Labor Day Weekend, Staten Island, New York

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The Cups Are Cracked and Hooked

The Stanley Cup playoffs continue to surprise me. Not in a good way either. I expected the final a long and entertaining series full of highly skilled, exciting play. Instead it has been largely a snoozefest with Detroit embracing a boring defense-first system that is aided and abetted by referees who appear to have been instructed by the league to call it like it’s 1999. On top of that, we have the sad ballad of Evgeni Malkin. Poor Evgeni is tired. It’s so hard to be a professional hockey player. Listen to his tale of woe from between games one and two in the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review: "I'm just tired," Malkin said. "Practice is long. The season is long. I feel bad." Awww...poor guy. Imagine how he’d feel if the Pens had played more than two games over the minimum you can play in the first 3 rounds and make the final. In just a few days Malkin has gone from being the guy that some overzealous writers called “this generation’s Messier to Crosby’s Gretzky...
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Alinea

I begin this post with yet another warning: there is a lot of abstracted, pretentious twaddle in the following. If you’re not up to dealing with it, I suggest you click out now and come back in a day or two when I might have some more humorous observations about drunks or something. Last Saturday I, along with the Mrs. and a friend of ours from Chicago had the full 20 course tour at Alinea . I wanted to write a review of the experience. Then I realized there is no point. More qualified people than I have written extensively about the place. Go on and google it and find out for yourself. Anything I would add would be redundant, superfluous, and frankly boring since I am terrible at writing about food. Instead of a review, this is a reaction to the experience. But first, we need to discuss the nature of art. (I heard that groan. Go click on this if you don’t want to hear about it). I am not an academic. I am not an art critic, food critic or any kind of critic. I am, however, a...
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Helicopters

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In my yard there are subseasons to the seasons. For example, you are probably aware that right now it is spring in the Northern Hemisphere. In my yard, there are three distinct subseasons to spring: 1. The tree in the front yard blooms . As seen here , third picture from the top. This the exciting, anticipatory part of spring. The metaphorical Friday night of spring. When all things are possible, all good things lie ahead and work and care are far from your mind. Of course, every Friday is inevitably followed by a Monday which in this case is..... 2. Attack of the green slime. Though this year, the green slime wasn't too bad. The green slime comes from one of the neighbor's trees (or it might be one of mine, I'm not sure) and is actually green dust or pollen. Until it rains. Then it becomes a layer of crud the consistency of over-whipped runny mashed potatoes that coats everything and makes one slip on the sidewalk. This year the slime season passed quickly and without inc...
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