Work is for the dogs.

I received this photo from a reader. It was "bring your pet to work" day and this little guy made the trip. Thanks for the submission, and keep them coming!

And we're back to our regularly scheduled Rain Watch.

The rain won't stop her from looking for cans, bottles, and a little spare change.



In other news, Better Off Soaked is featuring another shot from last week's storms. Thanks Katie!

Happy weekend everyone.

Rain Watch Summer Ohhhhh 9 earns a day off.

Do you see those? No, not the cabbies. Shadows! It's about freakin' time.



Today & tomorrow are non-stop so in lieu of any stories here are a few links of what's going on around town. Cheers.


Boston's finest are also cheaters. [NYTimes]

If you build it, they will pay for it. [Gawker]

Guss's Pickles to leave the LES [Lo-Down]

Not-as-culturally-important Max Brenner also closes [Gothamist]

Day 2 of Rain Watch Summer Ohhhhh 9 going strong.

As the title forecasts (ha!) there's been no change in the weather today. I walked out of the subway this evening to a cloudy sky growing darker by the second. By the time I reached the Cooper Building on 3rd the skies were opening and dump trucks were unloading rain on the streets. My SWAG umbrella broke halfway home. Garbage floated in the street. People hated their lives for one more day.

This picture was taken quickly at 2nd Ave and 6th Street as people scrambled for cover.

Another day, another pair of wet socks.

As documented by every corner of the blog-o-sphere, it's still raining. Not only is this one of the wettest summers on record but it might just be the coolest July New York has ever seen? Just how unexciting is that? I can't begin to explain.

Experiencing the coolest month of July is right up there on my to-do list with rooting for Pete Carroll to get to work safely and Sarah Palin moving to the Continental United States. I want to experience positive things here, people! Give me another Yankees championship, Tell Cleveland to trade Lebron to the Knicks. Keep the Second Avenue Subway on track for completion. Something has to be better than what's going on outside.

It'd be one thing if it was just rain. We're lucky enough to be experiencing gale force winds, lightning and thunder. I can usually gauge a storm's severity if I'm able to hear the thunder from my cube, which rests comfortably in the middle of the building and equidistant from every window. Ugh.

Because I refuse to trek around the city in search of great pizza in this weather I will be taking depressing rain related pictures until this #$%& stops. Today's picture is from my commute home on the subway platform. Watch out for the puddles and drips!

Pizza follow up...

Do you think the best pizza in the city resides in your neighborhood? Is there a local shop in the middle of the Bronx that deserves to be considered? Make your recommendations below and I'll seek them out. Thanks gang.

Cheers.

I think we have different definitions for "best."

I passed my time on the way to work this morning by reading last week's NY Mag covering Cheap Eats across the city. Of particular interest was the thorough section devoted to pizza. Artichoke and Nino's - take a back seat. This is legit.

A handful of East Village locales were listed among the mag's top 20 list of pies "of the moment." Boom - dinner was decided. First Avenue's Veloce Pizzeria was close and convenient, but more importantly they had individual slices available. I went with two slices of margherita sicilian as sicilian is their trademark.



Pro's
Not too doughy (silician's downfall)
Fresh basil flavor in every bite
Decent crust

Con's
Soggy dough base
Greasy
$3 a square

The flavoring of the slices was excellent, and the cheese/sauce/dough/basil ratios were all pretty spot on. The pizza was surprisingly greasy, which I found to be a minor drawback as well. I'd recommend going here to dine in, ordering something like prosciutto di parma that the couple at the bar were enjoying while I waited for my order. Their wine selection is "meh" priced, considering after all that they're a pizza spot. Stick with a coke or beer. Hipsters take note that PBR pounders are served iced cold.

Probability of returning - yes, if it is someone else's choice.

I'll be hitting up more of the noted pizza joints establishments in the coming days. Stay tuned.

Three weeks until things get Mad.

