Handbill Handout

Ate one last night with freshly picked basil leaves and coarse sea salt. Summer has officially arrived. Pictures taken by the Mrs.

Tons of posts from the show I wrote about in the previous post. Varying quality, and I haven't found one of The Stair Runner or Stoner Guy yet.

Last night I went to see Pearl Jam at MSG. Arena rock shows aren’t really my thing anymore, but my friend CB had a ticket already so I figured what the hell. Since we had a few hours between the end of the office day and the show, CB suggested we hit a place down in Chelsea that had a good rep called the Red Cat . The “braised and grilled” octopus was a little under-seasoned but the “bread stew” that shared the plate was terrific. It had bright tomato and herb flavors that really popped in your mouth. And I fixed the octopus using one of the small dishes of salt the Red Cat keeps on the bar for dipping radishes (a creative bar snack don’t you think?). Entrée was a misfire – the jerk scented mahi-mahi was bland but again the accompaniment (in this case a cucumber frisee salad with cucumber vinaigrette) really sang. CB had the sautéed skate wing and was kind enough to share a piece; it was crisp and delicious. So it was another case of bad ordering for yours truly. I’ll have to take the

Wow, I guess that's the death knell for the hipster crowd . Time to follow the early adapters to the North Shore of Staten Island, kids. Not all of us long-time residents bite. The restaurant scene is improving but we need some venues where old farts like me can see good music . Multiple genres please . Preferably accessible by the SIR . Thanks.

The person on the left has obviously seen me dance. The person on the right has not. (Photo lifted from Ken's playlist , 6/25/08).

Looks like maybe a certain NY hockey team has learned a lesson . Then again, we'll see July 1. Meanwhile, I hope the Habs didn't give up anything for those negotiating rights. Death and hockey in the same day? We only deal with the big topics on this blog, folks.

I’ve been thinking about planning my funeral. No, I’m not facing imminent death or anything. Not that I know of anyway. It’s just that after you go to enough wakes and funerals and shivas and whatever other ritual-for-the-dead is observed by the bereaved you begin to have thoughts about how you want your own going away party to be. I don’t think I’m alone here. In fact, I think as the boomer generation slips toward its dotage in the 21st century we might begin to see the emergence of a whole new occupation: the funeral planner. I’m not talking about a funeral director or undertaker here. I’m talking about the expansion of the party planning industry beyond Super Sweet 16s and weddings and the newly-in-vogue (or maybe not so new, I’m out of the loop) divorce parties to include funerals. And I for one would applaud such a thing. I think a well-planned funeral that literally IS a celebration of the departed’s life instead of a bunch of people making small talk with a body at the f

Parental Warning: Grown-up themes and explicit language are in this post. If you’re not ready to pretend you’re a grown-up like the rest of us do or if you find language that real people use every day offensive you should click to something else right now. I am in the men’s room making my “should’ ve thought of that before you got on the subway” pre -departure pit stop when a colleague walks in to do the same thing. “How’s it going?” he asked. “In a pretty steady stream, it seems” I said. Laughter ensued. I must be getting better at the inane conversation thing. The positivism wouldn ’t last though. We got to chatting about a couple of issues facing the industry and the conversation continued down the elevator, through the lobby and onto the street. And then it happened. Have you ever been on your way someplace and you run into a co-worker or casual acquaintance and you realize you’re both going to the same subway station or deli or whatever and you know, you just know you’re going to

I have no idea if or when I would make a trip to Atlanta, but if I did I would most certainly eat at least one meal here . (What, you thought it was going to be Richard Blais's place? Yeah, I'd try that too.)

Last night I watched America's Test Kitchen on PBS and they were doing a grilled snapper demo. As part of the demo, the test kitchen chef showed how to prep the grate by using a canola-oil soaked paper towel to lube it up. Chris Kimball (the host) asked "Aren't you ever worried that the towel could burst into flames?" She replied "Not really, but I suppose it could. I've never seen it happen though." C'mon over to my place .

There were only two people on line when I walked into the bagel shop. Incidentally, there seem to be two kinds of people in the world. There are people who say they wait “on line” and people who say they wait “in line”. I’ ve always been of the “on line” stripe and I never really knew why. Is it a regional thing? I noticed folks from the Midwest tend to say “in line” rather than “on line’. Is it purely a dialect kind of thing or is it something deeper? Are those of us who say “on line” somehow being snobbish or superior because “on line” seems to connote (or is it denote?) standing above something while saying “in line” implies being one with the waiting masses? This is something else I’ll lose sleep over. I know it. Where was I? Oh yeah. When I went into the shop (I say “shop” as a noun even though that’s not regionally correct. Most people would say “store”, I think. Why do I say shop? More sleep lost…). I went into the shop and there were two people on line. Given what transpired I

Top Chef will be shooting Season 5 here in NYC in July and August. Whoo-hoo! Time to look for the fleets of Rav 4's rolling down 5th avenue. I love the contest suggestions in the third comment of the link. Good stuff.

