon’ sip Bacardi like it’s your birthday

As I do every year on my birthday for no good reason whatsoever, here’s a rare frontal shot of The Daughter and I. This is from a few years ago. We’re at our favorite diner.

Which diner is our favorite? That would be whatever diner we happen to be sitting in. They’re ALL good.

My posts tend to be somewhat city-centric. I don’t dwell in New Jersey too often. I don’t have the same affinity for the Garden State that I do for Gotham City. I don’t mind living there, but I spent so many years in the city that it got under my skin. Unlike any rational human being, I never tired of the inconveniences and downsides.

But over this past holiday weekend, I saw New Jersey in a different light. We went to an authentic, all-American block party for the 4th of July. Two ends of the street were blocked off with orange cones and kitchen chairs. There were dozens of families there and everyone brought something to eat. (One evil super-villain brought a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken, knowing full well that it’s my kryptonite. God bless you, Col. Sanders. God bless you, evil super-villain.)

To be perfectly frank, I don’t have a great chemistry with our lovely neighbors. Mrs. Wife fits right in. Over the years, she has become an integral part of the community. She volunteers at the school and is at the core of a group of people who try to make it a better place to live. But I got nothin’. It’s not from lack of effort, either. I go to these gatherings and can’t seem to insert myself into any conversations. They all peter off into that embarrassing silence. I talk a pretty good game! I don’t get it. It’s as if I was back in high school, sitting at the corner cafeteria table being ignored. I thought I’d seen the last of those days but here I am again.

I was sitting off to the side all alone stuffing my face with fried chicken, cold pasta salad and beer, and I watched the swirl of activity going on all around me. My usual city cynicism was nowhere to be found. What I saw was suddenly very moving to me.

Some manly men were manning three grills and feeding the masses. There were about a half dozen long folding tables overflowing with food. Coolers filled with drinks were everywhere. I have no idea where any of this stuff came from! It just appeared! You simply walked up, filled your plate, opened a cooler, grabbed a beer and enjoyed yourself. I watched my two daughters stand in a long line of kids who were patiently waiting for pink and blue cotton candy. I watched 5-Year Old Daughter wrestle with a wad of cotton candy as big as her head, big smile on her face, a red ribbon tying back her hair, and it moved me to a place I’m too embarrassed to mention.

There were water balloon toss games and Silly String battles for the kids. When darkness fell, thin glow sticks came out and glowing bracelets and necklaces were fashioned. I wore two bracelets; one orange and one yellow. Some guys had their guitars out. A spectacular, city-sponsored, fireworks display was launched from a barge floating on the Shrewsbury River.

I get it.

I get it!

I boarded my 5:35 a.m. bus to the city and about :15 minutes into my ride the woman sitting in front of me lurched her seat back in a violent manner and cracked me in the knee caps. This is an almost (twice) daily occurrence.

We turned off the Garden State Parkway onto the New Jersey Turnpike and the guy sitting next to me suddenly yells out, loud enough for everyone on the bus to hear, “Look. I don’t mind if you use your little computer but you’re MOVING AROUND TOO MUCH. You touched my arm, LIKE, 20 TIMES!” I know what you’re picturing. You’re picturing a milquetoast pencil pushing desk jockey with thick-lensed glasses. A whiny little bitch. But you’re wrong. This was a hulking construction worker with arms like pythons. So I kept my mouth shut and didn’t move a muscle for the remainder of the ride. Hell yeah, I did.

I was stewing in my juices when I left Port Authority, wasn’t watching where I was going and I STEPPED IN VOMIT. That’s right. Some parts of New York are still olde style New York. I stepped in vomit. It used to happen more frequently.

Then I was walking up Madison Avenue at 44th Street and a jogger passed by who wasn’t wearing any shoes. Running barefoot in Manhattan! What a madman! I turned to look at the soles of his feet as he ran by and they were BLACK. No amount of scrubbing would ever get them clean enough for me. This is just minutes after I stepped in vomit and I suddenly imagined it squishing up between my toes. Retch, I did. The very next morning I saw him again and I tried to whip out my cell phone but he was too fast. Now I walk with my cell phone in my hand and the camera on when I walk that stretch of Madison.

We received the following company-wide email at work:

“The NYC OEM (Office of Emergency Management) has reported that several aircraft will be flying at a very low altitude in the vicinity of the Statue of Liberty and Battery Park at approximately 11:00 a.m. today. This is a planned event that is part of the Fleet Week celebration. There is no cause for alarm.”