Unless you've been walking around with blinders on, it's been hard to miss the advertising blitz currently under way for Mad Men's season three premiere (exactly three weeks from today). The AMC home run of a show is spectacular, depicting American materialism and the advertising tyranny of Madison Avenue in the early 1960's through the life of New York's best (fictional) ad man, Don Draper. I'll let AMC explain the rest:

The Premise: The series revolves around the conflicted world of Don Draper (Jon Hamm), the biggest ad man (and ladies man) in the business, and his colleagues at the Sterling Cooper Advertising Agency. As Don makes the plays in the boardroom and the bedroom, he struggles to stay a step ahead of the rapidly changing times and the young executives nipping at his heels. The series also depicts authentically the roles of men and women in this era while exploring the true human nature beneath the guise of 1960s traditional family values.
Smart, witty, sexy, and realistic (or as real as I can remember the 60's being),
the show is fantastic. Smart story lines pull from one episode to the next unlike many shows that struggle to progress. I highly recommend it if your Sunday night TV lineup has a vacant opening. If you want to preview the show before the new season, know that I recently snagged the first two seasons off of Amazon for laughably cheap prices. How I'll follow the show come 8/16 is still Tee Bee Dee since AMC is nonexistent in my nonexistent cable world.

Go here for everything else you need to know about the show.

On the lookout for your submissions.

This guy stands tall on Walnut,
overlooking the safety of the stores. Someone had a sense of humor with those cartoon eye stickers and nose. Kudos for the creativity.

In light of some feedback from readers, I've created an email address for your submissions! Come across your favorite street performer after a bad day at work? Click a pic. Accomplish something grand? Snap. Inside Beaver Stadium and want to make me jealous? Please do. As the notice says on the right side of this page, don't forget to include a few words explaining your picture and experience. I'm looking forward to seeing what you're experience on a daily basis. Cheers!

Honestly, this has to stop.

And by this, I mean the rain. Another day of storms, another day of depressing Seattle-like feelings around the office. This is getting to be a little ridiculous. Granted, I'm not missing the sweltering time spent on the subway tracks where it is so hot that one's hands begin to bead with sweat, but I think we all miss the sun. I'd move to Philly if I wanted to feel like gloomy on a daily basis. ZING!

Only in America...

...do we honor processed meat. For those of you not up to snuff on your obscure holidays, today is National Hot Dog Day. Boo-ya!





In a city saturated and obsessed with locally grown/organic/free-range/grass fed/all natural foods, it's refreshing to know that some people still make a living pushing $1.50 dogs to both famished tourists and business people. Referred to as "dirty water dogs" growing up (have you seen what they swim in?), I'm a fan - no - a supporter of National Hot Dog Day. Two of these juicy American traditions served as a satisfying lunch.

I've been getting my mind blown for 11 years.

Night two of DMB at Jones Beach lived up to the (i.e. my) expectations placed upon it. Highlights included the "Carter Show" (Two Step), Seek Up debuting, and of course the wicked sick (yes, wicked sick) rendition of Jimi Thing. The new song Alligator Pie is evolving nicely as well. The night's set is below and nerdy links for songs are provided if they weren't repeated from the night before (only two repeats):

Pantala Naga Pampa(into)
Rapunzel
One Sweet World
Seek Up [part 1 of 2] [2 of 2]
Why I Am
Grey Street
Dive In
Dancing Nancies
Crash Into Me
Alligator Pie
Jimi Thing [part 1 of 2] [2 of 2]
Gravedigger
Funny The Way It Is
Shake Me Like A Monkey
You And Me
Time Bomb
Two Step (clip of Carter being insane)

Encore Break

Sister
Anyone Seen the Bridge (into) Too Much (Tease) (into)
Tripping Billies



Not to date myself too much, but I've been seeing these guys live for 11 years now, and I must say that they're better than ever. They're having fun, playing what they want when they want. Songs have evolved into distant versions of what they once were. If you've never seen them live, do it. They should be up on your list with the Bob Dylans and KISSes of the world. Just make sure it's a "night 2."

Finally, a reason to venture to Long Island.

Summer would not be the same without hitting up a few Dave Matthews Band shows. Their current tour is back in town, this time setting up camp at the Jones Beach Theater on Long Island. This was my first time at the theater and I admit that the setting on a warm & sunny cool and cloudy summer evening is a terrific sight. The stage is backed up to the water's edge, giving the fans a clear view of ocean on the horizon. Maybe Long Island isn’t all that bad after all. Bah!

