Sweet. Dangerous.

Posted on November 11, 2010 by Exile on Pain Street

This post is pure daddy blog drivel. It’s the type of thing I pass over if I’m behind in my Google Reader. I provide it for my distant siblings who live hundreds of miles away and don’t get to see their nieces very often. Feel free to read on and comment, but you’ve been warned.

* * *

The Daughters are a classic exercise in extremes. 8-Year Old is sensitive. Almost too much so. She’ll apologize for things that have nothing to do with her. She picks up after her sister to avoid seeing her disciplined. She worries. Her heart will be broken 1,000 times.

On the other hand, 4-Year Old is utterly remorseless. She’ll commit the same wrong over and over again. She’ll apologize, but with a big smile on her face that makes you question her sincerity. Sometimes, she lies. She’ll break hearts without regret.

How do I get their temperaments to meet in the middle? Is there a magic pill?

Weekend afternoons with 8-Year Old Daughter have given way to afternoons with 4-Year Old Daughter. She likes to visit the botanical garden near our home. The land was once owned by Vito Genovese, one of New York’s crime family bosses. New Jersey busted his ass, took his property (beautiful gardens and rolling hills) and turned it into public domain.

Here, she confronts the half man/half demon-beast scarecrow. She asked me to pick her up so she could touch his pointy teeth and see what they feel like. This is the type of thing that would have given 8-Year Old nightmares when she was her age.

Near the entrance is a topiary caterpillar. I point it out to her. She walks up…

…and, of course, puts her head in its mouth. I could get all metaphorical about her disregard for danger but that would just cause me to lose sleep at night.

We always bring a bit of bread so she can feed the goldfish in the pond. It’s a constant struggle to keep her from fall in. Imagine me bringing her home covered in pond muck! Boy, would I be in the dog house!

Our afternoons end as they always have. As they always will. At the diner.

Two one man

Posted on November 9, 2010 by Exile on Pain Street

It is said that one of the greatest human fears is speaking in public. Imagine, if you will, walking onto a stage and the only thing standing between you and utter humiliation are your words and this:

That’s the extent of the staging for St. Nicholas, the one-man show at the Irish Repertory Studio Theater (the smallest theater in Manhattan). Man, I love the Irish Rep. If I had some extra money, I’d give it to them. One-man shows are such a crap shoot. The potential for catastrophe is pretty high and I always feel awful when it doesn’t work out. And while this show didn’t quite achieve greatness, it was a pleasant night out.

St. Nicholas was written by Irish fireball Connor McPherson. It’s the story of a drunken, washed-up theater critic (a bit of payback, Mr. McPherson?) who becomes involved with a beautiful young actress. It comes to pass that the actress belongs to a sect of vampires. The vampires give him a new vocation: fetching food for them. There’s a seemingly endless supply of supple, young club kids who are eager to party.

I was seated in the front row and I always find sitting in the front row to be too much of an intrusion into the performance. I prefer some distance between the stage and I. I become too self conscious about keeping my feet off the stage and trying to look lively for the actors. I always try to get lost in a performance but it’s impossible for me if the performance is right in my lap.

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The other one-man show I just saw was Long Story Short by Collin Quinn, which is about to open on Broadway at the Helen Hayes (the smallest Broadway house).

They’re making a big deal out of the fact that it’s directed by Jerry Seinfeld. I’m always suspicious of stand-up comics who do one man shows because often times, it’s nothing more than their stand up act with a pricier ticket. But I was willing to gamble on this because I’m a big fan of Herr Quinn. It’s a great premise. Quinn discusses the demise of the various empires throughout civilization. Yes, we’re next.

He came out and seemed hesitant and unsure of the material. This show ran for several weeks Off Broadway, so his performance should have been a lot smoother than it was. I think he actually might have lost his place on one or two occasions. But I laughed and I guess that’s what it’s all about.

Polish it up, Colin.

Death in Manhattan x 2

Posted on November 7, 2010 by Exile on Pain Street

I was walking up Varick Street at 7:00 a.m. and came across this sad sight.

Some shitheel took out a tree with his/her sloppy driving. It was a direct hit. It looks like they drove their car right onto the sidewalk and up the trunk of the tree. They stripped the bark clean off for added insult. I can only hope the car was damaged beyond repair.

For some reason, my heart always breaks a little bit when I see a tree taken down. Who doesn’t love trees!? I especially enjoyed J.R.R. Tolkien’s treatment of them. At this point, Manhattan is almost solid concrete. Trees are a scarce commodity. This is one of the distinguishing characteristics that makes London a nicer city than New York. London is much greener and feels more like a collection of homey neighborhoods.

* * *

Here’s a rather plain but still attractive building on 8th Avenue and 15th Street across from the the truly gorgeous Apple store. It has some clean lines and I like the crown work. The brick façade is nice and warm. The awning is a nice touch. Unfortunately, it has been murdered by some shitheel architect.

