Handbill Handout

A sample of today's sights

Finally, we are here. Kudos to SAS for running a smooth, comfortable flight. I got off the plane in considerably less pain than I have on most recent flights. First thoughts: the stretch from Arlanda airport from Stockholm was another one of those "you could be anywhere" stretches. We even passed a Burger King and a McDonald's - with drive thrus much to my chagrin! The hotel is in the center of town and the view from the window is beautiful however (pictures later after we take a walk). Our room was ready when we got here at 9am local time so we grabbed a nap and are heading out for our first exploratory voyage now at 1pm. Fun fact: when you log into google in other countries you default to that country's home page. Fortunately "log in" in Swedish is "Logga In" so it wasn't too tough to navigate. Oh, and MTV here still plays videos (Kid Rock right now) and the puzzle call-in genre (remember Playmania?) is alive and well though less inte

I hate afternoon flights. Not like we had a choice. Usually flights to Europe from the East Coast of the U.S. leave in the afternoon or evening and you arrive in the early morning the next day. Right now is that dead time where you get anxious about everything that could possibly go wrong. You just want to GET THERE ALREADY. Patience is needed. Expectations need to be managed. Best to relax with some music and just go with the flow. We already received an e-mail asking us to confirm our dinner reservation in Stockholm tomorrow night but I told the Mrs. to hold off replying until we get there. Don't want to jinx anything. Hopefully the next entry will come from Sweden and not an airport hotel in Newark. Fingers crossed.

The Mrs. and I don't usually rent cars when we travel. Aside from the fact that neither of us is keen on driving in strange places, we think that getting around via public transit is a great way to immerse ourselves in the local culture. Not "culture" like museum culture or history-book culture but rather the everyday culture of what the average person really experiences on a daily basis. The stuff that by and large passes undocumented, unnoticed and straight into the proverbial trash can of history. It may seem unusual for a couple of control freaks to completely give themselves over to the vagaries of other people's scheduling, but that's part of what vacation is all about, isn't it? Relaxing and letting go. I still hate to fly though, but so does everyone else who flies commercially I suppose. It's a necessary evil if you want to try to see what's out there in the world in these depressingly paranoid times. You know things are bad when decisions hav

It’s T minus 2 days until the Great Scandinavian Adventure. Today I’m making my packing lists. I just made the list of clothes to bring and was about it print it when I realized that I hadn’t put any pants on the list. What kind of bizarre psychological slip is that? People are talking about their summer vacations around the office and when engaged I’m trying to steer those conversations toward what the other person is doing. If you ask enough questions and feign enough interest people are perfectly willing to go on about their own trips and not ask about yours. That’s a good thing because I’ve been irritated by the reaction I consistenly get from anyone at my office who finds out where I'm going. The reaction is inevitably a look or utter perplexity followed by the question “Why are you going there?” The last time it came from someone who was excitedly describing the minute details of the Nickelodeon cruise he was taking (“Character breakfasts for the kids!”) which soun

My boss’s assistant handed me an “advice card” today. Advice cards are cards that one fills out for the guest of honor at a baby shower. I looked at it, looked at her and she said “All you guys do the same thing. Just put “Best Wishes” on it and give it back to me!” “I’m not even going to be here for the shower, I don’t have kids, what the hell am I supposed to write?” “Just fill it out. Best wishes is fine.” You do not mess with this woman. I have often said that she’s the one who actually runs this company, not the executives themselves. I have a tremendous amount of affection for her as well; we’re both long-time survivors of this nuthouse so I’ll do as she says. But what the hell do I write? I don’t have kids. I don’t have any particular wisdom to impart on that front. This is another one of those life situations where I’m almost 100% sure that someone handed out instruction manuals for and I was absent that day. Maybe I need a goal. Maybe that would set me right. Make me a proper,

The Mrs. and I are getting ready to go to Europe. Finland and Sweden specifically. We are inveterate planners. Travel is time is money. Lots of it these days. We don't want to waste any time while we're there. Not that we'll be sprinting from attraction to attraction. Rather, we want to parcel out the time efficiently to see as much as we can at a pace that's slow and enjoyable. That's harder to do than cramming in as many sights as humanly possible to the point of sensory overload or just jumping on some generic tour bus that takes you past everything without actually experiencing anyplace. Not that well-run tour buses (or tour boats or tour trams ) don't have their place. I think of them as the "condiments" of travel rather than as a main course. Or maybe they're more like that first trip through a buffet where you taste a small amount of everything before going back for a second course where you take a lot of what you like and none of what you