Here’s my nerdy take (YouTube links included!) for your mid-day entertainment. Don’t say I don’t try to keep you Cats entertained at work.


Funny The Way It Is - new single, makes sense.
You Might Die Trying - meh, standard set placement for a night one show.
Seven - second new song, keep pushing that album boys.
Everyday - mellow and short.
Squirm - the rain saves this one.
Dreaming Tree – honestly boys, love the song but this is not a how-slow-can-you-go show.
Lying In the Hands of God – I’d like my 11 minutes back please.
Burning Down The House – great way to wake up the crowd.
Where Are You Going – to the bathroom, that's where. Great way to kill the crowd.
Spaceman (into) – whoa, do you guys have new album out??
Corn Bread – crowd loves the beat, goes nuts for Dave’s dance antics.
Shake Me Like a Monkey – now we’re talking. RCA execs should take note and make this the next single.
Louisiana Bayou – Boyd Tinsley on the violin, ladies and gents.
#41 – Jeff (sax) and Carter (drums) duel. No really. Incredible.
Don’t Drink the Water – solid closer, standard.

Encore break – Pretty standard show for ’09, especially considering they’ll be back tomorrow. Highlights of the main set include Shake Me and #41. Crowd pleasing? Absolutely. Groundbreaking? Not until the encore.

(#40) – there’s something to say about the way a song, played by one man among a sea of thousands, can silence a room. Words change every time because, well, there are no words for it. Beautiful.
Rye Whiskey – who doesn’t love a little Pete Seeger? Tons of heart.
All Along The Watchtower – I’ve seen this song too many times as the encore closer. But a Stairway to Heaven bass solo --> Watchtower --> Stairway outro was a first for both the band and the 13,000 screaming, singing lunatics in the stands.

Now that I’ve maxed out the DMB nerdiness of this post, here’s a picture:



Back for more tomorrow. Cheers.

NYC subways now offering Subway.

Hunger hit hard today so I sought out a five dollar foot long from Subway. A quick Google Maps search had me heading towards 53rd and Madison. When I arrived on the Madison side of the corner, I could not for the life of me find the Subway Google oh-so-kindly referred me to. There was no green and yellow signage in sight; this is Madison Avenue, after all. The familiar waft of Subway-esque odor was not fumigating the block. The only thing I saw in the area was...

an entrance to the E/V subway. Eff.

I crossed the street to return back to my office accepting the notion that my lunch would be limited to the dungeon-like atmosphere of my company's cafeteria. As I was crossing paths with the station entrance while silently cursing myself for trusting Google more than I trust most people, I saw this:




Subway was in the subway!!! Hot damn. I suddenly felt my mental anguish over lunch being lifted off my shoulders. I would soon be fed, Mother Google was right after all, and all was well with the world.

Then I ate my sandwich. I wish I'd stuck with the dungeon.

Any given Sunday. Or Thursday. Or Monday.

This guy knows how to jam and he does it CON. STANT. LY. Days, nights, and especially the weekends. Holidays? Forget it - he's around more often than the Salvation Army buckets (and we know that's quite a feat this year).



Throw him your change if you ever see him - his beats are worth it.

A classic among a sea of imitators.

BREAKING - dive bars are cool.

They're a dime-a-dozen nowadays, with some 'hoods seeming like practical breeding grounds for the stereotypical local watering hole. Skinny jeans - check. Pabst Blue Ribbon by the can - check. Excessive Desperate efforts to appear dusty and worn in - check. Walk inside one of these establishments and the chatty patrons will most likely be a cross between Williamsburg "residents," NYU poly sci undergrads, and Upper East Side gals out for a night of hipster hunting. Most of the crowd would secretly rather be drinking something of quality (who actually likes PBR?) be it not for the fact that it's the go-to drink of the E. Village. Heck! Why go to any dive when you can throw your next rager at a Superdive!?