We’re all out of horizontal space in New York so a popular work-around is to utilize the vertical space. There are lots of older buildings that have had structures added to the top of them. It can sometimes work with the existing aesthetics but what happened here is an abomination.

An ugly, festering, cancerous carbuncle has been jammed onto the top of the original building. It doesn’t have anything whatsoever to do with the original design. But what the hell. I’m sure they’re making a fortune off the rentals and in New York, too often, that’s what it’s all about.

Fun fact: To the right is the Old Holmstead Steak House. At 140 years, it’s one of the oldest steak houses in Manhattan. I had a Kobe beef burger there once and it was kind of gross. The meat was almost raw.

The way other people live

Posted on November 4, 2010 by Exile on Pain Street

Regular readers know that the current recession has kicked me in the plums pretty hard. For the past 22 months, I’ve worked as a consultant at about a half dozen investment banks, none of whom are in any mood to hire on staff.

Back in 2009, I went through a three-month period of unemployment. Since then, I’ve had scattered 2-3 week outages of work. I consider myself fortunate because I know some folks who haven’t weathered this recession as well as I have, so I’m not complaining. Much. We were never in any financial distress. My Bride and I live frugally and that helped keep panic at bay.

But something wholly unexpected happened during those work stoppages. I tasted what life is like when I’m not obligated to sit in an office all day, every day. And the sweet flavor has lingered in the windmills of my mind. It’s like the time I was gifted a first class upgrade on a flight. Worst thing that ever happened to me! All it did was show me how barbaric coach is.

There’s a lot of life going on outside my Manhattan office window. And seeing The Daughters and Mrs. Wife in the evening is what it’s all about, isn’t it? But that kind of lifestyle takes money. Lots of money. I’m just a regular guy.

I went for a walk at lunch yesterday. It’s been sunny and cool all week. I wound my way through the Village and as I passed the Greenwich Village Bistro on Carmine Street, I heard music.

I poked my head inside and stumbled onto this scene.

These three old rattlesnakes—one on a beaten upright piano, one playing a trumpet with a mute and one playing a trombone—were pumping out New Orleans jazz tunes. At 1:00 in the afternoon on a Wednesday! They were masters of their craft. This is why I love this town so much. You can go out for a walk and it’ll show you a magic trick. Presto!

I took a seat at the copper top bar and ordered some split pea soup. The barmaid called me “hon” and chatted me up. There were only two other tables of customers. They were playing to an empty house.

There was one other person sitting at the bar. A soft, pudgy black guy who was working on a music score. At one point he yelled over to the musicians, “I’m gonna sing one, okay?” The piano player started a mid-tempo chug, the trombone came in, then the trumpet, and the guy sitting next to me sang, in a silky-smooth voice, a song about missing New Orleans. I almost wept into my soup.

There was a guy sitting at a table typing away on his Mac. How did he do it? How did he maneuver through life so that he’s able to spend his afternoons in this grand manner? [Interesting factoid: The waitress in this pic is the piano player’s granddaughter. What a joy it must be for both of them.]

I think it’s too late for me. Do you know they just opened an Edward Hopper exhibit at the Whitney? I love Edward Hopper! He’s a Raymond Carver short story on canvas. Why am I sitting in an office all day? For the past nine years I’ve spent close to four hours a day commuting. There doesn’t seem to be any end in sight. I wouldn’t say that I’m wallowing in some Kafkaesque abject nightmare—I’m not suicidal—but life could, and should, be so much sweeter. Don’t you think?

This is the LAST thing I would have expected unemployment to teach me.

I’m your top prime cut of meat, I’m your choice*

Posted on November 2, 2010 by Exile on Pain Street

Today, millions of Americans will visit their local polling stations and vote. This is a critically important mid-term election that will shift the balance of power in Congress.

For the first time in my life, I won’t be voting. About six weeks ago, I absent-mindedly got a ticket to the theater tonight. I left for work at 5:30 a.m. and won’t be home until about 11:00 p.m. The polls weren’t open that early in the morning and they’ll have long closed by the time I get home.

The tragedy is not that I won’t be voting. The tragedy is that I truly, truly, don’t care. It doesn’t bother me in the least. I always hated politically apathetic people who didn’t exercise their right to vote. In other parts of the world, people either can’t vote or are, quite literally, shot at when they try.

But I have been drained dry of any enthusiasm for our political process. On Wednesday morning, a bunch of worthless bums will have been thrown out of office, only to be replaced by a different set of worthless bums. I have no faith that any of the clowns running for office will change Washington in a meaningful, positive way.

I’d rather go out and see a play.

I’m no better than Nero. Shame on me, for allowing them to get under my skin.

* 10 bonus points to anyone who can tell me where this great post title is from without Googling it? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?