We went to see David Byrne's " Playing The Building " an art installation in the Battery Maritime Building right next to the Whitehall Ferry Terminal in lower Manhattan. I like the concept though the execution was less interesting than I had hoped. I would like to see some people who could actually play a keyboard instrument take a whack at creating recognizable melodies out of the sounds of the building. To someone who grew up riding the Staten Island Ferry and has spent a lot of time in the various incarnations of the terminals on either side the sounds produced by the installation were disappointingly familiar. The building sounded exactly like it should which is, I guess, a success from one point of view but slightly boring from mine. Still, it was a worthwhile trip in and I'm glad I saw, heard, and smelled the place. Poking around old, decaying public or industrial spaces is something I enjoy. There's also something to be said for spreading out with the Sunda

There is a kind of unreality that settles in on the streets of New York when the temperature approaches triple digits. There’s a blur that hovers around fourteen inches above the asphalt that eddies and splashes against bus and taxi wheels. The sun glares down like an interrogator’s lamp and within a few minutes of reaching the urine-scented streets your head begins to gently throb with the rhythm of a slowly moving local subway train. That is why the entries have been short for the last few days. The heat just sucks the mental energy right out of me. I’m not alone in this. As I walked around the office today I saw a lot of staring into space or even flat out goofiness. It’s hard to put a coherent thought together for two sentences never mind a complete paragraph. See? There’s another pause. Where was I going with this? Not outside certainly. I remember reading the Dune series by Frank Herbert when I was in college. Not for college, for fun. Anyway the planet Dune was so hot

I would like to sincerely thank some people who obviously have way too much free time for providing me with a few minutes of entertainment . For males of a certain age (like mine) these clips are genius. Kaiju is fantastic in so many ways. Why it even works as a musical !

According to the New York Times, you can "accidentally" view the Waterfalls from the Staten Island ferry. Here are some accidental pictures taken by the Mrs. last Sunday from the Whitehall terminal and the ferry. I like the Waterfalls. An argument can be made against public art and frankly I will often make it (I think once you let the Government Man write a check for art you let him have a say in the output which is almost always a bad thing), but if it's going to exist it might as well be either interesting or nice to look at. I suppose it shouldn't rankle me so that the Times refers to the Ferry only as a place to "accidentally" view the falls. After all, as the paper of record they need to take the most conventional view of the world which is often the least helpful when it comes to art. A lot of great art is, arguably accidental. It may how light or sound is captured in a given moment or it may be purely a serendipitous juxtaposition of circumstances

New Jersey has opened a new, state of the art traffic center in Woodbridge New Jersey for the cool sum of 29 million dollars. This was a building that was a long time in coming since one of, if not the defining features of life in the Garden State is sitting in traffic. According to the state’s own studies the average Jerseyite spends 52 hours a year stuck in traffic. At $4 a gallon for gas (and climbing) you need to have a center like this to help the people out. I salute my neighbors for developing this center as I too spend a fair amount of time trying to navigate the roadways of that fair state and look forward to easier traveling in the future. Now this isn ’t going to be some kind of “let’s make fun of New Jersey” rant so popular among comedians through the 20 th and into the 21st century. As someone who lives in Staten Island (itself the butt of many jokes when it is even thought of at all) I have empathy and admiration for the residents of a state where the official vegetabl

July 12 would have been my dad’s 80 th birthday had he not checked out seven and a half years ago. One of the things he frequently said in his later years was “Do stuff for me while I’m alive, don’t bother visiting me when I’m dead because I won’t care.” In his honor, I will not go to the cemetery tomorrow and weed the small garden plot we have there. Instead, I will talk about him here since he was never really “into” the World Wide Webs much so he probably won’t notice this. And even if he did, he’s dead so what the hell is he gonna do about it? Haunt me? Too much work. He probably couldn ’t be bothered to put down the pulp sci- fi paperback and get off the Heavenly Couch. “Dad”, “Pop”, or “The Old Pain in the Ass” as his kids knew him, “Tex” as my mom knew him was born on July 12, 1928 in Lufkin Texas. Find that on a map without using Google, I dare you. From what I was told growing up, he bounced around the Midwest with his stepfather as he moved from job to job. We e