But to remain close to the topic on hand, I recently came across a bar that stands a cranky head and shoulders above the rest - McGlinchey's. Enter through the door labeled "bar" and it's like stepping out of a city and into the suburbs (not in the Applebee's/Walmart kind of way). Call me country, but it reminds me of a bar back at home that is no more. The first thing you notice when you walk into the dark, smokey bar is - yup - the smoke. How they get away with it, I don't know and frankly I don't care. Don't get me wrong, I am a huge proponent of smoke-free bars. But this place deserves to remain second-hand unfriendly.

The layout is simple. A rectangular bar sits in the center of the room with a ring of crusty bar stools to match. Around that is another ring, this one consisting of diner-like booths; the seat cushions broken in beyond necessity. Two bartenders, one waitress, bathrooms in the back. The single, poor excuse of a light fixture hanging in the center of the room is covered in schmegma not because it brings character to the place but rather no one cares to clean it. A dozen plus beers on tap, with the closest thing to PBR being Budweiser. Sorry, no Bud Light. A bottle of Yeungling will run you $2.35. A mug? $2.85. The quickest way out of this place is by requesting an Appletini.

My favorite characteristic of this place is the simple fact that people are minding their own damn business. You don't meander into McGlinchey's to be seen or heard; you're there for the company of good friends and cold, cheap beer. What more do you need?

Non-pretentious booze fueled hang outs. I'm beginning to see a theme here...

Why don't I feel bad for this guy?

This cabbie was pulled over on Avenue A this afternoon, one block north of the $#&%show known as a Verizon commercial shoot. Trunk undone and engine steaming, I still didn't feel bad for this guy; in fact I never feel bad for cabbies. Why should I? They rule the streets. They all mysteriously go off duty when it rains. They refuse to go to Brooklyn. They talk on the phone more than BFF high schoolers. And about that - who are they talking to?!? I can't imagine the significant others of cabbies to be sitting around at 4:30 in the morning gabbing about what little Jimmy did at school that day. Do they converse with other cabbies? Do they share secrets about where the best bunch of B&T'ers are that night? Traffic reports concerning the FDR and Midtown Tunnnel? The latest cricket game? WHAT ARE THEY TALKING ABOUT?

Yes, this bothers me.

Granted, my stock in Motorola Bluetooth headsets appreciates their business, but I find it utterly annoying. One night after a long day of work I was cabbing it home (on the company, natch) and the driver was exceptionally loud. Annoying laugh, strong emotions, the whole bit. Did I follow the tourist tips posted in the backseat and kindly ask my driver to hang up? No, of course not. After all, I prefer not to detour to Red Hook en route to the E.V. I did the only thing I could do - I fought back with the in-car TV. Suddenly the cab-tube that I normally loathe and immediately mute upon entering a cab was my last hope for ending the ear-splitting cackle in the front seat. Cranking the volume on NBC highlights and "ask the locals" commercials, the chatterbox was forced to hang up. Trust me, it was worth bearing the obnoxious clips for 50 blocks.

Rise and freakin' shine.

My day started unusually early - try 4:00am early. I was about to spend my morning with 30+ interns at the NBC Today Show. I ran into stumbling drunks on their way home as I bumbled my way towards work. Standing in line with interns and families from Nevada wasn't as bad as I thought. Observations from the day include:

Matt Lauer is a great dresser, as he supports the gray pants/brown shoes combo.

Avoiding coffee for as long as possible made for an agonizing afternoon.

Al Roker has really soft hands.

Erin Burnett is a hottie.

Midwestern people love high fiving news casters.

2,400 pounds of art.

Today's education lesson is about a piece of art that I walk past every day. In the middle of Astor Place stands a rotating cube. Officially named Alamo by artist Tony Rosenthal, it is commonly referred to as the Cube. The Wiki page provides decent background about the Cube, but there are two points that I'd like to counter:

Many people who move to New York consider turning the Cube to be a ritual signaling that they have "arrived" in the city.

True, if by "arrived" you mean off the plane from Idaho or one's first day of class at NYU.

Sitting or sleeping in the shade of the Cube is also popular.