My, goodness. It’s been 10 years and this town is still fucked-up over 9/11. Tell me, London, were you still in a nervous state of mind 10 years after the Blitz of 1941? I’ll bet not. I mean no disrespect but it’s time to move on.

This past week I was designing a library of marketing brochures to promote a group of investment vehicles. One of them is called The Russian Fund. As the name implies, the fund is populated with Russian growth stocks and investments. While I was laying it out I was thinking to myself, isn’t the Russian business and political machine notoriously corrupt? Why would anyone send their money to Russia? It seems like a bad bet to me, but what do I know? I’m just a dopey graphic designer. I passed on Google when it was $32/share. [Sadly, not kidding about that].

Then I got to the all-important disclosure. You know what that is? That’s the tiny, tiny print in the back that NOBODY ever reads. Get a load of these two sentences that were buried within. And the bold emphasis is theirs, not mine!

There may be a Lack of Reliable Financial Information and there is less transparency with Russian investments. Potential for Expropriation, Dilution, Devaluation, Default or Excessive Taxation by the Russian government.

I didn’t know what “expropriation” meant so I had to looked it up. It means that the Russian government might take your money and/or property for no good reason and there’s nothing you can do about it. Isn’t that crazy! Why am I actively involved with promoting this investment? I feel dirty. Buyer beware, indeed.

Speaking of warnings…I recently saw a movie in Times Square. Some of the Times Square movie houses are still like the wild west. If you’re bothered by people talking out loud to each other, cell phone calls during the quiet parts of the film, 4-year old children frantic from drinking jumbo-sized Coca-Colas and that sort of thing, you’d better not bother.

When I walked into the theater I turned the corner and saw two kids who must have been about 19 years old changing the diaper of their baby who was laid down on the seat between them. Kids with kids. There’s nothing sadder. At the box office, they post this warning sign. It says, basically, don’t bring a kid in who is under six years old to an R rated movie after 6:00 p.m. They call it “Distraction Free Entertainment.”

You don’t see THAT in the suburbs! This means there were SO MANY 5-year old children being brought into loud, VIOLENT, scary R-rated movies, that they actually had to CREATE A SIGN asking people (mainly, kids with kids) to refrain from doing it. Tragic Town, U.S.A.

I have been uninspired to read or write anything lately. Like a light bulb that was suddenly switched off. Amazing! Let’s try this, shall we?

I took two days off between consulting gigs. On one day, I watched The Daughters while Mrs. Wife went on a well-deserved long weekend away. Before she left, I spent a day strolling around Chelsea with CB ducking in an out of the galleries. It was mid-week so, naturally, they were all gloriously empty. It’s the only way to see these things and it made me yearn for the days when I was unemployed (with a severance).

I’m not a huge Picasso fan—a lot of his stuff is too esoteric for me and it sails over my head—but I was really moved by the Picasso and Marie-Thérèse exhibit at the Gagosian Gallery on 21st Street (through July 15). The idea that you can see such a huge gathering of Picassos in a beautifully lit gallery for FREE blows my mind.

The Gagosian has gotten into the habit of putting on blockbuster exhibits for free…because they can, I guess. They mounted a spectacular Monet exhibit not long ago. None of the pieces in these exhibits are for sale, which is counterintuitive to what a gallery is all about. But it’s not as though I could afford any them if they were. The gallery is turning itself into a de facto museum.

CB is a scribe in the fashion industry so we had a professional obligation to visit the Kate Moss photo exhibit at the Danzinger Gallery on W. 23rd Street. There are about two dozen pics by different photographers that span her career. Like the Picasso work, I didn’t think this would be for me but enjoyed it despite my preconceived notions. That happens a LOT.

This was my favorite shot because it shows Kate on 42nd Street right around the time I got to New York. The city was dank, dirty and scary—especially 42nd Street. I like looking back on old New York but don’t miss it all that much. In some of the photos, Kate is no more than a child and they were kind of creepy and sad to look at. They certainly explain some of the horribleness she was to experience later in life.

Here’s a fun one also at the Gagosian Gallery (the one on 24th Street). John Chamberlain’s sculptures are constructed from mangled auto parts.

You have to stand next to these things to really feel the scale of how massive they are. Get down heavy.

I can understand hanging a Picasso or a photo of Kate Moss but what the hell are you supposed to do with these? They must weigh a ton!

I was hoping for a price guide to see what one costs. They’re interesting in that if you slowly walk around them, they change shape, light and color. Well done to you, Mr. Chamberlain, sir!