Summer in New York City. Ah, nothing conjures up the feeling of dank humidity soaking one’s skin more than those words. Yes, summer in New York is that special time when the midtown streets exude their unique perfume of human urine and horse feces. When garbage bags gently bake in the noonday sun outside restaurants and emit fluids of an unearthly nature. When tourists aimlessly wander the streets in a pose not unlike that of a fowl receiving gavage as their children tug at their Habana shorts demanding Mr. Softee or pointing at “that man sleeping on the ground”. Ah, summer. That magical time. Where was I? Oh yes, summertime on the express bus. Those who are long time readers will recall the springtime celebration of bus driving characters and the winter tale of the Line Lady . Summertime brings on a new hue to those characters. Maybe it’s the heat. Maybe it’s the altered traffic patterns. Whatever it is, summer has changed the character of the commute. For instance: two

I am as excited as I can possibly be about something entertainment related. One of the greatest shows in the history to television is being revived. Sort of. In a new format. And not on TV. I'm still excited. The original cast of MST3K have reunited to produce DVDs and do live performances (!) They sold out the first live date in LA and I'm scouring the Interwebs to find out if or when they're going to do a NY date. Meanwhile, time to get out the ol' credit card and order some DVDs. I mean, TV's Frank is back. TV'S FRANK!!! DO YOU HEAR ME??? Sorry, I'm really stoked. I was kind of fanatical about the show back in the 90s. I probably have most of the episodes from the Comedy Central era on various poorly labelled VHS tapes in my basement. Even though I have those, I still regularly ask for the DVDs as gifts and will probably buy the 20th anniversary box as soon as it comes out on October 28. I have used "Torgo's Pizza" as a passwor

From Ken's playlist , 7/9/08

We had two very memorable dinners in Montreal. Not only for the food (which was excellent), but for the meal experience. They were family gatherings of the best possible kind: long meals filled with laughter and good conversation. As much as I enjoyed them what made me even happier was watching my in-laws (my father-in-law especially) just taking in every moment of being with their two daughters and on Saturday enjoying the added company of a cousin and his wife who coincidentally also took a trip to Montreal this past weekend. The family meal is a dying institution in America and it needs to be saved. My choices at Saturday’s dinner at Brasserie Brunoise included a superlative mushroom and chorizo soup and a pan-seared skate wing. The soup was beautiful and clean, the earthy mushroom flavor offset by the spicy bite of the half-moon slices of chorizo . I found myself grabbing bread out of the bread basket to soak up every drop. The skate wing was moist, mild and perfectly co

Here's another treat I get in Canada. Classic Fruit Certs. These were a childhood staple that I cannot find in the States anymore. The fruit flavored Certs you get in New York these days are actually manufactured to resemble individual fruits. So instead of that one wonderful artificial generic fruit flavor that I remember from the 1970s and 80s you get one mint that tastes kinda like orange, another that's kinda like lime, etc. This is not what I want from an unfood food item. I want the generic, vaguely "what is that supposed to be exactly?" sensation that you get from the classic Classic Fruit Certs or Froot Loops or Fruity Pebbles. I can still get it here in Canada. Dining recaps of excellent dinners at Brasserie Bruinoise and Au Pied De Cochon to follow, but right now it's 1am and I have a big ol ' can of Labatt Blue Dry to drink and a bag to pack for the drive back to NYC in the morning. Bon soir .

I had to go to Canada to try the " best ham in the world " which happens to come from Spain. They sold it at the Fromagerie Atwater for the modest price of $269.99 ( Cdn ) per kilo. We bought 100g or about $27 worth. I'm not a food stylist by any stretch of the imagination so these pictures do not do this product justice. So I'm sure you're asking: was it worth it? Depends. I'm glad to have finally tried the stuff. It is nutty and sweet and subtle and complex and feels like pure luxury on your tongue. Even more so than something like foie gras . Jamon Iberico is the finest thing I've ever eaten from a pig. However. I can get excellent prosciutto di parma for about $25 a pound. Did this taste five times better ($269 a kilo means roughly $130 per pound) than that? No. But it was outstanding. And I will buy the same small amount again when I can to savor slowly on its own or with a small slice of Italian bread. It needs no condiment or ac

It was a historic night at Molson Stadium on the campus of McGill University last night. It was a perfect night, really. Yesterday was one of those days that reminded me why we keep coming to this city and why I love it so much. Perfect summer weather (in my books that's sunny, mid-70s and breezy), a relaxed vibe, the hum of creativity from music and arts festivals and then the slow build to a good party. Only in Montreal do the beer girls take a victory lap after they've finished serving. The Mrs. scored us front row end zone tickets for the game so we had a perfect view of not only the game but of the beer vendors zooming back and forth through our bleacher section. Our little area of several hundred must've run through, well, several hundred 20 ounce Molson Exs just on its own and these girls were sprinting (when not being accosted by a guy in a giant inflatable eagle costume). They worked it until about 10 minutes left in the fourth quarter. At five minute