Seriously? You couldn't pay me to rest my head there. I'd rather not chilax with the Crusties, thank you very much.



All in all it's just another piece of the visually stimulating Astor Place puzzle. Take your best shot at spinning the cube next time you get off the 6 train.

Finally, a cup of New York coffee.

Back to work after a long weekend and I'm surviving each passing hour with another cup of coffee. I took a quick break this afternoon and visited a small park cut-out on 51st Street between 3rd and 2nd Avenue. It's a peaceful spot that offers midtowners like myself a green space to escape to during the day. Midtowners take note - this space is clutch for lunch but seats are limited.

I grabbed a coffee from the garden's closet-like shop before taking my place by the falls. To my shocking surprise my coffee was in the iconic New York cup. I went three years without ever coming across this cup!!! As a rookie resident, I forever felt cheated. I'd see the cup everywhere, everywhere but my corner cart never had it (and for good reason). I'm getting shammed I thought to myself. Every Tom, Dick and Carrie Bradshaw drank from a blue and white cup adorned with the phrase "It's Our Pleasure to Serve You." Everyone except me.

Until now.

Jersey gives 6BC a run for its money.

While enjoying an afternoon cocktail in Happy Valley yesterday, I received urgent news from my mother. No, my brother was not in trouble. No, the house was not broken into. Dad killed the internet and I need to help. Fast.

In the spirit of meaning well, everything (cable modem, wireless router, and Slingbox) was disconnected when putting in a new window in his at-home office. Wires were labeled, notes were taken, and all pieces were accounted for. The old window came out, the new one in and plum, and the internet trinkets reconnected. Flip the power and - nothing. Mama K knew better and called her 24/7 support line. Mwah. I made a pit stop at home to remedy the situation and after following the half mile of ethernet cables (I think the labels were in Greek) I found the problem.

Today's picture is of one of Mama K's gardens. When in full bloom these things make the hobbyists at my garden jealous.

Arts Fest part deux.

I'm not a big vacation person. I never been to "the islands," and I don't own a passport. Tell me you're driving across the country for the hell of it and I'll pack my bag tonight. I'll take the Jersey Shore over Cancun any day. So one of the ways I burn through my government firm issued 25 days of vacation is to extend my weekends during the summer, this one being no exception.

I take an extra day to enjoy Happy Valley whenever I can. Campus is quiet and beautiful. I can enjoy a peaceful day while thousands pour of out of town on their way back home. Today's hang out was the all important Cafe 210. Much like the Skeller, Joe Paterno, and grilled stickies, the Cafe is an only-at-Penn-State experience. Sit outside with the sun at your back and a cold "Tea" in your hand and you'll experience one of the best days imaginable.

Lunch, a few rounds of credit card roulette, three servers, and one NFL star run-in later and we had had enough. Another Arts Fest officially came to an end which means one thing - football season is upon us. My man Kevin recently published his first piece over at The Grand Experiment(al). It's about time I do the same (stay tuned).

Arts Fest weekend - full of chances.

Welcome to Arts Fest.

Saturday kicked off with sunny skies and plenty to see. By far the busiest day of the festival, the streets were jammed with the usual array of gawkers. Stroller pushing families mixed with the hung over crowd from the night before. Some people were seeking new pieces to hang over their couch, while others followed the scent of greasy carnival food. The aroma of funnel cake was rampant.

After perusing State College's finer things, I met up with my favorite radio host and lead Morning Zoo personality PJ from B94.5 as they were broadcasting from the home of countless family Christmas gifts. I took my chances on PSU football trivia and came away the lucky winner of a Nike sports watch. Boo-ya.

Next up was taking in an Irish folk band that - if you took Nick's word - were the next Jonas Brothers. I was more interested in watching the kids run through the water bucket, try-not-to-get-wet contraption that is an Arts Fest staple. I would have spent hours here as a kid had I grown up in State College. As a 25 year old I still had the urge to try and beat the randomly falling splashes of ice cold pool water. But alas, I am neither age nor speed appropriate, so I chose to take my chances on a more adult game - credit card roulette.