Man, what a long day. Phew, good thing the air conditioning works in this car. I hate hot train rides. Oh no, that guy across the way looks nuts. He’s just staring into space at the floor. What the hell? The commute’s not bad enough now I have to sit across from nut jobs? Better keep an eye on him. What the heck is he looking at? Is he starting at my feet? Is he some kind of wacko gay foot-fetishist? I swear to God if he hits on me I’ll slug him one. Eww , some pig left a soda bottle on the floor. Disgusting. Bunch of animals ride this train ever since they made it free between stops. They should cut that crap out and keep the criminals off the train. Probably be cleaner if they did that too. That damn bottle is rolling all over the place. If I slip on it I swear I’m going to sue the goddamn MTA . Oh now what? That old guy’s phone is ringing over there. Jesus, he can’t even figure out which pocket he put it in. Great, now he found it. “Hello?” “HELLO?” Ha, we’re just g

The bottle lay on its side against the right side of the SIR door opposite me when I boarded the train in St. George. It was a 20 ounce soda bottle with a light blue label. The name was facing away from me but I speculated that it was a Diet Pepsi bottle from the color. I didn ’t think much of the bottle; it was just another piece of train litter. The train pulled slowly out of the St. George yard and bip -boomed its way to the Tompkinsville stop. I was sitting on the side of the car opposite the ferry-bound track. The bottle shook as we moved from St. George to Tompkinsville but didn ’t move much which meant that it was in the perfect position for someone getting on board at a station with a “middle” platform (that is, a platform between the ferry-bound and Tottenville -bound tracks) to fall over. I waited for the fun to begin. At Tompkinsville , the doors opened and nobody got on via the doorway occupied by the bottle. Amazingly, the bottle remained perched right on the edge of the

Oh well...I was right . It is a hoax . Those darn sneaky movie studios..... Fortunately, this is not. Gotta love the fact that somebody saved that for 20 years. Still, nothing beats Casey Kasem , huh? Note: naughty language in all of the above. You've been warned.

How does that famous statement about the easily duped go? Something about how often they're born. It was pretty frequent as far as I can tell. Every day maybe? Wait, I think I remember it now, "There's a trucker born every fortnight". No wait, not a trucker. That's not slang for the easily duped. "A penny saved..." no, that's not it either. Huh. Can't remember. But I do have the evidence to support the aphorism. Exhibit A: Look at how many people keep feeding the clown money instead of taking an interest in where their food comes from. How many incidents like this will it take before people stop eating that way? This is the American Paradox of dining. You would think that these constant issues would make people consider shortening the length of their food chain by buying locally, growing their own, and eating seasonally. Or you might realize that you live in America where the solution is to throw more money at the problem so people can have a ta

Properly lubricating your grill is important to prevent food from sticking to it and being ruined. A good way to do this is to soak a paper towel in canola or vegetable oil and wipe the grill once it's hot. You'll know the grill is hot enough when your paper towel suddenly bursts into flames and somehow sticks to the end of your tongs as you frantically beat them against the grill to dislodge said paper towel which is now throwing burning slivers into the air that you hope don't land on anything else highly flammable while you curse and yell in the hundred degree heat. This summer grilling tip was brought to you by the Glad family of products and this blog.

Today is National Doughnut Day . National Doughnut Day was started in 1938 as a fundraiser for the Salvation Army. Of course, like every good American holiday it has evolved (devolved?) into a bargain hunting exercise. Today Krispy Kremes will be giving away free donuts to better refocus the day on commerce. Really, that’s what we want here in America. More excuses to shop. Consider what happened to President’s Day (remember when Lincoln and Washington had separate birthdays?) and Memorial Day. There is no finer time then those holidays to go furniture shopping or buy a car. Reflect on the history of our country or honor our war dead? Nah, none for us thanks. That futon sure looks like a bargain though. I suppose it has to be this way though. Practically every day, week or month is commemorating something so when every day is a holiday than nothing really is. The word “holiday” used in this context is somewhat telling; remember it came into being as a contraction of the words “holy”

As the great Jean Shepherd would say: "He's doing it for all of us". The unfortunate thing is I suspect the thing is a hoax no matter how desperately so many of us here in the corporate data mills want to believe it's real. I wish I knew what sent him over the edge. I'm sure the court papers will talk about deaths in the family or chemical imbalances or a recent divorce or something like that. The poor guy. He should've just taken the rest of the day off and gone on a woodchuck-killing spree or something. At least that might have given him dinner . Hey, hunting and harvesting can save you a few bucks which is important in today's world. Just ask the folks who founded this awesome political party . I don't have a whole lot of commentary for all this stuff. I think it speaks for itself and represents 21st century American life better than anything I could come up with.

This is on the to-do list should I be diagnosed with something terminal.

Commuting. Despite all the characters you have to ride with and the obsessive behaviors you have to engage in to survive the ordeal there are still mornings when the bus ride in is actually pleasant. This morning was one of those times. No cell phone talkers or excessive traffic or poorly calibrated climate control or overcrowding. Just a nice, quiet, uneventful ride. It was almost like being in a church or a temple. We rolled toward the bridge in an atmosphere that was perfectly peaceful and contemplative. After the last stop by the V-N bridge the seat next to me was still unoccupied so I spread out, putting my knapsack and the NY Times still in its damp bag (normally I throw the paper in my bag but I didn’t want to get anything else wet) on the seat next to mine. This is NY, of course so I when I do this I always loop my arm through the knapsack’s straps with the zippers facing me. Yes, it’s an express bus from Staten Island but you can never be too safe. By the time the bus hit the

I just read that Bo Diddley has shuffled off this mortal coil after 79 years. I guess it can’t ever be said to be a surprise when someone gets to be that age, but it still caught me off guard. It’s weird whenever a well-known rock music pioneer dies in old age. You figure anyone who doesn ’t die young will live forever. Of course that’s not true, like the old man used to say “The thing about life is nobody gets out alive. Then again, nobody ever comes back to complain either.” I saw Diddley a few years ago at that big garage music festival they had on Randall’s Island. The one that had the Stooges and Bo and Nancy Sinatra and the NY Dolls and the Pete Best band and the Dictators and (ugh) The Strokes. It would be completely hip and appropriate for me to say Bo Diddley was the best thing on the show. It would also be a complete lie and given that Bo was never a man to skirt the truth himself (he was one of the first rockers to talk openly about show biz as a business and com