A game best suited for groups larger than one and participants older than 21, the greatest bar game of chance begins with an empty hat. Anyone can play, minding that the entry fee is one credit card. After all entries are collected the server pulls one (eyes closed!) out of the hat. The winner - or is it loser? - has to buy a round of shots for the table. BZ (left) was not pleased to have her card pulled twice. In a row.

Outdoor seating. Good company. Cold beer. Large group. Credit card roulette. Dangerous? Hardly. Awesome? Completely.

The skies darkened as we were leaving after one too many rounds and opened up just in time to drench us along with the thousands of others still moseying around. Saturday of Arts Fest lived up to its reputation.

On a completely unrelated note, the odds of me doing something like this to a future car of mine are quite good. Definitely vehicle of the weekend.

(Click pictures to enlarge.)

Weekend update is on deck.

Apologies for the lack of a weekend update. I return from vacation on Tuesday, 7/14 and will be sure this place is up and running (on time) by the end of the night. Here's a taste of the weekend:





Cheers!

Out to pasture.

Something's missing.



This is the second bike of mine that’s been used and abused. Note to bike owners – don’t lock up your goods on St. Marks. Ever.



That's right - brakes, chain, de-railers, seat, a pedal, rear wheel, and handle bars have gone missing. Wonderful. And by wonderful I mean #$%@. I kept the front wheel in my apartment in hopes of deterring thieves; look how well that worked.

I'm heading to Happy Valley this weekend for the annual Arts Festival so it's time for a little social experiment. (What's left of) my bike is currently leaning up against the pole (like the first picture) unlocked. We'll see if it's still standing when I return on Monday. Happy weekend all.

Michael Scott & Liz Lemon took your parking spot.

Walking to work this morning I noticed the streets were unusually quiet. No, it wasn't the ridiculous alternate side of the street parking rules. Parking was, of course, blocked off for the 492nd movie shoot of the summer. Today's culprit was Date Night starring Tina Fey and Steve Carrell with support from Ray Liotta, Leighton Meester, and Mark waaaaaaaaaaaitttttt a minute!?! Leighton Meester aka Blair Waldorf? Why was this not brought to my attention? Because where there is Blair there is obviously Serena, and where there is Serena there is the greatest gift to mankind. Blake Lively, natch.

You need to understand, loyal readers. It's never been about her curves, her smile, or her distaste for pants. She's a culinary expert:

"I had to do a scene in a bra and shorts for the first time in two years. On the day of the shoot, I ate a pork burrito, chips and coke. Afterwards, I thought, 'I probably shouldn't have done that.' But whatever."

Amen, sister. I recommend 7A's Scrambled Egg Burrito. Name the day and time and I will be there to treat you.

But I digress. So yes - today is blocked off again for a movie shoot. I suppose that's what I get for living in a more popular 'hood. The shoots will only increase if the stroller pushers of Brooklyn get their way.

The MTA is being taken to the cleaners city dump.

Well folks, this looks like the end of the line for the MTA. Well maybe not - but this map is heading towards its final resting place. And why is the map framed? Who frames a free map!? Bah.



I know I've covered garbage before, so I thought I'd be a nice blogger and share a few links that have been sent my way recently:

My younger brother started a blog. Check it out, as it is bound to be 452% more informative than this hunk of junk. Welcome to the neighborhood, kid.

Mac users will find this run down on photography tools to be nothing short of dorky awesome.

The Dessert Truck has some new competition.

Obama's visit to Penn State's campus lives on in new football poster.

I actually enjoyed this.

For those of you that care, the ongoing $%@#show known as Albany will continue indefinitely.

Go ahead. Pick it up. I dare you.

Shudder.

I wonder how often these are used. I never really pay attention to them because, quite frankly, the nineties are over. But it's amazing to think that this was the way things got done. Commerce, relationships, life - all depended on landlines. How was that possible? No email - no cell phones - no caller ID. No tweeting, Facebook, or (gasp) blogging. No texting - picture messaging - video messaging. People remembered phone numbers, and if you couldn't remember it you wrote it down. Do you know how many phone numbers I know by heart? Seven. And three of them are my own.

It's only a matter of time before pay phones go the way of NYC phone booths. Their crust-covered handsets will not be missed by me. (Seriously - they might be the grossest aspect of the subway system - and that's saying something). Until then they'll be there for change-scouring bums and legit emergencies.

My routine clumsiness embraces artistic license.

After spilling something today (shocking) I noticed that the liquid blob of hops and molasses was taking on a peculiar shape of its own. No, this was not another crazed Michael Jackson sighting. Sidenote - I made it this long without making reference to the King of Pop's death. I might be the last of the media titans to succumb to the sell-out pressure. Right. Noted. Moving on.

I swear my runaway party foul was looking more and more like a rabbit, darting across the floor. You be the judge.

Exhibit A

Exhibit B

Thoughts?

Fact - garages are full of cool stuff.

Fact - Garages are the black hole of household crap.
Fact - Garages Black holes are clutch spots to find really cool/random/should-have-been-thrown-away-years-ago stuff. Like broken chairs. Power tools. Hammocks.
Fact - CCM hockey gloves makes great beer holders.
Fact - I'm kind of a quirky dork.
Fact - Marc Andre Fleury would approve.

Happy Birthday, America!

Happy 4th of July to all of you out there. Whether you were watching fireworks or exploring a lady's insides today, I hope your day was full of good food and better company. Cheers!

Question - what is wrong with this picture?

Answer - nothing.



July 4th weekend has arrived, my friends.

Call of duty.

Calling today pointless would be polite. 10:00am start time, 12:45 dismissal, thank you very much. In what counts as two days of my time, only one case required a jury. Let me explain how it works in Manhattan's court system.

• 150-200 people are selected "at random" to serve jury duty.
• Jury duty lasts 2 days.
• Manhattanites are required to answer the call once every six years.
• Everyone sits in a room trying to keep busy sane.
• Four courtrooms are served by this larger pool of people.
• If a court case cannot come to terms and requires a jury, 80-100 people of the larger group are selected "at random."
• The jury (12) and backups (2) are picked from the smaller pool of 80-100.
• If not selected for the jury, the remaining 66-86 people return to the rest of the group with the possibility of being selected again.
• This entire process was painfully slow.
  

Overall, a drab scene. But on to other matters!

Today's picture has nothing to do with the mind numbing duty described above. Call him an only in New York moment or a smart business entrepreneur, but this guy can be found hanging outside of the city clerk's office. Now that marriages in City Hall are a viable option, my friend here is dominating the fake flower bouquet market. Twenty bucks will make your next shotgun wedding complete.

Fulfilling my civic duty, Law & Order style.

When I turned in my prideful Jersey driver's license for a New York version, I knew there would be repercussions. Less than six months later, my number was magically drawn out of the hat for jury duty. Ugh.

Today was day one of what I quickly learned was a two day process. Mandatory, firm required vacation? Sure, Bloomy & Co. I'd love to spend my days off from work with you. I'll get to the details about NYC jury duty tomorrow because today I want to tackle another great NYC legend - Duane Reade's namesake.

Duane Reade, really BK?

Heck yes, loyal readers. Today is devoted to the filthy, cramped, not-so-cheap-but-convenient-as-all-hell drugstore chain. You need to understand that New Yorkers have a love/hate/loathe relationship with Duane Reades. They never have sales. The aisles are skinnier than SoHo models. Many of them have quirky subterranean levels. Hate them I may, but I depend on them. New razors, Chase ATM (clutch!), or birthday card for Johnny, DR is my default. Check out NY Mag's old article about the mystery surrounding DR.

While spending my lunch hour wandering around downtown, I found myself at the crossroads of the great mystery - why is it called Duane Reade? There I was, waiting to cross the street to grab a slice of pizza, when I noticed this street sign:



What the? Scouring the area it all quickly made sense. To my left was the answer:



I must admit that I always pictured Duane as some rich dinosaur of a businessman who mastered the game of overcharging for Q-tips just enough to keep you and me going back for me. It turns out that the pharm was named after the original warehouse's location on Broadway, tucked nicely between Duane Street and Reade St. Now you know.